PASSAGE

Our passage north was going to be in a straight line from St Thomas to the Chesapeake. We knew there were some low pressure systems moving through the area but we hoped to be able to skirt and avoid them and continue making northward progression. We were speaking to a guy named Herb AKA Southbound II on the single side band radio daily at 3:30. All the boats traveling in the Atlantic would get on his channel and announce their coordinates. He would work his way through the crowd giving specific weather details and predictions for the location of each boat. He was a meteorologist and sailor who had once been caught in a terrible storm with his family because he got caught unawares – so now he does this everyday as a service to the boating world. Unfortunately for us, his news was not the best. Front after front kept moving through and every day he would tell us “you are safe as long as you don't go past 25 degrees N,” then the next day it would be 26, then 28. We were still making northward progress but it was in hops and starts. So while we did have wind, he was telling us to slow down and wait for another front to move through. Then when the way was clear, the wind would die on us and we would end up motoring for 30 hours straight.

We had four people aboard and were operating on shifts. Sam and I sat our own watches and the other 2 guys held watch together. So we had a 6-9, 9-12, 12-3 & 3-6 for night watches – the first and last being the same watch crew. In the day time the rotation continued for 6-10, 10-2 and 2-6 but only the 6am time really mattered. By 8 or 9 everyone was usually up anyway and we just made sure someone was on deck. Not all the bunks were conducive to all points of sail. For example, Sam's cabin is pretty spacious which is nice for living conditions, but when underway that means for a port tack he gets rolled right out of bed. Also his cabin was in the bow, which is extremely noisy when plowing into the waves. For this reason we would play musical beds most of the time. When you went to wake up the next watch, you would also take their bed. But the off watch time was longer than the on watch time so you wouldn't go back to your bed, you would just keep going forward in the progression to the next person's bed. Bunk warming...

Most days were fairly uneventful. Moderate winds, moderate seas, bright sunshine. We spent a lot of time lying about the deck getting sun tans. Dan was particularly concerned about trying to catch a fish, so he spent a lot of time playing with the rods and lures, and we kept a line out most of the time. We got a few bites early and even caught a fish the first day. It was a great barracuda. We were pretty sure that people didn't eat barracuda so we had to pull it aboard at the very least to get the hook out. That was a daunting task as they have very large snaggle teeth jutting out in all directions and we were a bit worried about how hard he would fight. Finally we managed to remove the hook and toss him back in the ocean. We lost both lures fairly early on to big fish that bit and ran. Dan was not to be waylaid by this bad luck. He scoured the boat and found some bungee cords. He stripped the outer layer and used a rasp and file to sharpen the point of the “hook” and then used parts of the inside of the cord and shredded strips of t-shirt material along with various other items lying about the boat to make his own lures. In the end his lures worked even better than the store bought ones we had lost. He caught 2 mahi mahi with his lures and fought them to the stern of the boat where our skills at landing them defeated us. They managed to escape us right at the crowning moment as we were trying to net them and pull them in. We had no gaff aboard and there was no barb on these homemade hooks so the slightest loss of tension on the line and they could slip off. They were gorgeous fish to see, bright sunshine yellow shading to a deeper sea green color – iridescent and glowing like living sunlight streaking about under the water. We never actually managed to pull one aboard but it was an ongoing battle and Dan never gave up right to the end. We bought a gaff attachment for our boat hook when we got back to shore so that the next time we might be better able to bring the prize aboard.

One morning after nearly a week had gone by, everyone had been feeling hot and sticky for lack of a shower. We had limited amounts of fresh water so we were trying to conserve by bathing as little as possible, especially since our northward progress was being delayed so much. Sam was at the helm when suddenly the sunshine was doused and a squall blew up in front of us. We turned and ran from it off our port stern quarter and while Sam rode through the storm, Dan and I stood on deck getting instantly drenched by the downpour. It was quite exhilarating with the wind howling by, flattening out the waves so the whole seas had a muffled look to them, standing there with rain streaming across my face so that I had to keep wiping it away so I could see. I was standing there in my shorts and tank top completely soaked to the skin and loving it. Dan was on the stern deck trying to suds up for a rain shower, but he had barely got soapy when - like someone turning off a faucet - it was over.

The moon had seemed a mere fingernail of light when we were leaving St Martin but by now it was waxing towards full. Each night we watched the slow progression as it got riper and rounder and many a night shone with a deep golden color like a harvest moon through the clouds. On late night shifts it was your only friend, and good entertainment watching its meanderings through various cloud formations. The worst shift was late late at night when the moon would finally set and you had those last few lonely dark hours before dawn. Towards the end of our passage, I sat up with Sam during his watch one night with the full moon shining broadly overhead. It was a beautiful breezy night. The last few nights had been so humid as to be clammy, so that your skin was constantly wet and cold even though there was no rain. So it was a welcome change to have a pleasant breezy night without humidity. And the full moon always draws me out, feeling some innate need to just sit in its glow, staring at it, soaking in the moonlight much like the sun I so ravenously absorb. We sat having one of those enlightening conversations for many hours, discussing the problems with education systems in the world and what measures we would take to improve them. I looked up suddenly, and the moon hung, almost orange and smoky, at the center of a mosaic pattern of clouds swirling out in a pinwheel shape like a lacy veil back lit with a gauzy glow that filtered through the shadow patterns and spread out across the sky. It was quite grand. An epic sky to be sure.

One way that we assuaged our boredom on the days with no wind was by creating our own little cinema in the cockpit. We had an actual flat screen TV monitor down below but with the engine running and in the heat of the day it was both too noisy and too hot to stay below for long – never mind the rocking. So we hung a series of towels with various bungee cords to darken the cockpit area, set a laptop at the top of the companionway and plugged it in to the stereo. Then we sat there watching movies as we motored along with nothing but ocean as far as the eye could see in any direction. It was our own private theater. We found the whole nature versus technology scenario quite amusing.

Speaking of technology, we did have a SAT phone on board, which made it feel as though we really weren't so far out of reach after all. We were able to keep up contact with friends or family as our plan changed again and again. Our route changing, our destination changing, our time frame changing, all due to our attempts to outrun or outmaneuver the endless stream of storms crisscrossing the Atlantic. It was pretty amazing to be more than 600 miles offshore and days from sight of even the tiniest island in some 20,000 feet of water and be able to make a phone call home that sounded like it was next door. During one of these calls Sam told his mom that the best thing about the passage was that despite the irritation of unfavorable weather and routing we still had great meals every day. I had provisioned the boat pretty well and spent many an hour down below getting tossed and turned, trying to cut vegetables on a cutting board with the vegetable pieces all sliding away from me as I cut and all the ingredients sliding all over the counter, the stove swinging in its gimbals and me hoping the pan wasn't too full so that it would slop over the side on a heavy swing. With a strong roll on big seas I would get thrown across the room when trying to retrieve items from the fridge and if it was a starboard tack it was like climbing up a mountain to try to reach the fridge let alone be able to hold the lid up with one hand while trying to hold yourself up on the wall with the other and no hands left to grab the food out, and then the boat settles for a moment and the lid is wrenched out of your hands slamming shut. It was extreme cooking to say the least. But we did have hot fresh food with meats and vegetables pretty much every day of the 12 days we were offshore.

One evening as we were settling in to cinema mode, Dan looked up and said “hey, I saw something moving.” At first we ignored him because he usually means a flying fish or something. But then we put the movie on pause as we noticed 7 or 8 dolphins swimming around the boat. We went up on the bow to enjoy their antics as they swam around swerving back and forth under the bow and weaving in and out of each other's paths. They were small ones, only about 4 feet long, like a pack of teenage cetaceans prowling the neighborhood at night. They wove and tumbled, leaped and raced with us for about a half hour or so before finally growing bored of us, diving deep and swimming off to their next bit of entertainment. It was enchanting to watch. You could see their luminescent hides like a murky shadow flitting about under the surface of the water, eagerly anticipating that moment when they would break through that mirror into the underworld and leap through the air with infinite grace.

