This novel was seeded many years ago on my first visit to Cat Island, Bahamas, and was augmented by a recent hopscotch seaplane journey from Sanibel Island, Florida, to Andros, then southeast to islands known and unknown. We landed as needed, and even when we didn’t need to, we landed and fished anyway. I am unaware of a more intimate way to explore a vast blue schematic of salt and karst geology, for an amphibious plane fires the wanderlust in those who inhabit remote places and brings them on the run, always equipped with advice and a wealth of local knowledge. Tales of piracy, old and new, are as common as opinions on where to eat, sleep, rent a boat, and as compelling as rumors of witchcraft—obeah, it is called—and of Spanish coins that a friend or relative came this damn close to finding. What makes it fun is, in the Bahamas, the rumors are sometimes true.
For this book, a key source of fact and lore was Captain Mark Keasler, an eco-fishing guide who has lived on Cat Island for more than thirty years. We met in 1995, and were the first to dive a spot known locally as the Horse Eating Hole because, we were told, it was where dead livestock was dragged by day, and was eaten overnight by something—a dragon, old-timers claimed. “A crocodile, more likely,” Mark suggested, and not only provided a rubber raft but joined me in the lunacy of hacking our way to a pond that locals avoided day and night—no footpaths, no litter, no human spore of any kind. Just Mark, his brother Andy, my young son Rogan, and myself.
As I described the place in my column for Outside magazine:
Horse Eating Hole is encircled by mangroves so dense that even on a bright Bahamian day the light seems to have been leached away by shadows and stillness. It is a brackish water pond that lies off a sand trail at the north end of the island and below a network of caves from which, each day at dusk, emerge thousands of fruit bats. En masse, the bats create smoky contrails over the mangroves, ascending charcoal strokes above a tree canopy of waxen green.
Get the picture? Spooky? You bet.
We paddled out. Mark took the lead by using the anchor to sound for depth. Over and over he tossed and measured. Rarely was the water deeper than a swimming pool. But then, at a spot near the mangroves, sixty feet of line peeled through his hands, and the anchor snagged something solid below. Because exploring the pond was my idea, protocol demanded I pretend to be courageous. Worse, I had to get in the damn water. Wearing snorkel gear, I followed the anchor line down through a darkening gloom until I lost my nerve and surfaced. “Too murky,” I told my buddies. “Let’s go home.” Who were we to sneer at a century of Cat Island legend? The creature—whatever it was—could’ve been down there in its hole, seriously peeved at having been awakened by the rude thunk of our anchor.
Mark didn’t give up as easily. When he jackknifed toward the bottom, we waited for what seemed too long for a man without tanks to be down there in all that blackness. Then he came shooting to the surface, wide-eyed, yelling, “Our anchor landed right in the mouth of the cave. It’s clear, man. You get down close to the bottom, the water turns crystal clear!”
Incredible. I swam down through thirty feet of murk into a lucent world of bright-green-and-yellow rock, all domed in a huge bubble of clear saltwater. There was our anchor, sitting smack in the horse-sized mouth of the cave. Not far away there was yet another, larger cavern.
No wonder research for this book began with a phone call to Capt. Keasler, or that Cat Island became my base of operations. Uncle Mark, as he is known to every child on the island, patiently fielded questions about local history, language, and customs, and provided a key plotline hook when he explained why he started a free program to teach children how to swim—Team Barracuda, it is called. “Seventy percent of Bahamian women and almost as many men never learn,” he told me, “so they tell their kids to never wade in deeper than their waist. Generation after generation, it’s been that way. Maybe that’s why there are so many legends about monsters in places like Horse Eating Hole—a way to keep the kids safe by scaring them away from the water.”
Child by child, things are changing on Cat Island. If you’d like to fish or explore with Capt. Mark Keasler, contact him at: bwanacat@yahoo.com or call him in the Bahamas at: (242) 474-0840.
