Island time
Little Harbor when I last visited in 2008
by Christine Kling
Most of the time when folks use the phrase “island time” they are talking about how time slows down and people in the tropical islands aren’t in as much of a hurry as all those type A personality road ragers back on the mainland. Waiting 45 minutes to get your meal in a restaurant shouldn’t get anybody upset in the islands – it just means you need to readjust your internal clock to island time.
But for me, whenever I come to the Abacos, I also measure island time in a different way. Island time has come to mean change to me. Because I am only a seasonal visitor here, each time I return I see “progress.” More island time has passed.
This morning I am moored in Little Harbor all the way at the south end of what people here call the Sea of Abaco. We have been side-swiped here by the outer edges of Tropical Storm Andrea. The weather has been gray, rainy and gloomy for a couple of days, so I came inside here and picked up a mooring to ride out the strong winds in this protected harbor. Little Harbor is the home of Pete’s Pub and the Johnston Studio and Gallery. Randolph Johnston sailed his schooner the Langosta down from Canada with his wife and three sons and settled here in 1951. He homesteaded here building a home and eventually the foundry where he and now his sons have been creating world renowned bronze sculptures for more than 50 years.
The first time I visited this place was about 25 years ago. I was married to Jim Kling then and our son was about three years old. When we visited the gallery Randolph Johnston was still alive and we had a brief chat with him during our visit. Pete’s Pub was little more than a pile of flotsam with a bar in the middle and I there was no food being served. The roads from Marsh Harbor were not good enough to get regular provisions in. I love this old photo I have of Tim riding on his dad’s shoulders outside the gallery. It’s been 15 years since Jim died but whenever I come here, I am filled with memories of the good island times we had visiting as a family.
The last time I was down here was in 2008, and it was my first visit on my own boat. The dog with me was Chip, my dear old buddy. Since that time they’ve had several hurricanes pass over and the old dock is unsafe. They’ve built a new dock that stretches out farther into the harbor and when I came in through the narrow entrance yesterday and saw it, I knew that more island time had passed.
Late yesterday after donning snorkel and fins to replace my zincs on the Maxprop and shaft, I decided the Terror and I had earned a pub visit. There were few boats in the harbor and many of the folks hanging out at the bar were the regulars like Pete himself, his son Greg. I saw Wellington arrive with the wild boar in a cooler all ready for the Pig Roast for Bahamian Labor Day on Saturday. The character with droopy gray mustache that extended several inches below his chin sitting next to me — who introduced himself as Catfish — told me to let my pup run free, that no one would mind. So, I did. Barney raced around greeting everyone, running behind the bar, begging for food, and I chatted as I used to do when I visited with Chip. Then I realized it had grown quiet and Barney was nowhere to be seen.
Catfish said, “Don’t worry. He’s just run off into the bush. He’ll be back in a couple of days, long as he doesn’t run into a wild boar.”
I called him and searched and time seemed to slow even slower than Island Time. Much as that little dog is an enfant terrible, he has stolen my heart. When I was just about ready to panic, I saw movement deep in the bush. It was that red tongue panting and a bedraggled little Yorkshire Terror came trotting out. Soon as I tried to get the leash on him he darted off down to the beach, shook himself and began barking at me. As I chased him down the beach, I provided plenty of entertainment for the crew at the pub.
A great deal of island time has passed since I last visited Little Harbor with my well-behaved buddy Chip. But these days on the dog front, I’m wondering if I’d call this “progress.”
Fair winds!
Christine
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