On another afternoon we had a visitor in the form of what appeared to be a small thrush. Since we were a million miles from anywhere we figured she was lost. I'm pretty sure songbirds are not considered pelagic. She flew up and started moving around the boat trying to find something to perch on. Her claws just skittered across the surface of the deck, so she would keep sliding about until she found a bit of rope to grab onto. We tried to put some raisins and pine nuts out for her to see but she seemed oblivious to such things. If we came too close she would take off but very soon would be back exploring again. When everyone went down below for a while she did a thorough exploration of the cockpit and found a nice spot out of the wind by the helm. She also wandered in through one of the side ports to the main salon, sat on the bookshelf for a while and then sat on Sam's head while he was attempting to make popcorn on the stove for one of our movie fests. She hung out with us for most of the day before finally disappearing again.

Towards the end of our journey we were still trying to get north and getting very frustrated that we were really only make westward progress at that point. We were supposed to stay south of 29 degrees north until the end of the day and we were barely past 28 so we were right on track. We were planning to go west past the south edge of the storm then pick up the winds from it and travel up the western side of it as it continued east. As I sat my watch that night I really got to see how much things had changed with the winds. In the Caribbean, you are sailing with the trade winds. They are always there and always coming from the same basic direction. East. So when you go sailing, you set the sails once and really don't have to do much for several hours until it's time to change direction. That night I got to experience the waywardness of NOT trade winds. When I came on watch the boat felt like it was hurtling through space. We were heeled over and going 7 plus knots in a 35 knot breeze. Sam showed me how to pay attention to the rudder angle indicator on the autopilot to see if we were balanced or not and how to adjust the sails and make small incremental changes of course with the autopilot (fondly called Hugo) in order to make the ride more comfortable and more steerable with balanced sails trimmed properly to the wind. For the rest of that shift I was constantly running around the cockpit, easing the main sheet or the jib, inching up wind a few degrees or down, endlessly fiddling with the course and sails to try to keep up with the ever shifting wind and the continuous gusting. It was a situation that we started to get used to and suddenly after creeping up on us for a while, it became the norm. No more gusting to 35 – just steady 35 and sometimes higher.

I went to get Sam and we rolled up the jib. Apparently the 29 degree cut off was a bit optimistic. We seemed to have run in to the side of the storm directly. Sam decided that if the edge of the storm was 35+ then the middle would likely be 50 or more and with an inexperienced crew he really didn't want to deal with that for hours and hours on end. So we turned south into the wind and started motoring to try to get out of the storm. Since we were on the east edge of a low pressure, the wind was from the south and doing its best to suck us back into the storm. Driving headfirst into the wind we were only making about 1.5 knots for the first several hours barely making any headway but at the very least holding our ground as the storm moved over us. Shortly after we turned on the engine we were discussing whether to keep the main up and see if it could help us make headway or to just take it down. We left it up for a while and Sam decided it wasn't helping at all, in fact, might be hurting our speed. Just as we decided that, he noticed that for whatever reason the sail had gone all tight and flat. Maybe the main was sheeted in too far, the reef line tied a little too tight, or the wind had twisted the boom into a torqued shape. He saw the danger immediately and eased the main trying to pull out the sail tie holding the reef in, but the wind was quicker. I heard a loud noise like a crack of a whip and looked up with confusion on my face, but even though I didn't know what that sound may have been, somehow I did know. The sail had torn. I was hand steering at that moment, trying to keep us on course while we finished messing with the sails, so I couldn't see what had happened from where I was, except that the extra sail material that had been flaked up in the reef was now fluttering free on the leeward side of the sail. It had torn from the crinkle straight across towards the clew right at the level of the first reef. Without a word we started taking down the main. I fought with the helm to keep us nose to wind while Sam was on the deck getting bucked by the waves. He kept pointing towards the wind as it was difficult to feel it from where I was standing. With the strength of that wind it felt like it was coming equally from SE all the way to SW. That's way too big a range for bringing down a sail. And the sail was our enemy as well, as I did my best to keep the boat steered into the wind, while it snapped and howled and with one little swat flicked Sam across the deck into a shroud. Finally we got the sail tied down and settled in for the long motor south.

We sat together in the dark going over in our minds if there was anything we could have done to prevent it. But we had reduced sail when we should, the sail tie was not tighter than it should have been on the reef line. It may be that the main was sheeted in too far but we were motoring into the wind and only seconds before it had been flogging loosely with no wind at all. The weather situation was shifting so rapidly and had blown up so suddenly that it was really difficult for us to have done anything differently. None of this made us feel any better. I decided chocolate was necessary. We sat eating fudge grahams in silence for a while. We thought to just motor south out of the storm and then maybe continue with our plan. But as the hours went by, Sam and I took turns steering through the waves which as dawn broke became much more apparent and we realized what it was we were moving through. The waves were mounting to nearly 20 feet and we were heading directly into them but a straight course would dive the bow under the waves and too much of an angle would send us broadside over the crest and make us nearly lay down as we slid into the trough. It took a bit of attention to keep the boat nearly straight at right angles to the waves, but with an occasional turn as we climbed a particularly tall one that must almost immediately be counteracted to avoid swinging too far sideways in between. The weather was deceptively pretty, with sunshine and clear skies, just no end of windy with that huge huge swell. We surfed Zenaida's 50 ft frame like a roller coaster over those waves. After about 12 hours of this, having both been awake for most of the night, we were quite exhausted. We realized that the storm must have been a bit bigger than we were led to believe if its reach stretched this far. And regardless of anything else, we were now in danger of running out of fuel quite soon. Considering the slow and stuttering progress we had been making because of the weather, we decided we had had enough and may as well wait out these storms while in a place where we could get something accomplished instead of twiddling our thumbs at some latitude or other....

So we kept going south. We were just north of the Bahamas at this point and so we chose an island with a fuel dock listed and hoped that the charts were not outdated because we only had fuel for one more destination. Luckily it worked out fine and we performed our last docking without reverse. It went quite well, despite the crazy pilings everywhere surrounding the one narrow head in spot. The dock crew there actually seemed very skilled in docking maneuvers and we gratefully let them help us as it was a bit of a tangle. Of course, the fuel hose wouldn't reach because we had come head in. So we had to spin the boat around the face of the dock with our lines to get the stern closer. Luckily, this is also something we have gotten quite good at. We filled up on fuel and water, said goodbye to the Bahamas, and headed out, aiming for Fort Lauderdale, Florida. Enough was enough. We had until the next morning to get there to avoid the next storm blowing in from the Gulf of Mexico. We did our last night watches and in the morning I didn't even bother waking Sam. My shift was over at 6am but for whatever reason I was wide awake. We had been crossing the Gulf Stream for hours uneventfully, so I decided to take advantage of the peace and quiet of the morning to clean up the cockpit which was filthy and covered in salt spray. By the time everyone woke up there were skyscrapers on the horizon. The first city any of us had seen in many many months. We sat back and watched the land get closer and closer, trying to anticipate this next new chapter. The return to America.

