A Sail of Two Idiots

Promotional Video

noreply@blogger.com (Renee P.) — Tue, 05 Mar 2013 19:00:00 +0000

This could be you!

noreply@blogger.com (Renee P.) — Tue, 05 Mar 2013 18:09:00 +0000

It's in there!

A Tour of Jacumba

noreply@blogger.com (Renee P.) — Sun, 03 Mar 2013 21:48:00 +0000

Here's where we lived for 3 years. Not too shabby!

Tip Extras

noreply@blogger.com (Renee P.) — Sat, 02 Mar 2013 18:03:00 +0000

There are many tips in A Sail of Two Idiots, but I still managed to forget a few. Like:

Plotting: We had both paper and digital charts. Initially, I'd plot all our upcoming routes using my various cruising guides on the paper copy and then enter my waypoints on the digital chartplotter. This worked as sort of a double check. Eventually (getting more confident, or cocky depending on how you want to look at it), I relied solely on the digital charts and plotted everything on my laptop, and then transferred the info via a chip to my charplotter and via cables to my backup handheld GPS. I started scribbling information from our sailing guides (like Chris Doyle's) on little sticky notes and posting them on the paper charts. I'd make notes about the holding or "must-see's" in each anchorage like blue holes we should snorkel into or around. Sometimes just seeing it plotted on a larger map helped put things in perspective and helped us decide on one anchorage over another.

Pets: Pets and docks are an interesting mix. We very rarely went up to a dock, but we did have to get fuel and water occasionally, so it did happen. Our kitty found it just too irresistible not to leap off the boat and disappear and always found the nearest boat full of sailors who were the least cat-friendly to hang with. This would be kind of funny except that there were times we'd be trying to tie up to the dock in some crazy winds or currents and we'd realize that Shaka was getting ready to leap. The boat could have pulled away and he could have fallen in and been crushed between the two, drowned, eaten by sharks (really), etc. Plus, we're on a limited schedule, do we really want to be dealing with a missing animal? I suggest you make sure your pet(s) is locked up before you approach a dock. To the right is KitKat, formerly of s/v Whisper. Our boats were rafted (tied together) and KitKat was debating coming for a visit. The grass is always greener.

Hiking backpacks: If you'll be touring an island, you might want to have a backpack always stocked with the same things and ready to go. Feel free to add to this (and suggest more in the comments), but here's a good list of things to have:

Bug spray
Extra clothing (among other reasons - taxi's/buses may not pick you up if you're dirty)
Suntan lotion
Flashlight and/or headlamp light
A few wrapped munchies
Water/Gatorade
A tarp and/or space blanket. You'd be surprised at how cold it gets when you're wet, it's humid, and the wind is blowing.
Duct tape. It can tie together shoes that are falling apart, ripped items, and all kinds of other things you can't comprehend right now.
Extra shoes. You might want to have an extra set of shoes to get out of your wet/muddy ones or to replace others that have split apart.
Plastic bags. A plastic bag might work to insert your muddy shoes on or off (again taxis/buses would appreciate it). It's always good for trash (yours or others who aren't as considerate as you).
Ropes/retractable walking sticks. Trails can get very muddy/wet. You can fall into ravines or need to climb up/down things and both items can make it easier to negotiate such areas.
First Aid kit
Bathing suit. How many times we unexpectedly came upon a pool and wished we could have jumped in.
Quick-dry towel
A disposable camera (just in case you forget your usual one or something happens to it)/extra charged camera battery.
Moist Handwipes/paper towels
Hand-held GPS (we had two of these on board). This is probably overkill, but we appreciated ours.
Long-sleeve quick-dry shirt/knee socks. This won't be your most attractive look, but if you end up going through razor grass or thorny places you won't care.
Bottle/wine opener: You may or may not bring bottles of booze, but if you do and forget to bring an opener, you know you have your fallback in the bag.
Knife. Some people actually hike with a machete, which isn't a bad idea if you have one and don't mind carrying it. A decent knife can do too.
Walkie Talkie. You can have your hand-held VHF too, but you'd be less likely to want to keep that in the bag all the time. If you have a cell phone, I wouldn't count on a signal in far-flung places. If you have a walkie talkie set, you can keep you in touch with whoever you're hiking/shopping with and might enjoy a signal farther away. Keep an extra set of batteries too.

