Just before we left Nanny Cay, to officially commence this cruising season, I found a terrific baker who came to the boat with his wares.  They looked fabulous and tasted better, the like of which we have never seen in the islands before.  And because he was from PEI, I trusted him; bought everything he produced, and promptly served it all to friends on the boat at happy hour.  Sue and Bruce, and their newly arrived  very pregnant daughter Erin, and fellow Edmontonian and boater, Terry Loat, who captains the fearless aFloat.  All went well until Erin debarked, tried to get around her Dad who was attempting to get his shoes on (post drinking)  on the dock - she unceremoniously fell in - YUK!  By the time we got her back on the dock she was badly bruised and had pulled a muscle in her shoulder.  But, as they say in fairy tales, that was just the beginning.  By 4 a.m. Bill was vomitting up a lung, sicker than a dog with food poisoning that could only be ecoli because it lasted almost a week.  He was SO sick.  I wasn't; guts of a sea gull, can chew nails and spit rust.  Also, I hadn't eaten any of the offending piece.  I ventured over to Terry's boat to find he was similarly afflicted; sick, both ends, non stop.  Now I was extremely worried that Erin had also been struck, so I went over to Andiamo 35 and knocked on the side of the boat.  Happily all was well there with all three, except for Erin's shoulder, which she had in a sling.  You can't imagine how relieved I was.  Now I just had to support Bill and Terry through their ordeals.

Within a couple of days, Bill felt sufficiently better that he was ready to leave the dock.  We needed to fill with gas and diesel so stopped at the fuel dock on the way out of the marina, at which point I knew for sure he still wasn't up to snuff.  I  had to back the boat onto the fuel dock, Bill just wasn't up to it.  He had pulled a muscle in his back retching.   Well.  There is NOTHING a woman can't do in a crisis, and nothing like it she will do without one.  I backed onto the dock without incident, or grace. We fueled up, motored in uncertain seas over to Norman Island, with me driving and Bill looking a little green  - claimed it was a combination of the spilled diesel smell, the 'aroma' of pumping out our holding tank when we were out in the open sea, and the lingering malady of a superior case of ecoli.

Fat Hog's bay has nothing to recommend it other than a brand new laundromat & a great eatery!
This is the Koi pond outside the restaurant

Ron, bartender par excellence, espousing the benefits of 'omega trees, mon'!

At Norman Island, things improved daily as we snorkeled the caves and enjoyed the beach bar and restaurant.  Also, the wind had really piped up and we we securely attached to a mooring ball in one of the most ideally located bays in the BVIs.  Not in any hurry to leave.

Friend Jerry and Erin dancing to MJ's music.  Note the sling!

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We had so much fun when MJ, a local celeb was playing wonderful jazz and contemporary music, and we danced, ate and drank the night away.

We cut a mean rug!

MJ was a joy to watch and listen.  But he was really hard to photograph!

After 5 days we were ready to change the scenery and motored over to the Bitter End.  It's a big bay on North Sound and a very upscale resort-y place.  The first night we tied ourselves to a mooring ball in front of Saba Rock and watched the ball submerge itself over 3 feet  in the horrendous winds.  Those same winds, while uncomfortable for us on the boat were ideal for the kite sailors who criss-crossed the bay between the boats, hurtling themselves over 30 feet into the air,  overtop of boats and navigational aids.  It was awesome and really made me wish I was younger - I SO would have tried that!

These guys HONK at up to 30 Nm.  See him in the air?

The  next night we moved to get out of the fierce winds and, at sunset, someone on one of the boats played a haunting TAPS on the horn.  It echoed around the bay, and every ear was tuned and silent.  It was so moving.

We were surprised at the number of super huge mega yachts showing up here until I googled them and found out they were being judged in the annual 'mega yacht regatta' where the worlds largest and most opulent yachts are judged on their merits.  Our money is on the tug-boat looking boat with the helicopter, ferrari and super speed boat on the deck.  Mega yacht number 43 is Nirvana and she's for sale, although finding out the asking price is not easy.  I was going to submit a low-all offer, but my computer doesn't allow me to input that many zeros.   Also,  Richard Branson (Virgin, etc.) owns the next island over, Necker Island, and we will have to avoid hitting it when we leave here.  That's if we're  not distracted by his helicopter buzzing over our heads constantly.  My shameless name dropping is over right here.

Terry Loat and his friend Brant joined us for the last 24 hours and we enjoyed their company on our boat and their hospitality on aFloat.  We were sad to see them off; they left for Grenada this afternoon.

We are currently watching the Stupor Bowl at a bar here and enjoying the real fans gong show.  Loud, drunk, but strangely not offensive or obnoxious, we enjoy the side show of their histrionics.  I also found the opening ceremonies involving the choir from Sandy Hook  and Alicia Keyes national anthem very moving.

Our next port of call, tomorrow morning is Anageda Island where we will celebrate Bill's 69th birthday with lobster and a tour of the flamingos on the Salt flats.  

Jewelry Cruise

Jewelry cruise; (noun.) an overnight sailing passage that involves false promises of good weather and calm seas, instead, one gets beaten up by the seas and winds, frightened out of one’s mind (F only) and results in the purchase of expensive trinkets (again, F only) as compensation for not committing murder.