St Thomas, US Virgin Islands

Our re-entry into America was a bit abrupt. I really wasn't prepared to suddenly be back in the land of having to wear shoes for no apparent reason and needing to carry around some form of ID in order to buy alcohol. Our first port of call was a place called Red Hook which was having some kind of very cheesy Spring Break style party for cinqo de mayo when we arrived. There were chihuahua races, plastic sombreros and kids swinging a bat at a very sturdy pinata. The kids couldn't break it open so eventually one of the moms had to beat the poor creature to a pulp so the children could swarm the carcass searching for every last bit of candy. My mood was dark for a variety of reasons, some less clear than others. Our arrival had been marred by a dock crew with no experience who had us throw them some lines and then stood there holding them without actually securing them to anything which resulted in a poor docking and a small amount of damage to the boat. The reason we had asked them to be there to help us was because we were without reverse and therefore not as capable of docking as smoothly as we normally would. Normally we would never throw a line to a person on the dock because the general assumption is that they are clueless, but since we had specifically requested help and they were supposed to be a classy marina, we assumed they would send us someone who knew what they were doing. As soon as I tossed them the line it was clear to me that it was the first time they had ever been near a boat while docking. The one guy stood there with the line in his hand watching while the boat continued forward towards the dock without securing it to anything or trying in any way to stop the forward motion of the boat while I helplessly tried to cushion our inevitable crash into the dock with fenders and yelled at him to secure the line to something because he was still just standing there. It was not a huge deal as we were not going fast at all, but it was the principal of the whole matter and we once again committed ourselves to never trusting dock crew again. That beginning shadowed the rest of the evening and our general impression of the place was not very positive. It did not improve when we tried to go get some ice and the lady in the marina office told us she was closed and would not sell us ice even tho she was sitting right there, the office was unlocked and the ice was in a cooler 5ft from where she was sitting. They stayed open long enough for us to pay them for the slip and then said they were closed without giving us the key to the bathrooms & showers or any other information. So we walked down the street and found a small grocery store but couldn't go in because there was a large sign plastered on the door saying: “No shirt, No shoes, No service.” Screw that. I'm not wearing shoes just to get some stupid ice. There was nothing around this place – just a few restaurants, a marine shop, a hardware store, and a small strip mall with a few little shops. Instead of being like an oasis in the desert - it was more like a deserted hellhole in the middle of paradise. It seemed there was nothing to improve our mood. We sat on the boat that night discussing how evil that place was and plotting horrible things we could do to them in revenge. No one wanted to stay another night in that pit. The reason for coming there had been to pick up our SAT phone which was being shipped there. Of course, it had not arrived either, because why should we expect anything to go well there. In the morning we tried to get a new perspective on things, starting with changing the ”ship to” address to another port in St Thomas so we wouldn't have to stick around. We checked the weather, did some shopping at the marine store, and stopped in the dive shop. Now I have to say – stopping in the dive shop was the best thing we could do. It was an excellent place with friendly knowledgeable staff and really excellent prices. My mood finally started to brighten. I hadn't planned on spending any more money on dive gear until we got back north, but Sam assured me I would not find a better price for a BCD, and I had been pondering getting one because it was the only piece of gear that we we were short on if the 3 of us wanted to dive together. I had only ever dove with Dan because I was using Sam's gear and it was too big anyway. We wandered off to do more errands and so I could check email and look at my bank account and see if any of the money people owed me had come back to me yet... I don't know who I was kidding. I knew I was going to buy it. Just playing my usual game of trying to get people to confirm that it's a smart way to spend my money. I don't know why I still do this. It never actually changes whether I buy something or not. I just keep asking people until I find someone who says what I want to hear. Anyway, we managed to get the boat off the dock successfully and without the help of their useless dock crew, then got everything else done that we needed to, went back to the dive shop and got the BCD and some weights and he threw in a really good mask at less than half price, so it felt like Christmas by the time we dinghied out out to the boat for our departure. Ruth had decided, after our brief stint in the BVI's that she really hadn't seen enough of the Caribbean in the short time since she had joined us and who knew when she might be back this way again. So she booked a ticket to fly out that evening back to St Martin to do a bunch of day trips there by ferry and then see if she could get on some boats going to other destinations. We were sad to have her leaving us but she would be up in the area of the Vineyard and New York in the next month or so anyway so it was only to be a short goodbye. We sailed around St Thomas and arrived in the southern port at Yacht Haven Grande – supposedly owned by the same people as Red Hook, but soooooo different. We dropped Ruth ashore for her taxi to the airport and ran into Dan's friend on Volare. He had been their diving instructor as well. We all went to Hooter's for dinner. I had never actually been to a Hooter's before despite their prevalence throughout America. I would say that my favorite thing about Hooter's was the little zip line they used to send their orders into the kitchen. The staff was friendly, the food pretty average.

The next day we left Domi in town and Dan, Sam and I sailed out to a pile of rocks south and west of town and did our first diving expedition all together. It was pretty cool as it was my first dive where no one was acting the teacher and we had no special skills to learn, we were just all going exploring together in this intriguing new medium. Plus I got to use my new gear which could be adjusted to fit me properly. We moored the boat and went down together and started swimming about. It wasn't anything spectacular as far as dive sights go although we did see a puffer fish and I followed him around for a while trying to see if he would puff up. I had found a cheap reusable underwater camera so we were attempting to take photos as well. It was basically just the three of us goofing off underwater but it was fun to be one of the gang and not the student. I mean they are both WAY more skilled than me – but we weren't doing anything that required any great skill. And they both trusted me to handle myself well enough. I remember just a few weeks ago I was thinking this was something I was doing to conquer a fear but I really didn't think I would ever actually LIKE it. I just didn't want to be afraid of it. But it is so amazingly peaceful down there. There is something so RIGHT about being down there calmly swimming about among the fishes. So often people are up on the surface of the water doing whatever variety of water related activities and yet their knowledge is limited to the surface. There is no comprehension that there is a whole other world going on right in front of their noses. It's like an alternate universe that exists on the other side of a wall of one way mirror. The only way to see into that world is to actually stick your head right through the glass. Once you've gone that far, the door is wide open. And I'm quite keen on opening doors.


After our dive we were starving and snacked away then promptly fell asleep all over the boat. It was so tranquil with the waves gently rocking the boat, softly crashing on the rocks of our small island, the sound of the birds swooping about softly calling out their lonely cries and the sun gently warming us in it's embrace. I think a part of us all knew that this was our last experience of the Caribbean and we would soon be back in the world and we didn't want the day to end. We dozed the afternoon away until the sun was starting it's path to the horizon, then finally, reluctantly said goodbye to our little paradise and headed back to town.

We stayed in St Thomas one more day after that, doing small repairs, deflating and stowing the dinghy and making a final provisioning expedition. We were prepping for our ocean crossing north and made sure we were full up on fuel, water and the batteries were fully charged. Our SAT phone arrived and all was in readiness. Finally it was time to push off.

We sailed around the south end of St Thomas, then turned northwest at a heading of 340° heading straight for the Chesapeake, 1300 miles ahead through open ocean some 15,000 feet deep. Adventure ho!