Bus It: The best (and cheapest) way to see an island is to hop on the bus. If it won't make a loop, find out what you have to do to get back and just sit there and enjoy the view. You'll get an idea for how the locals treat each other and visitors, and can make notes of places you want to return to later (or don't). I do have to say the island with the worst bus system is St. Kitts. If you're going to the countryside (to the north/west) no problem. But if you're trying to get to the south/east side of the island you're on your own unless you want to flag down a taxi or rent a moped/car. Just make sure the license plate starts with an H and not a T or you've been picked up by the wrong van and will pay for it (literally). You can easily pick up a bus in the capital's terminal, but outside of that buses race past anyone who doesn't throw him/herself into the van's path. Few white people hop buses on the island, so most drivers don't think to ask if you want a lift even if you're waving at them. This was night and day from Grenada where drivers and their helpers stopped to ask everyone if they wanted a lift. Constantly. They understood, the more people, the more $, and filled those buses to the brim. Buses in Dominica were the fastest on the planet and were not for the faint of heart. Buses (or guaguas) in the Dominican Republic were likely to include animals. See what fun you're missing if you don't take the bus?

Safety: We were "lucky" to be off the boat when Jacumba was robbed in the Dominican Republic, but it still wasn't fun and people have been boarded while they themselves were aboard. We had left the door open a crack so our cat, Shaka, could go in and out. We hadn't always been locking our hatches either. We did start locking things up when we left (we had lots of small portholes we could leave open), but when we slept always had the hatches open for air and took our chances. Had we had the opportunity, we would have installed an alarm system. We could have used motion sensors in areas that weren't latched. This is not ideal if you have pets, but after the Dominican Republic, that was no longer an issue (sniffle), so we could have done it. Other people have put bars in the larger portholes/latches, but you'd want to ensure you can release them from the inside in case of emergency. Guns/Ammo tend to be confiscated upon country check-in and given back to you upon your departure, so other than when undersail, I'm not sure how useful they are. We did load our flare gun a couple of times (well, I did). A machete or knife could be useful, so could a golf club. Dogs are best - few will approach a boat with a dog on board - even a little yippy one.

Most piracy is aimed at commercial freighters and occurs in the Gulf of Aden. That said stay alert on the route between Grenada and Trinidad. Other than that, I think I'd focus on petty theft of $, electronics, and jewelry. You can read about piracy and safety here, but don't do it if you're likely to use it as an excuse not to go sailing. Read it to learn what you can do to make sure it doesn't happen to you and then prepare properly (not paranoidly - no that's not a word, but I'm using it anyway)

With regard to the dinghy, some people chained/locked theirs to the boat as they slept, most locked theirs to the dinghy docks when onshore. We did both, depending on where we were. See what others are doing and then decide for yourself. On beaches, we took our chances and I'm not aware of anyone having an incident in such a place (other than waves taking the small boat offshore). I would suggest that you focus on locking your dinghy's fuel tank, since that's more likely to be siphoned while you're away. If you do use a lock at the dock, make sure it's on a looooong rust-proof chain and have lots of spare keys. On board, just know that thieves come with wire cutters. Get the best chain/lock you can to counter that and maybe an alarm. The only place we heard of prevalent dinghy theft was Samana, Dominican Republic and Trinidad. We didn't go to either of those places (well not with Jacumba). I wouldn't suggest you put your big boat name on your dinghy either. It makes it too obvious which boat is now unoccupied and ripe for shopping.

SunDowners: I would say the majority of boaters drink, and while rum is usually the mix of choice and readily available, what people drink runs the gamut. Plus, while rum may be cheap, many mixers are not (or can be hard to find if you like something specific). Everyone is on some kind of budget (some larger than others), but all worry about expected and unexpected boat repairs so can be quite frugal. Certain groceries, including beverages, can be hard to find or expensive, so a barrel of pretzels or a certain beer can be quite a big deal (and a privilege). When people invite you over, you want to be conscious of these factors. Bring your own drinks (and ice if you have it) and bring over a dish. If you're really chums with someone, you might just hang on one boat one night (with them hosting it all) and then return the favor the next night, but be aware of the etiquette here and pay attention to what you're eating/drinking when you're socializing.

What else?

The Top 10 List (Video)

noreply@blogger.com (Renee P.) — Sat, 02 Mar 2013 15:50:00 +0000

So why would two people chuck almost everything they own and set sail without a clue and why would others choose the cruising lifestyle?

