A Sail of Two Idiots (30 page)

First we had to get from Culebra to St. Thomas. This would be an uneventful four-hour sail. Upon arriving—more culture shock! Puerto Rico may have been crowded, but those were simply locals going about their business. St. Thomas (well, the capital—Charlotte Amalie) was full of cruise-ship passengers and dozens of entrepreneurs yelling at them. Did I say dozens? I mean hundreds, thousands! (Well, it seemed that way.) Holy cow! We were on overload within an hour.

Run for our ship! Well, not without stopping for food first. The one thing we had to do was get a pizza from Pizza Hut. We had not had one of those in over a year. We needed some comfort food. It was delicious.

The next day the harbor was free of cruise ships, so we took advantage of the emptiness and quiet and wandered around. St. Thomas has its charms, but prior research had already taken the island off our “move to” list, so we didn't spend much time becoming one with the place. See “Appendix: How We Chose Our Island” for details.

You'll remember that we had leaky hatches. St. Thomas was the first of our stops with a Lewmar distributor. Visiting this business was our number one priority. First up, we took off two of the offending hatches. This should have been easy and was, until one of the hinge springs, well, sprung—into the water no less—and, no, the window guy wouldn't have one.

Turns out this window guy used another window guy in another bay down the coast. Well, why not just cut out the middle man and go to him? So up came the anchor and off we went the 8 miles east to Benner Bay (no sailing; we were behind a big island again). We got there only to learn that the owner was on vacation. So we taped up the hatchless holes and frequented the Budget Marine nearby—often—while we waited for his return.

Budget Marine became our heroes when they had an anchor windlass switch (we had already used our spare) and a salon light—two items that had been surprisingly hard to find. More things crossed off our to-do list. Yahoo!

We thought we'd do a simple swap of the salon light fixture, only to find frayed wires and some burn marks upon removal of the old one. Good thing everything was on 12 volts (not enough juice to burn anything). Redo wiring; attach new light. There is no such thing as a five-minute job on a boat.

About 20 boats were sitting in Benner Bay behind a reef and looked as though they'd been there awhile. One “squatter” dinghied over and said they all lived there long-term and were a close community. His wife was a professor onshore; while she worked, he Mr. Mom'd it with their two young kids on the boat. They'd been doing that for eight years. Dinghy in, dinghy out, dinghy in, dinghy out—in all conditions, loading and unloading, several times a day … for years. While he clearly liked the arrangement, it occurred to us that we were not destined to be liveaboards forever. Good to know.

When the glass guy finally returned, we discovered that he didn't have the right tint or the right thickness and wouldn't be able to obtain what we needed—ever. He recommended we go back to the other guy, who could order the entire hatches for “only” $450. Each! Ouch! We needed at least two, maybe three. B.O.A.T. So up came the anchor, we motored back to window guy number one, handed over our credit card, and ordered two hatches. That would be another week or two of waiting, which would put the delivery after Thanksgiving. Alrighty then …

We were able to finagle a spring from our Benner Bay contact so we could at least put our leaky hatches back on. We decided to explore while we waited for the windows and for the family to fly in. First we headed for Christmas Cove, Great St. James Island, about 9 miles away just off the southeast corner of St. Thomas, which
won hands down for fish seen during snorkeling. Turtles, squid, stingrays, huge schools of fish. The water was Gatorade green or blue at times. It was fantastic and we highly recommend a stop there.

Next stop—northeast to St. John, less than a 4-mile trip. I knew we couldn't afford to live on that island, so I had already crossed it off “the” list. As we sailed past St. John's west coast, we could see that beaches were no longer than the length of our boat and were full of people. Bleh.

If that wasn't disappointing enough, most anchorages required us to pick up overnight moorings that were way too expensive for us (although day moorings were free). We did snorkel the underwater trail in Trunk Bay, which, other than for kitsch, was unimpressive.

