The Silver Lining

The heavy winds have passed and it’s time to leave Georgetown. On Sunday we plan to cross the harbor and attend to our errands: laundry, internet and grocery shopping hoping to head out by noon. The Laundromat posts hours as “open daily” and we also make sure the grocery store is open. Well, the Bahamas are still pretty traditional and most folks attend Sunday services, so daily does not mean Sunday. The Laundromat is closed. So is the restaurant with WIFI that Tom needed to use. At least the grocery store is open. We are all disappointed by this turn of events. We were looking forward to hitting the seas and finding more cool anchorages. 

To make the best of it, we motor the quarter mile back across Elizabeth Harbor spend the afternoon playing on the beach. The first order of business on Monday is to finish those pesky errands and leave by 11. So Sunday night we cross the harbor for a third time just before sunset and … disaster. Tom realizes that he’s no control of the throttle on the left engine…the throttle cable isn’t working. We have no idea how big a problem this is just yet, but we are thankful that it’s happened 1) under benign circumstances and 2) in a place that’s big enough to have some services available.  Tom is SO bummed. We are just a month out and this could delay us for a week.

During the morning cruiser’s net, a fellow boater recommends a mechanic. After a quick call to Wendel to schedule time, we divide and conquer. Zoe and I head off with our loads of laundry, while Tom look for a marine store that hopefully stocks the right cables. Upon returning with loads of clean clothes, we receive great news: Wendel, the dignified Bahamian who must be at least 60, competently replaces the cable in a couple of hours and we are set to go. Buoyed by this Tom heads in to buy ice cream and download books for the eReader. The kids accompany him so they can shop at the market one last time (and pick the ice cream of course!). During this final foray into town, that which we’ve given up on finally happens: they meet a family with 3 girls: Hannah (14), Mia (12) and Ellie (9) , headed in our direction on the same schedule. Their boat, a schooner is named Helia, a mash-up of the girl’s names. 

Of course, now that the kids have someone to play with they are in no hurry. They rendezvous with Hannah, Mia and Ellie on the beach that very evening and ask to stay another day so they can spend more time with their new buddies. We take all the kids to body surf, while their parents, Rob and Ginnie, head to town for laundry. After everyone has completed their school work, the kids get together once again to find a geocache. Finally, they come over for drinks and swimming. It’s so nice. And to think if we’d left 24 hours earlier, we’d have never met. 

Unfortunately, Helia is awaiting a part stuck in customs so they are delayed indefinitely. However, we are thrilled to have had this interaction and hope our paths cross again in the next 3 weeks.

 

From: Naomi Tam
Sent: Friday, April 19, 2013 9:46 PM
To: evalanitam.nvsailing@blogger.com
Subject: So…What exactly do you do all day?

 

Our friends frequently ask us this question. It’s understandable. Liberator, after all measures 43’ long by half as wide. One imagines that living knee to elbow with your family could perhaps feel somewhat confining. I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t…especially, when on a long passage and the kids have run out of books. Or you’re stuck in a marina with water too murky for swimming. Fortunately, those moments are just that: moments in a much larger continuum. More often, we are anchored along a pristine beach on an uninhabited island with nature as our backyard. Then your living space feels nothing short of huge.

Living aboard a sailboat distills life to its most basic elements.  Our catamaran provides shelter, fuel and water. Using a black-box process known as reverse osmosis, we desalinate sea water for drinking, cooking and showers.  The trio of solar, wind and fossil fuels (diesel and propane) meets our power needs.  Environmentally, our footprint is quite small. Discounting the glaring fact that our boat is a gigantic hunk of plastic and foam, we use very little fossil fuel. Our solar panels collect enough energy to run the autopilot, navigation system and our computers.  In 2 months we’ve consumed just 100 gallons of gas.  Propane runs the stove and grill. A large cylinder will last for the length of our trip. One significant downside is trash. Few Caribbean islands recycle. A couple places recycle aluminum cans, larger ones glass. No one recycles paper.

Our clothing is minimal and highly functional. We live in swim suits and sun shirts. Hats and polarized sunglasses are important too. When in town, we have one “nice” outfit for going out to dinner. After all, the Caribbean makes Tahoe look dressy.  It’s the only place I’ve been where shoes are still optional. Each of us stores our few belongings in a small clothes locker measuring about 2’x3’.  Our inability to access a Laundromat provides additional incentive to keep our clothing simple. Often laundry is done by hand; other times we haul it to the nearest Laundromat. We almost always eschew the dryer in favor of the clothes line. An hour in the hot Caribbean sun will dry just about anything, while the wind whips away the wrinkles.