Because some of us just aren’t cut out for the practical job, two kids, a house, two cars, and a dog lifestyle. Or we’ve had those already. We’re so lucky to be from a first world country that we’re actually bored by those things and need something else to make us feel alive and challenged.
Because it’s the only setup where you can be unemployed, spend half your time reading, quit shaving, and run around in soiled/ripped clothing (or none at all) and nobody thinks you’re lazy and pathetic or arrests you for indecent exposure.
Because when people come to visit you can take them to several exotic locations and they only have to unpack once. A bonus is that you can put up your sails and impress everyone even if you’re doing it all wrong.
Because even though it’s harder and harder to find a “secret” or private spot to drop anchor in order to sing karaoke and sit naked on the trampoline, those places still exist and it’s paradise when you find them.
Because no day is the same. You can’t predict anything (other than the fact that you WILL be fixing something).
Because you’re not working for someone else who’s probably pursuing this lifestyle him/herself using your sweat and blood to get there. It’s nice taking a break from rush hour, crowded malls, home repairs (ha!), and the humdrum routines we create. Although it is nice to come back to some of those things every once in a while too.
Because it’s refreshing to discover that some people still care about each other and that you can call for help any time and you’ll have half the harbor out to assist you before you can finish saying May Day.
Because you learn to be self-sufficient and build confidence. You listen to that inner voice and discover that it was smarter than you had previously given it credit for.
Because no matter how bad you tell people it is out here, you’ll always be considered a maverick. Even if you drop anchor and never move again. In a world where everyone is starting to look the same and wants the same things, it’s nice to stand out a little.
Because sometimes all the conditions (winds, waves) are just right, you have the perfect sail, and you actually feel like you belong out there.

Just like raising kids, it’s an amazing, indescribable experience mixed in with some equally shockingly painful moments. The good moments were so good they outweighed the bad. If the sea is calling – answer it!

A Hike to Boiling Lake, Dominica

noreply@blogger.com (Renee P.) — Fri, 01 Mar 2013 19:04:00 +0000

[Excerpt from Chapter 26, Lush-ous Dominica]

After a few days relaxing in Portsmouth, we motored (still on one engine) 20 miles to the southern end of the island, Roseau. Roseau is steep-to (deep) so a mooring is mandatory there. A boat helper motored out and waved us to follow him. The “help” was actually included in the mooring fee (a whole $10), so we accepted the assistance graciously.

Be forewarned—Roseau was not a pretty place to be “parked” and probably still isn’t. But we were safe. Sea Cat (Octavius) maintained the moorings and dock and lived right there to watch the boats. Sea Cat turned out to be a hoot, and we were excited to learn that he could take us on the grueling Boiling Lake hike the next day.

Of course, Melissa (my sister) wanted no part of that six-hour (8 mile) hike and instead decided to go snorkeling with Sea Cat’s right-hand man, Smokey (our “helper”), and another family. Boiling Lake and the trail to it are one of the top five things we’ve done in our entire lives. We attribute a lot of our exuberance about the trek to our guide. Sea Cat was a lot of fun and made the steep, hard hike worth it. We had a blast.

We played in the clay (good for your skin), boiled eggs in the hot lake streams, hot-tubbed it in the lukewarm pools, and had a great time goofing off while we huffed and puffed our way to the lake. Well, Michael and I huffed and puffed; Sea Cat (no spring chicken) ran ahead like a mountain goat.

The hike took us through changing foliage (from lush to stunted) down a long, stepped hillside (that we later had to come back up) to Desolation Valley, which looked just like it sounds. We were surrounded by a stark, dead landscape criss-crossed by hot and cold multicolored mineral springs. Then it was up, up, up to where we were greeted by beautiful blue-water (glacier colored) pools and water- falls. They were the perfect temperature for soaking, so we were glad that Sea Cat had told us to bring swimsuits. A little more up and we were looking down into a huge sulfur-spewing, boiling lake. Spectacular.

The lake is about 200 feet across and of varying depths (documented as deep as 195 feet). Temperatures have been recorded between 180 and 197 degrees Fahrenheit, so you do not want to dip your toe into this body of water. Although the lake is shaped like a crater, scientists believe that it’s a crack that allows gases to escape from the molten lava below (similar to the geysers found in Yellowstone National Park). The basin of Boiling Lake collects rainfall from the surrounding hills and two small streams. The water seeps through the bottom to the hot lava below, where it is heated until it boils. This startling geological feature is constantly changing. In the late 1800s a geyser shot mud and water from its center.

