St. Martin (Part 2)

After spending 2 weeks in St Martin, we are finally underway to Guadeloupe.  After Frank recovered from his back injury, we decided that we needed to spend some time on the island and explore it a bit since this, for some reason, this was an island that Frank had on his priority list   We spent the first couple days of his recovery dingying around and checking out the dutch side as well as Maho Bay, a bay renown for the airplanes that land and take off directly over the beach.  After a slightly rough dinghy ride out through the windward side, we dropped anchor directly off the beach and watched as plane after plane landed so close that it felt like you could reach up and touch the belly of each Boeing. It was pretty entertaining watching the tourists that were standing too close to the fenced in airstrip go flying, losing their hats and random articles of clothing, as a plane took off.  This area is marked with signs warning you in both French and English and funny graphics against standing too close as the jet blast (from when the plane revs up to take off) was pretty strong, but people wherever they may be from, are often too curious for their own good.  

Maho Bay

On a last minute whim, after heeding some advice from cruising buddies on La Vidorra, that  we randomly ran into (we had met and last seen them back in the Turks & Caicos), we had decided to make a day stop at Saba before moving on to St Kitts, as he had said that this little island was an absolute must see.  Going out in projected 1 meter seas and 10 kt winds, we discovered underway that the forecast was not as predicted at all with the waves building up to 6-8 feet and winds picking up to 25 knots.  This would've been ok with us if we had a protected anchorage in Saba to hole up in for the next couple of days as the predicted forecast for that week called for 25-30 kts, but knowing that Saba did not have any such thing and that essentially we'd just be anchoring up on the side of the island, we decided it was a bad idea to continue on. We made the decision to turn around because we had not allotted for enough daylight hours to skip on to St Kitts, and that day was really the only window in the foreseeable forecast to make way.  Stupid, stupid.  We realized it was really our own fault as we foolishly ignored our guts that morning when we were preparing the boat to leave.  One thing after another kept going wrong, between me injuring my finger while opening a cabinet and Frank noticing that the base of our dinghy davit was coming loose from a stripped screw, we realized that should've just stay put.  (Note: we later discover that the davit dilemma to be a manufacturer's flaw as they didn't design it so that it could be through bolted and instead took a shortcut and used machine screws screwed only into the wooden cap rail instead of our fiberglass decks….completely faulty for this application.)   I often notice that we get into trouble when we ignore our instincts.  For one reason or another, something always goes wrong when we ignore the signs that Poseidon subtly and tactfully doles out to us.   That morning neither Frank nor I had mentioned to the other how we were feeling about the trip, which was apprehensive and anxious, because we just wanted to make way and move on.  Though we have faced rougher weather, our hearts kept telling us that something was wrong and so midway to Saba, while shit was flying all over the boat, we quickly decided to just call it and turn Moitessier around. 

I'm not sure if there is a scientific explanation for this phenomenon, where your bestial instincts always turn out to be right, but Frank and I have learned through the years that it's best to listen to them.  Early on, even before we bought Moitessier, Frank and I had made a pact that if ever one of us gets "bad feeling" about something, that we renege on the projected plan, no questions asked.  This has gotten us out of trouble many a time, when for example, in the Bahamas after being stuck in Staniel Cay for weeks, we were supposed to leave with a steady weather window, and at the very last minute, one of us has had a bad feeling and ditched the plan (even though, at the time we were buddy boating with Sailboat Furminger.)  We come to find out later (after they had left bc their friend had to catch a flight home) that the weather picked up quite a bit and the seas had gotten so bad that all the crew members were hurling all over the place, on top of blowing out their headsail, thereby making it so that they could only make way at 3 knots and forcing them to enter the Elizabeth Channel well into the night, with no way of visually navigating.    This pact even applies to when we go spearfishing and one of us has a feeling that we need to get out of the water, and shortly after hoisting ourselves into the dinghy will we often see an aggressive looking shark lurking around the corner.  Though we've never had any iife saving close calls that we know of, these examples have taught us that there doesn't always need to be a logical explanation for why things happen the way they do.  After all, we are doing this for our enjoyment, and at the very least, it has saved us from a fair amount of discomfort and possible repairs.  