Many boaters consider St. John their favorite island for many things, particularly snorkeling, so we probably should have spent more time there. We had clearly missed something.

We overnighted on a sandbar off St. John's northwest coast, around Cinnamon Bay, because it was free. We enjoyed having the lights of St. Thomas twinkling in one direction and the sounds of the forest in the dark recesses of St. John's in another. When ferry wakes woke us up in the morning, off we sailed to Tortola.

The sail from St. John's northeast through The Narrows to Tortola was a quickie (4 miles in 45 minutes). Tortola's safest harbor is Soper's Hole, on the southwestern end of the island, home to a ferry terminal and charter operators. The water is so deep here that you have to pick up a mooring ($25 at that time). Nooooo!!! We found a shallow(er) spot near the harbor entrance where we could drop two anchors, using the forked moor option that we had learned in the Bahamas, near a tiny rock beach and hoped for the best. Other than being in the way of short-cutting ferries, it was good enough (and it was free).

Michael free-dove on the anchor, which was about 30 feet deep, and came back up with a surprise. The whites of both his eyes were bright crimson. The blood vessels in his eyes had burst! Note to self, don't dive down that far. After a good kick, the anchor was set though!

After two days of rain and ferry wakes that sent our cooking pots flying (kind of like on a monohull—hee hee; I couldn't resist), we decided to take advantage of the nice weather and steady abeam winds by heading to Sandy Cay, a 5-mile jaunt to the north. Wahoo! We were sailing! Wait a minute—we're here already. Drop the sails!

We were at our destination within 30 minutes. That's exactly what I didn't like about the Virgins—the islands were
too
close together. Of course, if you're pressed for time (on vacation), islands in close proximity are a plus, so it all depends on your situation.

We did a little snorkeling and had a quick walk around the spit (wear shoes!) and then decided to motor to Diamond Cay, Little Jost Van Dyke, just minutes away (1½ miles to the west). There was room to anchor near the moorings. The harbor was beautiful and there was one quiet bar onshore that played soft reggae music. The island also had a natural phenomenon called the “Bubblies” just a short walk away (and it was surprisingly uncrowded). This feature was sort of like a canyon separating us from the ocean. We stood or swam in a large pool facing huge rock walls with the ocean on the other side. Waves that looked as though they would come crashing down on us would break up as they crossed the rocks and serenely surround us by what looked and felt like champagne bubbles. We would come back to this anchorage time and time again.

The next day we decided to sail again and head for Guana Island, a spot we chose simply because it was farther away (10 miles east). We practiced tacking, looking embarrassingly rusty but having a good time, until.…

We were just getting ready to tack, meaning we were both holding the lines and I was just getting ready to swing and lock the wheel, when the radar reflector fell from the mast again (yes, we had put it back up), hitting Michael squarely in the forehead. Insert your choice of curse word here. One minute he was standing holding the line on the port side (the opposite side of the boat from where I stood), and the next minute all I could see was the bottom of his shoes sticking out on the side deck.

I scrambled to secure my line and get the boat on a safe course before running over to assess the damage. Michael was still conscious (although dazed) and still holding the line (now
that's
a committed crew member) while blood gushed from his forehead. If you're squeamish, boating might not be for you.

I grabbed his line, tied it off, and told him to sit still and press his hand hard over his wound. I got some bandages, wrapped them tightly around his head, and then turned the boat back south toward Tortola so we could get to a hospital. The reflector walloped him so hard that even after bouncing off him first, it
still
took a small chunk out of our outside table on the second bounce. Ouch! During some coastal motoring we had done days before, we learned about Cane Garden Bay, which had a medical clinic and decent holding (shallow sand, some grass). That 8-mile trip felt a lot longer.

Try to picture this. Michael's eyes were bloody from the broken blood vessels, and his head was wrapped in a bandage that was now soaked with blood. His shirt was a mess too. He looked like a zombie. Aagh! Considering the looks he got from the locals, I think he might have had them pretty convinced.

