After an extended visit back north with friends and family, we're back on Live Now. Still berthed in Brunswick, we're refitting for our next cruise. As usual, there's plenty to do. We plan to finish up most of the work within the next week. Then, we're back to Ohio over Christmas.
John (and maybe, Brad) plans another long distance hike: this time the Pacific Crest Trail (PCT). The PCT runs from Mexico to Canada through California, Oregon and Washington. At over 2600 miles with a total rise in elevation of over 50 vertical miles and 500 miles longer than the Appalachian Trail, it presents a different set of challenges: a greater range of temperatures, weather, high sierra snow/ice, desert, elevation and fewer provisioning opportunities. Pat will again provide logistical support, while touring the west coast and visiting. If we go forward on this insanity, we'll begin next April and hope to finish in August.
This will mean a shorter cruising season and we may just head down the coast of Florida to the Keys and the Dry Tortugas after the first, returning to Brunswick in March.
The Storm
I can't say that we weren't warned. About 7:30 pm, Tuesday, June 16, NOAA transmitted an ominous alarm and an unflappable computerized male voice announced that the:
NATIONAL WEATHER SERVICE DOPPLER RADAR INDICATED AN
AREA OF STRONG THUNDERSTORMS...WITH WIND GUSTS OVER 60 KNOTS...MOVING SOUTHEAST AT 20 KNOTS.
STRONG THUNDERSTORMS CAN PRODUCE WATERSPOUTS WITH LITTLE OR NO
ADVANCE WARNING. SEEK SAFETY IMMEDIATELY!
MARINERS CAN EXPECT LOCALLY HIGH WAVES...DANGEROUS LIGHTNING...HAIL AND
TORRENTIAL RAIN. SEEK SAFETY IMMEDIATELY.
FREQUENT TO EXCESSIVE CLOUD TO WATER LIGHTNING IS OCCURRING WITH
THESE STORMS. IF AT SEA...STAY BELOW DECK...AND KEEP AWAY FROM
UNGROUNDED METAL OBJECTS.
Up to that time, the forecast called for nothing more dire than a slight chance of a thunderstorm. We were about 35 nm off the Florida coast, just about even with Jacksonville, heading NW, pretty much in line with the storm. The sky to the northwest looked much as it had for the last several weeks with tall cumulonimbus clouds dotting the horizon. Overhead, the sky was a nice clear blue. There was no wind, no swell. After fueling and taking on water at the Sailfish Marina on Singer Island (Palm Beach) the morning before, we had motored quietly up the coast generally following the rhumb line to St. Simon's Sound.
The passage had been uneventfully interesting.
I had caught another nice fish, an Atlantic mackerel; a pod of bottle-nose dolphin visited for about ½ hour; a US Navy cruiser crossed our bow in the distance; a Navy helicopter circled a couple of times as a 'live ammunition' exercise commenced [fortunately, we were well outside the announced fire zone]. To our great delight, an immature brown booby landed on our boom in the late afternoon. The booby circled the boat several times trying unsuccessfully to land on the bow then had better luck on the mainsail boom. 
I guess you could call him a booby boomer!!! We named him Bobby and he seemed completely at home roosting there within a few feet of the cockpit. He arrived shortly before we received our first weather alert. Jokingly, I told Pat that we were safe from the storm as long as the booby remained with us, a good luck booby.
As it turned out, I was right. Bobby remained with us until about 10:00 that night then flew away just before we got smashed. A fine feathered, fair weather friend Bobby the Booby turned out to be.
With the storm directly in our path and with no way to find a safe harbor in time, we had no alternative but to take evasive action and prepare for the worst. We decided to alter our course to head south southwest toward Jacksonville. The weather forecast indicated more favorable conditions there and we hoped that we could bypass the storm. The only alternatives would have been to continue directly toward the storm or head further out to sea. Our expectation was that the storm would probably catch us but, like the other squalls we had encountered, be short lived. We had weathered the others by battening down and heading into the wind. The fast moving squall would pass by quickly. Had the storm been a large system we would have either run before it out to sea or 'heave to'.
At first it looked like we were going to be okay. As we approached the coast the towering cumulus clouds grew and spread but stayed well to the north. Cloud to cloud lightening played all along horizon. However, the sky above was clear. The sky ahead, clear. As stars dotted an otherwise unblemished evening sky, we began to think we would make it. The lightening became more frequent with occasional cloud to water strikes. First, a pronounced nipple formed then a clearly defined funnel dropped ominously downward from the base of one cumulus monster in what could have been the makings of a waterspout . It never fully formed but it's appearance did nothing to reassure us as the darkness deepened. Still, we were moving rapidly toward what appeared to be safety. NOAA's report on current conditions for Jacksonville indicated no precipitation and calm wind. The same conditions that we were experiencing.
The drama of the clouds and lightening kept us entertained and we “oohed” and “ahhed” as silent fireworks exploded to our north. Tracking the storm on the radar, however, confirmed our sense of dread that the storm was indeed moving closer and closer. We altered course more to the southwest still hopeful that we could circle behind it. Just as I became aware that the bird had flown from its perch, I saw that the sky ahead had closed over and cumulus skyscrapers towered directly in our path. It seemed that the sky went from clear to awesome in an instant. We knew we were in for it.
Minutes later, there was no time to reflect, only react. As the storm hit, I turned the bow toward the wind. Hard over to starboard, I kept turning. The wind gauge jumped to 25, 30, 45....60 knots! I powered up and kept turning as the wind speed climbed to 99.9, the highest reading possible! Pat muttered, "Oh...my...God!", slumped to the cockpit floor, shaking with fear. She was certain that we were goners, that we'd at least get struck by lightening! The wind dropped to 84 knots, then 64, then fluctuated wildly up and down. Remarkably, Live Now heeled over hardly at all. The speed of the storm kept the seas from building. Even though green water buried the bow now and then, we remained upright, the cockpit dry. Pat suddenly realized that Live Now could take it standing up. Still frightened, as any sane person would be, she kept an eye on the radar below and the wind gauge above, advising me as conditions changed. At the helm, I just kept turning! Continuous strobe-like lightening strikes blinded us. Every few seconds, lightening bolts the size of tree trunks hit the water, giving us a brief glimpse of the horizon. I could see two freighters about 5 miles off, our only frame of reference. A deluge thundered on the dodger, making it impossible to hear anything less than a scream. Unable to keep the bow into the wind, even with full throttle, Live Now took wind and wave on the forward starboard quarter.
Nothing seemed real. The nonstop, strobe-like lightening caused temporary flash blindness, leaving momentary shadowy imprints in my eye. Except for the brief 'lightening to water' strikes that light up everything around us, we had no visible reference points outside of the cockpit; no idea where we were or where the other vessels were in relation to us. Collision became my only fear. The radar showed us centered in a large dark spot, a near perfect circle. The freighters, clearly seen on the radar before the storm, were now encompassed in the same dark blob. The sail instruments appeared to vibrate and I had a calm sense of 'disconnectedness'. This detachment acted as a sort of bulwark against any encapacitating fear, allowing me to do what needed to be done. The storm went on for about 2 hours. Suddenly, as quickly as it came, it stopped.
We found nothing amiss on the boat. A sail tie had come adrift but no damage done. Below, most everything had remained in place. A light rain continued as we pondered what had happened and planned our next moves. Pat's confirmation that the the sail instruments had appeared to vibrate during the height of the storm relieved my concern that I had been hallucinating. Now we could see the freighters, easily, off in the distance. From the radar we could tell that they were clear of rain and the storm. They lay to the NE of us. We turned the boat and leaving them to port, we found our course and proceeded toward Brunswick. Neither of us had as much as a bruise. Nothing on the boat had been broken. Later, when we reviewed our GPS, our track showed a series of crazy loops covering an area a mile wide.
It was midnight and though physically exhausted from the experience, we still rode an adrenaline high. We had eight hours or more to go before reaching the St. Simon's Inlet. Pat took the first watch. I slept in the cockpit. We passed few fishing boats in the night, but had no more difficulty as dawn arrived to find us just outside the entrance to St. Simon's Sound. We headed in under overcast skies and light wind. Secured in our slip, we cleaned up a bit then headed into town for lunch. Even now we aren't sure what kind of weather event we went through but it was unlike anything I've ever seen before. David, our slip neighbor and a pilot, believed we got hit by a micro-burst but we'll probably never know for sure. Checking NOAA and other websites for information about what occurred that night, I found anecdotal evidence of other boats in the area experiencing similar conditions, but weather records reflect only regional events, not local,isolated ones. Weather records do not show anything like what we experienced. It occurred to me that my next blog update would have been to either announce the sale of Live Now or, at the least, a personal ad looking for a new 1st mate! However, I am pleased to say, that, as of this writing, Pat remains steadfast and true to her commitment to the cruising life come hell or high water. We have now been through a little of both. One thing is certain, having weathered the storm, we have absolute confidence in Live Now's seaworthiness.
NATIONAL WEATHER SERVICE DOPPLER RADAR INDICATED AN
AREA OF STRONG THUNDERSTORMS...WITH WIND GUSTS OVER 60 KNOTS...MOVING SOUTHEAST AT 20 KNOTS.
STRONG THUNDERSTORMS CAN PRODUCE WATERSPOUTS WITH LITTLE OR NO
ADVANCE WARNING. SEEK SAFETY IMMEDIATELY!
MARINERS CAN EXPECT LOCALLY HIGH WAVES...DANGEROUS LIGHTNING...HAIL AND
TORRENTIAL RAIN. SEEK SAFETY IMMEDIATELY.
FREQUENT TO EXCESSIVE CLOUD TO WATER LIGHTNING IS OCCURRING WITH
THESE STORMS. IF AT SEA...STAY BELOW DECK...AND KEEP AWAY FROM
UNGROUNDED METAL OBJECTS.
Up to that time, the forecast called for nothing more dire than a slight chance of a thunderstorm. We were about 35 nm off the Florida coast, just about even with Jacksonville, heading NW, pretty much in line with the storm. The sky to the northwest looked much as it had for the last several weeks with tall cumulonimbus clouds dotting the horizon. Overhead, the sky was a nice clear blue. There was no wind, no swell. After fueling and taking on water at the Sailfish Marina on Singer Island (Palm Beach) the morning before, we had motored quietly up the coast generally following the rhumb line to St. Simon's Sound.
The passage had been uneventfully interesting.
I had caught another nice fish, an Atlantic mackerel; a pod of bottle-nose dolphin visited for about ½ hour; a US Navy cruiser crossed our bow in the distance; a Navy helicopter circled a couple of times as a 'live ammunition' exercise commenced [fortunately, we were well outside the announced fire zone]. To our great delight, an immature brown booby landed on our boom in the late afternoon. The booby circled the boat several times trying unsuccessfully to land on the bow then had better luck on the mainsail boom. 
I guess you could call him a booby boomer!!! We named him Bobby and he seemed completely at home roosting there within a few feet of the cockpit. He arrived shortly before we received our first weather alert. Jokingly, I told Pat that we were safe from the storm as long as the booby remained with us, a good luck booby.
As it turned out, I was right. Bobby remained with us until about 10:00 that night then flew away just before we got smashed. A fine feathered, fair weather friend Bobby the Booby turned out to be.With the storm directly in our path and with no way to find a safe harbor in time, we had no alternative but to take evasive action and prepare for the worst. We decided to alter our course to head south southwest toward Jacksonville. The weather forecast indicated more favorable conditions there and we hoped that we could bypass the storm. The only alternatives would have been to continue directly toward the storm or head further out to sea. Our expectation was that the storm would probably catch us but, like the other squalls we had encountered, be short lived. We had weathered the others by battening down and heading into the wind. The fast moving squall would pass by quickly. Had the storm been a large system we would have either run before it out to sea or 'heave to'.
At first it looked like we were going to be okay. As we approached the coast the towering cumulus clouds grew and spread but stayed well to the north. Cloud to cloud lightening played all along horizon. However, the sky above was clear. The sky ahead, clear. As stars dotted an otherwise unblemished evening sky, we began to think we would make it. The lightening became more frequent with occasional cloud to water strikes. First, a pronounced nipple formed then a clearly defined funnel dropped ominously downward from the base of one cumulus monster in what could have been the makings of a waterspout . It never fully formed but it's appearance did nothing to reassure us as the darkness deepened. Still, we were moving rapidly toward what appeared to be safety. NOAA's report on current conditions for Jacksonville indicated no precipitation and calm wind. The same conditions that we were experiencing.
The drama of the clouds and lightening kept us entertained and we “oohed” and “ahhed” as silent fireworks exploded to our north. Tracking the storm on the radar, however, confirmed our sense of dread that the storm was indeed moving closer and closer. We altered course more to the southwest still hopeful that we could circle behind it. Just as I became aware that the bird had flown from its perch, I saw that the sky ahead had closed over and cumulus skyscrapers towered directly in our path. It seemed that the sky went from clear to awesome in an instant. We knew we were in for it.
Minutes later, there was no time to reflect, only react. As the storm hit, I turned the bow toward the wind. Hard over to starboard, I kept turning. The wind gauge jumped to 25, 30, 45....60 knots! I powered up and kept turning as the wind speed climbed to 99.9, the highest reading possible! Pat muttered, "Oh...my...God!", slumped to the cockpit floor, shaking with fear. She was certain that we were goners, that we'd at least get struck by lightening! The wind dropped to 84 knots, then 64, then fluctuated wildly up and down. Remarkably, Live Now heeled over hardly at all. The speed of the storm kept the seas from building. Even though green water buried the bow now and then, we remained upright, the cockpit dry. Pat suddenly realized that Live Now could take it standing up. Still frightened, as any sane person would be, she kept an eye on the radar below and the wind gauge above, advising me as conditions changed. At the helm, I just kept turning! Continuous strobe-like lightening strikes blinded us. Every few seconds, lightening bolts the size of tree trunks hit the water, giving us a brief glimpse of the horizon. I could see two freighters about 5 miles off, our only frame of reference. A deluge thundered on the dodger, making it impossible to hear anything less than a scream. Unable to keep the bow into the wind, even with full throttle, Live Now took wind and wave on the forward starboard quarter.
Nothing seemed real. The nonstop, strobe-like lightening caused temporary flash blindness, leaving momentary shadowy imprints in my eye. Except for the brief 'lightening to water' strikes that light up everything around us, we had no visible reference points outside of the cockpit; no idea where we were or where the other vessels were in relation to us. Collision became my only fear. The radar showed us centered in a large dark spot, a near perfect circle. The freighters, clearly seen on the radar before the storm, were now encompassed in the same dark blob. The sail instruments appeared to vibrate and I had a calm sense of 'disconnectedness'. This detachment acted as a sort of bulwark against any encapacitating fear, allowing me to do what needed to be done. The storm went on for about 2 hours. Suddenly, as quickly as it came, it stopped.
We found nothing amiss on the boat. A sail tie had come adrift but no damage done. Below, most everything had remained in place. A light rain continued as we pondered what had happened and planned our next moves. Pat's confirmation that the the sail instruments had appeared to vibrate during the height of the storm relieved my concern that I had been hallucinating. Now we could see the freighters, easily, off in the distance. From the radar we could tell that they were clear of rain and the storm. They lay to the NE of us. We turned the boat and leaving them to port, we found our course and proceeded toward Brunswick. Neither of us had as much as a bruise. Nothing on the boat had been broken. Later, when we reviewed our GPS, our track showed a series of crazy loops covering an area a mile wide.