In 1988 the lake boiled only intermittently. In 2004 the lake went dry for a few months. Who knows what you’ll see when you go, but I’m sure you’ll still be in awe.

We didn’t want this trip to end, so we took a detour on our way back to Titou Gorge, with its high volcanic walls and waterfall surprise at the end. This escapade involved some very cold water, so I was out. Michael and Sea Cat jumped in and disappeared into the canyon. I laughed as Michael and Sea Cat’s whooping and hollering echoed off the walls while the waterfall pounded on their hollow heads. Goofballs.
You should start working out now so by the time you make your way to Dominica, you’ll be ready for Boiling Lake!

Later that day, we mentioned to Sea Cat that we were having engine problems, and the next thing we knew an ancient fisherman whom Sea Cat sent over was on our boat with his head in the engine room telling us we had a bad water pump. He was sure we’d be able to get another one on Martinique. Let’s go to Martinique then!

Same stuff—one engine, leaking windows.

Left Alone

noreply@blogger.com (Renee P.) — Fri, 01 Mar 2013 16:00:00 +0000

[Excerpt from Chapter 8, Welcome to the Bahamas]

What Do You Mean You’re Leaving Us?

Michael had just spent two months bonding with our very own 37-foot catamaran in a Miami marina. I joined him and enjoyed one month anchored in Miami's Biscayne Bay before being sent on our way (or pay taxes). A recommended captain helped us sail (and motorsail) the three days it took us to island hop to Green Turtle Cay in the Abacos islands in the northern Bahamas. Now what? We had hoped to utilize Captain Tim a few more days to allow time to gain more skills, but the weather was turning ugly. Meteorologist Chris Parker and boat VHF chatter warned of a storm system on the way. We wouldn’t be able to do much until the system passed, and who knew how long that would be. Money was tight, and we had to cut the cord sometime, right?
Right. But in order for Captain Tim to leave, we had to check him in with customs/immigration. As a matter of fact, all of us from Jacumba, even Shaka (our cat), still had to check in. The drill is that you raise a yellow quarantine flag on your mast, and the captain goes ashore alone and checks in the boat and crew. We did that, but no customs’ officer was on duty. So we hoped they wouldn’t mind if we all went ashore and got a drink. Who knew—we might actually run into the officer there. (In St. Pierre, Martinique, you do check in at a bar, so it was possible.) That didn’t happen, but we did enjoy ourselves. Note: Some islands do mind if you sneak ashore and will fine you, so be careful.

The next morning was a Sunday and, with the storm coming, we really needed to get Captain Tim on a plane. We called the customs office and were shocked when someone answered. The officer was there but was on his way out. Noooo! Wait, we’re coming!

We piled into the dinghy (restarted the motor 10 times) and hustled to the customs office. He had waited—hallelujah! A few nonchalant stamps and a hefty fee for a six-month cruising permit later, we were all legal, even Shaka. Yellow flag down; Bahamas courtesy flag up.

Now to get Captain Tim home. We booked his flight, put him on the next ferry to nearby Treasure Cay on Great Abaco Island, and waved good-bye. We waved again when the home-bound plane flew overhead, and then Michael and I just stared at each other. What had we just done?

We were now alone. On a boat. In a foreign country. Or, more exactly, alone, on our own, in a foreign country, on a boat we didn’t know how to sail. Whose idea was this anyway? Oh, yeah, I already wrote that chapter.

Who’s in Charge Here?

It was becoming clear that I’d be the de facto captain, which suited Michael just fine. Over the following months we discovered who was better at doing what, and this turned out to be the right decision. Michael would freeze like a deer in headlights when unexpected things happened; I had trouble with things requiring muscle, such as getting the clutches (halyard and sheet/line holding devices) open in high winds. I could predict where a storm was going and steer us around it; Michael was like a monkey up the mast. Michael knew how to cook and enjoyed it; I could wash dishes with a drop of water. Michael was patient; I was practical. Michael became mechanically inclined; I further developed my computer/ electronics skills. I smelled odors; Michael tracked them down. Michael was better at taking direction, I was better at directing—just like at home! We both just kind of fell into our functions. That said . . .

