After a blissful night at Manjack Cay North 1 (a slice of paradise, only if you play your cards right), we sailed over to Manjack South 1, doing the nautical shuffle waiting for the tide to rise so we could go into Green Turtle Cay. Enter Jeff, who, in a moment of questionable judgment, passed the planning baton to Claire for the day's hike.
Claire, who chose to embrace a laissez-faire attitude towards life for that one particular day, shrugged off the tedious task of weather checks and trail research. "Why bother?" she thought. "It's just a tiny island, and a little rain never hurt anyone. Plus, we have rain jackets. It's practically like being invincible."
As fate would have it, we stumbled upon the entrance to the Art Trail, a path sprinkled with artistic endeavors from souls brave enough to leave their mark in the middle of nowhere. As we took our first steps, the skies decided to throw a dramatic tantrum. Talk about impeccable timing. The rain came down with such enthusiasm, you'd think it was trying to audition for its own art installation.
But did we let this aquatic ambush dampen our spirits? Absolutely not! As we embarked on this wet escapade, a memory from the week before gnawed at us. We had met a lady who shared harrowing tales and showed us the battle scars from her encounter with poisonwood trees, notorious for their unfriendly rash-inducing touch. Suddenly, the art trail took on an additional layer of adventure. Was this the same treacherous paradise she had ventured into? The thought haunted us, turning our leisurely art appreciation into a strategic game of "Avoid the Flora."
Jeff, taking no chances, morphed into a botanical ninja, zigzagging through the trail with the precision of a cat burglar, dodging every leaf and branch as if they were laser beams in a high-security vault.
Despite the added thrill of potentially becoming rash-covered pioneers, we trudged through the entire trail, the rain acting like a clingy friend who just wouldn't let go. Each art piece, now baptized in rainwater, seemed to come alive, as if saying, "You think a little water can dampen creativity? Hold my beer." By the time we returned to our dinghy, we were soaked to the bone, but exhilarated, feeling like pioneers who'd discovered that art, like life, is best enjoyed with a dash of unpredictability and a good sense of humor.
Post-adventure, Claire had a lightbulb moment and decided to consult Navionics, only to find a tiny, yet crucial detail we missed: "Avoid during rain due to an abundance of poisonwood trees." Fantastic. Cue the survival instincts.
Armed with our phones, we turned into amateur botanists, comparing our snaps to online images. The verdict? Navionics wasn't joking. Panic ensued as we realized the rain had probably given us a generous dose of poisonwood spa treatment, especially on our faces.
Stranded in an anchorage with no store in sight, our salvation came in the form of Dawn Dish Soap. Yes, you heard it right. We each took turns showering in Dawn, achieving levels of cleanliness previously unknown to mankind. As for our hair? Let's just say it might forever harbor dreams of greasy dishes.
The suspense of waiting for symptoms was akin to watching paint dry, if the paint was potentially toxic. Miraculously, apart from sporting lobster-chic complexions for a day, we emerged relatively unscathed, sparing ourselves the ordeal of explaining to puzzled coworkers why it looked like we lost a wrestling match with Mother Nature.