It was midnight and though physically exhausted from the experience, we still rode an adrenaline high. We had eight hours or more to go before reaching the St. Simon's Inlet. Pat took the first watch. I slept in the cockpit. We passed few fishing boats in the night, but had no more difficulty as dawn arrived to find us just outside the entrance to St. Simon's Sound. We headed in under overcast skies and light wind. Secured in our slip, we cleaned up a bit then headed into town for lunch. Even now we aren't sure what kind of weather event we went through but it was unlike anything I've ever seen before. David, our slip neighbor and a pilot, believed we got hit by a micro-burst but we'll probably never know for sure. Checking NOAA and other websites for information about what occurred that night, I found anecdotal evidence of other boats in the area experiencing similar conditions, but weather records reflect only regional events, not local,isolated ones. Weather records do not show anything like what we experienced. It occurred to me that my next blog update would have been to either announce the sale of Live Now or, at the least, a personal ad looking for a new 1st mate! However, I am pleased to say, that, as of this writing, Pat remains steadfast and true to her commitment to the cruising life come hell or high water. We have now been through a little of both. One thing is certain, having weathered the storm, we have absolute confidence in Live Now's seaworthiness.
The Calm before the...Calm
I marveled at the flat, calm sea as I stood on the bow. Looking down, what I first mistook for clouds reflected in the almost mirror like surface, was in fact the seabed passing 50 feet below! Every detail of the ocean bottom revealed itself as we moved easily about several NM off the Eleuthera coast. 
No wind, of course, meant motoring, but with no seas, it was almost pleasant. Making 5 knots we would be able to make Lake Worth (Palm Beach) in about 24 hours. The only metaphorical 'clouds' on the horizon, were the real clouds on the horizon. 
Scattered all around, the tall cumulus clouds warned of more squall activity. The forecast called for a slight chance of squalls and thunderstorms with the probability diminishing over the next few days.
We soon rounded the north end of Eleuthera and motored into the calm, windless NW Providence Channel. A few white fishing boats dotted the deep indigo seascape and an occasional tropic bird posed against the deep blue sky.
Terns checked us out, hoping for a free meal. Hoping for the same, I trailed a line astern using a trolling cedar plug lure and waited for dinner. In the meantime we generally relaxed: reading and performing odd boat chores, keeping an eye out for freighters and cruise ships. In less than an hour, the faint (to our age challenged ears) sound of the reel's clicker finally penetrated our somnolent state and the sight of the bent rod roused us to action. Soon we landed a nice, 10 lb Lesser Amber-jack; enough to feed me for a week. 
I say 'me' because Pat doesn't eat fish. I don't have to share. She also doesn't swim, hates the water, sunburns easily, prefers sweaters to swimsuits and is prone to seasickness. Otherwise, she's pretty well adapted to the cruising life and seems to enjoy it as much or more than I. Twenty minutes after pulling in my catch, it's cleaned, filleted and marinating in preparation for the grill. 
Towering clouds formed and dissipated. Eight miles to our north, an isolated rain shower appeared and moved over the Cay 'formerly known as Gorda' (now Disney's Castaway Cay). An easy day faded into a quiet night as we settled into our overnight passage routine of alternating watches.
A hazy sunrise greeted us and a briefly brisk wind prompted the setting of all sail. The decent wind lasted less time than it takes to set sail then dwindled to just a whisper. Sailing remained possible but would mean slow, slow going and another night out on the water. True sailors, of course, would play the wind, coping with the calms and the offsetting gulf stream current, letting conditions determine the time and means of our arrival. We turned on the engine and headed for home. A big push from a favorable current gave us a speed over the ground of 7 knots.
A few cargo ships occasionally broke the otherwise uniform view. Suddenly, Pat cried out, “Whales!” She pointed to starboard and I turned in time to see a wispy water spout and a dark smudge in the water about a mile away. Two humpbacked whales surfaced and dove several times over the next ½ hour as we watched from the quarterdeck. This was our first whale sighting and we were thrilled. Finally, they disappeared and we continued our journey.
Late that afternoon, with the sun directly in our face we entered the Lake Worth Inlet, easing our way past a large outbound freighter. Turning south we anchored in nearly the same spot we had left last February; dropping the hook in time for another grilled fish dinner.
No wind, of course, meant motoring, but with no seas, it was almost pleasant. Making 5 knots we would be able to make Lake Worth (Palm Beach) in about 24 hours. The only metaphorical 'clouds' on the horizon, were the real clouds on the horizon. 
Scattered all around, the tall cumulus clouds warned of more squall activity. The forecast called for a slight chance of squalls and thunderstorms with the probability diminishing over the next few days. We soon rounded the north end of Eleuthera and motored into the calm, windless NW Providence Channel. A few white fishing boats dotted the deep indigo seascape and an occasional tropic bird posed against the deep blue sky.
Terns checked us out, hoping for a free meal. Hoping for the same, I trailed a line astern using a trolling cedar plug lure and waited for dinner. In the meantime we generally relaxed: reading and performing odd boat chores, keeping an eye out for freighters and cruise ships. In less than an hour, the faint (to our age challenged ears) sound of the reel's clicker finally penetrated our somnolent state and the sight of the bent rod roused us to action. Soon we landed a nice, 10 lb Lesser Amber-jack; enough to feed me for a week. 
I say 'me' because Pat doesn't eat fish. I don't have to share. She also doesn't swim, hates the water, sunburns easily, prefers sweaters to swimsuits and is prone to seasickness. Otherwise, she's pretty well adapted to the cruising life and seems to enjoy it as much or more than I. Twenty minutes after pulling in my catch, it's cleaned, filleted and marinating in preparation for the grill. 
Towering clouds formed and dissipated. Eight miles to our north, an isolated rain shower appeared and moved over the Cay 'formerly known as Gorda' (now Disney's Castaway Cay). An easy day faded into a quiet night as we settled into our overnight passage routine of alternating watches.
A hazy sunrise greeted us and a briefly brisk wind prompted the setting of all sail. The decent wind lasted less time than it takes to set sail then dwindled to just a whisper. Sailing remained possible but would mean slow, slow going and another night out on the water. True sailors, of course, would play the wind, coping with the calms and the offsetting gulf stream current, letting conditions determine the time and means of our arrival. We turned on the engine and headed for home. A big push from a favorable current gave us a speed over the ground of 7 knots.
A few cargo ships occasionally broke the otherwise uniform view. Suddenly, Pat cried out, “Whales!” She pointed to starboard and I turned in time to see a wispy water spout and a dark smudge in the water about a mile away. Two humpbacked whales surfaced and dove several times over the next ½ hour as we watched from the quarterdeck. This was our first whale sighting and we were thrilled. Finally, they disappeared and we continued our journey.
Late that afternoon, with the sun directly in our face we entered the Lake Worth Inlet, easing our way past a large outbound freighter. Turning south we anchored in nearly the same spot we had left last February; dropping the hook in time for another grilled fish dinner.
A Land of Not So Many Parts
We spent most of the next several days seeking a water pump. Our diesel engine is made by Ford. Even though Ford has fallen on hard times, we thought that finding a water pump in the Bahamas would be a snap. Wrong! More than in the States, everything in the Bahamas has to do with connecting with people. Instead of heading for the nearest NAPA, West Marine or Auto Zone (there are none), you ask the waiter or stop someone in the street and ask them. “Excuse me, we're anchored in the harbor here and we need to find....” “Oh, you might try the 'Doc' over by Johnson's Bakery.” Marinas, of course, often have good contacts. The staff at the Harbour Island Marina went to great lengths to help, making several phone calls to Nassau and Spanish Wells. Alas, no one seemed to have ever heard of Ford and certainly didn't know where we could find a water pump for one.
“Maybe this guy can help you!” Sim said as a slender American walked into the Texaco station. Sim, Manager/Owner of the N. Eleuthera Service Center, had been searching unsuccessfully through parts catalogs looking for a water pump that might work. He explained that the man who had just entered was Sherman, a pilot, who travels regularly to the US. Sherman, overhearing, immediately asked what was going on. I explained that we were anchored in Bottom Harbour and needed a new water pump for my diesel. It turned out that we were anchored near his house and that he had seen us enter the harbor the day before. He offered to help in any way that he could. He was flying to Ft. Lauderdale around noon that day, Wednesday, and if we could get the part to the Ft. Lauderdale Executive Airport, he would have it here by this afternoon! What luck! Now all I needed was to find a pump.
Sim let me use his computer and I quickly located a supplier in Ft. Lauderdale. Sim also let me use his phone and I contacted Bomac Marine Power. A man answered and, to my great satisfaction, told me that he had several water pumps for my engine in stock. Unfortunately, he was vacationing in Georgia and couldn't get the part to the airport today. The price for the part was $198. He had another source in Ft. Lauderdale who might be able to help. He offered to contact him and get back to me. Ten minutes later, he did. His source did indeed have a part. Great! He wanted over $700 for it! Not so great. With the 40% customs duty, that meant I would be paying nearly $1000 for a $200 part!!! Of course, I couldn't agree with that. Weather was going to keep us in Harbour Island for the next week or so anyway, so we weren't in a big hurry. I arranged for Bomac to FedEx the part to the Ft. Lauderdale Executive Airport and ship it via the Service Center's vendor, Twin Air, for arrival the day after tomorrow. That done, we settled into our new found temporary home and prepared to explore this wonderful resort.
Harbour Island represented a welcome respite from our time at sea. Being the destination of choice of some of the world's rich and famous (Sherman told us that he knew that at least 6 billionaires lived on the island), you have no problem finding great restaurants, beautiful beaches and interesting gift shops (not one of which stocked water pumps apparently). The gourmet deli and multiple choices of caviar at the Pigly Wigly grocery reflect the impact of serious money on this small island. Upscale dining and full service resorts abound. At the same time, good food at more reasonable prices can be had at several snack shacks.
We filled our days waiting for good weather and replacement pump running errands, walking the “pink” beaches, checking out the local fare and celebrating Pat's birthday at Valentine's Boat House Restaurant. We met friendly people everywhere. We found the local people very helpful and willing to share insights into their life in paradise. As with most of the smaller cays, golf carts provide local transportation for natives and visitors alike and we were frequently offered rides as we took care of business and explored the sights. Sherman, the helpful pilot, stopped by our boat to invite us to his home for drinks where we spent a wonderful evening with his wife, Susan, their son, Brent and friends: Ann & Tom. Their beautifully landscaped home overlooked the bay with water views from every room.
This small, tight knit island community had been hard hit recently with the drowning of a young local man near where we were anchored. Like most on the island, a living can be made only by performing a number of jobs. One of his was providing an informal taxi service. Late one night, the week before our arrival, he crowded 15 paying customers returning home from a party onto his open 16' Boston Whaler. The unruly passengers somehow capsized the vessel, spilling all into the water. Only he drowned. His body was found the next day. It was reported that a large shark circled the body as it was pulled from the water.
Towering cumulus clouds and the occasional downpour punctuated our normally 70 degree, balmy days. Anchored at Bottom Harbour, we had a long dinghy commute to Dunmore, the only town on the island. We fell easily into the rhythm of the island while we waited. The water pump, ordered on Wednesday, should have arrived on Friday afternoon. Friday arrived as scheduled but the pump did not. Saturday, no pump. Sunday, no pump. A check with Bomac and FedEx revealed that the pump had been delivered to Twin Air Thursday morning at 6:30. Misinformation, mis-location, unreturned telephone calls and several intervening holidays contributed to a great deal of confusion and the fact that our pump had not arrived by the following Sunday, 11 days after the part was ordered! In frustration, I made one last search for the spare water pump that I once believed was certain to be aboard.
Having looked in all the likely places and most of the unlikely places, I began tearing the boat apart, again. Under the port settee, under the mess of spare lines, blocks, a sea anchor, a couple of “What's this?”, extra anchor rode, fiberglass repair materials, extra sail cloth, courtesy flags from most of Central America and the Caribbean... under all the neatly stowed, rarely accessed essentials, along with the usual flotsam and jetsam; lay a brand new Lehman Ford 683F-8591-AAC, complete with impeller, seat, pump impeller, seal, slinger, gasket, retainer, shaft and bearing assembly (where's JW, friend and organizer extraordinaire, when you need him?). Face reddened from exertion and embarrassment but with as much casualness as I could muster, I revealed my prize to Pat. Conflicting emotions passed over her face. With admirable restraint, she uttered not a word of recrimination although I couldn't help but discern a fleeting look that could easily be interpreted in the face of someone less generous as “You idiot!” To forestall any discussion of how it was that I hadn't located the pump earlier, I immediately began the installation. Forty-five minutes later, the job is completed.
The next morning, I finally got through to Twin Air in Ft. Lauderdale. Storming the telephonic bastion of robotic messages and bridging the bureaucratic moat of administrative assistants, I reached the freight manager. He assured me that Twin Air does indeed have the package and will have it on the 2:30 pm flight to Eleuthera. “No,” I tell him, “I don't want it shipped here now. It's too late. I want the package shipped to an address in Ohio.” “No, no, it's no problem,” he says, “We can guarantee its delivery to the Bahamas this afternoon.” “Look,” I say, “I expected the part here last week! I don't need it anymore. I don't want it to be delivered here.” “So, you don't want the package. Is that correct?” “Yes, I want the package but I want you to hold onto it. Someone will contact you with a new shipping address.” “Okay, okay, we'll hold onto it, but I want you to know that we can deliver it to Eleuthera today.” “No, hold on to the package, I'll have someone contact you.” “Okay?” “Okay.” Late that afternoon, I got a call from Bahamas Customs. “Good news, the package you were expecting has arrived!” Good grief.
Pump installed and a weather forecast of calm winds with a slight chance of thunderstorms, we decided it was time to go. Provisioned and rested, we weighed anchor once again, under power, and headed out to nearly flat seas on the morning of Wednesday, June 10.
“Maybe this guy can help you!” Sim said as a slender American walked into the Texaco station. Sim, Manager/Owner of the N. Eleuthera Service Center, had been searching unsuccessfully through parts catalogs looking for a water pump that might work. He explained that the man who had just entered was Sherman, a pilot, who travels regularly to the US. Sherman, overhearing, immediately asked what was going on. I explained that we were anchored in Bottom Harbour and needed a new water pump for my diesel. It turned out that we were anchored near his house and that he had seen us enter the harbor the day before. He offered to help in any way that he could. He was flying to Ft. Lauderdale around noon that day, Wednesday, and if we could get the part to the Ft. Lauderdale Executive Airport, he would have it here by this afternoon! What luck! Now all I needed was to find a pump.
Sim let me use his computer and I quickly located a supplier in Ft. Lauderdale. Sim also let me use his phone and I contacted Bomac Marine Power. A man answered and, to my great satisfaction, told me that he had several water pumps for my engine in stock. Unfortunately, he was vacationing in Georgia and couldn't get the part to the airport today. The price for the part was $198. He had another source in Ft. Lauderdale who might be able to help. He offered to contact him and get back to me. Ten minutes later, he did. His source did indeed have a part. Great! He wanted over $700 for it! Not so great. With the 40% customs duty, that meant I would be paying nearly $1000 for a $200 part!!! Of course, I couldn't agree with that. Weather was going to keep us in Harbour Island for the next week or so anyway, so we weren't in a big hurry. I arranged for Bomac to FedEx the part to the Ft. Lauderdale Executive Airport and ship it via the Service Center's vendor, Twin Air, for arrival the day after tomorrow. That done, we settled into our new found temporary home and prepared to explore this wonderful resort.