British Virgin Islands

We had a fairly uneventful sail away from Sint Maarten with the intention of heading for Tortola and the Bomba Shack. The only problem was that because of our delayed departure, we were now going to arrive in the vicinity of all the sketchy reef in the middle of the night. We were heading downwind all day so we weren't really heeled over too much. I managed to cook a yummy concoction of Mexican flavors to put inside some wraps with heaps of extra guacamole and as the sun went down we sat with all the charts plotting out our possibilities. In the end we decided on a route which not only avoided most of the scary reefy areas in the night, but also changed our point of sail to a beam reach. Sailing downwind takes a lot of concentration and Sam would never be able to get any sleep if he was constantly worrying over whether one of us was going to crash jibe and break his boom. On a beam reach we could all sit back and relax and just watch out for boats heading our way at ramming speed. As soon as this was decided, Sam plotted a course for me and said “Good night! Wake me up when the depth meter starts reading something,” and fucked off to bed. Ruth had been struggling with the day as this was the first real long bit of sailing she had ever done and it had been quite a while since we had sailed at all. She asked if I minded if she laid down for a bit and I told her to lie down for a lot if it helped. Then Dan said he was pretty sleepy, too and to wake him up when I woke Sam. They were dropping like flies and it was only 8pm. Domi stuck around and chatted with me. His abilities were limited due the fact that he had a cast on his right foot from an incident 2 weeks earlier involving jumping from a boat to a dinghy. I don't know the details but I can imagine, considering I've seen how Sam likes to get in the dinghy: a running leap with arms and limbs spread wide while the dinghy is still tied 3-4 ft away screeching “SPIDER MONKEY” in a high pitched shrieking squeal and landing with a crash in the middle of the dinghy... I really don't understand how it is that they think that I am the crazy one. No, I think we are all in good company. So, Domi was asking me to tell stories about my life which made the time go by. There really was nothing too difficult about that section of sailing which was why I had suggested to Sam that if he wanted some sleep that he should go then. A beam reach in 6000+ ft of water where there is nothing anywhere nearby to run into is a pretty relaxing, even boring run. We watched a few boats go by at a distance, trying to guess what they were by their configurations of lights. Time ticked away slowly and finally I went to wake Sam and tell him we were in hundreds of feet of water instead of thousands. He took over for a bit and I laid my head down. Our route was now taking us to Virgin Gorda instead of Tortola and we were coming up around the east side and then the north side of the island and then sneaking into a channel on the west side which was too shallow for us to enter the main harbor at Bitter End but which had anchorages on either side without all the sketchy reef that was at every other entrance. Our plan was to anchor there upon our arrival at 2am and then find our way inside in the morning with daylight to help us navigate all the reefs. As we moved into the anchorage area I was on the bow ready to drop anchor, we were all a bit relieved at how relatively smoothly things had gone. Sam was moving closer to shore in order to get out of the center channel as much as possible. It was pitch black and cloudy with occasional patches where stars were peering through. I could hear the land with breakers crashing nearby. I could see a dark shadowy mass. It all looked like some amorphous murky brooding hulk that still seemed to be some indefinable distance away. Not close enough yet to be dangerous, but certainly close enough to stop going any closer. I ran back towards the stern to ask Sam if he was ready to drop the anchor yet, and he said yeah, go ahead. He was watching the charts so I figured he knew exactly where we were and had nothing to worry about. In the few seconds I was away from the bow, that indefinable distance became nothing at all, or rather a large wall looming out of the shadows right in front of us. I dropped the anchor immediately and, well, didn't have to drop it far because, well, I could SEE the bottom. Could probably stand in it, too. Sam had come forward at the same time as I had come back so we had both seen this transformation at the same moment. Did I mention that we haven't had reverse in two months? That might better explain our sudden panic. He was already in neutral, but it takes a while for a 30,000 pound boat to stop moving forward. While I was dropping the anchor and paying it out in little fits and starts as it scrabbled and skipped over rocks, trying to pay out enough for it to catch but not too much because we were running out of space between us and the shore, Sam had grabbed the dinghy engine, tossed it over his shoulder and leaped into the dinghy. All his spider monkey leaps had prepared him for this moment. By the time I managed to get the anchor to catch and forward motion to stop he had the dinghy in the water and was pulling the boat backwards helping to keep us from drifting any closer. It was a crazy feeling to be standing on the bow, knowing how deep our keel is and looking up at that wall of land that seemed to emerge from the water only a few feet away. The nav lights shone into the shallows beneath us and spotlighted the many rocks scattered about. It was a quiet and eerie moment. Then the dinghy started to pull us away and I reeled the anchor line in as we went back. Spooky! We pulled back about 30ft and dropped anchor in the middle of the channel.. Screw it – it was only for skiffs and dinghies anyway. They could go around us. Apparently the anchorages on either side were a bit smaller than we expected from how the charts looked. These are the dangers of trying to anchor or moor at night. Distances are really hard to gauge, especially with no moon out. Every time we've tried it has been a scary proposition, but we were just so anxious to get out of St Martin that we didn't want to wait any longer to get our timing right. Once I had snubbed the anchor line we all gathered in the cockpit and took a moment to exhale. Now that we were here the stars were coming out and there were an amazing amount. And different ones, too. I had been watching the stars all winter in the Caribbean and suddenly I didn't recognize any constellations. My only guess was that we had been journeying south to north the whole time in a fairly narrow swathe following the islands and now we were heading more west than north. Eventually I did find the big dipper which made me feel better, so it didn't seem as though we were resting under a completely alien sky. I wasn't really happy with the anchorage still. I could see an unidentifiable white smear off to port, either beach or reef, again at an indefinable distance, with constant breakers not far behind it and a large looming shadow with more breakers which seemed even closer off to starboard. I wanted to sleep outside anyway because the stars were so pretty, so Sam set up the hammock for me and I lounged in the hammock and spent most of the rest of the night looking to right and left to see my landmarks and gauge whether or not we were dragging. As it started to get light and we still seemed to be in the same place I managed to drift off to sleep for a bit. Sam said he was surprised at how much he trusted me because he slept quite well. It was quite interesting to wake up in the morning and get an eyeful of the tiny little place we had pulled into ringed by rocks and breakers on all sides. We all just looked at each other and shook our heads. Sam is an excellent captain, but he definitely pulls some ballsy stunts at times. Some might call them incautious, rather than ballsy. I would say that there is a very fine line between ballsy and incautious. And we like to walk the line. That's why I like sailing close hauled, hovering about that fine line, trying to find that razor sharp edge of perfection that brings speed and heel without falling into the trap of nose to wind which ever lies but inches away.

Anyway.... it was morning. I made us some breakfast as we sailed around to the normal entrance to the harbor at Bitter End Yacht Club. We dropped people onshore and then Dan and i hopped in the dinghy for my 2nd open water dive. I was a bit anxious again. It was still terrifying to me every time I had to anticipate going on another dive. I was doing it because I wanted to finish the certification, but it was like dragging myself forward through the fear, and I really wasn't sure that I was having fun yet. Besides, it had been almost 2 weeks since my last dive and I was afraid I would have reverted to all my old problems again. The dinghy ride was pretty far again in big swell and I had plenty of time to sit and bounce about the dinghy and stress over the coming dive and work myself into a bit of a panic. I did this every time but generally was able to stifle it by the time we started the actual dive so it wasn't obvious to Dan that I was being a pansy. Or at least I just gritted my teeth and kept moving forward despite myself. We arrived at a mooring ball right next to a bunch of craggy tooth like rocks and tied off the dinghy. There were purple jellyfish all over the place. I asked Dan if they would sting us and he said “Honestly, I have no idea.” He really wasn't helping. I was wearing a hood this time because it wasn't a very warm day. It had been crazy hard to get on over my hair and beads and earrings, but Dan said it would keep me warm because most of the body's heat is lost through the head. It also helped seal my mask better so there was less water leaking in. I still find the period of time on the surface to be very ungainly with all the gear. I haven't yet figured out how to be graceful when bobbing about in the waves with my back inflated by the BCD and my visibility obscured by my mask and being at the surface of the water is also very limiting because you can't see under the water without sticking your head in which is easiest if lying on your stomach, but you can't talk with the second stage in your mouth or with your head under water and to stay afloat you have to be on your back. It's like being in a huge bit of quicksand with only your head above water, knowing there is a whole world beneath you but you can only access it if you decide whether you are a fish or a man. I am sure all of this awkwardness will pass as I become more used to moving about with fins and gear on. But it is definitely like a gateway between worlds and I prefer to pass through the gate quickly because the threshold is not comfortable. We descended along the mooring line and it went much better this time. It seemed like having the hood on helped to mute the extremes of pressure change or soften them somehow so that I was able to equalize much more easily. Both Sam and Dan said this was unlikely to be the case, but that's how it felt to me at the time. I suppose my body was also just getting used to the laws of this new world and starting to work with me instead of against me. We worked our way down to the bottom which was about 30ft trying to avoid the jellyfish since we didn't know if they would sting. They were quite gorgeous transparent little things about the size of my hand with bright purple highlights as if they were made of amorphous glass. We swam around for a while through a bottom thick with coral and eventually came across a clearing that looked like it was designed just for us. It was a perfect little oval area with a sandy bottom so we could work on our skills without disturbing any of the reef life. We practiced buoyancy control and hovering, and then I took off my BCD and then put it back on....difficult because it sinks and you start to float up so your gear is lying on the bottom with you upside down hanging on to it and your feet above your head trying to pull you to the surface – a very bizarre sense of weightlessness. And to get it back on you have to lay down in it and then roll over so you are laying on your stomach to get it all clipped back in to place. Then I did the same with the weight belt. We did a few more skills then just went swimming about to see what we would find. We saw a Great Barracuda swimming by – they are about 2-3 ft long. There were lots of parrotfish about in many varieties. The Stoplight parrotfish are my favorites I think, because of the bold painted colors in turquoise, grass green, yellow and lavender. And the females are equally brilliant but in browns and reds and golds and whites. I also discovered the Squirrelfish on that dive who I like because of the way his boldly striped dorsal fin snaps open like a geisha snapping her fan in some exotic dance. I also saw many Trunkfish which are intriguing in their roundish bulbous shape with little tiny fore fins that flutter like twin prop engines but all out of proportion like an elephant being propelled by little hummingbird wings installed at his ankles. It was a fun dive and I felt pretty comfortable the whole time. We bounced our way back in the dinghy and found the rest of the crew ashore on the internet.


