The Bay Islands

Anchoring in Guanaja, we were met by Red (Rojo) a native water taxi driver who offered us a ride into town and translation assistance, as the immigration officer spoke no English.

We climbed aboard his boat and headed off away from town and picked up a man, his dog and his young boys. We then headed further out of town towards a bay with a sandy beach. Larry and I were both more than a little concerned, but we let them out then continued further from town. Rojo sensed our concern and told us not to worry, he had one more fare to pick up before we headed to check in with immigration. We picked up a young woman heading into town to party for the night. Her perfume was strong enough to keep the the no-see-ums away at least.

It was a good investment as Rojo convinced the immigration officer that our documents were English "equivalent" documents to what he was looking for. Turns out we probably should have checked out with US customs to receive the documents needed to enter our next port. We headed back to the boat and were asleep before 8 pm, too tired to even eat.

The next morning, we headed into town in the dingy. Guanaja is actually a town on a key just south of the main island. No motor vehicles, bicycles or other wheeled vehicles. The entire island is a fishing community and the support structure for the fishermen. The people were polite, friendly and very happy to be fishermen. We wandered up and down the two main streets (sidewalks) and met Terry Jackson a disabled fisherman. Terry helped us to find lobster, negotiated a great price (less than $1 a pound) and helped us find veggies for our meal. Terry showed us his injured ankle, which appeared to us to me infected and possibly gangrene had set in. Terry offered us women and some Junga he was trying to sell to raise money for the ferry. We told him thanks but we had women enough at home and did not smoke. We tipped him and thanked him for his help. (Terry is in the red shirt pictured with the veggies)

The Guanaja police station is next to the dingy landing in the yellow building pictured. The other end of the building was the jail cell, that opened as a barred door on the street. There was a prisoner inside who chatted with those that stopped by. Primitive but effective from the looks of it.

We returned to the boat and barbecued six lobster tails, which was more than we could handle. We loaded up the fuel cans, ice for the lobster and the next morning departed for the 80 mile sail to Utilla.