Harbour Island represented a welcome respite from our time at sea. Being the destination of choice of some of the world's rich and famous (Sherman told us that he knew that at least 6 billionaires lived on the island), you have no problem finding great restaurants, beautiful beaches and interesting gift shops (not one of which stocked water pumps apparently). The gourmet deli and multiple choices of caviar at the Pigly Wigly grocery reflect the impact of serious money on this small island. Upscale dining and full service resorts abound. At the same time, good food at more reasonable prices can be had at several snack shacks.
We filled our days waiting for good weather and replacement pump running errands, walking the “pink” beaches, checking out the local fare and celebrating Pat's birthday at Valentine's Boat House Restaurant. We met friendly people everywhere. We found the local people very helpful and willing to share insights into their life in paradise. As with most of the smaller cays, golf carts provide local transportation for natives and visitors alike and we were frequently offered rides as we took care of business and explored the sights. Sherman, the helpful pilot, stopped by our boat to invite us to his home for drinks where we spent a wonderful evening with his wife, Susan, their son, Brent and friends: Ann & Tom. Their beautifully landscaped home overlooked the bay with water views from every room.
This small, tight knit island community had been hard hit recently with the drowning of a young local man near where we were anchored. Like most on the island, a living can be made only by performing a number of jobs. One of his was providing an informal taxi service. Late one night, the week before our arrival, he crowded 15 paying customers returning home from a party onto his open 16' Boston Whaler. The unruly passengers somehow capsized the vessel, spilling all into the water. Only he drowned. His body was found the next day. It was reported that a large shark circled the body as it was pulled from the water.
Towering cumulus clouds and the occasional downpour punctuated our normally 70 degree, balmy days. Anchored at Bottom Harbour, we had a long dinghy commute to Dunmore, the only town on the island. We fell easily into the rhythm of the island while we waited. The water pump, ordered on Wednesday, should have arrived on Friday afternoon. Friday arrived as scheduled but the pump did not. Saturday, no pump. Sunday, no pump. A check with Bomac and FedEx revealed that the pump had been delivered to Twin Air Thursday morning at 6:30. Misinformation, mis-location, unreturned telephone calls and several intervening holidays contributed to a great deal of confusion and the fact that our pump had not arrived by the following Sunday, 11 days after the part was ordered! In frustration, I made one last search for the spare water pump that I once believed was certain to be aboard.
Having looked in all the likely places and most of the unlikely places, I began tearing the boat apart, again. Under the port settee, under the mess of spare lines, blocks, a sea anchor, a couple of “What's this?”, extra anchor rode, fiberglass repair materials, extra sail cloth, courtesy flags from most of Central America and the Caribbean... under all the neatly stowed, rarely accessed essentials, along with the usual flotsam and jetsam; lay a brand new Lehman Ford 683F-8591-AAC, complete with impeller, seat, pump impeller, seal, slinger, gasket, retainer, shaft and bearing assembly (where's JW, friend and organizer extraordinaire, when you need him?). Face reddened from exertion and embarrassment but with as much casualness as I could muster, I revealed my prize to Pat. Conflicting emotions passed over her face. With admirable restraint, she uttered not a word of recrimination although I couldn't help but discern a fleeting look that could easily be interpreted in the face of someone less generous as “You idiot!” To forestall any discussion of how it was that I hadn't located the pump earlier, I immediately began the installation. Forty-five minutes later, the job is completed.
The next morning, I finally got through to Twin Air in Ft. Lauderdale. Storming the telephonic bastion of robotic messages and bridging the bureaucratic moat of administrative assistants, I reached the freight manager. He assured me that Twin Air does indeed have the package and will have it on the 2:30 pm flight to Eleuthera. “No,” I tell him, “I don't want it shipped here now. It's too late. I want the package shipped to an address in Ohio.” “No, no, it's no problem,” he says, “We can guarantee its delivery to the Bahamas this afternoon.” “Look,” I say, “I expected the part here last week! I don't need it anymore. I don't want it to be delivered here.” “So, you don't want the package. Is that correct?” “Yes, I want the package but I want you to hold onto it. Someone will contact you with a new shipping address.” “Okay, okay, we'll hold onto it, but I want you to know that we can deliver it to Eleuthera today.” “No, hold on to the package, I'll have someone contact you.” “Okay?” “Okay.” Late that afternoon, I got a call from Bahamas Customs. “Good news, the package you were expecting has arrived!” Good grief.
Pump installed and a weather forecast of calm winds with a slight chance of thunderstorms, we decided it was time to go. Provisioned and rested, we weighed anchor once again, under power, and headed out to nearly flat seas on the morning of Wednesday, June 10.
Powerless in Plana or "That's squALL folks!"
My heart sank as my flashlight reflected off the water dripping from the engine's fresh water pump. A routine pre-departure engine check found the engine coolant level low. Starting the engine to determine the cause, I discovered that the water pump leaked a steady stream. I shut it down immediately. Without the water pump, the engine would overheat. Now, with the generator not working and the engine questionable, we had a problem.
We have always relied on the engine for maneuvering in close quarters and as a convenience when the wind died. We also needed to keep the batteries charged for navigation lights, auto-helm, marine radio, etc. I searched the boat unsuccessfully for a spare water pump. Even if I found it, I questioned whether it would be prudent to try to install it here away from any support. I could run the engine briefly with the leaking pump, but if I attempted to remove the old one and stripped the threads, lost a bolt...I may not be able to use the engine at all.
Uninhabited Plana Cay, while beautiful, offered no help. The nearest possible source for a replacement pump was Georgetown, probably two days sail. Getting there by sail alone wouldn't be a big problem, but navigating the cut and avoiding coral heads under sail might be. There are two inlets into Georgetown, neither particularly easy to negotiate. Looking to the north, Cat Island, again about two days sail, offered a more accessible anchorage. While finding parts there was unlikely, they did have air service to Georgetown and the US. A part could be flown in. We could also sail nonstop to the States, then either sail into a safe harbor (Lake Worth being the most suitable) or call BoatUS for a tow (we have an unlimited towing service agreement with BoatUS). With that, we decided to head north and decide the best course of action as we went.
Weighing anchor under sail in light SE winds proved easy enough and we were soon on our way. With only a 5 knot wind, we stayed within sight of our anchorage for a depressingly long time, but the weather was fine and we soon adjusted to the blistering 2 knots of speed. About mid-morning, I hoisted the spinnaker and we moved along steadily (maybe 3 knots) through the day, keeping a constant eye out for potential squalls. Squalls can generate 60+ knot winds for short periods of time. If hit by anything close to that with the spinnaker up ...well...we wouldn't have to worry about taking the spinnaker down. It would shred into pieces suitable for Tibetan prayer flags (something we could probably use to good effect in any case). I took the spinnaker down late in the afternoon and put up all other sail. The wind picked up a little and we continued to make reasonable progress through the night.
Spinnaker
With daylight, we once again opted for the spinnaker and ghosted along in a barely perceptible wind for most of the next day, passing Rum Cay and Conception to starboard. We followed the same routine into the next day, lowering the spinnaker before dusk and raising the mizzen, main, stay and yankee with the morning light. With Cat Island to the northwest, we decided to make for the anchorage at New Bight. In addition to offering the chance of finding repair parts, Cat Island (named after the pirate, Arthur Catt), looked like an interesting place. It claims the highest point in the Bahamas (206 feet!) upon which stands the Hermitage, a reproduction 12th century stone monastery, built by Monsignor Jerome Hawkes in 1939. In addition, the actor, Sidney Poitier, grew up there and still lives on the island.
To reach the anchorage we had to round the 'boot' on the south end of the island. We turned west and with a 10 knot wind on the beam, our speed rose to 4-5 knots. The anchorage looked promising. With the wind continuing from the SE, we would be on the leeward side of the island. No troublesome cuts or coral reefs need be threaded to reach safety. As the island came into view, we reviewed our plan to anchor without an engine (something we hadn't actually ever done before). With light winds, we may not have a great deal of maneuverability. We needed to get it right the first time.
Our preparations were for naught, however. Five miles off shore, the hazy silhouette of Cat Island that had been growing larger with our approach gradually seemed to freeze in place as our boat speed slowed on a dying wind. The wind gauge began to turn lazily, boxing the compass. The sense that we had stopped dead in the water belied the fact that a northwest current pushed us inexorably toward the rocky shoreline. Our barely perceptible forward progress made tacking away from this hazard impossible. To turn the boat through the wind, we needed to be moving fast enough to overcome the force of the wind and water against the hull. Unless the wind picked up, we would eventually be pushed onto the reef.
Fortunately, nothing was going to happen very quickly. We played with the sails and rudder to generate enough speed to change direction to no avail. Finally, we jibbed successfully, heading south. With the afternoon waning, we realized that even with a favorable wind, we couldn't reach the anchorage before dark. So, with a slightly increasing wind, we turned northeast. Checking the charts, several options seemed feasible and once again, we agreed to consider each one as they presented themselves. One of the advantages of moving along at 3 or 4 knots, we had plenty of time to decide.
As night fell, we continued northeast, then, rounding Columbus Point, turned to the northwest. Our route would leave Cat Island and Eleuthera to the west. Once around Eleuthera, we would follow the Northwest Providence Channel leaving the Abacos & the Grand Bahamas to the north and the Berry Islands to the south. Despite our concern about the engine, we had a wonderful night sail, making excellent progress aided by the same NW current that had been troublesome earlier.
As a gray morning dawned, the "chance of squalls" became a certainty as dark storm clouds straddled the horizon directly in our path.
With limited maneuverability, I tried to raise a nearby cargo ship on the radio to make sure she knew our situation. There was no imminent danger, but with the storm approaching, visibility would soon become limited. Despite repeated calls, we received no response. The squall descended on us quickly. However, Live Now, under shortened sail, handled the 25 to 30 knot winds with aplomb. The storm passed. We sailed on. An hour or so later, another hit but again we fared well. Passing through this storm, a moderate wind and an innocent looking overcast sky encouraged us to raise mizzen and yankee headsail. The general overcast sky, however, masked the fact that we were in for another squall and without warning the boat began to heel radically as the wind gauge suddenly jumped to over 30 knots. In trying to reduce the headsail, the jib sheet slipped from my hand. The wind whipped the ¾” line back and forth, snapping like gunshots, snagging on the roller furling cleat, ripping it from the deck. Before I could tame the errant line, repeated shots to the bimini cracked the windscreen. With the sail finally reduced to a handkerchief and the line secured, we weathered the brief storm without further damage. Unlike the earlier squalls, this one found us unprepared and we paid for it. Still, no serious damage was done and we learned a good lesson.
We had been out for 3 days and nights without stopping. With both of us healthy and able to stand a full watch, however, we got plenty of sleep. Also, Pat made sure we ate well and we felt good. Except for the brief squalls, the sailing was enjoyable, relaxing even. Still, we hoped to find a suitable anchorage to rest and replace the water pump. Fortunately, I was able to fix the solar panel that hadn't worked since we bought the boat. With it working, we had battery power to spare for all essential operations. As we inched our way up the coast of Eleuthera, we determined that Harbour Island offered an excellent stopping place and we altered course accordingly. So that we would arrive in daylight, we 'hove to' about 15 miles from the inlet. About 3:00 am we raised sail, now in a 5-7 knot SE wind, retraced our steps for an hour then turned back to Harbour Island.
Our timing couldn't have been better. As the sun rose on our back, we sailed serenely through the narrow inlet at slack water and into in Harbour Island's Bottom Harbour. We anchored in 15 feet of water, secured the sails, and just as I was turning to return from the bow to the cockpit, the skies opened up. A true deluge followed, filling a 5 gallon bucket I had placed at the base of the mizzen mast to the brim. Lightening filled the air with continuous strikes; one with literally simultaneous thunder and lightening. Visibility dropped to zero. Had we been ½ hour later, conditions would have prevented our entry or, worse, caught us in the narrow inlet! Perhaps the weather gods were trying to balance our account, giving us a break for a change.
Safely anchored in this protected harbor, we congratulated ourselves for a job well done. We'd worry about repairs in the morning.
We have always relied on the engine for maneuvering in close quarters and as a convenience when the wind died. We also needed to keep the batteries charged for navigation lights, auto-helm, marine radio, etc. I searched the boat unsuccessfully for a spare water pump. Even if I found it, I questioned whether it would be prudent to try to install it here away from any support. I could run the engine briefly with the leaking pump, but if I attempted to remove the old one and stripped the threads, lost a bolt...I may not be able to use the engine at all.
Uninhabited Plana Cay, while beautiful, offered no help. The nearest possible source for a replacement pump was Georgetown, probably two days sail. Getting there by sail alone wouldn't be a big problem, but navigating the cut and avoiding coral heads under sail might be. There are two inlets into Georgetown, neither particularly easy to negotiate. Looking to the north, Cat Island, again about two days sail, offered a more accessible anchorage. While finding parts there was unlikely, they did have air service to Georgetown and the US. A part could be flown in. We could also sail nonstop to the States, then either sail into a safe harbor (Lake Worth being the most suitable) or call BoatUS for a tow (we have an unlimited towing service agreement with BoatUS). With that, we decided to head north and decide the best course of action as we went.
Weighing anchor under sail in light SE winds proved easy enough and we were soon on our way. With only a 5 knot wind, we stayed within sight of our anchorage for a depressingly long time, but the weather was fine and we soon adjusted to the blistering 2 knots of speed. About mid-morning, I hoisted the spinnaker and we moved along steadily (maybe 3 knots) through the day, keeping a constant eye out for potential squalls. Squalls can generate 60+ knot winds for short periods of time. If hit by anything close to that with the spinnaker up ...well...we wouldn't have to worry about taking the spinnaker down. It would shred into pieces suitable for Tibetan prayer flags (something we could probably use to good effect in any case). I took the spinnaker down late in the afternoon and put up all other sail. The wind picked up a little and we continued to make reasonable progress through the night.
Spinnaker
With daylight, we once again opted for the spinnaker and ghosted along in a barely perceptible wind for most of the next day, passing Rum Cay and Conception to starboard. We followed the same routine into the next day, lowering the spinnaker before dusk and raising the mizzen, main, stay and yankee with the morning light. With Cat Island to the northwest, we decided to make for the anchorage at New Bight. In addition to offering the chance of finding repair parts, Cat Island (named after the pirate, Arthur Catt), looked like an interesting place. It claims the highest point in the Bahamas (206 feet!) upon which stands the Hermitage, a reproduction 12th century stone monastery, built by Monsignor Jerome Hawkes in 1939. In addition, the actor, Sidney Poitier, grew up there and still lives on the island.
To reach the anchorage we had to round the 'boot' on the south end of the island. We turned west and with a 10 knot wind on the beam, our speed rose to 4-5 knots. The anchorage looked promising. With the wind continuing from the SE, we would be on the leeward side of the island. No troublesome cuts or coral reefs need be threaded to reach safety. As the island came into view, we reviewed our plan to anchor without an engine (something we hadn't actually ever done before). With light winds, we may not have a great deal of maneuverability. We needed to get it right the first time.
Our preparations were for naught, however. Five miles off shore, the hazy silhouette of Cat Island that had been growing larger with our approach gradually seemed to freeze in place as our boat speed slowed on a dying wind. The wind gauge began to turn lazily, boxing the compass. The sense that we had stopped dead in the water belied the fact that a northwest current pushed us inexorably toward the rocky shoreline. Our barely perceptible forward progress made tacking away from this hazard impossible. To turn the boat through the wind, we needed to be moving fast enough to overcome the force of the wind and water against the hull. Unless the wind picked up, we would eventually be pushed onto the reef.