And so, after deciding that we were gonna be stuck for a week because we lost our weather window, we decided to make the most of it and rent a car for 2 days to do some major car hiking.  We found a place called Discount Car Rental, a small mom-and-pop rental place that had the nicest French couple,  that picked us up directly from the dinghy dock.  At a nominal price of $30/day (with a 2-day minimum), we were able see the entire island, as well as run some much needed errands.  St Martin/Sint Maarten proved to be a charming island, with an interesting and diverse culture, not fully tainted by western society.  Locals are incredibly friendly, and seem welcoming of us, and though you could clearly see its French and Dutch influences, with many things seeming to be subsidized by each country (at least from what we saw on the French side), there still seems to be a strong West Indies island culture intact.   This was an amazing juxtaposition as it feels like someone uprooted a European city and simply dropped it onto this mountainous tropical island, much like one of those arcade games where the giant claw reaches down and plucks your stuffed animal of choice before releasing it down the chute.  With its colorful little buildings dotting the streets so reminiscient of old Europe staged on a backdrop of turquoise waters, coconut palms, and oversized iguanas, you couldn't help but to admire the unique sensibility developed here.   On one corner, you could have a Parisian style bakery scenting the air with fresh baked baguettes still warm from the oven and buttery croissants oozing melted chocolate, whilst simultaneously only a skip away, you could have a hole in wall little shack offering Caribbean staples like deep fried Johnny cakes stuffed with flaky salt fish, homemade hot sauce that could eradicate your taste buds, and rich oxtail stew with chunky potatoes and soft, fluffy dumplings. All in all, with that being said, there are far worse places to be "stuck in"…I guess Saba will just have to wait.  

Dinghy riding around 

I have been diving with this fish for so long and had
no idea it was edible….yummy

The quaint town of Marigot...

Car hikes...

Dispelling the Myths of Luperon….

After a beautiful night sail with 15 kts on a broad reach from Big Sand Cay (south of Grand turk), the winds died down at daybreak, just as the mountains of the Dominican Republic arose from the sea.  It was an incredibly dramatic landfall, and a sight for sore eyes after spending so many months on the flatter islands of the Bahamas and Turks.  We could smell the fertile soil of the island long before we could see it, and the sight of mountains amidst the vast ocean was something I've always dreamed of seeing in real life.  What explorers must've felt like after months at sea, I cannot imagine…

Upon entering the harbor, we were greeted by a local named Papo in his penga and guided through the "channel."  Apparently 2/3rds of first time visitors will run aground if they are not guided in.  The channel markers are NOT in their correct places and both sets of our charts are lacking any sort of information regarding depths in the harbor itself.  There are a few shoals and low areas to watch out for.  Initially we had planned to anchor, but after realizing how crowded the anchorage was and not really knowing the depths, we opted to take a mooring ball from Papo for $2 a day.  I'm glad we did as we have several boaters drag since (including our buddy boat Sailboat Furminger). Papo, as it turns out, is the local go-to guy for any of your needs, from propane, to fuel, laundry, and water all delivered to your boat at a very reasonable price.  He even helped us rent motorcycles for $10/day.  

Ok, so let's discuss the topic of Luperon as a cruisers' stop.   We have read and heard many horror stories regarding Luperon.  From a filthy harbor, to the rampant theft and crime, corruption amongst government officials, lack of services, and nothing to do… we were a bit apprehensive to say the least.  I'd just like to clear the air and dispel some of the horribly inaccurate rumors.  First, yes, it is a filthy harbor, you are not going to be able to swim off your boat nor use your water makers.  Yes, there is some corruption amongst government officials, but let's be realistic, we are dealing with a third world country here and the money we are talking about is quite nominal (I suspect we overpaid "official fees" about $30.  There was no greasing of palms or requests for tips, but they certainly were creative with the "fees").  All said and done, the total price is still half the price of clearing into the Bahamas or the Turks.   But with that being said, I would never EVER dissuade someone from coming here.  This place is a diamond in the rough and from what we've heard from local Ex-Pats, the closest you will find to what the rest of the Caribbean was like 30 years ago.  The anchorage itself is incredibly sheltered, but it's hard to get enough scope out for proper holding (the bottom is a soft jelly-like mud, and bruce as well as new generation anchors supposedly offer the best holding).  Even as I write this, it is blowing a steady 20 knots and the boat is not is rocking.  

