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.
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