Fortunately, nothing was going to happen very quickly. We played with the sails and rudder to generate enough speed to change direction to no avail. Finally, we jibbed successfully, heading south. With the afternoon waning, we realized that even with a favorable wind, we couldn't reach the anchorage before dark. So, with a slightly increasing wind, we turned northeast. Checking the charts, several options seemed feasible and once again, we agreed to consider each one as they presented themselves. One of the advantages of moving along at 3 or 4 knots, we had plenty of time to decide.
As night fell, we continued northeast, then, rounding Columbus Point, turned to the northwest. Our route would leave Cat Island and Eleuthera to the west. Once around Eleuthera, we would follow the Northwest Providence Channel leaving the Abacos & the Grand Bahamas to the north and the Berry Islands to the south. Despite our concern about the engine, we had a wonderful night sail, making excellent progress aided by the same NW current that had been troublesome earlier.
As a gray morning dawned, the "chance of squalls" became a certainty as dark storm clouds straddled the horizon directly in our path.
With limited maneuverability, I tried to raise a nearby cargo ship on the radio to make sure she knew our situation. There was no imminent danger, but with the storm approaching, visibility would soon become limited. Despite repeated calls, we received no response. The squall descended on us quickly. However, Live Now, under shortened sail, handled the 25 to 30 knot winds with aplomb. The storm passed. We sailed on. An hour or so later, another hit but again we fared well. Passing through this storm, a moderate wind and an innocent looking overcast sky encouraged us to raise mizzen and yankee headsail. The general overcast sky, however, masked the fact that we were in for another squall and without warning the boat began to heel radically as the wind gauge suddenly jumped to over 30 knots. In trying to reduce the headsail, the jib sheet slipped from my hand. The wind whipped the ¾” line back and forth, snapping like gunshots, snagging on the roller furling cleat, ripping it from the deck. Before I could tame the errant line, repeated shots to the bimini cracked the windscreen. With the sail finally reduced to a handkerchief and the line secured, we weathered the brief storm without further damage. Unlike the earlier squalls, this one found us unprepared and we paid for it. Still, no serious damage was done and we learned a good lesson.
We had been out for 3 days and nights without stopping. With both of us healthy and able to stand a full watch, however, we got plenty of sleep. Also, Pat made sure we ate well and we felt good. Except for the brief squalls, the sailing was enjoyable, relaxing even. Still, we hoped to find a suitable anchorage to rest and replace the water pump. Fortunately, I was able to fix the solar panel that hadn't worked since we bought the boat. With it working, we had battery power to spare for all essential operations. As we inched our way up the coast of Eleuthera, we determined that Harbour Island offered an excellent stopping place and we altered course accordingly. So that we would arrive in daylight, we 'hove to' about 15 miles from the inlet. About 3:00 am we raised sail, now in a 5-7 knot SE wind, retraced our steps for an hour then turned back to Harbour Island.
Our timing couldn't have been better. As the sun rose on our back, we sailed serenely through the narrow inlet at slack water and into in Harbour Island's Bottom Harbour. We anchored in 15 feet of water, secured the sails, and just as I was turning to return from the bow to the cockpit, the skies opened up. A true deluge followed, filling a 5 gallon bucket I had placed at the base of the mizzen mast to the brim. Lightening filled the air with continuous strikes; one with literally simultaneous thunder and lightening. Visibility dropped to zero. Had we been ½ hour later, conditions would have prevented our entry or, worse, caught us in the narrow inlet! Perhaps the weather gods were trying to balance our account, giving us a break for a change.
Safely anchored in this protected harbor, we congratulated ourselves for a job well done. We'd worry about repairs in the morning.
Leaving Luperon
I am not sure when it started. I certainly didn't see it coming. Frankly, I was surprised and somewhat dismayed, but there was no denying it. One morning, while drinking my first cup of coffee on the quarterdeck, a faint sparkle of light touched the corner of my eye. I turned and the morning sunlight revealed to my wondering eye...a fully formed spiderweb hanging on our lifelines! A spiderweb shining in the morning dew; stretched between the “life lines” no less, beautiful in its delicate symmetry, but having no place whatever on a serious cruiser's boat. Like some fairy tale spell or an old sci-fi movie, a web quietly had been spun as we slept. In my increasingly agitated imagination I saw it growing, encasing the boat, binding us forever in some "matrix-like" lotus land! Gradually, bound in our cocoons, lethargic and complacent, our plans to leave would become increasingly vague; indefinitely postponed. We would be drained of initiative, our life's blood sucked from our weakly protesting bodies or...something like that. With our destruction certain unless we took immediate action, I woke Pat, “We need to get out of here!”
Leaving Luperon, however, proved nearly as time consuming as entering...fully a ½ day. You must revisit immigration and then the commandante's office to get a “despatcho”, or permission to leave and pay an array of small fees. Finally, there is an inspection to make sure you're not smuggling people or contraband. Again, as when we entered, there was no soborno (bribe) requested or paid. The process seemed confusing, due mostly to my too basic Spanish and unfamiliarity with the procedure. It is a labor intensive process but the 6 or 7 people with whom we met over the course of the day were cheerful and helpful. The head of immigration and the young man from the commandante's office actually sang softly to themselves as they completed the paperwork. But, no one was in a hurry. The singing sa
ilor filling out the forms took time to flirt with the girls hanging out at the office as a herd of goats wandered past the open door. Several phones calls were made and long periods of inactive silence prompted me to question, "¿Hay algún problema?" "No, no problema." Since no boats are available to the navy in Luperon, you must provide transportation to and from your boat for the final inspection. As we proceeded out to my boat in a light rain, the officer asked me to make several stops at other boats to drop off their despachos. As darkness fell and the rain increased, we finally reached our boat where he handed me my papers and directed me to take him and his partner back to the government dock. No inspection. We were free to go.
Our next stop, the West Caicos involved a nearly 24 hour sail. Rather than leave at night in the rain, we decided to leave early the next morning. This was probably a technical violation of the rules but since the local law enforcement officers would have to borrow a boat to come after us, we weren't too concerned. Towering cumulus clouds lay on the horizon to the southeast as we sailed north in light winds . After an enjoyable overnight sail, we anchored comfortably in the protected, man made harbor of a resort whose development had been suspended some time ago. Only this artificial harbor had been completed before the Ritz-Carlton suspended operations providing us with 360 degree protection and perfect solitude. With severe squall activity forecast, we determined to remain safely anchored until more favorable weather returned. We sat for two days under clear skies watching big anvil topped clouds pass to our east and west. This isolated anchorage attracted numerous birds and we enjoyed watching the osprey and terns diving for their dinners.
Late afternoon of our second day, we heard an American voice over the VHF marine radio responding to a Mayday issued by a sail boat 15 miles north of us. The distressed boat had run up on a coral reef not far from Turtle Cove Marina on the north coast of Providentiales. As darkness deepened, we followed radio updates with increasing dismay as the initial hopes that the grounded boat may float over the reef into deeper water, were dashed as its rudder broke up and eventually, the captain and crew had to abandon ship. Darkness hampered locating the boat but a rescue boat arrived in time to take the crew off, no injuries reported. We were unable to determine whether the boat was lost. However, an abandoned boat becomes a “salvage” operation. Anyone can take possession without the permission of or compensation to the owner. This event served as a stark reminder of how quickly all can be lost. By comparison the discovery that afternoon that our electric generator, once again, had stopped working seemed minor.
The next morning, we set out once again. Without the generator, we couldn't keep our food cold but the batteries could be kept charged by running the engine occasionally. Our intention was to reach Mayaquana in the Bahamas before dark. Once again we enjoyed a light wind sail. Fear of a sudden squall precluded use of the spinnaker but we idled along at an acceptable 3-4 knots. We rounded Devils Point once again and anchored on the north end of Betsey Bay just as the sun dropped below the horizon. After a quiet, restful night, we headed nearly west in light se winds toward Plana Cay, hoping to reach the Acklins before nightfall. However, the already light winds died as we neared Plana Cay around 3:00 and we decided that this deserted island with its crystal clear water and excellent snorkeling would meet our needs for an overnight stop. We anchored in about 15' of water, close enough to for me to swim ashore and enjoy the coral and a myriad of fish. The calm continued through the rest of the day and evening and we considered waiting at this wonderful place until the wind picked up. Weather reports from Chris Parker, the guru of Caribbean forecasting, continued to call for a chance of squalls but that the weather would settle within a day or so and trade winds would fill in soon. The SE trades would give us a nice broad reach up the Bahama chain of islands. We turned in that night agreeing that we would decide in the morning. However, the morning would bring its own, new challenge, narrowing our options considerably.
Click on picture for full view.
Leaving Luperon, however, proved nearly as time consuming as entering...fully a ½ day. You must revisit immigration and then the commandante's office to get a “despatcho”, or permission to leave and pay an array of small fees. Finally, there is an inspection to make sure you're not smuggling people or contraband. Again, as when we entered, there was no soborno (bribe) requested or paid. The process seemed confusing, due mostly to my too basic Spanish and unfamiliarity with the procedure. It is a labor intensive process but the 6 or 7 people with whom we met over the course of the day were cheerful and helpful. The head of immigration and the young man from the commandante's office actually sang softly to themselves as they completed the paperwork. But, no one was in a hurry. The singing sa
ilor filling out the forms took time to flirt with the girls hanging out at the office as a herd of goats wandered past the open door. Several phones calls were made and long periods of inactive silence prompted me to question, "¿Hay algún problema?" "No, no problema." Since no boats are available to the navy in Luperon, you must provide transportation to and from your boat for the final inspection. As we proceeded out to my boat in a light rain, the officer asked me to make several stops at other boats to drop off their despachos. As darkness fell and the rain increased, we finally reached our boat where he handed me my papers and directed me to take him and his partner back to the government dock. No inspection. We were free to go.
Our next stop, the West Caicos involved a nearly 24 hour sail. Rather than leave at night in the rain, we decided to leave early the next morning. This was probably a technical violation of the rules but since the local law enforcement officers would have to borrow a boat to come after us, we weren't too concerned. Towering cumulus clouds lay on the horizon to the southeast as we sailed north in light winds . After an enjoyable overnight sail, we anchored comfortably in the protected, man made harbor of a resort whose development had been suspended some time ago. Only this artificial harbor had been completed before the Ritz-Carlton suspended operations providing us with 360 degree protection and perfect solitude. With severe squall activity forecast, we determined to remain safely anchored until more favorable weather returned. We sat for two days under clear skies watching big anvil topped clouds pass to our east and west. This isolated anchorage attracted numerous birds and we enjoyed watching the osprey and terns diving for their dinners.
Late afternoon of our second day, we heard an American voice over the VHF marine radio responding to a Mayday issued by a sail boat 15 miles north of us. The distressed boat had run up on a coral reef not far from Turtle Cove Marina on the north coast of Providentiales. As darkness deepened, we followed radio updates with increasing dismay as the initial hopes that the grounded boat may float over the reef into deeper water, were dashed as its rudder broke up and eventually, the captain and crew had to abandon ship. Darkness hampered locating the boat but a rescue boat arrived in time to take the crew off, no injuries reported. We were unable to determine whether the boat was lost. However, an abandoned boat becomes a “salvage” operation. Anyone can take possession without the permission of or compensation to the owner. This event served as a stark reminder of how quickly all can be lost. By comparison the discovery that afternoon that our electric generator, once again, had stopped working seemed minor.
The next morning, we set out once again. Without the generator, we couldn't keep our food cold but the batteries could be kept charged by running the engine occasionally. Our intention was to reach Mayaquana in the Bahamas before dark. Once again we enjoyed a light wind sail. Fear of a sudden squall precluded use of the spinnaker but we idled along at an acceptable 3-4 knots. We rounded Devils Point once again and anchored on the north end of Betsey Bay just as the sun dropped below the horizon. After a quiet, restful night, we headed nearly west in light se winds toward Plana Cay, hoping to reach the Acklins before nightfall. However, the already light winds died as we neared Plana Cay around 3:00 and we decided that this deserted island with its crystal clear water and excellent snorkeling would meet our needs for an overnight stop. We anchored in about 15' of water, close enough to for me to swim ashore and enjoy the coral and a myriad of fish. The calm continued through the rest of the day and evening and we considered waiting at this wonderful place until the wind picked up. Weather reports from Chris Parker, the guru of Caribbean forecasting, continued to call for a chance of squalls but that the weather would settle within a day or so and trade winds would fill in soon. The SE trades would give us a nice broad reach up the Bahama chain of islands. We turned in that night agreeing that we would decide in the morning. However, the morning would bring its own, new challenge, narrowing our options considerably.
Click on picture for full view.
Down on Byron's Farm
The police waved us over shortly after we left Byron's farm. Several cars lined the road, their drivers leaned out of their windows shuffling papers to officers. Byron, slowed, stopped, but didn't pull over. A police officer, looking 16 years old in his ill-fitting uniform, approached the car imperiously asking, I assumed, for identification papers. Byron stared at the young man a moment, then, in an unmistakable tone of authority informed the officer who he was and demanded to know why they had been stopped. The young man's manner changed immediately. Now it was “Si, Jefe. Lo siento mucho, Jefe.” He finally stammered that he and his compadres had been out in the sun all day without food or water...maybe, El Jefe could give them a little money to buy some water, 'si posible'. Byron handed him a few coins and we went on our way. The rapid fire Spanish, of course, made this pretty much a mystery to Pat and I until Bryon explained that the police were looking for unlicensed guns or other irregularities as a means of soliciting money. Byron's aggressive response made the young officer consider the risk of importuning an important man, a landowner who had connections at the nearby military base, and he rapidly backed down and meekly asked for a handout. I don't think Pat or I could have pulled it off and would have forked up the cash (I don't know about Pat but I certainly didn't have the cajones)!
Living in the DR most of his life, Byron's skill in dealing with this situation comes as second nature; assessing when to press and when to acquiesce, when to pay, when not to pay. This knowledge comes only with experience. The cultural subtleties can make the untutored nervous. Clearly, the language barrier makes picking up social cues difficult. Our practice, therefore, is to be extremely conservative in offering money to government officials. Bribery is illegal in every country and we would rather suffer the consequences of delays and inconvenience than risk prison. Proof of the wisdom of this policy can be seen in the fact that neither Pat nor I, nor any accompanying crew member or guest has done any serious jail time as a result of traveling with us.
Anyway, this minor police encounter, more amusing than stressful, added a little excitement to our tour of Byron's farm. Located a short distance east of Santo Domingo, the farm used to grow office and house plants for export. At one time, he was the largest exporter of braided fica trees (among other plants) to European nurseries, until a hurricane knocked him out of business about ten years ago. Over the past 9 years, however, Byron and Alvis have transformed this tree studded 250 acre farm into a beautiful ecological vacation development. With much of the land sold, the project is nearing completion as they wend their way through the bureaucratic jungle that typifies much of doing business in the Dominican Republic.
John & Pat at Byron's Farm
The next morning Byron dropped us off at the Caribe Tours Bus terminal. While the Caribe bus doesn't go directly to Luperon, it is several steps up in quality and comfort from Transporte de Cibao that brought us here. This clean, double decker, air conditioned bus offered a comfortable ride and great views, but no chickens! It stops in Imbert about 10 miles from Luperon before continuing on to Puerto Plata. We got off there and took a taxi to Luperon.