Luperon has been hands down, by far, our favorite stop in terms of beauty and culture.  For the first time since we've started back in March, we feel like we are finally cruising.  It epitomizes what we had first imagined cruising the Caribbean would be like before we had set out.  It's a small, little fishing village off the beaten track, far enough from the touristy areas of which the Dominican Republic has many of to retain a lot of its true culture.  Goats, cows, and chickens roam free among the streets along with packs of stray dogs.  Fruit grows everywhere, from mangos, to papayas, to guavas, and you can smell the lush trees everywhere you go.  The people here, though extremely poor, are exceptionally friendly offering warm smiles and greetings.  Yes, there is petty crime here as with anywhere in the world, and you should take precautions and stay situationally aware to minimize your risks.  But really I don't feel threatened here.  The people are always trying to engage you in conversation, and we've even been invited to someone's home for lunch.  We've roamed the streets at night, snapping photos of the locals just hanging out outdoors, and socializing with one another.  We've sampled some of the local street fare, from tiny shacks to gringo owned restaurants and not once have we felt unwelcome.  Yes, we felt out of place at times, but that is simply a part of traveling.  So far, we've been here for over a week, and we are loving every single moment… Stay tuned for more about our adventures in Luperon...

Papo guiding us in...

Our anchorage...

Guanabana growing on the side of the road.

Long Island to Mayaguana

After what seemed like an eternity in Georgetown, we finally got a good enough window to leave.  The one good thing about being stuck there was that we were able to meet yet ANOTHER younger couple cruising.  Lee and Rachel Cumberland on Satori.  Our time together was brief, and I wish that we were going in the same direction, as we did have a bunch of fun with you guys.  It was so refreshing to find another couple like us, in a similar situation, going through a long refit of the same style of boat as ours (he has a Tayana 37).  Lee's pragmatic sensibility, affinity for traditional style looking boats, as well as general handiness, reminded me much of a younger Frank.  The same but completely different.  Isn't it great when you meet an alternate version of someone you know?  Check out their blog.

So after leaving Georgetown, we spent a couple of days in Calabash Bay on the NW tip of Long Island as we couldn't resist the spearfishing there.  After the last time, we remembered that this island offered some great reefs abundant with numerous culinary delights.  In one day, we speared 12 lobsters, 2 crabs, a big ass snapper, a jack.  I only speared 3 of the lobsters, so it was pretty much all Frank, but still it allowed us to feast with our friends Lindsay and Nico on Sailboat Furminger.  The next couple days were not as insane in terms of the haul, but were still pretty bountiful. We had to stock up our protein as our next couple spots offer scant protection and will serve only as rest stops for a couple of hours of sleep between passages.  I may officially be sick of lobster…

Hand puppet show…..

So here we are now anchored in front of Mayaguana Island. After a stop in Clarencetown, on the southeast side of Long Island, we had a short layover at Landrail Point on Crooked Island, both of which took a pretty hard hit during the recent cat 4 Hurricane Joaquin back in October (the one that took the cargo ship, El Faro, with 33 crew onboard).  The hurricane came within 15 miles of Crooked Island with winds up to 155 mph, and it submerged more than 70% of the island with flood waters up to 5 feet deep.   The islands from what we saw looked absolutely devastated.  Roofs were ripped up, homes were sunken in sand, it felt eerily like a war zone.  Mother Nature strikes again!  It is so sad to think of all the people who lost their homes and their lives. Makes you grateful for what you have, and a great reminder that life is short.  

Long Time No See...

West End

Well, we're back in the Bahamas.  After 4 days of motoring down the Intercoastal, stopping at the same anchorages we stopped at the last time, and hopping across from Fort Pierce, we are finally back in the Bahamas.  If you remember (not that we're so important that you WOULD remember…), but on our last trip, we hopped over from Miami to Bimini.  Well, this time, we came to the West End.  

After waiting too long for a weather window to open up so that we could sail on the outside, we decided to just grin and bear it and take the Intercoastal as there was a small craft warning off shore now for quite some time.   We saw a small weather window potentially opening up for a Gulf Stream crossing when we left St Augustine, and hurried down to try to be at the right place at the right time if it did open.  Believe it or not, the weather forecast was ACTUALLY accurate 5 days out.  (Oh man, praise the lord, Jesus Christ!)  When we got to Fort Pierce, we realized that our window for the crossing would be opening shortly, and in order to intercept it, we had to leave at sunset, sail 8 hours down the coast, and head east for 12 hours before landing in West End. The trip itself was uneventful, though pretty bumpy with the wind on our nose and some choppy seas.  Comparatively, I would say the first time crossing from Miami was an easier trip because of the angle that you have on the stream.  With that route, you start slightly south of your destination which allows you to use the stream more to your advantage and fight it a lot less.  