Our days are tranquil, but full.  If the local roosters’ screeching doesn’t wake us, dawn does. Normally, we start with breakfast followed by a school task such as journaling. If we are staying put, the beach is our first stop, slotting outdoor time to coincide with the weaker morning sun. Between the hours of 11-3, we devote ourselves to activities such as school, reading, art projects, email, laundry and bread baking.  In the late afternoon, the kids sail in the dingy, snorkel or build more sandcastles. Often we swim into shore for exercise instead of using the outboard. The kids will stay outside until dinner time.

If we happen to be in town, we might throw in a trip to the Laundromat, grocery store or an outing for ice cream. These errands, which are completed quickly with a car, can take all day when on foot with backpacks. Meal planning, or better yet a well-stocked pantry coupled with creativity in the kitchen, is critical as we shop for groceries only once every 2 to 3 weeks. Passage days are the toughest since they limit us to Liberator’s back deck and interior. 

The kids amuse themselves day after day with snorkel gear, a sailing dingy, art supplies, access to a computer, e Readers and the great outdoors.  Zoe and JT have filled in the vacuum left from their overscheduled lives with old passions combined with new interests. JT has become a proficient climber of anything on the boat that can be scaled, and an avid reader. He has also taught himself to dive. Zoe pens story after story and has started a business selling bracelets and watercolor paintings. So far she’s made $20, learned to make a spreadsheet to track her profits and gained the confidence to sell things boat to boat in the dingy.  Admittedly, computer games sometimes fill the gaps. JT finally maxed out on Rusted Warfare, so now everyone but me plays Open RA. Generally though, we relish the simple rhythm of our days. Of course, we sometimes get on each other’s nerves, but on balance we have grown closer to them as have they with one another.

 

Bahamas at last

During the first 20 hours of 30 hour passage from Turks and Caicos to the Bahamas, we sail without encountering another vessel. The stars, away from any source of light, shine brilliantly.  We arrive at Conception, a nature preserve, to decompress from our period of confinement. Crystal clear light blue water and powdery white sand greet us.  The water’s hue is as clear as a pool: from 150 feet to shore one can see the entire length and the slope of the sand as cants up to the beach.  

Surrounded by such beauty, we fritter away a couple days building sand castles, diving for sand dollars and strolling the beach. One day we chance upon a school(?) of squid drifting along. What oddly misshapen creatures. When approached, they tighten formation; when chased they streak away at an astonishing speed, changing from a deep purple to silver. JT inadvertently scares them into squirting ink by jumping into the water near them.

After Conception, we sail into Elizabeth Harbor, Georgetown breaking our weeks of solitude.  This popular wintering spot for cruisers contains some 50 or more boats of every shape and size. With so many boats, we are surprised and disappointed to find not a single cruising family with kids close in age to Zoe and JT. The weather forces us to stay a few days and during that time we come to appreciate the breadth of activities available here: beach volleyball, a town with a decent grocery store, a library for book swaps, a lovely ocean beach with body surfing just a short hike away, a loggerhead turtle who enjoys nibbling the sea grass near our boat, the rays who will eat out of one’s hand if one is brave enough to offer them food, the cave snorkel with huge Atlantic spade fish (envision a foot and half long version of your aquarium angel fish). With time, Elizabeth Harbor has grown on us and we’ve come to appreciate why so many choose to winter here.

 

So...What exactly do you do all day?

Our friends frequently ask us this question. It’s understandable. Liberator, after all measures 43’ long by half as wide. One imagines that living knee to elbow with your family could perhaps feel somewhat confining. I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t…especially, when on a long passage and the kids have run out of books. Or you’re stuck in a marina with water too murky for swimming. Fortunately, those moments are just that: moments in a much larger continuum. More often, we are anchored along a pristine beach on an uninhabited island with nature as our backyard. Then your living space feels nothing short of huge.