We can't thank Byron, Norma and Alvis enough for their warm welcome, shared insights into the culture and the time taken from their busy schedules. We really enjoyed our visit and look forward to our next visit when we can spend 3 or 4 months with them. :)
Back aboard, we had to start thinking about provisioning for our departure. Luperon offers little variety in terms of food choice. We wanted to buy enough supplies to last for quite awhile. That meant heading to Santiago, an hour's drive. Several phone calls and a little negotiation resulted our arranging for a car and driver for the day. Edgardo picked us up promptly at 7:30 am in his van. Our neighbor, Tom, and his friend were heading to Santo Domingo to buy a Land Rover. His friend and his wife cruise on a beautiful trawler and have come to like Luperon so much that they have decided to spend more time there (an old story). They decided that having a car at their disposal would make seeing the country easier. We offered them a ride to Santiago where they could catch a bus for the rest of their journey. Edgardo spoke no English but certainly knew his way around Santiago.
After dropping Tom and his friend off, we headed for the city's large open air, fruit and vegetable market. Shoulder to shoulder with other shoppers, we threaded our way between carts, pickups, and donkeys, wandering several square blocks offering a bewildering array of produce—all wonderfully fresh. Vendors calling “Americanos, aqui! Platanos, naranjas, sandia!” We soon filled bags with oranges, bananas, and watermelon, trudging back to the van then back to the market for more. Finally, we headed for a modern supermarket and filled two shopping carts with supplies, then back to Luperon.
With our larder refilled, we could now turn to planning the rest of our cruise. We had stayed in Luperon much longer than we intended, as usual, but weren't ready to leave. We had yet to receive our FedEx package from the States. Two weeks seemed a long time to wait for an overnight delivery. So, the inquiries began. The package included a prescription and so we really needed it before heading on. The cruising window, bounded by the beginning of hurricane season and insurance coverage exclusions, was closing fast. The forecasted weather didn't look promising for continuing east and we couldn't leave anyway due to the need to get our mail. So, we waited, agreeing to postpone deciding until we received our package. The options were clear: stay here, head to Trinidad as weather permitted, or return north to the States.
We needed to return to the United States in June for a family outing and doctors' appointments. Also, we wanted to haul the boat to work on and get it inspected in preparation for changing our insurance carrier. We could leave the boat in Luperon again, returning after meeting our commitments. Then,returning we could hole up in this very secure anchorage. The advantages were obvious. We were already here, we liked the area, it was safe, it was cheap. The disadvantages were that our insurance would be void, there was no means to haul the boat and any refitting would be difficult. Heading to Trinidad, south of the hurricane belt, would satisfy the insurance company, enable us to haul, refit and have the boat inspected, and met our original goal of cruising the East Caribbean. The downside would be that we would have to move quickly through the rest of the Eastern Caribbean with little opportunity to enjoy it, we would not have insurance coverage until after we reached Trinidad and refitting in Trinidad would be an unknown. Returning to the States most likely meant down wind sailing, less expensive and more convenient refitting, known hauling services and options and avoiding the hottest of the Caribbean summer. On the negative side, it would mean once again not getting where we intended, losing all the southing and easting we had gained, forcing us to retrace our steps next winter. As time passed and our mail failed to arrive, the option to continue on looked less and less attractive. The longer we stayed in Luperon, the easier it was to stay. The weather was wonderful, the living easy. Still, staying didn't seem to be the best alternative, particularly with so few support services available. On the other hand....Back and forth we went without resolving the dilemma. So, we did what has become a near art form for us, we procrastinated. Manana became our mantra. Besides, the forecast calls for a chance of severe squall activity.
Living in the DR most of his life, Byron's skill in dealing with this situation comes as second nature; assessing when to press and when to acquiesce, when to pay, when not to pay. This knowledge comes only with experience. The cultural subtleties can make the untutored nervous. Clearly, the language barrier makes picking up social cues difficult. Our practice, therefore, is to be extremely conservative in offering money to government officials. Bribery is illegal in every country and we would rather suffer the consequences of delays and inconvenience than risk prison. Proof of the wisdom of this policy can be seen in the fact that neither Pat nor I, nor any accompanying crew member or guest has done any serious jail time as a result of traveling with us.
Anyway, this minor police encounter, more amusing than stressful, added a little excitement to our tour of Byron's farm. Located a short distance east of Santo Domingo, the farm used to grow office and house plants for export. At one time, he was the largest exporter of braided fica trees (among other plants) to European nurseries, until a hurricane knocked him out of business about ten years ago. Over the past 9 years, however, Byron and Alvis have transformed this tree studded 250 acre farm into a beautiful ecological vacation development. With much of the land sold, the project is nearing completion as they wend their way through the bureaucratic jungle that typifies much of doing business in the Dominican Republic.
John & Pat at Byron's Farm
The next morning Byron dropped us off at the Caribe Tours Bus terminal. While the Caribe bus doesn't go directly to Luperon, it is several steps up in quality and comfort from Transporte de Cibao that brought us here. This clean, double decker, air conditioned bus offered a comfortable ride and great views, but no chickens! It stops in Imbert about 10 miles from Luperon before continuing on to Puerto Plata. We got off there and took a taxi to Luperon.
We can't thank Byron, Norma and Alvis enough for their warm welcome, shared insights into the culture and the time taken from their busy schedules. We really enjoyed our visit and look forward to our next visit when we can spend 3 or 4 months with them. :)
Back aboard, we had to start thinking about provisioning for our departure. Luperon offers little variety in terms of food choice. We wanted to buy enough supplies to last for quite awhile. That meant heading to Santiago, an hour's drive. Several phone calls and a little negotiation resulted our arranging for a car and driver for the day. Edgardo picked us up promptly at 7:30 am in his van. Our neighbor, Tom, and his friend were heading to Santo Domingo to buy a Land Rover. His friend and his wife cruise on a beautiful trawler and have come to like Luperon so much that they have decided to spend more time there (an old story). They decided that having a car at their disposal would make seeing the country easier. We offered them a ride to Santiago where they could catch a bus for the rest of their journey. Edgardo spoke no English but certainly knew his way around Santiago.
After dropping Tom and his friend off, we headed for the city's large open air, fruit and vegetable market. Shoulder to shoulder with other shoppers, we threaded our way between carts, pickups, and donkeys, wandering several square blocks offering a bewildering array of produce—all wonderfully fresh. Vendors calling “Americanos, aqui! Platanos, naranjas, sandia!” We soon filled bags with oranges, bananas, and watermelon, trudging back to the van then back to the market for more. Finally, we headed for a modern supermarket and filled two shopping carts with supplies, then back to Luperon.
With our larder refilled, we could now turn to planning the rest of our cruise. We had stayed in Luperon much longer than we intended, as usual, but weren't ready to leave. We had yet to receive our FedEx package from the States. Two weeks seemed a long time to wait for an overnight delivery. So, the inquiries began. The package included a prescription and so we really needed it before heading on. The cruising window, bounded by the beginning of hurricane season and insurance coverage exclusions, was closing fast. The forecasted weather didn't look promising for continuing east and we couldn't leave anyway due to the need to get our mail. So, we waited, agreeing to postpone deciding until we received our package. The options were clear: stay here, head to Trinidad as weather permitted, or return north to the States.
We needed to return to the United States in June for a family outing and doctors' appointments. Also, we wanted to haul the boat to work on and get it inspected in preparation for changing our insurance carrier. We could leave the boat in Luperon again, returning after meeting our commitments. Then,returning we could hole up in this very secure anchorage. The advantages were obvious. We were already here, we liked the area, it was safe, it was cheap. The disadvantages were that our insurance would be void, there was no means to haul the boat and any refitting would be difficult. Heading to Trinidad, south of the hurricane belt, would satisfy the insurance company, enable us to haul, refit and have the boat inspected, and met our original goal of cruising the East Caribbean. The downside would be that we would have to move quickly through the rest of the Eastern Caribbean with little opportunity to enjoy it, we would not have insurance coverage until after we reached Trinidad and refitting in Trinidad would be an unknown. Returning to the States most likely meant down wind sailing, less expensive and more convenient refitting, known hauling services and options and avoiding the hottest of the Caribbean summer. On the negative side, it would mean once again not getting where we intended, losing all the southing and easting we had gained, forcing us to retrace our steps next winter. As time passed and our mail failed to arrive, the option to continue on looked less and less attractive. The longer we stayed in Luperon, the easier it was to stay. The weather was wonderful, the living easy. Still, staying didn't seem to be the best alternative, particularly with so few support services available. On the other hand....Back and forth we went without resolving the dilemma. So, we did what has become a near art form for us, we procrastinated. Manana became our mantra. Besides, the forecast calls for a chance of severe squall activity.
Booby
This young Brown Booby landed on our boat about 30 nm off the Florida coast. It stayed with us for about 6 hours, leaving only when a horrendous storm hit around 10:00 pm.
Double left click on picture to enlarge.
Santo Domingo-ing
After spending a week in Ohio and celebrating John's dad's 90th (!) birthday, we were back on the boat in Luperon harbor by the beginning of May. Leaving the boat at anchor anywhere is a cause for concern, but she fared just fine, under the watchful eye of some of our neighbors here in the harbor. She didn't drag her anchor, and no one bothered her, so we were thankful.
Being here in the Dominican Republic is special for us, since John has relatives here. That, I think, buys us some points with some of the locals, and some envy from other cruisers who would love to have someone to visit for a real honest-to-goodness Dominican experience.
We left on Wednesday afternoon on the local bus to spend a few days with John's cousin and his family in Santo Domingo. We love to use local transportation when we can, so that we can be with the people and try to get a sense of who they are and how they live. The Transporte de Cibao bus was not air conditioned, so windows open. We spent 5 hours going from the northern coast to the southern coast. What a ride! The driver kept the door open and the driver's helper leaped up and down to help people on and off with their packages. John's cousin called while we were in route, but there was no way we were going to hear the phone ring, with the honking of horns, the crying of the babies and the clucking of the chickens in the seat behind me (I am NOT making this up.) The bus transported people, packages, school children back to school after siesta, and whatever else needed to be moved cheaply from one end of the country to the other. The ticket was about $7 US. Imagine a cab ride in Manhattan (which most people can relate to) minus the anger with the driver using his horn almost as much as the accelerator, (certainly more than he used the brake), but instead, weaving in and out past trucks loaded with bananas, motorcycles (called motohonchos) with 3 to 4 people onboard, and the occasional mounted horseman, or donkey, laden with fruit for market. We were completely stopped for a couple of minutes by cabajeros (cowboys) on horseback herding cattle down the road, cracking their whips just like in the movies (but, I think, only better!).
The scenery was magnificent. The highest mountains in the West Indies are right here, with Pico Duarte being 10,416 feet high. We passed sugar cane, banana, orange and tobacco plantations, and areas so thick with vegetation you would have to cut your way through, all very green and lush. We also, however, passed some of the most poverty-laden areas we have yet seen on our trip. The average salary in the country is about $200 US/month. I'm sure these people don't make that much.
Which leads me to a comment about the people here. We have been anchored near the little village of Luperon, now, for about a month. The village has between 1 and 2 thousand people, but it bustles like it was thousands more. No one is idle. Even though it is a very poor village, the people are all well dressed, although not fancy, but always clean. We have only been approached by one elderly man who wanted money, but constantly by people who want to perform a service, from being a guide to giving us a ride to wherever we need to go. Everyone has a 'business'. It seems that from the time they get out of school, everyone has something they are engaged in. In front of someone's house, you might find them cutting up the fish they caught that morning, or the chickens they just harvested. People are always welding, painting something, selling something; this is not a sleepy little village. It hops. Near the main intersection, and the one (non-working) traffic light, there are usually about 20 young men with their motohonchos calling out for customers. Up the street, are the (car) taxis, where you can buy the whole carload and go now, or wait for the car to be filled (and I mean filled—to the point of sitting on each other's laps!) before you go. You can go to a restaurant owned by a former North American, or sit at a table in the front of someone's house, where you can have the 'especial del dia', which is always chicken and rice.
This is a very rich, fertile country, with deposits of precious minerals and scenery to die for. But, I think its finest asset are its people. May sound like some travel brochure, but these people are not only industrious, they seem to be constantly laughing, teasing each other, and, I have observed, don't get all bent out of shape at little things that don't go their way. They are also quite attractive. They are a mixture of European (Spanish mostly) and African, with skin mostly a medium brown. One final thing that impresses me is how they carry themselves, with pride and dignity, everyone from the very young to the very old. With people like these, and a country rich in all it has to offer, it leaves me hoping that the political situation will someday be such that the people as a whole will be able to benefit. While some cruisers here complain of corruption, we have seen very little. We have found people very honest. For example, when John nearly overpaid (due to a currency conversion error) the men who delivered water to the boat, they refused to accept more than the originally stated price. Stories are told of taxi drivers who didn't have the correct change tracking down customers two days latter to return the extra money paid. Still, there is definitely official corruption here. The previous two comandantes in Luperon were fired for demanding bribes, explaining why we had no problem.
Anyway, I digress. After our most interesting ride, we arrived in Santo Domingo about 6:30 p.m. As there are, I think, three bus companies, we called John's cousin from the bus and had the nice lady across the aisle from us tell Byron where to pick us up. When he heard which bus we were coming in on, he assured us he would be there when we arrived so (I think) we wouldn't be frightened. Not to worry, however. The area of the city was 'sketchy', but the people were not, so, it was just interesting.
We were warmly welcomed by Byron, his wife, Norma, and one of their sons, Alvis. Members of our family who had visited with Byron and family before had told us we were in for a treat, and they were right. They live in a large, beautiful house in the city. It would be comparable to living on a side street in Manhattan (to get the picture). The houses all have the decorative (and serve a security function) wrought iron around the decks and windows. They do not need screens. I was looking at some of the high-rise apartments in the city and noticed that some of the apartments on the upper levels don't even have a sliding door. Where the sliding door would be, it is just open to a wonderful deck, surrounded by the ornamental wrought iron railing. On the side of the opening would be drapes which are held back by sashes, and of course, the all-important hurricane shutters which roll up out of the way above the opening. Floors are tile. Plants are everywhere. I've always been somewhat envious visiting areas where their yards and porches are filled with what we northerners can only know as 'house' plants.
Oh, but then, I digress again. When we arrived, we got settled into the guest room and dinner was served. Byron and Norma have a cook, Consuela, who served up a variety of the best meals I had eaten since we left Rhode Island a year and a half ago. I had been losing weight on this trip, but I think I succeeded in gaining some of it back this week. We ate, visited late, and made our 'plan of attack' for the following two days of sightseeing.
We began Thursday with an overview of the old city, with Byron giving us a car tour and pointing out buildings of interest. One such building, is the Faro a Colon, which is a monument erected on the 500th anniversary of Christopher Columbus' landfall in 1492. Supposedly, the structure, which is quite large, contains the ashes of the old guy, but no one will ever be sure because they were supposedly moved over the centuries from the Dominican Republic to Spain, back to the Dominican Republic, then to Cuba and then supposedly back to Spain. However, in 1877, when the cathedral here was renovated, they turned up a casket bearing the inscription “Almirante Christobal Colon”, so it's anybody's guess as to where he really is. The monument is surrounded by trees donated by Byron from his farm. Byron had a nursery business for many years, being the chief exporter of, among other plants, the braided fica trees we love in the US. His clients, however, were mostly in Europe.