The beautiful USVIs and BVIs have become as familiar as the streets of Edmonton to me.  I know where I can find everything I need or want and we’ve built a solid community of friends who have become our sailing family.  I’m comfortable and safe here, and happy to be on the boat.  In other words, (Bill’s), it’s time to leave.

Friday, March 15^th

Crown Bay Marina, St. Thomas: We bid a fond farewell to (Bill’s brother) Bob and  (sister-in-law) Brenda who were great company and easy guests.  Did 8 loads of laundry, grocery shopped and headed out to Cooper Island to meet up with buddy boat, Beleeza and friends Grant and Brenda.  A window for crossing to St. Maarten from the BVIs was available for two days only and wouldn’t open up again for another two weeks.

 

Hooked up in Coopers Island and began planning and coordinating with our buddy boat.  It is a 90 NM trip requiring a 5p.m. start in order to arrive during the daylight.  Grant has a high-tech satellite weather system that indicates all systems go.

Saturday, March 16 4:00p.m.

Left the safe anchorage at Cooper Island after making every possible preparation.  Jack lines (bright yellow flat ropes tied from the front to the back of the boat so that if, for some reason, someone had to go forward, they would carabinered on and, in the event that should they be swept overboard, they would still be tied to the boat – makes finding them much easier in the dark) installed, all phones, lights, portable VHF charged, water made, ditch bag filled with emergency supplies, EPIRBs and life vests and tethers at the ready, soup made for comfort during the long night.  We were ready.

Turned the corner into the wide open Atlantic and immediately things were way bumpier than I like.  Bill said not to worry, things would get better, according to the forecast.  LLPOF (Liar,Liar,Pants,On,Fire)

7:00p.m. It’s been a long trip already, and I’m counting the minutes.  The sun is setting, dark is closing in around us and things are NOT getting better, although they aren’t getting worse.  Yet.

10:00p.m.  It is glaringly apparent that the forecast was wrong, wrong, wrong.  I’m going to suggest to Grant that he take his fancy weather device and tie it to the anchor as fair warning to other electronic devices, should they decide to disappoint as badly. The deck slapping causes such loud noise and harsh vibration I am sure the boat is coming apart.  I look Bill in the eye and say, fervently, “Never again”.    Grant’s anemometer (wind indicator) is stuck at the top of the guage – 38Knots;  therefore, the winds are upwards of that.

1:00a.m. Our radar and Grant’s AIS are lit up like pin ball machines.  There is more traffic out here than expected, and some of it is not well lit.  When a freighter towing a barge goes by, without warning and within half a mile, Bill’s sphincter  factor goes up, but he does his best to smile at me and say, “We’re not in any danger, it’s just uncomfortable”.  (He is wrong on so many counts; he is very much in danger of losing his life.) And it’s not just uncomfortable, it’s unbearable.  Brenda, on Beleeza has the right idea I think, she takes two sleeping pills and knocks herself out for the night because that’s the only way she can stand it.  (That was the plan, but it was too rocky for her to sleep, so, in spite of the pills, she was groggy, awake and miserable).  I am unable to heat the soup because the act of bringing a spoon to one’s mouth is impossible.  And anything hot would just bounce out, spill and likely burn the holder.

3:00 a.m.

There is unexpected water on the bathroom floor.  Bill was worried that we’d sprung a leak, but I knew where it came from.  The waves hit us so hard that water blasts backwards through some of the through – hulls and sends a water gun cascade backward up into the sink drain and the shower sump.  I have to remember to pump out every hour or so to prevent the water from getting further into the boat.

The thoughts that run through my head are the following:

1.  What can I throw up into that won’t throw it back at me?

2.  MAKE IT STOP!!!  I want to get off!

3.  Why couldn’t I have married a normal guy, like a dog catcher, circus clown or a nice cereal killer? (I know I spelled it wrong, it’s just funnier that way)

I am too old to engage in activities that require being strapped into life saving devices and tethered on.  Bill, however manages to maintain his good humor throughout the whole ordeal, (likely faking it for my sake).  Had he not, I would have lost it.

5:00a.m. Everything we own is on the floor.  The toaster oven, which has never, ever moved, has dented the floor where it crashed.  Fortunately, it was manufactured in some South American country where toaster-oven-tossing is a national sport, because that tough little thing still works fine, except the door doesn’t close properly anymore.   We are looking forward to the sunrise, when we can at least see the 3 meter waves coming at us from every direction.

6:30a.m. Oh, it’s light out all right, a grey, dull, rainy, blustery miserable light that barely distinguishes itself from the charcoal angry seas.  And yes, we can see very well, the two – not one, but two – squalls that are coming at us.  Bill managed to skirt the first one, but Grant got caught.  At one point, even though his motors were pinned, they were standing still, getting beat to smithereens.  We were full throttle too, making 2 knots.  We were only 8 knots from St. Maarten, but at that rate, it was going to take us FOUR more hours.  Bill said later he knew we were in trouble when the marker lights from the island, which had been visible for the past hour, disappeared.

9:30 a.m.

We finally pull into Marigot Bay on St. Maarten and throw the anchor down, the quarantine flag up, and get some sleep.  We will worry about checking in later. Bill’s still grinning and saying foolish things like, “See?  We survived!” which is no measure of anything I ever want to do again.

  But I am going to find a VERY expensive jewelry store.