The next morning our plan was to sail to Anegada to go diving, but we arrived there and discovered that you are only allowed to dive with the dive shop groups because the whole island was protected. So we pulled anchor and sailed south to a place called Cockroach Island. Next to it was a rocky chunk sticking out of the surf with waves breaking all over it. The swell was quite huge, some of the waves were 10ft and the dinghy was bouncing all over the place and we pulled up right next to the rocks. We were only about 20ft away from those breaking waves and spiky death and I have to admit I was petrified. I kept staring over at the rocks with my eyes glazing over a bit as he was explaining the skills we would be doing. He kept waving at me and asking if I was paying attention. But all I could think was he wanted me to get in the water and I would be swept in with the current and smashed on the rocks. He promised me it would be completely different underwater and that I should stop looking at the rocks. We jumped in without gear and my task was to get into my BCD at the surface which took a bit of a struggle with the waves tossing me about. I eventually managed it and then had to do the weight belt as well. Finally it was time to go under and Sam was manning the dinghy and trying to follow us through the surf as we traveled around those rocks. Once we were under the surface everything changed. The surge was like a mild breeze that would occasionally push you off balance but was easily countered. We descended to around 40 ft and started to explore the reef. There were swarms of butterfly fish which look like little miniature angelfish with softer less spiky fins – some with stripes and some with a bright spot near the tail like another eye. I had my first sighting of a scrawled cowfish which is a bit like the pudgy trunkfish but with much prettier colors and little protuberances over the eyes like fleshy horns. We saw tiny mollusks perched on sea fans which looked like a type of cowrie or flame tongue but with very striking spots. The marine life at the bottom was like an alien garden where the water is the breeze and the plants are like trees being buffeted by the swell and current instead of by the wind. Many of the plants are extremely sensitive and if you wave your hand about in the water a few feet away, there will be crazy reactions all over the surface of the plant. Some of the tiny ones look like gauzy, lacy, diaphanous tiaras floating delicately with the “breeze” - then you come within a foot of them and the entire structure sucks down into a tiny hole the diameter of a pencil and disappears as if it were never there. We followed the reef around the rocks and got down to a depth of nearly 60 ft at some points. We saw a Hawksbill sea turtle swimming about and tried to go around either side of him but he decided to swim out into the blue. Then we turned around to see a group of fairly large fish swimming by behind us. They appeared to be 2-3 ft long Jacks or maybe some large tuna. I didn't look so closely because my gaze kept drifting downward to the one at the bottom which was quite a bit larger. It was a 5 ft long Nurse shark with several Remora clinging to it's back. Dan was pointing and making the hand motion to signify "shark" to make sure I saw it, then cheering excitedly. It swam by lazily maybe 20ft away without even looking at us, completely unconcerned. I watched until it started to get hazy in the distance then turned back to continue on our path which put our back to the shark. I have to admit I had a moment where I was thinking to myself. Is this crazy? Shouldn't we at least be looking behind us to see if it is sneaking up on us? Oh, the damage the film industry has done to us! But Dan was swimming along unconcerned as well. So I just dropped my fears behind me and kept swimming. When we surfaced from the dive we had to find Sam who was having a much rougher time than us getting buffeted about and almost flipping the dinghy a few times. It was pretty exciting and I realized I had again had very little trouble equalizing and that what I had a problem with now was being able to roll over completely so I could look up at the surface because I usually had a little bit of water in my mask which normally doesn't matter but if I roll over it goes up my nose and I start to choke on salt water in the back of my throat. My next stage to overcome. We got back to the boat and set sail for Virgin Gorda Yacht Harbor where we anchored for the night. We made some yummy stir fry and planned our dive for the next day.

We were supposed to get an early start but we had to wait for the dive shop to open so we could fill the tanks. So the guys headed to the dive shop and Ruth and I went snorkeling around the boat. There were several sting rays hunting along the bottom right below the boat. It was about 30ft deep but perfectly clear. They would skim flat along the bottom and flutter their wings to rustle up some prey. We also came across some pretty big sea turtles – about 3ft from head to tail. I kept hoping one would surface near us but they only ever came about halfway up then decided to head out to the blue. We did get within 20ft of them, which was pretty cool. Finally the guys returned from the dive shop and said I needed to go look at gear. Uh oh. Bring out the credit card. We checked out some dive boots so my feet would fit more properly in the fins and I thought about getting a hood but then I found a chicken vest – at least that's what it's called in the Arab world – seeing that my instructors are from Israel and Egypt.... A chicken vest is a sleeveless wet suit shirt with hood attached. We also bought a new pirate flag since our good one had frayed away to nothing quite a while ago. This one was great – it had the jolly roger with the phrase “the beatings will continue until morale improves....” We finally got underway and sailed for a little patch of rocks called the Indians. We grabbed a mooring and jumped in. We did a practice CESA which is an emergency ascent if you run out of air and there is no buddy around to share air with. Then I towed my tired instructor about for a bit. We were mostly done with all our skills by then and it was the last dive for my certification. Dan turned around and said “now it's just for fun.” There were rocks in a circle with a shallow pool in the center and an avenue through the middle. There were snorkelers everywhere. We dove down and followed the reef around again. There was a small Nurse shark, about 3ft only and more sea turtles. There were tons of different kinds of extremely boldly colored and shaped coral formations. Bright purple tubes and giant green vases were everywhere. There was also a lot of boat debris. We started collecting garbage from the bottom. We picked up 2 boat hooks, a pair of shorts, and an old scuba mask.... We swam through the cut between the rocks and were underneath the legs of all the snorkelers. At one point, I looked up and saw Sam snorkeling above me. He smiled and waved and motioned me to give him the boat hook I was carrying. So, I reached it up to him without going up too high. We waved up at Ruth and Sam who followed above us for a while, then went away from the rocks and down again for a while until we made our way to the dinghy and ascended next to it. I have become quite good at getting into the dinghy now unassisted with only my fins. And there we were. My final dive. I was an official PADI open water diver. Woo hoo!


We stowed the gear and started sailing for St Thomas. After a bit we crossed an imaginary line in the water, left the BVI's and entered into US territory. Welcome home?!?