We returned to the house for lunch after which Byron dropped us off at one end of the colonial area. John and I walked the colonial area, stopping first at the oldest church in the new world, the Catedral Basilica Santa Maria la Menor, built between 1514 and 1540 (about 100 years before the Pilgrims landed in Plymouth)! We eat this stuff up! There are the ruins of the oldest hospital in the new world, as well as buildings dating from the early 16th century which are now museums and shops. My favorite was Diego Colon's (Christopher Colon's (Columbus) son's) house. Suffice it to say, he lived very well. As were walking through, however, I kept wondering where all the fireplaces were~~how did these people keep warm? Then it dawned on me where I was....duh. The almost constant breezes and moderate temperatures make for nearly perfect weather with days requiring heating or air conditioning rare.
Santo Domingo is built on the banks of the River Ozama. It was founded by another of Christopher Columbus' brothers, Bartolomeo, in 1498. It suffered an earthquake in 1562 and was attacked by Sir Francis Drake, the dreaded English pirate, in 1586. It was known as Cuidad Trujillo, during the reign of the dictator from the 1930's until 1961, but reverted after the assassination of that less than honorable human being (you see no monuments to this US sponsored dictator, only his victims). Santo Domingo is now home to some 3 million people and the largest city in the country.
After seeing the oldest church in the New World, we headed for the Fortaleza Ozama, built in 1503 near the mouth of the river. It was used until the 1970's. Within the fort is the Torre del Homenaje (Tower of Homage) with 7 foot walls. Climb to the top of the tower and you can see the importance of this structure for guarding the city.
The Alcazar de Colon was next on the agenda. It was built by Chris' son, Diego, who became the first viceroy of the new world. It is a copy of a castle in Toledo, Spain, (only on a smaller scale) and has one of those ceilings adorned with finely painted wood, complete with sculpted animal heads. It is full of original 16th century furniture.
The Museo de las Casas Reales was quite an interesting building, covering the history of the island from the Taino indians (original inhabitants) through the 18th century. There is a great collection of ancient armaments, including some armor, inlaid rifles, swords, crossbows and a Roman legionnaire's helmet dating from the year 1.
After a day of sightseeing, and some tired feet, Byron and Alvis picked us up at the other end of the colonial zone and we returned home for dinner and more conversation.
Being here in the Dominican Republic is special for us, since John has relatives here. That, I think, buys us some points with some of the locals, and some envy from other cruisers who would love to have someone to visit for a real honest-to-goodness Dominican experience.
We left on Wednesday afternoon on the local bus to spend a few days with John's cousin and his family in Santo Domingo. We love to use local transportation when we can, so that we can be with the people and try to get a sense of who they are and how they live. The Transporte de Cibao bus was not air conditioned, so windows open. We spent 5 hours going from the northern coast to the southern coast. What a ride! The driver kept the door open and the driver's helper leaped up and down to help people on and off with their packages. John's cousin called while we were in route, but there was no way we were going to hear the phone ring, with the honking of horns, the crying of the babies and the clucking of the chickens in the seat behind me (I am NOT making this up.) The bus transported people, packages, school children back to school after siesta, and whatever else needed to be moved cheaply from one end of the country to the other. The ticket was about $7 US. Imagine a cab ride in Manhattan (which most people can relate to) minus the anger with the driver using his horn almost as much as the accelerator, (certainly more than he used the brake), but instead, weaving in and out past trucks loaded with bananas, motorcycles (called motohonchos) with 3 to 4 people onboard, and the occasional mounted horseman, or donkey, laden with fruit for market. We were completely stopped for a couple of minutes by cabajeros (cowboys) on horseback herding cattle down the road, cracking their whips just like in the movies (but, I think, only better!).
The scenery was magnificent. The highest mountains in the West Indies are right here, with Pico Duarte being 10,416 feet high. We passed sugar cane, banana, orange and tobacco plantations, and areas so thick with vegetation you would have to cut your way through, all very green and lush. We also, however, passed some of the most poverty-laden areas we have yet seen on our trip. The average salary in the country is about $200 US/month. I'm sure these people don't make that much.
Which leads me to a comment about the people here. We have been anchored near the little village of Luperon, now, for about a month. The village has between 1 and 2 thousand people, but it bustles like it was thousands more. No one is idle. Even though it is a very poor village, the people are all well dressed, although not fancy, but always clean. We have only been approached by one elderly man who wanted money, but constantly by people who want to perform a service, from being a guide to giving us a ride to wherever we need to go. Everyone has a 'business'. It seems that from the time they get out of school, everyone has something they are engaged in. In front of someone's house, you might find them cutting up the fish they caught that morning, or the chickens they just harvested. People are always welding, painting something, selling something; this is not a sleepy little village. It hops. Near the main intersection, and the one (non-working) traffic light, there are usually about 20 young men with their motohonchos calling out for customers. Up the street, are the (car) taxis, where you can buy the whole carload and go now, or wait for the car to be filled (and I mean filled—to the point of sitting on each other's laps!) before you go. You can go to a restaurant owned by a former North American, or sit at a table in the front of someone's house, where you can have the 'especial del dia', which is always chicken and rice.
This is a very rich, fertile country, with deposits of precious minerals and scenery to die for. But, I think its finest asset are its people. May sound like some travel brochure, but these people are not only industrious, they seem to be constantly laughing, teasing each other, and, I have observed, don't get all bent out of shape at little things that don't go their way. They are also quite attractive. They are a mixture of European (Spanish mostly) and African, with skin mostly a medium brown. One final thing that impresses me is how they carry themselves, with pride and dignity, everyone from the very young to the very old. With people like these, and a country rich in all it has to offer, it leaves me hoping that the political situation will someday be such that the people as a whole will be able to benefit. While some cruisers here complain of corruption, we have seen very little. We have found people very honest. For example, when John nearly overpaid (due to a currency conversion error) the men who delivered water to the boat, they refused to accept more than the originally stated price. Stories are told of taxi drivers who didn't have the correct change tracking down customers two days latter to return the extra money paid. Still, there is definitely official corruption here. The previous two comandantes in Luperon were fired for demanding bribes, explaining why we had no problem.
Anyway, I digress. After our most interesting ride, we arrived in Santo Domingo about 6:30 p.m. As there are, I think, three bus companies, we called John's cousin from the bus and had the nice lady across the aisle from us tell Byron where to pick us up. When he heard which bus we were coming in on, he assured us he would be there when we arrived so (I think) we wouldn't be frightened. Not to worry, however. The area of the city was 'sketchy', but the people were not, so, it was just interesting.
We were warmly welcomed by Byron, his wife, Norma, and one of their sons, Alvis. Members of our family who had visited with Byron and family before had told us we were in for a treat, and they were right. They live in a large, beautiful house in the city. It would be comparable to living on a side street in Manhattan (to get the picture). The houses all have the decorative (and serve a security function) wrought iron around the decks and windows. They do not need screens. I was looking at some of the high-rise apartments in the city and noticed that some of the apartments on the upper levels don't even have a sliding door. Where the sliding door would be, it is just open to a wonderful deck, surrounded by the ornamental wrought iron railing. On the side of the opening would be drapes which are held back by sashes, and of course, the all-important hurricane shutters which roll up out of the way above the opening. Floors are tile. Plants are everywhere. I've always been somewhat envious visiting areas where their yards and porches are filled with what we northerners can only know as 'house' plants.
Oh, but then, I digress again. When we arrived, we got settled into the guest room and dinner was served. Byron and Norma have a cook, Consuela, who served up a variety of the best meals I had eaten since we left Rhode Island a year and a half ago. I had been losing weight on this trip, but I think I succeeded in gaining some of it back this week. We ate, visited late, and made our 'plan of attack' for the following two days of sightseeing.
We began Thursday with an overview of the old city, with Byron giving us a car tour and pointing out buildings of interest. One such building, is the Faro a Colon, which is a monument erected on the 500th anniversary of Christopher Columbus' landfall in 1492. Supposedly, the structure, which is quite large, contains the ashes of the old guy, but no one will ever be sure because they were supposedly moved over the centuries from the Dominican Republic to Spain, back to the Dominican Republic, then to Cuba and then supposedly back to Spain. However, in 1877, when the cathedral here was renovated, they turned up a casket bearing the inscription “Almirante Christobal Colon”, so it's anybody's guess as to where he really is. The monument is surrounded by trees donated by Byron from his farm. Byron had a nursery business for many years, being the chief exporter of, among other plants, the braided fica trees we love in the US. His clients, however, were mostly in Europe.
We returned to the house for lunch after which Byron dropped us off at one end of the colonial area. John and I walked the colonial area, stopping first at the oldest church in the new world, the Catedral Basilica Santa Maria la Menor, built between 1514 and 1540 (about 100 years before the Pilgrims landed in Plymouth)! We eat this stuff up! There are the ruins of the oldest hospital in the new world, as well as buildings dating from the early 16th century which are now museums and shops. My favorite was Diego Colon's (Christopher Colon's (Columbus) son's) house. Suffice it to say, he lived very well. As were walking through, however, I kept wondering where all the fireplaces were~~how did these people keep warm? Then it dawned on me where I was....duh. The almost constant breezes and moderate temperatures make for nearly perfect weather with days requiring heating or air conditioning rare.
Santo Domingo is built on the banks of the River Ozama. It was founded by another of Christopher Columbus' brothers, Bartolomeo, in 1498. It suffered an earthquake in 1562 and was attacked by Sir Francis Drake, the dreaded English pirate, in 1586. It was known as Cuidad Trujillo, during the reign of the dictator from the 1930's until 1961, but reverted after the assassination of that less than honorable human being (you see no monuments to this US sponsored dictator, only his victims). Santo Domingo is now home to some 3 million people and the largest city in the country.
After seeing the oldest church in the New World, we headed for the Fortaleza Ozama, built in 1503 near the mouth of the river. It was used until the 1970's. Within the fort is the Torre del Homenaje (Tower of Homage) with 7 foot walls. Climb to the top of the tower and you can see the importance of this structure for guarding the city.
The Alcazar de Colon was next on the agenda. It was built by Chris' son, Diego, who became the first viceroy of the new world. It is a copy of a castle in Toledo, Spain, (only on a smaller scale) and has one of those ceilings adorned with finely painted wood, complete with sculpted animal heads. It is full of original 16th century furniture.
The Museo de las Casas Reales was quite an interesting building, covering the history of the island from the Taino indians (original inhabitants) through the 18th century. There is a great collection of ancient armaments, including some armor, inlaid rifles, swords, crossbows and a Roman legionnaire's helmet dating from the year 1.
After a day of sightseeing, and some tired feet, Byron and Alvis picked us up at the other end of the colonial zone and we returned home for dinner and more conversation.
Destination DR
Continuing our south by north strategy, we skirted past the coral heads east and north of our anchorage off Ambergris Cay around Fish Cay and into the deep water of the Columbus Passage mid morning on April 13. This was our second attempt to wend our way through the treacherous coral heads around Ambergris. The morning before we found ourselves dodging coral heads, getting off course and narrow escaping a bad end. Discretion and exhaustion led us back through the coral maze in which we had found ourselves to our previous anchorage and our new found friends, Robin and Diana on S/V Solveig. The core value in cruising being flexibility, we cast off our frayed plan and took advantage of the situation at hand. Circumstances and bad navigation prevented our intended departure but provided the opportunity for a delightful evening of good food and wonderful conversation on Solveig. Robin, a retired CERN nuclear physicist and Diana, a former British spy, proved to be entertaining and gracious hosts as we dined well and held forth on a variety of topics with intelligence and insight. In other words, we agreed on just about everything.
Like the New Zealanders, they were also a part of the band of Southbounders we had met in George Town. They had originally planned to reach Trinidad, but their plans changed when their bottom paint began peeling off in large sheets from their steel hulled sloop. Apparently, when the boat yard in Ft. Lauderdale painted the bottom earlier in the year, the temperature was so cold the paint never cured properly, meaning that it had to be done over. So, instead of continuing south, they were spending the next couple of weeks in the Turks and Caicos. They would haul the boat in Provo and have the bottom painted and leave the boat there, on the hard, during hurricane season and return home to the UK. In the meantime they would explore the beautiful and relatively unspoiled Turks and Caicos.
After sailing several hours north to avoid the coral reefs, we finally turned south, southeast toward Luperon, on the north coast of the Dominican Republic. With an east and east southeast wind of 16-20 knots, we were able to sail and motor sail pretty much in the desired direction. We made as much easterly as we could, knowing that the wind would back to the southeast. Again we had a current working against us. Still, in great weather and 2-4' seas, we had as fine a passage as could be expected. Sailing all night in a tunnel of darkness, we emerged in the morning to see the hazy mountains of the Dominican Republic. On a dying wind and flat seas, we headed for the Luperon inlet watching dolphins lazily feeding just ahead. The entrance was fairly easy to spot. We identified what the chart called a “conspicuous house” just west of the mouth of the inlet. With a waypoint, a heading and using a distinctive mountain profile as a range, we slowly proceeded into the harbor. The water is deep almost to shore and the cruising guide provided excellent directions. The murky inlet water gave no clue as to depth, but we easily made our way into this very protected anchorage. As we passed M/T Essential Parts, Tom, the captain came out on deck to provide good advice regarding anchoring. While the harbor is generally deep, there are a few very shallow spots that aren't obvious. Just as we dropped anchor, we heard a friendly, “Hola, excellente (referencing our anchoring skills)!” Papo, motored alongside. He explained in a mix of Spanish and English that he can supply us with whatever we need. We call him the (gun toting) 'consegliere' of the harbor. We have called him when we needed anything from drinking water to diesel fuel. He comes right out with whatever you want, which is good, because there is no marina into which you can go to fuel up. He called the “Comandante” on the radio to inform him of our arrival and explained that we should wait to be boarded and cleared, but if after several hours no one came out, we could head into the government dock and proceed to the Aduana.
We cleaned up the boat as we waited...and waited...and waited. Three hours later, still no Comandante In the DR, the naval Comandante often has no access to a boat. Therefore, he has to get a ride with someone. The vessel being cleared is expected to help pay for the gas. That may explain the delay. Tired of waiting and hungry, we lowered the dinghy and headed to shore, walked to the Aduana and began the process of clearing in. Many cruisers have decried cruising in the DR, complaining of bribe taking and confusing, changing requirements. Our experience doesn't support those complaints. Even with our poor command of Spanish, the officials patiently worked through the minimal paperwork, insisted on providing receipts for each transaction and even let us get lunch in town while waiting for the Comandante and the Agricultural inspector to be available.
Back on the boat and two hours later, the navy ties up alongside with ½ dozen men, including an agricultural inspector. One man in street shoes, removes them before boarding to avoid marking up the deck. The whole process goes smoothly and I offer, but must insist upon, a couple of dollars to defray the cost of gas. I believe, based on our experience, that as tourism has increased in the DR, the government has taken steps to reduce the incidence of bribe taking and standardize the process. We ended up paying about $130 US to enter and received receipts for everything, except the gas money. Reputation, language and ignorance often create unwarranted suspicions. We met an American couple from Texas who believed the fees were outrageous and worried that they had been cheated. They pointed to a schedule of fees and exclaimed that the $350 per person fee until we pointed out that the prices were in pesos, not dollars and equivalent to about $10 US.