Being back on the ocean again was intimidating to say the least.  It has only been 3 months since the Ocean and Moitessier rendezvoused, and the experience was no less exciting than the first time.  Like 2 new lovers meeting for a date, butterflies filled my stomach with nervousness, excitement, and warmth.  I was overwhelmed with emotion when going out of the inlet, and to be honest, I couldn't really pinpoint why.  Perhaps it's because it would be a while again until I am back in the comforts of the things and the people that I know and love.  Or maybe it was the unknown of what lies ahead.  Or maybe it was realizing that I would no longer be getting fresh water showers on a regular basis that had me sobbing like it was my last day on earth.     Or perhaps it's knowing that I'd once again be alone with my thoughts and self reliant. Back to a world, where you're constantly humbled by your surroundings, and that though you may be self sufficient, try as you might, YOU are no longer the one that's in control.  But really, who among us are actually in control.  Whether living on a boat where Mother Nature pulls the strings, or living on land, where the illusion of control and safety allows you to live complacently and let life pass you by.  One way or another, I'm not quite sure which one is the key to my happiness, and often I find myself torn between the two. Sometimes, I want both and neither all at the same time.  And ultimately that makes me a crazy person, which makes sense cause you have be crazy to live on a boat, right?   

Sunrise on the ICW

Double Rainbow at Fort Pierce....good omen or what?

Bienvenidos a Miami

I’ll spare the minute details of our trip from Titusville to Melbourne to Fort Pierce. It was like every other leg of the ICW journey, full days of just watching boat traffic and channel markers.  Entering Fort Pierce was pretty straightforward.  We had decided in Melbourne that we would leave for Fort Pierce super early in the morning so as not to have to fight for a spot in one of the few anchorages.  Frank was a little wary of that being the only anchorage around as he had issues finding a spot to anchor in the last time he was there as crew on another boat.  Getting there in the early afternoon, we were able to find a spot almost immediately.  We spent 2 nights during which time, we discussed some route planning options to Miami.  The options were to take the ICW for longer, or hop outside and head straight to Miami.  We ended up going with the latter as trips down the ICW have not only been boring, but also tiresome as well. 

So with that decision being made, we planned to leave sometime in the afternoon from Fort Pierce, and at the average rate of 5-6kts, we’d figure we’d be in within 22 hours, perfect timing to getting into Miami as it would get us there either late morning or early afternoon, with some daylight to spare.   We were both a little apprehensive about taking a night passage as neither on of us has had to do it with just the two of us.  We’ve both crewed on other boats where it wasn’t just Frank and I, and the idea of it just being him and I on watch for the first time was a little unnerving.  There is a first time for everything right?  

Going out the inlet was a complete shit show.  Since it was Sunday afternoon, everyone and their mothers were out.  There were john boats, powerboats, jetskis, kayaks, dinghies, SUPs and more john boats everywhere you turned.  And of course they were all coming in as we were going out.  That coupled with the inlet being extremely choppy due to the strong current and the ongoing removal of a wrecked tug, I was starting to feel that it was an omen for our passage to come. Luckily, it was not. 

It was originally predicted that we would be taking the passage  with 15-20kts of wind on our nose almost the entire. night  Not the most ideal conditions, but doable.  Luckily Poseidon was on our side and put us at 10-15kts at our nose for only the first half of the trip.  As this was the case, the first few hours were spent motoring down the coast.  As the night wore on, the wind died down to 10 kts  and changed to a near beam reach, and we were even able to get some sail up for most of the second half.  Frank and I took hour long watches as the other slept in the cockpit. For those of you who don’t know what being on “watch” entails, let me just side track a bit.  No, a watch does not mean you are looking out for pirates, preparing to shoot them with a spear gun and stealing their booty. Nor does it mean watching for whales or dolphins (of course if either one was spotted, that would be a treat).  The person on watch basically looks for other ships around and makes sure that we are not on a collision course with anyone (at one point our AIS reregistered 144 different boats!). That person makes sure that the sails are trimmed properly, and adjusts them according to the direction of the wind.  He/she also has to make sure, even with an auto-pilot, that you are not veering off course.  During this time, Frank decided to name our auto-pilot, Poppy, as that is what he called his grandfather.  We’d like to think that Poppy was there in spirit, steering the boat, and protecting us from come-what-may.  I must say Poppy did an amazing job and I’m so glad we had him there helping out. 