This book has much to do with finding shipwrecks, and there is no better resource than my friend Capt. Carl Fismer, a legend in a business that has many pretenders but few true pros. During his forty-year career, Capt. Fizz, as he is known, worked over three hundred shipwrecks in Florida, the Bahamas, the Indian Ocean, and Central and South America, and recovered millions in Spanish gold, silver, jewels, and other artifacts. For years, he partnered with treasure historian Jack Haskins, and he was Mel Fisher’s choice to direct part of the salvage diving of the Santa Margarita, sister ship to the Atocha, so no surprise that he was awarded the Mel Fisher Lifetime Achievement Award in 2010. Fizz provided valuable guidance as I researched this book, and also an authentic voice (I hope) to my fictional character, Capt. Carl Fitzpatrick. While the two men share many admirable qualities, I want to make it clear that Fizz cannot be faulted for Fitzpatrick’s negative qualities (if any) nor the fictional character’s choice of language or misstatements of fact. To learn more about Capt. Fismer, I highly recommend his book Unchartered Waters: The Life and Times of Captain Fizz. Or go to http://www.carlfismer.com.
As stated, this novel is a work of fiction, but the scaffolding is based upon fact. Therefore, before thanking others who contributed their expertise or good humor during the writing of Caribbean Rim, I want to make clear that all errors, exaggerations, or misstatements are entirely my fault, not theirs.
Insights, ideas, and medical advice were provided by doctors Brian Hummel, my brother Dan White, Marybeth B. Saunders, Peggy C. Kalkounos, and my nephew, Justin P. White, Ph.D.
Pals, advisers, and/or teammates are always a help because they know firsthand that writing and writers are a pain in the ass. They are Jeff Carter, Gary and Donna Terwilliger, Ron Iossi, Jerry Rehfuss, Stu Johnson, Victor Candalaria, Gene Lamont, Nick Swartz, Kerry Griner, Mike Shevlin, Jon Warden, Phil Jones, Dr. Mike Tucker, Davey Johnson, Barry Rubel, Mike Westhoff, Col. Joe Kittinger, Capt. Tony Johnson, Commander Dan O’Shea, Steve Smith, Garret Anderson, Mark Futch for seaplane advice, and behavioral guru Don Carman.
My wife, singer/songwriter Wendy Webb, not only provided support and understanding but is a trusted adviser, as are my daughters-in-law, Oceana Blue and Rachael Ketterman White. Bill Lee and his orbiting star, Diana, as always have guided me safely into the strange but fun and enlightened world of our mutual friend the Reverend Sighurdhr M. Tomlinson. Equal thanks go to Albert Randall, Donna Terwilliger, Stephen Grendon, my devoted SOB, the angelic Mrs. Iris Tanner, and my partners and pals, Mark Marinello, Marty and Brenda Harrity.
People I met at Cat Island’s Fernandez Bay and nearby one-room eateries—The Starlite, Hidden Treasures, and Four Brothers—were as generous with their stories as they were with local recipes. Due to my laziness and poor penmanship, I will thank them by first names only: Wendylee, Marlene, Sheena, Karen, Erica and Dan from Fern Bay, Desha Star, Dahnay and Eugene of New Bight.
Key to this novel’s plotline is the long history of Freemasonry in the Bahamas, a uniting influence that continues to join people of disparate backgrounds with trust and a potent bond. My fraternal brothers Dominique Gibson of Nassau, and Jovann O’Neil Burrows of Mount Alvernia Lodge, Cat Island, donated a lot of time, information, and fun to the writing of this book—a kindness I hope to repay.
Much of this novel was written at corner tables before and after hours at Doc Ford’s Rum Bar & Grille, where staff were tolerant beyond the call of duty. Thanks go to: Liz Filbrandt, Capt. Tommy, Kim McGonnell, Tyler Wussler, Tall Sean Lamont, Motown Rachel Songalewski, Boston Brian Cunningham, and Cardinals Fan Justin Harris. Chefs Sergio and Dustin, my friends Allyson, Alex, Amanda, Andy, Ashley, Becca, Brenda, Casey, Caroline, Carle, David, Gina, Heather, Jerry, Jim, Jon, Mandi, Mary, Michelle, Patti, Peter, Rachael O, Ray, Sara W, Sarah, Samuel, Scott, Tiffany, Terri, Whitney, Yamily and Yvonne, Abbie, Brian, St. James, Jim and Lisa, and hostesses Briana, Carolina, Samantha, Shelby, and Tall Cheyne Diaz.