Saint Martin Chronicles Part II

Upon returning to Saint Martin, we found that Dahlonega was not quite ready to go and we were staying a least another week to try to get her to a point where she could sail with us. Katherine was back to stay and along with her came her dog, Speckabelly, a Dalmatian mix with a broad barrel chest and short little legs. At this point it was just a matter of us trying to stay out of the way and entertained while the guys worked to get last minute things functional. On alternate days we did some work on Zenaida, as well, including getting a brand new hydraulic autopilot, greasing all the winches and the main sail track in the mast, and scrubbing the decks clean of Jemma hair and dirty footprints. One day Ruth & I borrowed Simon and Katherine's jeep to go to the Loterie Farm on the French side. This was one of the clunkiest, ratchety, broken down, sure to fall apart any second vehicles you've ever seen. The passenger seat was in a perpetually lying down state and the passenger door would only open if you pulled a wire sticking out of the door. The roof was material rolled up and falling through on either side of the roll bar, hanging down in the way no matter how you tried to wedge or tie it. The driver's seat would not latch into place so when going down hills your seat would slide forward and you would get strangled by your seat belt, and when going up hills your seat would slide back and you couldn't reach the pedals. The back was just a pit full of junk. If you tried to roll up the windows, the glass would threaten to fall sideways into the door panels. But it was a standard transmission and it ran beautifully. The perfect clunker to be driving about on a Caribbean island. We drove out of the Simpson Bay area and around the west edge of the island. It was a lovely country drive into Marigot and then off the main roads into the Loterie Farm. Our purpose for this visit was to experience the Extreme Fly Zone - a zip line course through the rain forest. They geared us up and drove us to the top of the course. We were wearing climbing harnesses with a rolling shackle that latched onto the cable and a glove on one hand to slow you down. You would latch yourself onto the cable, launch yourself forward and fold your legs up to your chest, leaning back to get as much speed and distance as you could while hurtling forward into space some 20 or 30 feet above the tops of the trees. In a few cases, you would land on the ground, but most of the time you would be landing on a small platform at the top of a tree. Then you would have to climb down a ladder to get to the next level. Sometimes there were sky bridges between one zip line and the next. The bridges were generally 2 cables with slats of wood across them and 2 cables above as handrails. But these cables were all loose for the entire distance of the bridge with no solid supports and so they swung like mad in all possible directions, your feet wobbling beneath you with every step like an insane suspended bridge crossing in an Indiana Jones movie. One was even better than this with just a single cable for your feet, 2 cables as hand rails and one above to clip onto. All of these bridges were a bit scary but manageable if there was only one person on it. But no one wanted to be left behind so as soon as the second and then third person followed out on the cable the whole thing would start vibrating about and the swing would increase exponentially in all directions making it quite an adventure indeed. As we neared the end of that particular bridge our guide called us to come back out to the middle to look out across the valley where there were monkeys in the trees eating mangoes. We worked our way back to him and saw the monkey sitting on top of the canopy calmly eating the green fruit. There were about 9 zips including several that seemed like a thousand feet long or more and about 5 bridges and as many ladders and trails. By the end we were barely clipping in to any of the safety rails between zips and the heights didn't phase us a bit. With your gloved hand you can slow yourself down and after the first fear at the beginning and slowing down on the first few zips we were no longer bothering with slowing down any more because you risk not making it across the longer zips and having to turn around and pull yourself to the next platform. It was a swelteringly hot day and on the walk down we saw an abundance of lizards in every shape, size and color. Some were half blue and half brown, others were iridescent gold. I happily chased them all down the path. After we returned the gear we stopped in at the Tree Lounge, an open air bar up high with trees all about, nice and airy and couches everywhere. I ordered a sheesha and enjoyed some mango tobacco through the water pipe. It was a lovely day away from the lagoon. On the way back we found the Irish clan hitchhiking in Marigot and gave them a lift back to Ric's. It was interesting to be driving around in a car instead of walking or on a boat. It had been a long time since I had driven a car, or even rode in one. It made for some good variety in our experience and we went home happy and satisfied with a day well spent.

On another day, Dan became obsessed with the idea of constructing a rig to raise the hammock on a halyard partway up the mast. He spent hours working on the engineering of this rigging using every spare line on the boat as well as parts of Simon's boat including the stay sail boom from Dahlonega. Ruth and I came home from the grocery store to see Dan suspended in the air in his crazy contraption. Dan is definitely a humorous person to be around. Besides these crazy ideas for inventions which he immediately wants to build, he will come up with what we fondly call Danisms - "he's speaking Dan again..." like the day he was daydreaming at the table when suddenly he piped up with "I think I could catch rainbows with a flying carpet..." Always good for a chuckle.

Dan was needing a new phone and Sam contemplating a laptop since Dan's phone had gone swimming, been rescued, taken apart, rinsed in fresh water, dried, and came back to life, then fell in a glass of beer... and Sam's laptop had slowly but surely lost all function in it's keys, one letter at a time, then one day the touch pad stopped working and the cursor would only hover over the icon for Internet, so Dan opened about 40 windows in frustration until the lap top's head exploded and it spontaneously combusted. We borrowed the jeep mobile again and took a little day trip to Phillipsburg - the only actual "city" on the island. We found electronics way and wandered through all the shops browsing the latest technology. I had been thinking about replacing my laptop as well, but had a specific replacement in mind and most places in the Caribbean did not seem to carry it yet. My issue was the size and weight of my laptop. It weighed nearly 8 pounds and required that if I wanted to travel with it I inevitably ended up carrying 2 bags. Not a big deal at the moment while I was on a boat but much more of a big deal when I am in my more mobile state. Besides we often had to take laptops ashore for Internet from the boat and I never wanted to because of how heavy and bulky it was. The laptop I had been looking at was fairly new. It was an Asus EEEPC which ran on Linux, with about a 5 inch screen, that weighed about 1.5 pounds and had a 4 GB solid state hard drive so there were no spinning parts inside if it happened to be in a bag that got tossed or got blown by the wind off the cockpit table.... So I found one in the store and my day was made. I've always had trouble spending money in large increments. I seem to feel like I need to ask permission from other people to spend my own money. Even though I know that I have already made the decision to do it and am just looking for someone to affirm that I am doing the right thing. For the same as a low end laptop I got it as well as a 250 GB portable USB driven hard drive that was the size of my hand and weighs less than a pound and a portable USB plug in CD/DVD reader and writer. The laptop itself has a built in web cam, wireless antenna and camera card reader slot. Most of the time I would only need to carry around the actual laptop for email purposes which is barely bigger than the average paperback novel, and on the off chance that I want to do some actual work and need to bring the 2 accessory parts - the entire setup fits in a small canvas bag the size of the average woman's pocketbook. Smaller, even. The guy must not have had many sales because he started offering me all kinds of free stuff. Maybe he thought I was still hemming and hawing over the decision - though in my mind I knew I was going to buy it as soon as I saw it one the shelf, but as I said, I was asking all my friends for justification for the expenditure. So he said he would throw in a free mouse. "Can it be wireless?" I asked. "Sure," he said. I asked if he had a case for it. He said he would throw one in as well. Then as I was plugging in my new toy to check it out, he says, "Should I give you a headset as well?" "I like it when people give me things for free! That would be great!" I ended up with more than $75 worth of free stuff in the end. I walked out of the store feeling like it was Christmas. I try to be fairly frugal with my money because I want to make it last as long as possible. But when I make a purchase that allows me to be lighter, more free, more mobile, more of a nomad - the purchase always sits well with me and in the end, needs no justification because it is aiding me in the quest to be more like who I really am and still stay connected with the world around me. It was a good day.