Nighttime Aboard

It was an easy trip, with small seas, and thousands of phosphorescence twinkling in our wake.  We got to Miami at around 1pm, and upon arrival, we realized that we’d have to traverse through some crazy traffic, with container ships, cruise ships, powerboats, and other extremely large intimidating vessels in the midst of it.   I offered to get us to our anchorage as I’m better at dealing with stressful situations like that than Frank is. Our planned stopping point was to be Dinner key. After incessantly calling the Dinner Key Mooring field, they had assured us that anchoring outside their mooring field would be the best thing for us to do as they did not have a mooring open that was large enough to accommodate us, and so we reluctantly followed their directions and dropped the hook.  We were meeting with our buddy boat after all and he was moored in that field, so we wanted to be close by.  The people in charge assured us that where we were never dropped below 7’ and so should be fine for us and our 6.5' draft.  Boy, were they wrong.  As the afternoon wore on with Frank taking a nap, and me anxiously checking if we were dragging, I had started to notice that the depths were slowly creeping into the 6s.  I woke Frank up to see if perhaps we should anchor some place else, but with his lack of sleep, he hadn’t even heard what I was telling him and muttered something about it being ok.  I kept going below to tell him, “hey our depth sounder is starting to read 6.5’…then 6.4’…then uh-oh 6.3’ ...”By the time I had finally gotten Sleeping Beauty out of bed, it was too late.  We were aground.  Dammit, 2 times in a week, shameful! So we waited for tides to change which seemed like hours, and eventually Frank saved the day and got us unstuck.  By this time, it was around 9:30pm; it was dark and very hard to read channel markers to see where else we could anchor.  With Frank at the bow flashlight in hand and me behind the wheel, we were able to get the boat safely through the channel, and find a less protected but deeper area to anchor.  It’s been a steep learning curve, and hopefully the next few posts you get won’t be about us running aground or breaking dinghy davits, and more about free diving, lobster hunting, snorkeling, and conch salad making. Until then, wish us luck on our crossing which we will be undertaking in a week to a week and a half or so from now.  

Heading into Governors Cut Miami

A  Mouse among Giants

Anchored out at the entrance to Dinner Key

Running aground…Daytona to Titusville

The ICW is not exactly the most exciting place to be traveling through.  Hours are spent spotting markers, looking for dolphins, Instagramming, and thinking about what to make for dinner (which by the way is my new favorite activity).  Recently I’ve started to play a game, much like the TV show Chopped, where I try to use whatever is in my pantry to make our meals.  It takes up about 90% of my thoughts, and the more I’m able to salvage, the more satisfied I feel that we saved a little money by not wasting food.  Leftovers are re-purposed and once in a while, reluctantly, I use one of our cans as a supplement to our meal.  This is a feat I’d like to overcome as it means, more money in our pockets, and more money equals more time cruising.  Plus, it’s challenging and I’d like to think it makes me a better cook.

The 2^nd day on the ICW was filled with many “firsts”, technically, seconds.  On our way from Daytona to Titusville, Frank managed to run us aground.  It happened so quickly as we were chugging our way merrily through the calm waters.  Frank had just finished saying, “Is that red channel marker for us? Or is it for the other channel?  Could you please look on the map and double check?”  Just as I was telling him that yes, in fact, that was our channel marker, did we feel a soft thud.  He was clearly outside the channel.  Just then the depth sounder went blank and we were at a stand still.  Of course, Frank freaked out on me and said that I must’ve misread the charts.  Seeing that he was in panic mode, I took over the wheel, and started to push forward on the throttle, and turn the wheel back and forth.  It was as if time stopped, and just like in the movies, I could hear the sound of my heart beating as I put the boat in reverse full throttle and forward in full throttle as I started to worm my way off the sandbar.  In the background, I could hear in a muffled voice, Frank telling me that I was digging myself in a deeper hole.  But for some reason, stupid as it may sound, I became one with the boat.  I could feel every movement she was making, and I could tell that what I was doing was actually freeing us from the grounding.  Just as I was putting it back into reverse, a powerboat sped by and created a wake for us, which finally helped free us.  As soon as I felt we were lifted, I quickly cut the wheel to starboard, and continued on.  Seconds later, I looked at Frank and we both started laughing. In fact, maniacally laughing.  We couldn’t believe that we were able to get out of that.  Frank humbly apologized for blaming me for misreading the charts, and even admitted that I was perhaps a better close quarter helmsman than him.  I swear there are few times in my life where I wished that I was a robot and could just hit record.  This was definitely one of those moments.  I’d like to imagine that whenever he would question what I was doing that I could simply hit the repeat button and have him hear “you’re a better helmsman…you’re a better helmsman….you’re a better helmsman,” over and over again followed by my smug laughter.  It’s the little things in life….

Aside from that, the day was pretty boring.  Just a series of hailing bridges and motoring on.  We got to Titusville in the late afternoon and were able find a deserted anchorage with depths that could accommodate our deep draft.  We spent the next 2 nights there and even walked into town to re-provision our fresh produce.  Next stop…Melbourne. 

Titusville 

A view from under the bridge

Moitessier anchored out.  Isn't she lovely?