The clinic was closed and didn't have regular hours, and no one had any idea when it would open again (if ever). A tour bus happened to be going into town close to the hospital, took pity on us, and let us jump on (for $12). It was a pretty drive, and once we arrived, the medical staff got Michael to a doctor immediately. Several stitches later (only $80 for the visit) and a $24 return cab ride and we were back in business. We never did put that blasted radar reflector back up.

Maybe we should stick to motoring. We decided to check out Smuggler's Cove, just a couple of bays (and about 4 miles) south. My aunt and uncle's house overlooked the harbor there and we wanted to keep
Jacumba
within sight while we were stuffing our faces and enjoying time on land. According to our guidebooks, the harbor entry was supposed to be tricky, forcing us between two reefs. Once inside, bad weather could turn the anchorage into a dangerous place full of swells. Most charter companies wouldn't let their charterers go there. Hmm.

We woke up to a rare day of sun and pond-calm seas, which made our reconnaissance easier. The clear, still water made the reef and the path through it so obvious that we decided to head in. It was a piece of cake, and anchoring was a cinch in the white sand. I made sure the track was saved on the chartplotter in case conditions didn't make the path as obvious when we wanted to leave. The crystalline water allowed us to simply look down from above to confirm that the anchor was buried. Perfect.

Right before my family was to arrive, we got a call that our windows were in. Since it was only a couple of hours away, we decided to sail back to St. Thomas and pick them up. We wanted that project over with once and for all.

I hadn't let Michael take the wheel much because earlier attempts hadn't gone all that well. Plus we liked our “spots.” During the day the captain's chair was a great place to sit (the autopilot was doing a fine job), so I happily did so. Michael played with the sails and made snacks. On our few night sails, Michael would take the wheel so I could rest my eyes, but I wasn't gone for long or at least was always nearby (we hadn't had the best night-sail conditions so far). Why not give him a chance to take the reins today and try not to hover? It would be good for both of us. We'd done this 20-mile route before, and a couple of tracks were still on the chartplotter, so all he had to do was put the boat on autopilot, adjusting as necessary, and follow the dots (literally). Aye aye, Captain Mikey!

Things were going splendidly. We were sailing west past St. John's, and I was thoroughly enjoying my book when I decided to take a break and get my bearings.
When I looked around, I thought something looked really off. Should that island in our path be there? A look over Michael's shoulder at the chartplotter confirmed what my eyes were telling me. Well, shiver me timbers! We
were
heading right for an island. But that was the least of our problems because before we got there, we were going to crash into a reef. Aack!

Mutiny! When I politely asked Michael if he was aware of the reef and the island straight ahead, and whether he understood the books, charts, and chartplotter screen that might steer us around them, he looked at me goofily and shrugged. Yep, he understood the charts, could see the problem, and didn't know why he had set us on a path for destruction. Alrighty then, I think I'll take over from here. Not everyone is good at everything. No problem.

We reached St. Thomas without running into anything, excitedly dinghied our window representative to our boat, giddily watched him install our two new hatches, and outwardly cringed when he put a huge scratch in one of them. We quietly took the guy back to shore, he reluctantly ordered another hatch (on the company), and we headed back to Tortola. Par for the course.

All was forgotten when we met up with my family. We ate and talked and drank, often toasting
Jacumba
, just below us in the harbor. Good times.

We spent about two weeks on Tortola. We came down to the boat every day, not only to make sure everything was okay but to check the Internet (there was no signal at the house). The antenna on our boat was powerful enough to pick up a signal from someone onshore without a secure network. We'd walk down, pull our dinghy off a steep, sometimes rocky beach (which changed from day to day), hoped we didn't flip ourselves getting past the breakers, and then checked e-mails and weather as fast as possible before we got seasick from the swells. Then we'd do it all in reverse. We had a couple of close calls in the dinghy, got very wet, and had some green moments, so this task was not our favorite.