Living aboard a sailboat distills life to its most basic elements.  Our catamaran provides shelter, fuel and water. Using a black-box process known as reverse osmosis, we desalinate sea water for drinking, cooking and showers.  The trio of solar, wind and fossil fuels (diesel and propane) meets our power needs.  Environmentally, our footprint is quite small. Discounting the glaring fact that our boat is a gigantic hunk of plastic and foam, we use very little fossil fuel. Our solar panels collect enough energy to run the autopilot, navigation system and our computers.  In 2 months we’ve consumed just 100 gallons of gas.  Propane runs the stove and grill. A large cylinder will last for the length of our trip. One significant downside is trash. Few Caribbean islands recycle. A couple places recycle aluminum cans, larger ones glass. No one recycles paper.

Our clothing is minimal and highly functional. We live in swim suits and sun shirts. Hats and polarized sunglasses are important too. When in town, we have one “nice” outfit for going out to dinner. After all, the Caribbean makes Tahoe look dressy.  It’s the only place I’ve been where shoes are still optional. Each of us stores our few belongings in a small clothes locker measuring about 2’x3’.  Our inability to access a Laundromat provides additional incentive to keep our clothing simple. Often laundry is done by hand; other times we haul it to the nearest Laundromat. We almost always eschew the dryer in favor of the clothes line. An hour in the hot Caribbean sun will dry just about anything, while the wind whips away the wrinkles.

Our days are tranquil, but full.  If the local roosters’ screeching doesn’t wake us, dawn does. Normally, we start with breakfast followed by a school task such as journaling. If we are staying put, the beach is our first stop, slotting outdoor time to coincide with the weaker morning sun. Between the hours of 11-3, we devote ourselves to activities such as school, reading, art projects, email, laundry and bread baking.  In the late afternoon, the kids sail in the dingy, snorkel or build more sandcastles. Often we swim into shore for exercise instead of using the outboard. The kids will stay outside until dinner time.

If we happen to be in town, we might throw in a trip to the Laundromat, grocery store or an outing for ice cream. These errands, which are completed quickly with a car, can take all day when on foot with backpacks. Meal planning, or better yet a well-stocked pantry coupled with creativity in the kitchen, is critical as we shop for groceries only once every 2 to 3 weeks. Passage days are the toughest since they limit us to Liberator’s back deck and interior. 

The kids amuse themselves day after day with snorkel gear, a sailing dingy, art supplies, access to a computer, e Readers and the great outdoors.  Zoe and JT have filled in the vacuum left from their overscheduled lives with old passions combined with new interests. JT has become a proficient climber of anything on the boat that can be scaled, and an avid reader. He has also taught himself to dive. Zoe pens story after story and has started a business selling bracelets and watercolor paintings. So far she’s made $20, learned to make a spreadsheet to track her profits and gained the confidence to sell things boat to boat in the dingy.  Admittedly, computer games sometimes fill the gaps. JT finally maxed out on Rusted Warfare, so now everyone but me plays Open RA. Generally though, we relish the simple rhythm of our days. Of course, we sometimes get on each other’s nerves, but on balance we have grown closer to them as have they with one another.

 

Bahamas Bound

Despite the fact that we are only 5 days into a potential 7 day stay, we have to move on. Our weather window is closing and we are bound for the Exumas in the Bahamas where we will spend our final month. On the morning that we are scheduled to leave, we eat a quick breakfast and prepare the boat for passage. JT is playing on the deck when he notices and large dark shape beneath our boat. At first he thinks it’s a ray, but closer inspection reveals a dolphin. Not just any dolphin, but JoJo. According to our guidebook, JoJo is an extremely rare Atlantic bottlenose who has regularly engaged with humans since about 1985.  He is known to be very playful and he circles our boat. When we tap the water, he rises to breathe. He seems to want to engage us, or perhaps he is only curious. Apparently he has been injured numerous times by jet skis and other high speed water craft and his many scars are evident as he hangs out around our boat. He stays with us and follows us partly out of the harbor. We are so thrilled to have had this incredible encounter.

 

Turks and Caicos

The days pass in blur of long passages punctuated by brief interludes at white sandy beaches.  It takes 2.5 days to cover the 380 miles from Puerto Rico to the Turks and Caicos. The hours are spent schooling, reading and watching the undulating waves. We count the ships seen during the journey on a single hand. Our safe crossing is perhaps foretold by our departing encounter with a large pod of Atlantic bottlenose dolphins. At least 5 of them frolic in our wake and between the pontoons for a mile or so before they grow bored and veer off. The rest of the pod swims ahead waiting patiently, but doesn’t engage. Their cavorting is so playful that one cannot help but smile and laugh at them. Along with Puerto Rico, we have left behind the Caribbean Sea and entered the Atlantic Ocean. The 2-3 foot tides are the greatest evidence of the shift so far, but we know there is more weather up this way as well.

