It was a typical July morning in the Exuma Islands.

The temperature had already reached a balmy 92 degrees, with the air and wind taking turns showing me the true value of air conditioning. 

The humid air wrapped me in a blanket of salt water.  A hot blast of  a 15-knot wind dried me off, pasting my skin with another sheet of salt, leaving me crunchy, brown and feeling vaguely like a moist pretzel.  I breathed another wet lung full of air and  wondered how the Bahamians dealt with this constant battle, or whether they notice it at all.  Am I truly just a comfort addict?

No earth shattering answer popped into my head, and I decided this if this were true it was perfectly understandable, acceptable, and potentially could be eased with a fruity rum drink.   Having dispatched this mental procrastination I looked down at my feet.

The more immediate problem stared at me with two very intense green eyes.  No Percy, I’m sorry, we cannot go home yet.

And also, how do you get two pastel boxes, an easel, and assorted supplies to a remote island in the middle of the ocean? Why in fact would you want to?  Not all questions have answers, and some have answers I don't feel like thinking that hard about, so I graciously laid this problem at the feet of Captain George.

Originally we thought the dingy ( T/T Ebb-Tide) might work. After a short ride to take Percy out to a beach, we decided water was indeed an issue, and opted for a dryer vessel.   While Percy appreciated the ride, he was not over-thrilled about being a test case for wet boats, and he put himself back to bed in the big boat.   Meanwhile, we loaded up the Medium size boat with art paraphernalia (and fruity rum drinks) heading to the Exuma Ocean Park as our intended destination.  Max, our trusty Bahamian guy, went along for the ride and to baby-sit the boat.   Finding a suitable beach, George decided to do the heavy lifting, and after delivering my fragile pastels in dry and perfect condition to the beach, he snorkeled around patiently awaiting the Monet to appear on my easel.       I paint mountains.  I paint land.  I don't paint water.  Whose idea was this?   The sun was frying me like a Bahamian Conch and the wind kept trying to blow over my little easel.  Beach birds dive bombed me with cheerful cries as hermit crabs glared from under their little shell helmets. How can I possibly paint here?    I considered cutting off my ear and flinging it in the water crying "I am misunderstood and under appreciated" but this option had it's obvious drawbacks.  What would I do with all my other earrings after I only needed one?  Then there was Captain George's potential reaction to me saying "Nah, just pack it up and lets go home."   It is true ... artists do suffer.  So I went for Option #2 . Just Paint! After all, I might end up with a nice field study. Which as it turns out, is exactly what happened!     Hopefully the paintings will progress as I begin to understand water. Next trip I will focus on how to paint the sun shining on the sand underneath the aqua waves.