It’s a way of life for Bahamians – the beach picnic.
It’s what you do on birthdays and public holidays. Everyone brings something. Someone arrives with a cooler full of ice and drinks. Someone else brings potato salad. You spend the day swimming, fishing, talking, eating and enjoying the cool breeze. Nothing fancy. Just family, friends and time together.
So many visitors come to The Bahamas and say, “I wish I could live like this.”
Lincoln Jones did.
He built a life introducing others to everything that makes these islands special — the sea, the fish, the reefs, the quiet beauty of Abaco and the simple pleasure of sharing a meal cooked over an open fire on a deserted beach.
Few people knew the waters around Green Turtle Cay as well as Lincoln. Raised on the sea, he seemed completely at home there. Fishing wasn’t simply his profession. It was who he was.
He even had his own little corner of paradise.
On the ocean side of the north end of Munjack Cay is a small cove marked with a hand-painted sign that reads “Lincoln Park.” After a morning of fishing, that was where he took his guests.
While they swam or snorkelled in crystal-clear water, Lincoln gathered wood, built a fire, cleaned the day’s catch and prepared a meal they wouldn’t soon forget.
Fresh fish. Fried potatoes. Wet hair. Salt air. Sunshine. It was pure Bahamas.
Long before I knew Lincoln, I knew his name. He and my uncles were friends since childhood. They fished together when my uncles came from Nassau to spend summer holidays.
But it wasn’t until Tom and I spent a day on the water with Lincoln that we really got to know him.
Like so many Bahamians, the first thing he wanted to know was, “Who’s your family?”
When he discovered I was Miss May’s great-granddaughter, that was enough. We were friends.
After that, whenever he’d pass by Fish Hooks, he’d call out, “Hi, darlin’. You alright?” He always had a smile and a hug, and was often teasing someone – that uniquely Bahamian way of showing friendship and affection.
Down at the public dock, he’d be surrounded by younger men while cleaning the day’s catch, swapping stories as gulls circled overhead hoping for scraps. Other times, I’d see him playing dominoes with the men of the town, laughter and good-natured banter carrying across the table.
He was woven into the everyday fabric of Green Turtle Cay.
Visitors knew him as an extraordinary guide. Cay residents knew him as much more.
He served on the local town council. He was an integral part of Green Turtle Cay’s Junkanoo organization. He was an avid Miami Dolphins fan. He was a husband, father, grandfather, neighbour and friend. He became one of the best ambassadors Abaco could ever hope for, introducing generations of visitors to our islands with warmth, humour and quiet pride.
The South Florida Sun Sentinel, in July 1985, described Lincoln as someone who had “fashioned a lifestyle” around fishing, snorkelling and beach picnics, concluding that “a day with Doc Jones is potent therapy.” The article writer joked that if enough world leaders spent a day fishing with Lincoln, the world might be a better place.
It wasn’t far from the truth.
I wonder how many hundreds — maybe thousands — of people returned home with a deeper appreciation for The Bahamas because they spent a day with Lincoln. Judging by the countless social media posts and tributes today calling him a legend, I’d say that number is significant.
Just a few weeks ago, I wrote that perhaps it was a little easier to say goodbye to someone who has lived a good, long life.
Now I’m not sure.
Lincoln lived a full life. He loved his family, his community and the sea. He shared all three generously. He leaves behind a legacy that stretches far beyond Green Turtle Cay – his kindness, humour and love for these islands now live in people scattered all over the world.
Saying goodbye is still heartbreaking. A permanent piece of Green Turtle Cay’s history has been lost.
To Ruth, Maria, Della, Marcus, Theresa, David and the rest of the Jones family, Tom and I send our love and deepest condolences.
There will never be another Lincoln.
He understood that beach picnics aren’t really about the food. They’re about the people gathered around a weathered picnic table, telling stories, laughing and making memories.
When visitors said, “I wish I could live like this,” it was because, for one perfect day, Lincoln had shown them how.