Along the crossing, Tom hooks a small tuna weighing about 8 pounds. Fresh grilled tuna is our reward when we make our landfall at Sand Cay, an uninhabited nature preserve with a blindingly white, wide sandy beach. We spend the day swimming, exploring and beach combing, activities denied to us during our confinement. Once decompressed, we embark on another full day passage to South Caicos (an unremarkable cay where we clear in) and yet another full day passage to Pine Cay on the northern part of the Caicos chain. Using the dingy to explore these shallow reef filled waters, we head for Dellis Cay. A hundred years ago, sponges were harvested here for export to Europe. A shuttered resort project stands like silent sentinels overlooking the turquoise waters. They’ve managed to complete the concrete work on 7 large buildings before the funding fell apart perhaps in 2008. We find an abundance of beautiful shells tossed up by the confluence of odd currents and tides.

The Caicos are almost entirely surrounded by reef with periodic cuts, or narrow channels. These cuts allow boats to cross the reef and access land and shelter on the inside. Just outside of this reef is quite literally a wall where the depth drops from 50 feet to 1000. At 50 feet the water is much like Tahoe and one can see the bottom. Closer to shore the water color changes from a deep blue to a pale turquoise green.  It’s so green, in fact, that at a distance it reflects onto the towering billowy clouds above, casting a green shadow onto their base.  The beaches here have the softest whitest sand: the kind that is best for building castles. 

At Provo (short for Providenciales) we have an opportunity to snorkel again. The snorkeling on our last days in Puerto Rico at Cayo Palaminos was only OK: plentiful fish, but little variety and badly damaged coral. Anything close to the main island is mobbed on weekends with boats playing too loud music. A bright spot is a tiny proverbial desert island with a single stand of brush growing in it. It is the little desert island of every cartoon…if you were stranded on a dessert island what would you bring….

Back to Provo. The reef is exceptional, despite the strong current and the sand it stirs up. In a space of 45 minutes we are treated to an astounding array of rare sea life: a spotted eagle ray, hawksbill turtle, peacock founder, gigantic sea cucumber, a small school of Atlantic spadefish (large striped angelfish looking) queen angel fish and queen triggerfish just to name a few. The variety of fish is the best we’ve seen. The coral seems pretty healthy here too. 

 

In for Repairs

“Cruising is fixing your boat in exotic places” is a well-worn adage among sailors.  Puerto Rico’s size and population make it the perfect location for repairs. With a date set for fixing the water-maker, we head into Farjado on the island’s east side.  Following a recommendation, we book into Puerto del Rey, a modern, clean facility. They assign us an end berth which makes docking relatively stress free.

Generally, we avoid marinas if at all possible. They are the only place where air-conditioning is a must (and Liberator doesn’t have air-conditioning) as they tend to be hot and buggy.  April has arrived and with it temperatures that have been hovering in the mid- nineties. Our only guarantee: it’s going to be beastly.

Suddenly we are besieged with breakages, all strangely involving water. It’s as if Liberator has hung on until she knew we were in port, and then one by one, things start to fail. One night as Tom starts to wash the dishes he realizes is standing in a puddle of water. The sink faucet’s metal tubing has frayed through and is spraying water. While searching for something stored under the mattress in the head cabin, he notices water standing in the bilge. The connection to the water heater has broken and all of the water in our starboard tank has drained out. Apparently this effort has stressed the bilge pump and the next day it too goes caput. If it wasn’t all so serious we’d be laughing at the situation.  From Puerto Rico we will embark on a 2.5 day passage to Turks and Caicos so everything needs to be fixed before heading to open sea. 

Puerto Rico’s interior

All along, we planned to spend a night in Puerto Rico to visit old San Juan, but the broken water-maker extends our stay by a couple extra nights so we add El Yunque Rainforest  Park to the itinerary.  At El Yunque,  we start with the visitor’s center. The map indicates many places to hike, but the vast majority of visitors hike La Mina and/or Big Tree to a La Mina falls where one can swim in the pool. We know that the kids will like this so we follow the herd. The trail, constructed as a CCC project back in the 30s, is busy and quite narrow. Often one must step off the trail to let others pass. The waterfall is majestic, about 2 stories tall and the pool is crowded with people. Zoe is the only one of us brave enough to stand beneath the 65 degree water. To hike out, JT and I opt for the loop, while Tom and Zoe do the out and back to collect the car. La Mina trail borders  the river which culminates in the falls.  As a consequence,  more flowers are evident.  There are many smaller, but blissfully empty swimming holes along this route and IMHO far prettier than the trail we hiked down.