At that point we were watching the weather and counting our days. May 1st is the traditional time when most people start leaving the Caribbean to either head north to New England, south to Venezuela or east to the Mediterranean in order to avoid hurricane season. Although Simon's boat was 100% more ready to go than before we started helping, it still wasn't quite ready, and we had appointments north waiting on us. After some heavy thinking on the matter we all decided that Zenaida was going to embark on her journey north solo and hopefully after another week or two Dahlonega would be ready to sail and follow us, meeting up in the Vineyard towards the end of May after our stop in the Chesapeake. Ruth and I spent several days coming up with a provisioning list and did several grocery runs filling the dinghy with cases of water, piles of fruits and vegetables, snacks and a giant wheel of Gouda cheese. We got the boat all stowed and then organized a big going away party. We had been there so long that we had made a huge circle of friends and there were more than 30 people at dinner with us that night. We had already taken the boat outside and anchored in Simpson Bay so that we could leave whenever we wanted unencumbered by the bridge schedule. In the morning we sailed over to Phillipsburg, a quick hour long sail, and pulled up to the fuel dock. We filled the fuel tanks and water tanks, and did a little more last minute grocery shopping. Just as we were pulling away from the dock, the throttle cable broke and so we had to anchor and do an emergency repair, pulling up all the floor boards and pulling the new cable through all the compartments. It was swelteringly hot and Dan & Ruth came back from a shopping mission which resulted in ice cream melting all down their arms and all over the dinghy. Finally we were on our way back to Simpson Bay where we reanchored and headed over to customs on the French side to clear out. Sam & I dropped off the dinghy in Marigot and started to walk towards the customs office. Marigot was like a ghost town. I kept thinking it was a Sunday, because France is always closed on Sundays. But it was Thursday. We wracked our brains trying to think what was happening that everything should be locked down tight. It was Thursday, May 1st: May Day or Labor Day in many countries other than America, and for sure a national holiday in France. There was no way for us to clear out. We were there for one more night. It was a bit demoralizing. We felt like St Martin really was a Bermuda triangle we couldn't escape from. To assuage our frustration the whole gang went out for Sushi. Dan & Amit, the 2 Israeli guys in the crowd, had never had any kind of food that comes out of a Japanese restaurant. I introduced them to Miso soup, Edamame, Unagi, California Rolls, and how to eat with chopsticks. I got to speak in Chinese to the waitress who was from China. We had a blast for our final night......again. In the morning we cleared out and collected Dominic, also known as Domi Lama, a Scotsman who was heading north with us as well, then said our final goodbyes and sailed away from Sint Maarten. Finally we had broken free from the whirlpool of debauchery. It seems like everyone in St Martin despises being stuck there in the lagoon and yet, everyone seems to get stuck there for endless amounts of time. Every day we would see people who were supposed to have left days ago. Still here? we would say. And they would just shake their head in disgust. It's like casinos in America where they make the entrances like a big funnel drawing everyone in and then everything spreads out inside like catacombs and you can never find your way out. We had broken free. We were outside the lagoon in beautiful blue water again. We were sailing to a new adventure. It had definitely been far too long.

As we were pulling out of St Martin, we saw a dejected looking volleyball floating by. I remembered the movie CAST AWAY and quickly found a boat hook and other rescue devices. I jumped into the towed dinghy and floated myself back until safety was in reach all the while calling out reassurances to Wilson that I was coming. I got him quickly aboard only to discover his features to be a bit washed out. We did a quick makeover and Wilson became the newest member of our crew. Our sail began then in earnest, spurred on by Wilson's close brush with death. Live while ye may for death is coming! Argh... ye maties!

PS -For those of you following this story, take a second look at the previous Sint Maarten blog - 2 entries back - as I've added new photos since I first posted it.

The Antigua Classics Regatta

Ruth & I hopped on a plane to Antigua with Aine after spending half an hour rushing about the boat, showering, packing and eating and speeding the dinghy across the lagoon to the airport. I went barefoot through the airport and might have made it all the way through the entire process except a random security guard saw my feet when I was about to go through the gate to my plane - so I dug my shoes out for the first time in months. Then I took them off again as soon as I got on the plane and no one noticed again until I was exiting baggage claim. Then I had to put them on again for apx 20 feet until I got out the door after which they came off again for the duration of my stay in Antigua. I haven't worn shoes in months and I loathe the idea of having to start again when I go north. We grabbed a taxi to English Harbor and went straight to the Mad Mongoose, one of the main bars there to find Aine's friend Emma. We hadn't really made any plan of where to stay or what we would do there. We crashed at Emma's house that first night then met a neighbor of hers who rented us the spare room for the week. Another friend of ours, Sophie, had arrived as well, along with Matt and Daniel, all of whom had been at Daniel's birthday party in Grand Case. Everyone was hoping to get on a boat for the Classics Regatta. We all showed up at the docks every morning and wandered about among all the beautiful teak and shiny winches asking if any of them needed an extra hand. The boats were gorgeous. There were two J boats there for the races: white hulled Ranger who had been parked at Palapa Marina outside the Soggy Dollar in Sint Maarten since the Heineken Regatta, and navy hulled Velsheda, who was the first J boat I had ever seen when she glided past us like a great winged creature wrapped in an aura of light during our crossing from Antigua to St Barts. Their Kevlar sails shone like burnished gold in the light and the deep earth grinding groaning sound of their rigging as they adjusted the sails made everyone look up anxiously wondering if the rigging would come down. Being near them under sail was like being in the immediate vicinity of some enormous beauteous wild creatures who had supposedly been tamed but whose power and strength were tremendous and you were never quite sure just how tame they would really be if you got too close.

The first day of the races I was too shy to push my way on to any one's boat. I wasn't sure how serious everyone was about winning and felt unsure of my abilities as I had no experience with racing at all. So, instead, Ruth and I climbed up a bluff and bushwhacked through cactus and scrubby shrubberies and found the hillside over the starting line for the races. We got to see all the boats tacking in circles before their races. Besides the two J boats there were several huge gaff rigged schooners, including Altair and Eleanor. These were some of my favorites because they had three head sails and then the gaff rigged sails (where the top of the triangle of sail is cut off at an angle to make the sail shaped more like a trapezoid) and the small upper triangular sail. This kind looks even more like beautiful birds all puffed up with their feathers ruffled and strutting their stuff. There were boats everywhere as they awaited their start times veering in and out between each other. Other big boats were White Hawk, Lion's Whelp, Wild Horses, Ticonderoga, Mistress, Aschanti VI, Lone Fox, Galatea, and so many others. We watched as long as we could stand being in that turgid sweltering sun. There was no shade to be had and we felt like the air itself was a layer of wet on our skin. I felt like a snowman melting away. After the starts all happened the boats were far out at the furthest mark and not likely to be back any time soon so we wandered back and explored a secluded beach on the back side of the bluff. It was the same coral rimmed cove we had swam in to that last time I had been here when I first met Ruth. There was a lovely little under hanging cave carved out of the cliff with rocks jutting up all about and breakers crashing where we sat in the shade with a gorgeous breeze wafting through and recovered from what felt like death by sunshine. We had been so used to living on the boat and spending a lot of time not on land where there was always wind to be had - that arriving in Antigua and spending a lot of time on land where the heat was just stifling with barely a breath of breeze was a bit overwhelming. We were pretty exhausted as, typical of most race weeks, the parties in the evenings went long into the wee hours, and we had danced the night away at the yacht club so we spent several hours sleeping in the sand on the beach and watched all the boats parade back into the harbor after the race was over.

