Staying Together on This Island Is a Real Breeze

We were wedged into a little skiff with our luggage, slicing across the satin, sunstruck water separating Harbour Island from Eleuthera.

The sky shimmered azure, Monet clouds puffed along the horizon and a Bahamian breeze blew away big-city stress. I watched my husband’s face relax as we skimmed toward one of our favorite retreats last June.

The penny-size isle is but a speck in the Bahamian cosmos, a secluded star in the constellation of 700 islands sprinkled over the shallow seas between Florida and Cuba. The Bahamas are not technically part of the vast Caribbean region, but they hover close to the northern edge of the Caribbean Sea.

Harbour Island itself hovers just two miles north of Eleuthera and is not only off the beaten path, it’s lost in a time warp.

Dunmore Town casts a quaint and sleepy eye along the harbor. Little more than a cluster of colonial cottages and picturesque estates, it looks like old Cape Cod repainted in pastels. The village wears the patina of its 17th-Century origins, when it served as the first capital of the Bahamas under Gov. Lord Dunmore.

An aura of tranquillity from a kinder, gentler age pervades the island. No tacky souvenir shops, cruise ship crowds or noisy night spots mar its serenity. Nor is it the least bit pretentious. This is one resort that has maintained its small-scale, low-key splendor.

Three miles long, the island faces a broad smooth harbor on the west, and wears a long fringe of powdery pink-sand beach on its Atlantic side.

The combination of glassy waters for sporting folks and creamy surf for beach lovers makes a heavenly marriage of vacation pleasures. For us, Harbour Island serves as both a romantic retreat and awesome fishing grounds. Without it, the yin and yang of our marriage might have come unglued long ago.

Harbour Island’s compact size makes it a paradise for pedestrians. Between beach and harbor is a half-mile of rolling lowlands thick with banyan trees and tropical foliage. Crisscrossing the verdant terrain are shady lanes and picket fences woven with bougainvillea.

I like to begin and end my walks at the harbor’s edge, where sailboats ride their moorings. Children frolic and fishermen get organized on the dock near Government House, a pink, cupolaed former customs house and island landmark. Under an umbrella of spreading trees, island merchants sell handmade straw crafts and home-grown fruits and vegetables.

First, I bought a wide-brimmed hat at Sarah’s Straw Works, then set off down Dunmore Street, the ragged ribbon of cobbled roadway that weaves through the island. This shade-dappled, storybook lane is lined with little cottages and handsome walled estates from the Victorian era.

I walked past clapboard houses jammed with architectural marmalade from the 19th Century: wrap-around porches, widow’s walks, peaked gables and pastel lattice-work.

I heard hymns wafting from the colonial churches and anthem practice at St. John’s Anglican, oldest church in the Bahamas. Then I wended through tangled vines and leaf-carpeted paths toward the beach to follow the soothing sound of the surf.

By the time I looped back to town, I was ready to buy a mango and a pendant of bananas and sing my own song.

If you’re not avid about walking, you can rent a motor scooter, Jeep or golf cart for exploring. Or check out skiffs at the harbor’s edge. With or without a guide, you can circumnavigate the island.

Folks here date back to the 1640s, when a band of Bermudans seeking more religious freedom sailed south and established a nearby British colony. They dubbed themselves the “Eleutherian Adventurers” and christened their new home Eleuthera, Greek for “freedom.”

Today, many locals are the descendants of Tory Loyalists and their slaves who left Florida to seek refuge after the American Revolution. The island has become a close-knit community of families, black and white, whose pace is languid and whose heritage is tinged with English graciousness.

Edward Major, a regal Bahamian taxi driver, used to meet us at the dock. Now his sons Reggie and Wayne drive the pot-holed, flower-filled lanes to our hotel and offer colorful island tours.

“Bonefish Joe” Cleare, a legendary fishing guide, has helped my husband land the elusive bonefish, “ghost of the flats,” in every season. Alkie Cleare taught our daughter to water-ski in the mirrored harbor. Flossie Mae Bain once kept an entire dining room spellbound with her gospel-style happy birthday solo.

The native cuisine is a vital part of Harbour Island’s appeal. Dining on cracked conch, pigeon peas with rice and coconut cream pie at Angela’s Starfish restaurant, at the north end of Dunmore Street, is one of life’s most basic pleasures. A hunk of coconut bread and a cup of tea at the Island Bakery provide an afternoon lift.