The next afternoon we drive to Old San Juan. It has the distinction of being one of the oldest cities in the Americas. It’s vibe is very Spanish with narrow cobblestone streets, numerous delightfully shady plazas and the European architecture. What sets it apart are the fact that it buttons up by 9 (when most restaurants in Spain are just getting started) and the colorfully painted houses are pure Caribbean. It’s a lovely city and I am far more impressed than I expected.  Tom booked us into hotel right near the harbor. Its a funky mix of ancient and modern: with huge modern paintings in stark contrast with stone walls and antique furnishings.  It’s perfect except the pull out couch mattress has seen better days.

In the morning, we tour El Morro, the 500 year old fort that guarded the port against attacks from the English Dutch and French. Puerto Rico was the first port where fresh water and provisions could be obtained after crossing from Europe. It helped Spain control the Caribbean trade routes for some 350 years. The kids complete the junior Ranger program and earn a San Juan badge to add to their St. John, unforatuntely El Yunque does not have a program.

 

The Pen Shell Debacle

While walking on the beach in Anegada, I found a rare pen shell…a gorgeous translucent peach colored 6-inch long triangle shaped clam shell. I’ve only seen them in books, so I was delighted to find one on the beach. Our shell book stated that they implant themselves upright in sea grass anchoring themselves to the roots of the grass.  Immediately after this beachcombing expedition we set sail, so I tucked it under the table to “for safekeeping” Unfortunately, we store many things under the table, so later when assembling the sailing dingy the sail boards were placed on top of it and it cracked ever so slightly under the weight.

A couple of weeks later in Culebrita, I took to snorkeling the shallow seagrass beds in search of this illusive shell. I found one broken and one live clam. Generally my rule is not to collect live specimens, so I replaced it after showing it to the kids. Experience taught me for what to search, resulting in my finding a perfectly intact but highly corroded shell –covered in algae and coral.  I also found a smaller slightly damaged specimen. I am assembling enough shells to make a shadow box collection for each of the children as a momento of the trip.  I considered the task complete.

In Puerto del Rey, Linda the owner of Storm gave us a bottle of bleach that she didn’t need so it was time to clean our shells. They reek, especially those that have remnants of their former occupants. Internet instructions said to let them soak for a couple of hours to overnight. I loaded up a bucket full and after a couple hours they smelled normal, the colors were brighter and the algae for the most part gone. I had saved the precious pen shells for last. But I couldn’t find them. I had wrapped them in paper towels to protect them from further harm. It turns out that Tom, who rarely throws things away, mistook them for refuse left by one of the repairmen visiting the boat that day. Fortuantely we hadn’t taken the trahs ot and they were intact!

Sighing with relief I gingerly placed them in the bleach water just before we left for San Juan for an overnight stay. Upon returning 24 hours later,  I eagerly looked in the bucket. And what did I find? Nothing but a pile of sand.  The delicate shells had completely disintegrated in the bleach! How foolish of me not to realize the effect of this harsh chemical. So after several near misses, my own foolish actions had done them in. While the universe may be giving me a sign that it just wasn’t to be, I will continue to search diligently for pen shells in the weeks to come, and just maybe I will find the perfect 2 penshells.

Culebra/Culebrita

With the wind blowing from the south, we detour to Bahia Tortuga on Culebrita, a nature preserve.  The anchorage is full of weekend powerboats from Puerto Rico. The shell-shaped beach has lovely, fine white sand and true to its name, the bay is full of turtles. Tom immediately recognizes the boat moored next to us with a retired couple and their dog, Storm.  We learn that they have been sailing in the Virgins for over 30 years and they are a wealth of information about the best anchorages and snorkeling in these parts.  I snorkel the nearby reef, but it’s been devastated by algae. Nonetheless, I see my first cuttlefish, a huge scrawled filefish and find a live pen shell in the seagrass  (Once, I determine that it is alive, I show the kids and promptly return it to its grassy home).  Later, the kids and I find the largest sand dollar ever, nearly 8 inches across.