Later that night there was a party at the Pineapple House, which was the local crew house similar to the Secret Garden in Simpson Bay. It was a cool house up on the hillside with the walls all open to the air and the feeling of being in a tree house. They had made an ice luge for doing shots of Jaeger which was quite yummy. There were tons of people there and we mingled about and met a lot of the crew for local boats and the rest of the Antigua crowd similar to the group of friends we had become involved with during our lengthy stay in Simpson Bay. I was walking through the main room and got distracted by an intriguingly detailed tattoo on an arm that I saw out of the corner of my eye as I was passing. Without even looking up I pushed the sleeve up so I could see better and then sheepishly looked up and said "may I see?" And that was how I met Adam, a singularly intriguing individual, who I quickly learned would be spending time in the Vineyard in the coming summer. We chatted for a bit, comparing tattoos and became fast friends.

The next morning I met the crew off of Old Bob which was a 40 ft ferrous cement hulled gaff rigged cutter ketch with blood red sails. A friend of a friend had suggested I might be able to find a spot on their boat and they were very welcoming. Dave and Emma were great fun and gave me a small job to do - taking care of the running back stays on the starboard side which merely needed to be taken off and put back on each time we changed tack. Just being out on the water amidst all those awesome boats under way was exhilarating but the best moment of all came at the second mark. We were in the second group starting out and our class included some other small gaff rigged ketches and schooners including Moia and Rainbow. There were so many boats about that it is quite amazing that there was not more carnage during these races. Often times there would be several boats sailing close enough to us that we could hand a beer over the rail. Several times there were situations where a boat tacked a few moments sooner than they should and there were close calls where everyone was running about with fenders and people lined the rail pushing boats apart. We lucked out in that we never actually touched anybody else but there were definitely some close shaves. In the beginning it was a race between a whole bunch of smaller boats all vying for position. All the big race boats had started at least half an hour behind us but as we approached the second mark, they started to catch up to the herd of smaller boats ahead. We were coming up on mark two and Rainbow had just tacked towards the mark and was parallel to us about 30 feet to our port side. Juno was coming up somewhere on our starboard stern. There were at least 5 other medium to large boats in the very near vicinity of us and we were all in position getting ready to tack at the mark when we looked behind us and saw Velsheda in all her glory bearing down on us at what seemed like 20 knots. We were going about 6 knots. The bowman was jumping up and down and shouting "go upwind! go upwind!" At first we thought he was talking to us. And we all looked around at the mine field of boats around us and wondered where the hell he thought we could go. Then, of course, we realized that he was yelling to his helmsman and that they were fine tuning their approach to go between us and Rainbow. The beam of that boat has got to be at least 20 feet. As we came to this realization we all just sort of stood there frozen in position praying that they knew what they were doing because by the time we could do anything that would have any effect on our boat actually moving out of the way she would have already cut us in half. Scotty, the skipper on Juno, told me later that from where he was watching he could see all of us just standing there with our mouths gaping open. Velsheda scudded forward with a shower of water spraying in an arc to either side as her bow cut through the waves, her golden sails gleaming like a pyramid of light twice as high as our boat and maybe then some. The raw power streaming towards us was immense and intoxicating. We were all of us on every boat around holding one breath together as we waited to see what would happen -
and then she was passing through.
The bowman stepped back and waved and smiled, saying "thank you," cool as a cucumber, no worries at all.
They glided between us at top speed with maybe a few feet clearance on either side. I could have stepped from our deck to theirs.
We all exhaled together. I was so excited I never really had time to be scared.
It was perfect. They knew exactly what they were doing and it was like watching excellence. Like watching someone when they are doing what they love most and what they do best. So that they glow from the inside out.
We had time to exhale once only before we saw Ranger coming up right behind her. She thought about following Velsheda through the gap and we all gulped again, but we had drifted a bit closer to Rainbow by then and there was no way she could fit through there. At the last minute the bowman directed the helmsman to veer to starboard and they cut across our stern and around Juno as well with a great deep groan of her rigging that made us all cringe away and she cut about in a big loop around and between the mass of boats rounding the mark just behind Velsheda. They let out their spinnakers flying with the breeze and within minutes they were far away. The whole thing had taken less than three minutes to transpire, but may have been one of the most exhilarating, unforgettable moments of my life. It was a beautiful day for sailing and after being stuck in Simpson Bay lagoon for nearly a month I was happy to be out on the water in any circumstance. But those few minutes in that one day of racing made all the waiting time worth while. When the racing was done that day we were walking about the docks and I saw some of the crew from the two J boats. I went up to them and thanked them for making my day, my week, my year. Wow!!!! There really aren't words to express what it was like to be in the midst of that moment. I continued to meet other people who were on one of the boats involved in that little interlude and every one of them agreed that it was the best moment of the regatta. Some day I hope to have a chance to be on deck of one of those larger race boats while they are sailing full speed but being within a few feet and being able to see them in action was a gem of a treat.

That night we wandered from bar to bar searching for where the migrating party had disappeared to. Normally there was a crowd of yacht people somewhere and that was where the party was. But most places seemed somewhat deserted. We eventually ran into some friends including Adam and we all had many deep conversations long into the night. It was so loud in most of the bars that I started to lose my voice as we were shouting to be heard. We ended up in the Rasta Shack still talking at 5 am and decided to take an excursion out to Adam's boat. The captain was his Australian friend Frouie (no idea how to spell that) and it was some kind of 75ft sailing yacht. Quite a beautiful boat. We were all drunk as skunks and it was already full daylight. We sat on the deck talking and watching the neighbors wake up. There was another boat anchored nearby that Adam had just arrived with from Florida. His captain was a nudist and Adam had many crazy stories about his naked captain during the crossing. Frouie was very concerned by this. He jokingly said the problem was like a disease and it was catching because now his chef was also acting as a nudist. He spent all his time running about telling her to put some clothes on. It was a wacky fun adventure and when people finally passed out strewn about the boat we got stuck there with no dinghy. So we spent the day lazing about watching movies and napping and checking emails and hanging out. We were still there in the afternoon when the parade of boats went by. It was quite a relaxing and lazy day.

Later that night we went up to Shirley Heights for the usual Sunday night rum punch craziness. We were with the crew from Port Louis, one of the Carriacou Sloops that was berthed right next to Summer Cloud and Summer Wind. They had invited us to come out on their boat for the last day of racing. The party got rained out as a torrential downpour started and we were drenched to the bone within minutes. That cast a shadow on the weather for the final day. We showed up and got on the boat and we all went out and circled about waiting for our start but it was still raining and there was no wind. After a whole lot of circling, the race committee announced that the races would be abandoned for the day. The parade of boats re-entered the harbor, with Jex, the captain on our boat blowing on his conch shell. Everyone went straight away to have Pim's cups and cucumber sandwiches at the yacht club...or maybe that was a different day...they all started to blur together. I hadn't had a real night's sleep in days and my voice was completely gone by then. We spent our last night bouncing about between bars and hanging out with a lot of the friends who we would finally being leaving behind for good. Most of the people we knew there were staying on for Antigua race week one week after the Classics Regatta but we had to get back because our boat was supposed to be heading north. In the morning we hung out at Skull Duggery and had our last chicken roti and started the long stream of goodbyes. Up until now there was always the chance we would see them again somewhere else in the Caribbean, but now the season was ending and the great migrations north and south ahead of hurricane season were beginning. Of course, I quickly discovered that a lot of these boats were going north to Newport, RI and Martha's Vineyard - exactly where we would be heading soon. So, maybe not such a long goodbye after all.

We made it to the airport and found Adam sitting dejectedly among his bags having been bumped off his flight and trying to fly standby for the last 2 days. We had some lunch together and then went back to the line with him to lend him moral support. He was lucky and made it on to the flight. We went through customs together and said our final goodbyes tho we expected to see him again soon as he would be in the Vineyard for the summer. We made it back safely to Simpson Bay and Sam was waiting for us at the airport. Simon's mast was up again and mostly attached with a few final problems with his shrouds. We felt a lot less stressed after our brief little escape and were ready to get back to business.