St. Martin and the BVI's

Much has happened since my last post. Emily and I have been home in New England since May 25th.  Sorry about the lapse; eventually, experiencing the days sapped my energy to write retrospectives. Here are a few quick posts to catch up on the plot before the next book begins... tomorrow!

On March 10th, we motor-sailed in a light breeze from Nevis to St. Martin, an easy 62 nm route. The sudden contrast from the large seas and high wind of the past weeks made us appreciate this sleepy sultry weather. We hid under the blessed bimini to avoid the intense sun from a blue sky. 

Sunrise Departure from Nevis

 

We skirted the west coast of St. Kitts, passed St. Eustatius, then crossed to the Pelican Bay anchorage at St. Martin. We waited there an hour or so for the evening opening of the Dutch bridge entrance to Simpson Bay. The several megayachts (100-200+ ft.) anchored in Pelican Bay were quite a spectacle –their owner’s intent, I’m sure. When the bridge went up, true to tradition, crazy cruisers and megayachts drove like bumper car drivers to get through, cutting in ahead of the next guy. There was little clearance to the sides of some of the massive yachts. Immediately adjacent to the bridge, the deck of the Simpson Bay “Yacht Club” was, as usual, packed with drinking spectators, cheering at the parade passing in single file.

Pete earned the Trickiest Docking Award for the trip when he maneuvered Heron between an anchor chain and a protruding bow into a tight channel. He then turned and backed her into a slip that had barely enough room for our fenders. A marina push boat stood ready but only needed to quip, "Nice job." When we finished hyperventilating, we hooked up the shore power and turned on the air conditioning. Ahhh. I was hugely relieved and pretty damn proud of us for having arrived back to civilization, on schedule for our biggest crew change. The weather and logistics had been tricky for weeks, but here we were. The rest is cake. It was also great to rejoin Freestyle, located on the opposite side of the dock. (I could see when the fresh fish was on their grill.) We had last been with them 2.5 weeks ago in Bequia, and were psyched to be sailing together with Don, Pat and their guests for the remaining two weeks.


Heron Happily Squeezed into Simpson Bay Marina

Over the next few days, my sister Marie, her friend Dave and my nephew Adam arrived.  Then Peter, Jim and Sharon flew home. The downside of this was my occasional sigh from logistical overload, from feeling like a cruise director. But the upside, as for many Heron cruises, was the unequalled pleasure of combining one part interesting people with two parts water and three parts serendipity --a largely uncontrolled social and physical concoction that takes all of us out of our Idaho. (This is one of my dad's legacies to his kids.) Jim and Sharon (neither of whom I had ever sailed with) had been full-on participants for the past two weeks. We hiked up rocky streams through virgin forests. We talked away nighttime hours while eating delicious homemade callaloo soup in Heron’s cabin with our island guide and cook. Like family, we all agreed with Sharon’s comment (albeit influenced by wine in Freestyle’s palatial cockpit), that these were two of the best weeks of our lives. It was especially hard for us to say goodbye to Pete –a great friend and a supreme seaman. Pete, Emily and I had shared many amazing experiences over the past five weeks and we had been working toward this trip for years. True to his rule to “always leave things better than how you found them”, Pete’s last act before heading to the airport was to remove the leaking diaphragm pump from the aft head pump-out system –a nasty stinky job that he jumped on.   That's classic “already took care of that” Pete.

Marie, Dave, Adam, Emily and I enjoyed St. Martin and the Simpson Bay Marina for a few days. We truly missed the natural beauty and culture of the rustic islands –especially Dominica and Grenada, both fantastic and transformative places. But we forced ourselves to make the best of the present situation by eating unbelievable French pastries and coffee for every breakfast. We drowned our sorrows over hit-the-spot Mexican dinners with a rum punch or two. We swam at a postcard-perfect beach and explored an abandoned resort that looks like the set of an Indiana Jones movie and is only reachable by dinghy. (We later learned that the islanders believe it to be haunted.) We explored colorful Marigot and dined by the bay. Of the larger towns that we visited throughout the islands, IMHO the French ones were the most charming, authentic, open, funky, clean, integrated and alive. Marigot was right up there. Although the marina is in the Dutch side of St. Martin in a retail strip overloaded with Americans, cars, taxis, airport noise, restaurants, seedy joints and litter, at this point in our trip it felt nice to “look on” a bit of New Jersey. (I know, an unfair iconic reference, but you get my point.) We almost went into the Burger King. The marina and its community of cruisers is a great nest, tucked inside Simpson Bay. We felt why many boats arrive in November and do not touch the dock lines until May. But our plan kept us moving.

 

R&R For Crews of Freestyle and Heron

 

My Fishin' Buddy Dave and His Gal (my sister) Marie



Historic and Beautiful Dorade Graces the Docks at Simpson Bay Marina

On March 15th, we sailed 92 nm from St. Martin to Peter Island in the British Virgin Islands --our last ocean passage of the cruise. The notorious reputation of this Anegada Passage is probably given by smaller-boat cruisers waiting in the BVI’s for a weather window to beat upwind across this often rough water. Because we followed the counter-clockwise loop direction around the eastern Caribbean, we experienced deep reaching with a following sea –and the weather was nearly perfect. Good thing too, since I was the only experienced sailor on Heron (ok, except now for Emily), and Don was the only one aboard Freestyle. Side-by-side like two puppies from the same strange litter, Freestyle and Heron ran downwind from sun up to sun down, dropping the hook in lovely Peter Island as the stars came out. We had hoped to spend a night on a mooring in Manchioneel Bay on Cooper Island, but as we passed by, it was filled up with charter boats. Welcome to the BVI’s my friend.

An event on that passage that I will never forget is THE FISH. Dave, my sister’s friend, is a fish hunter --not just a guy who drags a line once in a long while (like me). Dave came aboard in St. Martin bearing gifts of rod, reel, line, lures, tools, etc. etc. (Maybe he was worried that simply sailing would be too boring.) He and Marie travel from Alaska to the Canadian Maritimes to Florida to hunt fish like Ahab hunted his whale. Now he’s aboard Heron, and I’m thinking Cody on Freestyle has got to be worried. Don’s trophy fish from the trip down from Norfolk is still being consumed now, four months later, but my fish envy is still consuming me. Dave is my hired gun to finish this and now is my chance. (Insert chest butts and grunts here.)  Three minutes after the lure hit the water, THE FISH was on. Twenty minutes later, with as much drag on as we thought the line could take, IT was still taking line. My (like totally ripped dude) upper body was spent. Dave took over and showed me how it was supposed to be done. His peg leg was carving a hole in my deck as he worked the rod. Suddenly it was gone. The knot on the lure had slipped. I have to assume that IT was way bigger than Don’s trophy... but we never got even a glimpse of THE FISH. We’ve re-stocked with lures and back on the hunt. Dave’s mania has spread.

When the sun came up, I recognized the unmistakable and gorgeous lines of Marion sailboat “Volunteer”, barely a stones throw from our quarter. Sure enough, Norm and Maryellen S. were aboard and had recognized us when we arrived. Here were Volunteer, Freestyle and Heron, 1,420 nm as the frigate bird flies from our summer moorings, barely a stones throw away from each other in Marion Harbor. It’s a small world!  It was amazing to hear that they had been together on the boat since New Year’s day. Now THAT’s a rare relationship! Crossing tracks with Volunteer, closing in on our St. John mooring, having family aboard and having my son Ben and his friend Nina arriving the next day, we felt the same contentment we feel when we round West Island and head for the barn.