Luperon, a small, rural, town, 2 hours from the nearest airport and not far from Haiti, sits on the shore of one of the most protected harbors in the Eastern Caribbean. Surrounded by mountains and protected from the sea by a dogleg inlet, no safer spot could be found. Mangrove trees line the harbor providing both a soft landing for any boat that goes adrift as well. They also offer a means to secure lines to shore in the event of a storm. The town itself consists of 2 primary streets that converge at the dock. Goats, dogs and chickens compete with cars, burros, and 'motoconchos' (small motorcycles that provide taxi service) on Calle Duarte, the main street. Lined with a mix of shabby, small vegetable stores, a welding shop, one room residences and restaurants, the street bustles with activity. People greet each other and strangers cheerfully. With the houses sitting right on the street, the sidewalk becomes an extension of the homes and businesses. Men and women play dominoes at tables, slamming the pieces down with enthusiasm. Girls braid each others' hair, farmers sell produce from the back of their trucks and a loudspeaker broadcasts clucking chickens, announcing the arrival of a pickup carrying freshly killed birds for sale, whole or cut to order.
Always on the lookout for a good meal after being on the water for a couple of days, we take the steps up to a second floor restaurant overlooking the main intersection with the town's sole traffic light (non-working). Andre, the owner/manager, soon appears, welcomes us in French accented English. A French Canadian who sailed into Luperon 5 years ago with the intention of continuing on through the Caribbean, he opened the restaurant only recently. As the food is served he advises us that, “If you don't like the food, you don't have to pay!” An American, sitting next to us, empty plate in front of him, tells Andre with a smile that his meal was terrible! “Too late”, replies Andre. Our neighbor introduces himself and we learn that he is Bill from Logan, Ohio, not far from where my mother was born and raised! He too sailed to Luperon several years ago, planning to sail to Australia, only to get caught up the this dynamic, friendly, beautiful but poor country. He is retired from the Boy Scouts of America, where he organized camps, excursions, etc. for hundreds of boys at a time. He decided to use his organizing skills here in his retirement. He runs a nonprofit, nondenominational mission that builds homes for the poor and helps the local people by procuring school supplies, medicine, whatever is needed.
The friendly, industrious people of Luperon reflect a lively and diverse culture and leave a positive impression. At the same time, the economic poverty is obvious. Andre told us the average employee earns about $3 USD a day and while prices for some things are low, many items are at least as expensive as they are in the States. Still, nearly everyone you pass offers a friendly “Hola!” People seem to care greatly about their personal appearance, dressing well considering their apparent lack of means. We get numerous offers for assistance, with some gratuity expected, but few beggars. Nearly everyone, young and old seem to be looking for a way to hustle a few pesos. If a service is provided they expect compensation, but no handouts. If you don't wish the service offered, a simple, "No, gracious" moves them on to the next prospective customer.
We are excited to be at last in the Caribbean. The people, the landscape and the Spanish heritage all promise a refreshing contrast to the former English colonies of the Bahamas. On top of that, we hope to visit my cousin Byron who lives in Santo Domingo.
Note: Pictures to follow. No high speed internet available and life is short.
Like the New Zealanders, they were also a part of the band of Southbounders we had met in George Town. They had originally planned to reach Trinidad, but their plans changed when their bottom paint began peeling off in large sheets from their steel hulled sloop. Apparently, when the boat yard in Ft. Lauderdale painted the bottom earlier in the year, the temperature was so cold the paint never cured properly, meaning that it had to be done over. So, instead of continuing south, they were spending the next couple of weeks in the Turks and Caicos. They would haul the boat in Provo and have the bottom painted and leave the boat there, on the hard, during hurricane season and return home to the UK. In the meantime they would explore the beautiful and relatively unspoiled Turks and Caicos.
After sailing several hours north to avoid the coral reefs, we finally turned south, southeast toward Luperon, on the north coast of the Dominican Republic. With an east and east southeast wind of 16-20 knots, we were able to sail and motor sail pretty much in the desired direction. We made as much easterly as we could, knowing that the wind would back to the southeast. Again we had a current working against us. Still, in great weather and 2-4' seas, we had as fine a passage as could be expected. Sailing all night in a tunnel of darkness, we emerged in the morning to see the hazy mountains of the Dominican Republic. On a dying wind and flat seas, we headed for the Luperon inlet watching dolphins lazily feeding just ahead. The entrance was fairly easy to spot. We identified what the chart called a “conspicuous house” just west of the mouth of the inlet. With a waypoint, a heading and using a distinctive mountain profile as a range, we slowly proceeded into the harbor. The water is deep almost to shore and the cruising guide provided excellent directions. The murky inlet water gave no clue as to depth, but we easily made our way into this very protected anchorage. As we passed M/T Essential Parts, Tom, the captain came out on deck to provide good advice regarding anchoring. While the harbor is generally deep, there are a few very shallow spots that aren't obvious. Just as we dropped anchor, we heard a friendly, “Hola, excellente (referencing our anchoring skills)!” Papo, motored alongside. He explained in a mix of Spanish and English that he can supply us with whatever we need. We call him the (gun toting) 'consegliere' of the harbor. We have called him when we needed anything from drinking water to diesel fuel. He comes right out with whatever you want, which is good, because there is no marina into which you can go to fuel up. He called the “Comandante” on the radio to inform him of our arrival and explained that we should wait to be boarded and cleared, but if after several hours no one came out, we could head into the government dock and proceed to the Aduana.
We cleaned up the boat as we waited...and waited...and waited. Three hours later, still no Comandante In the DR, the naval Comandante often has no access to a boat. Therefore, he has to get a ride with someone. The vessel being cleared is expected to help pay for the gas. That may explain the delay. Tired of waiting and hungry, we lowered the dinghy and headed to shore, walked to the Aduana and began the process of clearing in. Many cruisers have decried cruising in the DR, complaining of bribe taking and confusing, changing requirements. Our experience doesn't support those complaints. Even with our poor command of Spanish, the officials patiently worked through the minimal paperwork, insisted on providing receipts for each transaction and even let us get lunch in town while waiting for the Comandante and the Agricultural inspector to be available.
Back on the boat and two hours later, the navy ties up alongside with ½ dozen men, including an agricultural inspector. One man in street shoes, removes them before boarding to avoid marking up the deck. The whole process goes smoothly and I offer, but must insist upon, a couple of dollars to defray the cost of gas. I believe, based on our experience, that as tourism has increased in the DR, the government has taken steps to reduce the incidence of bribe taking and standardize the process. We ended up paying about $130 US to enter and received receipts for everything, except the gas money. Reputation, language and ignorance often create unwarranted suspicions. We met an American couple from Texas who believed the fees were outrageous and worried that they had been cheated. They pointed to a schedule of fees and exclaimed that the $350 per person fee until we pointed out that the prices were in pesos, not dollars and equivalent to about $10 US.
Luperon, a small, rural, town, 2 hours from the nearest airport and not far from Haiti, sits on the shore of one of the most protected harbors in the Eastern Caribbean. Surrounded by mountains and protected from the sea by a dogleg inlet, no safer spot could be found. Mangrove trees line the harbor providing both a soft landing for any boat that goes adrift as well. They also offer a means to secure lines to shore in the event of a storm. The town itself consists of 2 primary streets that converge at the dock. Goats, dogs and chickens compete with cars, burros, and 'motoconchos' (small motorcycles that provide taxi service) on Calle Duarte, the main street. Lined with a mix of shabby, small vegetable stores, a welding shop, one room residences and restaurants, the street bustles with activity. People greet each other and strangers cheerfully. With the houses sitting right on the street, the sidewalk becomes an extension of the homes and businesses. Men and women play dominoes at tables, slamming the pieces down with enthusiasm. Girls braid each others' hair, farmers sell produce from the back of their trucks and a loudspeaker broadcasts clucking chickens, announcing the arrival of a pickup carrying freshly killed birds for sale, whole or cut to order.
Always on the lookout for a good meal after being on the water for a couple of days, we take the steps up to a second floor restaurant overlooking the main intersection with the town's sole traffic light (non-working). Andre, the owner/manager, soon appears, welcomes us in French accented English. A French Canadian who sailed into Luperon 5 years ago with the intention of continuing on through the Caribbean, he opened the restaurant only recently. As the food is served he advises us that, “If you don't like the food, you don't have to pay!” An American, sitting next to us, empty plate in front of him, tells Andre with a smile that his meal was terrible! “Too late”, replies Andre. Our neighbor introduces himself and we learn that he is Bill from Logan, Ohio, not far from where my mother was born and raised! He too sailed to Luperon several years ago, planning to sail to Australia, only to get caught up the this dynamic, friendly, beautiful but poor country. He is retired from the Boy Scouts of America, where he organized camps, excursions, etc. for hundreds of boys at a time. He decided to use his organizing skills here in his retirement. He runs a nonprofit, nondenominational mission that builds homes for the poor and helps the local people by procuring school supplies, medicine, whatever is needed.
The friendly, industrious people of Luperon reflect a lively and diverse culture and leave a positive impression. At the same time, the economic poverty is obvious. Andre told us the average employee earns about $3 USD a day and while prices for some things are low, many items are at least as expensive as they are in the States. Still, nearly everyone you pass offers a friendly “Hola!” People seem to care greatly about their personal appearance, dressing well considering their apparent lack of means. We get numerous offers for assistance, with some gratuity expected, but few beggars. Nearly everyone, young and old seem to be looking for a way to hustle a few pesos. If a service is provided they expect compensation, but no handouts. If you don't wish the service offered, a simple, "No, gracious" moves them on to the next prospective customer.
We are excited to be at last in the Caribbean. The people, the landscape and the Spanish heritage all promise a refreshing contrast to the former English colonies of the Bahamas. On top of that, we hope to visit my cousin Byron who lives in Santo Domingo.
Note: Pictures to follow. No high speed internet available and life is short.
South by North
Patience worn thin awaiting favorable weather was finally rewarded as we exited Elizabeth Harbour, George Town, March 29, around noon into bright sunshine and a south by southeast 20 knot wind. Still, George Town presented one last sticking point. Gusty, strong winds the week before had caused everyone to let out additional anchor chain. The depth and opacity of the water obscured the fact that our closest neighbor, S/V Helen Irene, now rested nearly over our anchor. Ted and Judy, her owners, were attending beach side church services as we edged carefully forward. In spite of premonitions of punishment for not attending church, Pat skillfully maneuvered Live Now into position as we finessed the anchor up and were aweigh, perhaps blessed by the influence of fervent prayer ashore.
Once clear of the inlet, with all sail flying, we headed northeast toward Long Island. But wait! Going North to go South? Shallow water requires a route that takes you a bit north of George Town, around Long Island then south, southeast toward our next destination, the Dominican Republic. Since the prevailing wind is southeast, the direction you want to go, you must take advantage of the brief periods when the wind breaks from it's usual pattern to get as far east as possible, even if it means going a little north. That way, when the prevailing winds return, you can turn. Because the breaks in the prevailing pattern are brief, unless you want to face strong headwinds and uncomfortable seas, heading southeast from the Bahamas usually involves short hops and long waits in sometimes uncomfortable anchorages or heading east far out to sea. We were prepared to stop at either Long Island, Rum Cay or Conception as conditions dictated. As it turned out, however, for once, the arbitrary and capricious wind gods favored us and just as we rounded Cape Santa Maria, Long Island, it obligingly backed east, allowing us to make the turn south, pretty much on the rhumb line for our destination. The result: a nearly perfect beam reach sail in 15 to 20 knot winds in 2' seas for the first half of our cruise. We sailed so well we actually passed another boat, the S/V Venture, a noteworthy event for its rarity. Trolling for fish as we sailed, I caught a small, fierce looking barracuda but released it after recalling that barracuda cause more fish poisoning than any other.
The barracuda proved luckier than several flying fish that found their way on board on their own. I couldn't get Pat to attempt a mouth to gill resuscitation. So after briefly considering eating them, we held a 'scaled' down memorial service and returned them to a watery grave .
As night fell a clocking wind and adverse 1/2 knot current dictated a combination sailing and motor sailing toward Mayaquana, our last stop in the Bahamas. We timed our arrived with the sunrise and were treated to a truly sublime moment as we sat in the lee of the island, 2 miles off the coast: sails furled, motor off, motionless on a silent, mill pond sea; waiting for what proved to be a spectacular dawn. We found a deserted anchorage in Betsy Bay and, I, having had the last watch went to bed while Pat cleaned up the boat and made ready for the next leg of our journey.
Just before dusk the same day, refreshed from 6 hours sleep and a meal, we raised the anchor and headed south around Devil's Point toward Providenciales, finding hope in a route that left the devil astern and headed for “divine guidance”. Apparently, that guidance did not include a favorable wind as we found that it had continued to clock southeast, putting it right on our nose. With the wind and the current pushing us the wrong direction, we struggled to make our way. Sailing close with a 16 knot wind we could barely make headway, so, we bore off almost due south tacking northeast just north of Little Inagua then finally back southeast and our destination. Rather then the planned early morning arrival, we now approached the the low-lying Turks and Caicos in the middle of the day. In reviewing the charts and the advice they provided, the Pony Cut entrance to the Banks looked more promising than the generally recommended Sandbore Channel, so, in the late afternoon, we entered the Cut and dropped anchor behind the reef in clean sand and 9 feet of water. Submerged reef on either side of us gave us a unsettled, vulnerable feeling. However, the anchorage proved to be quite comfortable and safe. We had planned to go on to Providenciales (Provo) about 9 nm away but the all night sail and lateness in the day prompted us to elect to stay put until morning.
After a peaceful night, we followed the Pony Channel across the shallow Caicos Banks to Provo. The channel is wide, the water clear and we anchored in Sapodilla Bay around 10:00 am. The Turks and Caicos, originally a Spanish possession but settled by the British in the 1700's, remains a British Crown Colony. After debating about whether you pronounce Sapodilla in the Spanish manner, giving the “ll” a “y” sound, I, correctly, as it turned out, used the English pronunciation and in accordance with all written guidance, attempted to contact Immigration by VHF radio. Now, Immigration and other officials can be very particular about following the protocol. On occasion, we have gotten no response and occasionally a hostile response, for failing to correctly and precisely identify the party to whom we wished to speak. In Nassau, for example, if you try to raise the Nassau Harbour “Master”, the more common title for those controlling the harbor, you'll get no response because you must contact Nassau Harbour “Control”. Once failing to raise anyone on the official hailing channel, Channel 16, I went to their known working channel, Channel 9. They responded, informing me that the hailing channel was 16. I hailed them again on Channel 16 and they responded, directing me to Channel 9! The cruising guides are sometimes unclear, ambiguous or contradictory as to the procedure. The published protocol for entering the Turks and Caicos requires contacting the port of entry Harbour Master as soon as you are within radio range and you'll be directed to an anchorage or dock. We, dutifully, attempted to do that 3 times on the designated channel (16) a couple of miles from the harbor, no response. We anchored and once again called, trying different combinations of titles and locations. Not completely surprised by this, we began to lower the dinghy and seek someone with whom to clear. Finally, we hear a BBC quality voice come over the airwaves announcing, “Live Now, Live Now, this is Southside Marina, Southside Marina.” Simon, a British expatriate, with his educated, modulated voice, in the most welcoming manner, informs us that the process here is to beach your dinghy and make your way to Immigration & Customs just over the hill from the anchorage. He also mentions that the Marina, some miles away, is having a soiree and dinner and they would be “frightfully pleased, if we could attend”. There's no charge of course, it's just something they do every Thursday night and a car and driver will “be round” to pick us up at, “...shall we say 6:00?” Well, having eaten canned beef stew for two nights running, we're something short of reluctant to accept and say that of course we'll be “delighted”.