Sunday morning brings a hike to the northeast corner of the island to explore an area like the Baths. Our timing is poor as its low tide, but when it’s high, the surf creates a natural Jacuzzi. We enjoy watching the surf crash onto the rocks anyway. Then we scale the bluff, and the kids collect the hot pink fruit from the Turk’s cap cactus.  By 4, the weekenders all depart and only a handful of cruisers remain. As if to celebrate, the turtles begin to surface everywhere.  The next day, we snorkel on the south end of the island.  In contrast, here the reef is quite beautiful and filled with schools of tang and jacks.

En-route to Culebra, we pause at Cayo Luis to snorkel. It’s a good spot during the day, but too exposed to spend the night. The reef isn’t quite as nice, but the fish are plentiful and Zoe discovers a large orange and black surgeonfish. After passing the night at protected, but otherwise unremarkable anchorage, we head to Tamarindo, one of our favorite spots last time we came through. The swell is hitting us squarely, so we pause briefly just to snorkel. It’s better than we remember, filled with colorful pale yellow green (Venus) and purple (common) sea fans swaying rhythmically with the waves. There isn’t a large variety of fish, but we do see 5 trumpet fish and a school of over 100 jacks darts past. With the wind blowing onto the south shore we take this rare opportunity to anchor off Playa Flamenco, one of the Caribbean’s most stunning beaches. People take ferries from Puerto Rico to spend the day here. The wide beach is covered in fine, blindingly white sand. The water ranges from deep blue to a translucent turquoise near the shore and the waves are excellent for body surfing. We spend hours perfecting our technique. At 5pm, the beach empties leaving us alone in our private paradise. Remarkably, we are the only boat spending the night in this pristine spot. The next morning we head back to the deserted beach for another round of body surfing and stay until the sun, crowds and school work call us back to reality. Finally, it’s time to head to the hurricane hole for water (see “water, water everywhere”). 

During the entire time in Culebra, we’ve stayed in anchorages with barely another boat. But here in this mangrove-filled harbor the boats are stuffed in like sardines. It’s loud and dirty near shore. We are flummoxed. Why would someone chose to park in this bay day after day, (which I see as nothing more than a provisioning pitstop) when lovely, un-crowded moorings lay a short sail beyond the harbor? While the Spanish Virgins lack the infrastructure and cache of the ports in the rest of the Virgin Islands, we’ve found much to appreciate with free moorings, good snorkeling, pristine beaches and privacy. 

Water, water everywhere....

  A black cloud looms on the horizon as our water-maker is having issues. (We desalinate sea water to make fresh water.) The first red flag emerged a couple days ago when the water-maker produced water slightly above the recommended salinity level. While in St John, Tom called the manufacturer’s customer service and they assured us that it was perfectly drinkable at this level. Great, problem solved! Or so we thought. However, on our crossing to Culebra the water stays brackish. It’s not potable and too salty to even use for showers or cleaning. Since the water-maker needs to be run daily, we tend to carry a light load and it’s come to bite us as we are precipitously low.

At Culebra, we moor off the ferry dock and buy enough to last us a couple nights. Before we head to Vieques we fill the tank with 70 gallons (at $.25/gallon!), which we calculate will last us 6 days. This painful process involves filling three 5-gallon buckets and siphoning them into our tanks. Despite waiting until evening, Tom is a sweaty mess by the time he has completed the task, so we reward ourselves with dinner at Zaco’s Tacos.  The cool backward garden contrasts with the concrete jungle outside.  The tacos aren’t bad either.

Fortuitously, the next few days bring scattered showers and JT strikes upon the idea to collect rainwater. He and Tom construct an impromptu cistern using the buckets, hose and funnel. Over 2 days, Zoe and JT enthusiastically collect 30 gallons of (free!) water, which we use to clean and shower.  It’s a terrific lesson in ingenuity and we are proud of their efforts. 