At Doc Ford’s on Fort Myers Beach: Lovely Kandice Salvador, Reyes Ramon #1, Reyes Ramon #2, Netta Kramb, Sandy Rodriguez, Mark Hines, Stephen Hansman, Kelsey King, Brandon Cashatt, Timothy Riggs, Jessica Del Gandio, Bre Cagnoli, Drew Acord, Jaqui Engh, Karli Goodison, Reid Pietrzyk, Alex Wyatt Hall, Justin Voskulhl, Brian Westheimer, Eric Westheimer, Rachel Lane, Zeke Pietrzyk, Samantha Wylie, S’iva Goodman, Amel Hadzic, Jordan Veale, Kirby Miller, Jose Mata, Nicole Volberg, Krystian Martinez, Carly Cooper, Kelsey Collins, Denise Beckham, Rich Capo, Rocky Olah, Gabby Moschitta, Shae Conrad, James Patterson, Austin Edward, Alexis Terran-Cortez, Tony Anderson, Stevie Cooper, Mitchell Arimura, Jade Beuth, Annette Williams, Nora Billheimer, Eric Hines, Timothy Riggs, Jeff Bright, Eric Munchel, Violet Vetter, Shelby Fleshman, Ryan Schlottman, Chantel Marineau, Carlos Rios, Jessie Fox, Consuelo Parra-Hermida, Jordan Kryzk, Kassee Buonano, Edith Lopez, Lizet Leon, Tayler Glavin, Nick “The Man” Howes, Jon Healey, Raul Muniz, Hector Rodriguez, Carlos Rubi, Nick Dowling, Edgar Zapata, Daniel Castaneda, Louis Gyenese, Cody Brown, Alam Nabil, Seth Wiglesworth, Aiden Collins, Ross Pinkard, Cadin Kin, Eroll Brackman, Nelson Rojas, Bronson Janey, Kandice Salvador, Meredith Rickards, John Goetz, Andrea Aguayo, Baltazar Lopez, Adrian Uscanga, Oralia Ramos, Enrique Hernandez, Catalina Ramirez, Nicolas Cardona, Jaime Rodriguez, Zeferino Molina, Julio Cruz, Cristian Ramos, Juan Vargas, Jose Perez, Ramon Luna, Carlos Cano, Jorge Cuevas, Jose Mixtun, Reyes Ramon, Roni Martinez, Jose Vaegas, Carlos Marcial, Luis Cuevas, Joseph Bodkin, Jose Gutierrez, Alonso Ramos, Adrian Trinidad, Evodio Lopez, Enrique Tello, David Leon, Yadiel Velazquez, Heriberto Ramos, Roberto Deleon.
At Doc Ford’s on Captiva Island: Big Pappa Mario Zanolli, Joyous Joy Schawalder, Hiya Shawn Scott, Adam Traum, Alicia Rutter, Ally Llanos, Amanda Schaefer, Bob Butterfield, Chris James, Christina Teixeira, Daniel Leader, Donald Yacono, Dylan Wussler, Edgar Mena, Erica DeBacker, Heather Walk, Joey Wilson, John King, Jon Economy, Amazing Josh Kerschner, Matt Ginn, Ray Rosario, Ryan Body, Ryan Cook, Sarah Collins, Sue Baker, Shelbi Muske, Tony Foreman, Yakhyo Yakubov, Lovely Cheryl Erickson, Ko-Ko Heather O’Dell, El Capitán Steve Day, Karla Garatchea, Krystal Bovan, Skyler Muske, Adrian Medina, Garrett Hartle, Ivan Riverol, Jose Sanchez, Miguel Pieretti, Robert DelGandio, Sam Uscanga, Oscar Baltazar Ramirez, and Guitar Czar Steve Reynolds.
My sons have typed or retyped and sent the last two words of every Doc Ford novel since 1990, so once again my loving thanks go to Lee and Rogan White for helping me finish yet another book.
—Randy Wayne White
Sanibel Island, Florida