Still to check in, I lowered the dinghy, motored to shore, and proceeded up the dirt road following Simon's directions. It was fortunate that I had directions because I found no sign of anything resembling an official building, in fact, I found no signs at all. Sapadillo Bay is the most frequent port of entry for cruisers so one might expect a “All Visitors Must Immediately Report to ….” Or, “This Way to Immigration”. I wandered up the road, took the first right and approached a gated dock area. Still no signs or even flags flying that would suggest that officialdom resides here. One of the four civilian Security guards issued me an id and directed me to Immigration, a nondescript concrete building with “Immigration” painted in small letters over the entrance. Of course, now it's noon and I found no one there. The door was locked. I went up the stairs to find a uniformed man trying to break into an office. He looked up sheepishly and explained that he left his keys at home. I really couldn't help him and inquired about clearing in. He really couldn't help me, suggested I try the office downstairs. I told him that no one's there, he said you might try Customs. I went back downstairs and out the door, round the building to a side entrance marked, helpfully, “Customs”. There I found people eating lunch. I said that I could come back later, they insisted on starting the paperwork. The process proved refreshingly simple and informal (and cost a fraction of what it cost to enter the Bahamas). I completed a couple of forms: “Firearms...No.” “Pets...No.” “Purpose of your visit...Pleasure”. “Stores...Umm??...Neiman-Marcus?” They told me that there's no need for my wife to fill out the forms, that I can sign for both of us, no problem. I asked about Immigration and pointed out that there was no one in the office. They told me not to worry about it, I didn't need to go to Immigration. Everyone was friendly and in response to my polite questioning, I learned about life on the island and their families. This was not the usual treatment you get and I was favorably impressed.
Other than the initial frustration in contacting and locating the office, the process went exceedingly well. In case you think the confusion I experienced is somehow associated with “third world countries”, we and others have found US Customs & Immigration just as loose or maybe worse. A British couple we met came from Cuba to the US (remember they are our sworn enemies--the Cubans, not the British). Heeding dire official warnings covering visitors entering the US from Cuba, they headed immediately for the Immigration office in Ft. Lauderdale. US Immigration and Customs had no clue of what to do. After calling around and checking manuals, our friends were finally told to go away and pretend that they hadn't even gone to Cuba! We were once told to wait 3 days in Key West before clearing customs when we returned from Cuba (a perfectly legal visit, well mostly legal anyway). We were told to stay on-board until then. I explained to the the authorities that by then we would have drunk all the rum, smoked all the cigars and the illegals would have been long gone! Sympathetic, they 'expedited' the process and came the next day (a holiday weekend resulting in my paying overtime for the service—receiving no credit for the beer they drank while conducting the inspection).
That night, we arrived on the Sapadilla Bay beach to await our ride to dinner. There we found Roy & Doon of S/V Alianta and Sim & Rosie of S/V Bold Endeavour. We had met with them briefly in George Town several weeks before as a part of a group heading south. They had left George Town two weeks before us and gotten stuck first in Mayaquana and now here waiting for good weather. Both couples are from New Zealand. They met in Florida and have been “buddy boating” ever since. Bob, the Marina owner, arrives shortly and we all pile into his 4 seater 4X4 (meaning that Doon climbs over the back seat and hunches and Rosie sits on Sim's lap). The roads are atrocious and we bounce our way around the bay to Southside Marina and a fantastic meal of grilled grouper, rice & beans, 3 kinds of salad and Pat's ever popular cream cheese concoction. Simon and his wife Charlyne, along with Bob are gracious hosts, sharing their stories, that are almost becoming common, of intentions to sail the world interrupted by arrival in “Velcro” paradise where they get stuck (Simon arrived 4 years ago). We are trying to take more of a “Post-It” approach to paradise, staying put for awhile then moving on. Ron, soloing a large wooden trawler, grilled the fish that he'd caught earlier that day and shared his story. He's really just passing through and has only been in Provo for about 4 months. We met another couple from Germany, Frank and Dorte, cruising south on their Morgan 41, S/V Elan. Appetites sated and exhaustion setting in, Bob returned us to Sapadilla Bay. Bob turns his car so that his headlights illuminate the beach as we carried/drug our dinghies, stranded by the low tide, 200 feet to the water, a process made more difficult by our earlier overindulgence (speaking for the others, of course, not ourselves—primarily because this was a BYOB and we had forgotten our "B").
The Turks and Caicos consist of 30 times more water than land. Unmarked coral heads that poke the surface from as deep as 20 feet dot the shallow Banks. There are no navigation aids. Given that, they must be transited in daylight with good visibility, meaning fairly flat seas so that you can see the reefs. We had planned to motor to Ambergris Cay on the southeast edge of the banks in the morning in preparation for exiting the Turks the following day. However, the morning, contrary to the forecast, brought a 20 knot southeast wind, meaning a slow uncomfortable slog that might end with us on the Banks in the dark. So, with laundry to do and emails to check, we motored instead a couple of miles to a more comfortable anchorage in the basin of the incomplete but well protected Cooper Marina (known as the Southside Annex) located within a mile of the Southside Marina. There we found Ron, our chef from the night before, on his trawler, Cruzin Fools. We spent the remainder of the day doing a month's worth of laundry, reading and visiting with our new found friends at Southside. Tomorrow we set sail for Ambergris Cay.
NOTE: More pictures to follow. High speed internet not available.
Once clear of the inlet, with all sail flying, we headed northeast toward Long Island. But wait! Going North to go South? Shallow water requires a route that takes you a bit north of George Town, around Long Island then south, southeast toward our next destination, the Dominican Republic. Since the prevailing wind is southeast, the direction you want to go, you must take advantage of the brief periods when the wind breaks from it's usual pattern to get as far east as possible, even if it means going a little north. That way, when the prevailing winds return, you can turn. Because the breaks in the prevailing pattern are brief, unless you want to face strong headwinds and uncomfortable seas, heading southeast from the Bahamas usually involves short hops and long waits in sometimes uncomfortable anchorages or heading east far out to sea. We were prepared to stop at either Long Island, Rum Cay or Conception as conditions dictated. As it turned out, however, for once, the arbitrary and capricious wind gods favored us and just as we rounded Cape Santa Maria, Long Island, it obligingly backed east, allowing us to make the turn south, pretty much on the rhumb line for our destination. The result: a nearly perfect beam reach sail in 15 to 20 knot winds in 2' seas for the first half of our cruise. We sailed so well we actually passed another boat, the S/V Venture, a noteworthy event for its rarity. Trolling for fish as we sailed, I caught a small, fierce looking barracuda but released it after recalling that barracuda cause more fish poisoning than any other.
The barracuda proved luckier than several flying fish that found their way on board on their own. I couldn't get Pat to attempt a mouth to gill resuscitation. So after briefly considering eating them, we held a 'scaled' down memorial service and returned them to a watery grave .
As night fell a clocking wind and adverse 1/2 knot current dictated a combination sailing and motor sailing toward Mayaquana, our last stop in the Bahamas. We timed our arrived with the sunrise and were treated to a truly sublime moment as we sat in the lee of the island, 2 miles off the coast: sails furled, motor off, motionless on a silent, mill pond sea; waiting for what proved to be a spectacular dawn. We found a deserted anchorage in Betsy Bay and, I, having had the last watch went to bed while Pat cleaned up the boat and made ready for the next leg of our journey.
Just before dusk the same day, refreshed from 6 hours sleep and a meal, we raised the anchor and headed south around Devil's Point toward Providenciales, finding hope in a route that left the devil astern and headed for “divine guidance”. Apparently, that guidance did not include a favorable wind as we found that it had continued to clock southeast, putting it right on our nose. With the wind and the current pushing us the wrong direction, we struggled to make our way. Sailing close with a 16 knot wind we could barely make headway, so, we bore off almost due south tacking northeast just north of Little Inagua then finally back southeast and our destination. Rather then the planned early morning arrival, we now approached the the low-lying Turks and Caicos in the middle of the day. In reviewing the charts and the advice they provided, the Pony Cut entrance to the Banks looked more promising than the generally recommended Sandbore Channel, so, in the late afternoon, we entered the Cut and dropped anchor behind the reef in clean sand and 9 feet of water. Submerged reef on either side of us gave us a unsettled, vulnerable feeling. However, the anchorage proved to be quite comfortable and safe. We had planned to go on to Providenciales (Provo) about 9 nm away but the all night sail and lateness in the day prompted us to elect to stay put until morning.
After a peaceful night, we followed the Pony Channel across the shallow Caicos Banks to Provo. The channel is wide, the water clear and we anchored in Sapodilla Bay around 10:00 am. The Turks and Caicos, originally a Spanish possession but settled by the British in the 1700's, remains a British Crown Colony. After debating about whether you pronounce Sapodilla in the Spanish manner, giving the “ll” a “y” sound, I, correctly, as it turned out, used the English pronunciation and in accordance with all written guidance, attempted to contact Immigration by VHF radio. Now, Immigration and other officials can be very particular about following the protocol. On occasion, we have gotten no response and occasionally a hostile response, for failing to correctly and precisely identify the party to whom we wished to speak. In Nassau, for example, if you try to raise the Nassau Harbour “Master”, the more common title for those controlling the harbor, you'll get no response because you must contact Nassau Harbour “Control”. Once failing to raise anyone on the official hailing channel, Channel 16, I went to their known working channel, Channel 9. They responded, informing me that the hailing channel was 16. I hailed them again on Channel 16 and they responded, directing me to Channel 9! The cruising guides are sometimes unclear, ambiguous or contradictory as to the procedure. The published protocol for entering the Turks and Caicos requires contacting the port of entry Harbour Master as soon as you are within radio range and you'll be directed to an anchorage or dock. We, dutifully, attempted to do that 3 times on the designated channel (16) a couple of miles from the harbor, no response. We anchored and once again called, trying different combinations of titles and locations. Not completely surprised by this, we began to lower the dinghy and seek someone with whom to clear. Finally, we hear a BBC quality voice come over the airwaves announcing, “Live Now, Live Now, this is Southside Marina, Southside Marina.” Simon, a British expatriate, with his educated, modulated voice, in the most welcoming manner, informs us that the process here is to beach your dinghy and make your way to Immigration & Customs just over the hill from the anchorage. He also mentions that the Marina, some miles away, is having a soiree and dinner and they would be “frightfully pleased, if we could attend”. There's no charge of course, it's just something they do every Thursday night and a car and driver will “be round” to pick us up at, “...shall we say 6:00?” Well, having eaten canned beef stew for two nights running, we're something short of reluctant to accept and say that of course we'll be “delighted”.
Still to check in, I lowered the dinghy, motored to shore, and proceeded up the dirt road following Simon's directions. It was fortunate that I had directions because I found no sign of anything resembling an official building, in fact, I found no signs at all. Sapadillo Bay is the most frequent port of entry for cruisers so one might expect a “All Visitors Must Immediately Report to ….” Or, “This Way to Immigration”. I wandered up the road, took the first right and approached a gated dock area. Still no signs or even flags flying that would suggest that officialdom resides here. One of the four civilian Security guards issued me an id and directed me to Immigration, a nondescript concrete building with “Immigration” painted in small letters over the entrance. Of course, now it's noon and I found no one there. The door was locked. I went up the stairs to find a uniformed man trying to break into an office. He looked up sheepishly and explained that he left his keys at home. I really couldn't help him and inquired about clearing in. He really couldn't help me, suggested I try the office downstairs. I told him that no one's there, he said you might try Customs. I went back downstairs and out the door, round the building to a side entrance marked, helpfully, “Customs”. There I found people eating lunch. I said that I could come back later, they insisted on starting the paperwork. The process proved refreshingly simple and informal (and cost a fraction of what it cost to enter the Bahamas). I completed a couple of forms: “Firearms...No.” “Pets...No.” “Purpose of your visit...Pleasure”. “Stores...Umm??...Neiman-Marcus?” They told me that there's no need for my wife to fill out the forms, that I can sign for both of us, no problem. I asked about Immigration and pointed out that there was no one in the office. They told me not to worry about it, I didn't need to go to Immigration. Everyone was friendly and in response to my polite questioning, I learned about life on the island and their families. This was not the usual treatment you get and I was favorably impressed.
Other than the initial frustration in contacting and locating the office, the process went exceedingly well. In case you think the confusion I experienced is somehow associated with “third world countries”, we and others have found US Customs & Immigration just as loose or maybe worse. A British couple we met came from Cuba to the US (remember they are our sworn enemies--the Cubans, not the British). Heeding dire official warnings covering visitors entering the US from Cuba, they headed immediately for the Immigration office in Ft. Lauderdale. US Immigration and Customs had no clue of what to do. After calling around and checking manuals, our friends were finally told to go away and pretend that they hadn't even gone to Cuba! We were once told to wait 3 days in Key West before clearing customs when we returned from Cuba (a perfectly legal visit, well mostly legal anyway). We were told to stay on-board until then. I explained to the the authorities that by then we would have drunk all the rum, smoked all the cigars and the illegals would have been long gone! Sympathetic, they 'expedited' the process and came the next day (a holiday weekend resulting in my paying overtime for the service—receiving no credit for the beer they drank while conducting the inspection).
That night, we arrived on the Sapadilla Bay beach to await our ride to dinner. There we found Roy & Doon of S/V Alianta and Sim & Rosie of S/V Bold Endeavour. We had met with them briefly in George Town several weeks before as a part of a group heading south. They had left George Town two weeks before us and gotten stuck first in Mayaquana and now here waiting for good weather. Both couples are from New Zealand. They met in Florida and have been “buddy boating” ever since. Bob, the Marina owner, arrives shortly and we all pile into his 4 seater 4X4 (meaning that Doon climbs over the back seat and hunches and Rosie sits on Sim's lap). The roads are atrocious and we bounce our way around the bay to Southside Marina and a fantastic meal of grilled grouper, rice & beans, 3 kinds of salad and Pat's ever popular cream cheese concoction. Simon and his wife Charlyne, along with Bob are gracious hosts, sharing their stories, that are almost becoming common, of intentions to sail the world interrupted by arrival in “Velcro” paradise where they get stuck (Simon arrived 4 years ago). We are trying to take more of a “Post-It” approach to paradise, staying put for awhile then moving on. Ron, soloing a large wooden trawler, grilled the fish that he'd caught earlier that day and shared his story. He's really just passing through and has only been in Provo for about 4 months. We met another couple from Germany, Frank and Dorte, cruising south on their Morgan 41, S/V Elan. Appetites sated and exhaustion setting in, Bob returned us to Sapadilla Bay. Bob turns his car so that his headlights illuminate the beach as we carried/drug our dinghies, stranded by the low tide, 200 feet to the water, a process made more difficult by our earlier overindulgence (speaking for the others, of course, not ourselves—primarily because this was a BYOB and we had forgotten our "B").
The Turks and Caicos consist of 30 times more water than land. Unmarked coral heads that poke the surface from as deep as 20 feet dot the shallow Banks. There are no navigation aids. Given that, they must be transited in daylight with good visibility, meaning fairly flat seas so that you can see the reefs. We had planned to motor to Ambergris Cay on the southeast edge of the banks in the morning in preparation for exiting the Turks the following day. However, the morning, contrary to the forecast, brought a 20 knot southeast wind, meaning a slow uncomfortable slog that might end with us on the Banks in the dark. So, with laundry to do and emails to check, we motored instead a couple of miles to a more comfortable anchorage in the basin of the incomplete but well protected Cooper Marina (known as the Southside Annex) located within a mile of the Southside Marina. There we found Ron, our chef from the night before, on his trawler, Cruzin Fools. We spent the remainder of the day doing a month's worth of laundry, reading and visiting with our new found friends at Southside. Tomorrow we set sail for Ambergris Cay.
NOTE: More pictures to follow. High speed internet not available.
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