Until recently, we rated Harbour Island hotel food generally mediocre and had many meals at Angela’s. But the Dunmore Beach Club has since turned the dull food scene into a culinary triumph. Operated for over 25 years as an exclusive private club, Dunmore quietly opened to the public last winter.

New owners Tony and Cynthia Shogren, both former member-guests, wanted to maintain the Dunmore reputation for first-class food and service. So they hired affable New Zealander John Philips and his chef-wife Kathy to manage the property.

Like the rest of Harbour Island, the 12-room cottage enclave has a seductive informality. There is an unassuming summer-house simplicity in the airy cottages, which feature spacious patio-decks that have inspiring ocean views.

An atmospheric clubhouse serves as the restaurant, bar and focus for social activities. Wicker furnishings fill the library-living room, which offers card tables, a wide assortment of reading and a warm fireplace for winter nights. Dinners are served in the high-timbered dining room, breakfasts and lunches outdoors on a terrace overlooking Pink Sand Beach.

Dunmore’s daily rate of $250, double occupancy (all meals included), is far below what some fashionable Caribbean resorts charge.

Other hotels are also small-scale and casual in keeping with the relaxed ambience of Harbour Island. Most are family-run and offer premium discounted rates during the off season, from mid-May to mid-December.

Valentine’s Yacht Club looks like a New England house set in the tropics. This 21-room inn and marina has a loyal following of dive enthusiasts, and hires out boats for fishing, diving, sailing and water-skiing. Valentine’s generous dock makes it a favorite rendezvous for yachts cruising the Caribbean.

The nearby Romora Bay Club sprawls beyond the stone pillars and rusted cannons of a fort that once guarded the harbor. Created from a terraced old estate, Romora’s cottages tuck into a tropical garden overlooking the harbor. This is another family-run resort keen on diving and water sports. Certified dive instructors offer a complete scuba program.

Hotels on the Atlantic side, such as Dunmore, border the splendid Pink Sand Beach, three miles long and actually colored pink from eons of eroding offshore coral reefs. It’s a dazzling strand that easily takes honors as the most beautiful beach in the Bahamas. And because Harbour Island hasn’t become trendy yet, you may even have the translucent turquoise surf all to yourself.

The Coral Sands Hotel has a beachside terrace, the Yellow Bird Bar, where guests can munch freshly toasted coconut curls and sip Goombay punch.

Runaway Hill, once a secluded private home, perches on a bluff so that all eight of its rooms have sweeping ocean views.

The reef-studded crystal waters surrounding Harbour Island are some of the finest in the world for snorkeling and scuba diving. Experienced guides take divers to exotic spots such as the Plateau to hand-feed big groupers, or to Whale Point for snorkeling in endless acres of bright coral sculptures.

With its dramatic maritime history, the area is a treasure of sunken shipwrecks. Spanish galleons, pillaging pirates and blockade runners and bootleggers all have exploited the maze of hidden coves and channels. At Devil’s Backbone, the treacherous reef north of Eleuthera, a graveyard of lost ships beckons adventuresome divers.

Deep-sea fishing enthusiasts are enticed by yellow fin tuna, grouper, wahoo and both blue and white marlin. Sport fishermen from all over the world bring their fly-casting rods to stalk bonefish, the ultimate saltwater trophy.

Bonefish Joe has been prowling the fertile flats around Harbour Island for four decades. A lively, cheerful man, his roots date back to colonial times, and his sportfishing techniques have been immortalized in how-to books and fishing videos. My husband, who is always on a quest for bonefish, loves Joe’s lilting Bahamian chatter and constant coaching.

“Shoot 30 feet straight at twelve o’clock,” Joe might say. “Good! Hold it high. Reel! Now jig. Put your seat belt on for this baby! Boy, what a life!” His enthusiasm is contagious.

Joe’s body language is as expressive as his speech. He moves barefoot around the sides of his flat-bottomed skiff, his husky body pausing to arch over the shallows and scan the sun-drenched surface.

A week later, as the skiff carved back across the mirrored harbor to Eleuthera, my husband looked wonderfully relaxed. We watched our receding paradise, and I wondered how much longer it would be before big developers come to stalk our island and bring in some glitzy resorts.

We had better schedule lots more romantic interludes before our star hideaway gets all glittery.