Goodbye St. John

The kids are taking a glass stamping class at Maho Bay Eco-lodge, thereby committing us to a few more days in St. John.  We use them to explore some new anchorages before connecting a final time with Bob and Annie for dinner at Skinny’s.  After seeing the Barth’s off at the ferry dock, we anchor at Canelle Bay, the former Rockerfeller estate turned National Park, on par with the Awahnee in Yosemite. It’s a lovely spot with wide empty beaches. From our deck we see deer, iguanas and mongoose on shore. The next morning, while Zoe and I swim, we spot an eagle ray. Unfortunately, next to Cruz Bay it’s St. John’s most popular destination and by 10am the swells from the ferry traffic are unbearable. So its on to the next destination: Lameshur Bay. Lameshur is noted for its snorkeling, and we see our first hawksbill turtle and Spanish Hogfish. At this point we’ve nearly memorized the Caribbean fish guide, so it’s a treat to spot a rare sea creature.

Thursday arrives and it’s time for the glass stamping class. The children are making sun-catchers.  Zoe and JT each choose the frit to color their sun-catchers and their stamp. The glassblower gathers the molten glass and places the glowing orange mass on a metal table. Each child warms the liquid with a blow torch before stamping it, JT with an eagle ray, Zoe a sailboat. The glassblower adds the final touch by adding a hole. It’s a great diversion and a bargain.  Zoe is disappointed that she isn’t old enough (13 is the minimum) to take one of the more advanced classes, especially knowing that the lodge will be closing at the end of the season.

Back at Casa de Klenke, Zoe and JT meet some Annie’s nephew, KC, and his family. Zoe takes a shine to their little girl Leila who is a year and half. I haven’t seen this maternal side of Zoe before and it’s endearing.  She carries her everywhere and accompanies them to Annaberg to give yet another tour. During this trip Zoe is quite literally growing up before our eyes, both physically and emotionally.

As with many farewells, our leaving the Virgin Islands feels bittersweet. Arriving on Valentine’s Day, our time here and in the BVI has passed quickly.  We’ve made the most of it, visiting nearly all of the places on our itinerary, drawn by the beauty and diversity of the islands. More importantly, spending extended time with Bob and Annie has been a real gift for all of us, but especially for Zoe and JT.  Yet, the opportunity to explore new islands and the need to deliver Liberator to Ft. Lauderdale by mid-May are practicalities that propel us ever northward.

A Much Needed Visit from Home

The Barth’s visit provided a much-needed infusion of home. Gina, Nathan and Andrew arrived in St. Thomas a couple days before Brian, so we arranged a rendezvous at their hotel off Frenchman’s Reef.  Gina graciously watched the kids while Tom and I secured provisions.  Fortunately, the wind allowed us to anchor at the hotel’s beach, so we took advantage of long showers, before retiring to the beach bar while watching the incredible sunset and the boys building sandcastles. The next morning, Tom collected Gina and the boys from the ferry dock, giving them the boat tour and safety speech before setting off to collect Brian from the airport. One can anchor off Lindbergh Bay just a short walk from the runway…it’s the first time we’ve made an airport pickup by boat! Once Brian was onboard we headed for St John’s Leincester Bay. Despite favorable winds, everyone was hot when we arrived, so we cooled off by swimming, paddle-boarding and sailing in the dingy. The next morning, the Barth’s toured Annaberg Sugar Plantation with Zoe while we snorkeled. Unfortunately, our excursion was cut short when JT sustained several jellyfish stings through his rashguard. Once everyone was back aboard we set our sights on the BVI.

The next four days passed in a whirlwind of good company, good food and excellent Painkillers. We crammed our favorite spots into the few short days: Cooper Island, the Baths, Eustatia Sound, The Bitter End and Saba Rock’s fish feeding/Happy Hour.  The boys picked up their friendship without skipping a beat. The week saw Nathan bravely facing the lively surf at the Bath’s and Andrew swimming fearlessly from Liberator. Our last day at the Bitter End the Barth’s graciously treated us to dinner. While there, we ogled the maxi-yachts in for a big-boat regatta. These 130-feet plus long sailboats have masts reaching so far into the sky that they are required to light their masts with red lights to signify an aviation hazard. We counted 16 such masts.  A highlight for Zoe was seeing the Necker Belle, an 80-ft catamaran belonging to Richard Branson.  The days passed too quickly and before we knew it were dropping the Barths off at Cruz Bay to catch the ferry back to St. Thomas. 

After the frenetic activity of the previous 4 days Liberator felt strangely quiet and we were all a little sad. Zoe cried for an hour two days running; a combination of tween hormones coupled with a wave of homesickness. We haven’t had the good fortune to meet a family with children headed in our direction, so having good friends visit made us all a little homesick for our friends.