LESSON 2 REPEAT: Don’t ever assume . . . Don’t assume that the man will be the captain—either on your boat or someone else’s.

LESSON26: ROLE-PLAY Everyone has a part to play. Every adult on the boat should have some clue about how to do all the various jobs. Michael knew how to steer the boat and add a waypoint to the route in the chartplotter; he just wasn’t good at either. I dealt with a lot of engine issues—replacing solenoids, tightening the alternator belt, even helping a guy rebuild our starter—but I left those jobs to Michael when I could (he liked the challenge; me not so much). We both knew how to raise, trim, and lower the sails, and we both knew how to anchor. In an anchorage we would both assess the situation and find a good spot to drop anchor, but I would motor us to the chosen spot, and Michael would lower and later raise the hook. We split laundry chores and shopped for groceries together. We both carried heavy things. We both understood how the dinghy outboard worked. The only jobs we never swapped were that I steered us to the moorings and Michael picked them up. We were so good as a team this way that it wasn’t worth messing with.

Role playing affects everyone’s safety as well as their enjoyment of the whole boating experience. Many couples completely separate their tasks into the usual traditional chores, which is fine most of the time (assuming that all involved are happy with this arrangement). However, it helps for the captain and mate to at least know how to perform each other’s tasks (if anything just for empathy), and everyone should at least know how to deal with emergencies.

Don’t forget about kids and guests. Don’t assume that the captain/mate have it covered. Remember LESSON 9, Sh** happens? Everyone aboard should know where emergency stuff is located, how to read basic charts or the chartplotter, how to work the VHF, and how to do a person-overboard drill. How to anchor isn’t a bad thing to know either. Egotistical captains should share the knowledge lest their big heads fall overboard and they wish to be brought back on by their crew. All others should remember how cool it feels to overcome something they never thought they could do, and think of how helpless they would feel should something happen to the only person who knew anything.

LESSON 27: THERE CANNOT BE TWO CAPTAINS Well, not at the same time anyway. You can take turns, but whoever’s playing captain that day or at that moment is in charge at that time. Some of our worst arguments and unnecessarily awkward (even dangerous) situations happened when I was questioned in the midst of a maneuver—one we had already discussed beforehand (nicely). A captain makes decisions based on the assumption that the mate/crew will do as asked or agreed upon. Mutinies can create undesirable consequences, usually needing to then be “fixed” by the captain. It adds unnecessary pressure to a sail. Orders are not personal; they are necessary for everyone’s safety. You cannot always have a consensus on a decision; the captain rules. Argue (and/or cry) later. Hugs are also allowed.

The Whale (Cue The Suspense Music) - Video

noreply@blogger.com (Renee P.) — Fri, 01 Mar 2013 15:43:00 +0000

[Excerpt from Chapter 9, Becoming Green Turtle (Abacos) Bahamas Residents]

Although we were bonding with the Green Turtle yachties, we weren’t learning how to sail. The weather was terrible. By now, it had been a little more than two weeks since our arrival (I know, it seems longer, doesn’t it?). Not knowing how long it would take us to sail to other places, and tired of freezing our patooties off, we wanted to get moving again.
But heading south from Green Turtle Cay meant going through one of the toughest spots in the Bahamas. No wonder half the boats in the harbor never went any farther. You either go through Whale Cay Passage (The Whale) out into the ocean for a little bit (where there are waves and submerged poles from a defunct cruise-ship path), or you go on the inside, through the shallow Don’t Rock Passage (part of the Sea of Abaco), where there is a lot of shifting sand (so charts and prior trips through it are not a guarantee of anything).
Usually if one route is bad, you don’t do either one. If it’s rough in the ocean, it’s not a good idea to go through the somewhat calmer Don’t Rock Passage due to poor visibility. If you pick the wrong day to go through The Whale, you will encounter a “rage,” which is not a good thing. A rage sea is when the deep waters on the ocean side are churned up from a weather front or other nastiness (bringing usually easterly winds). The high seas break through this narrow cut between two small islands and enter shallower waters. It gets bottled up, which creates even higher waves that curl and smash whatever’s in their way. There can also be shallow shoals (reefs) inside the cut, invisible due to the big gnarly waves crashing over them. Whitecaps will be everywhere. Which of the angry, bubbling waves are breaking over a reef and which are not? Who knows? Can you see where this is going?

After finding out about yet another impending weather front (meaning more freezing temperatures—no more winters in the Bahamas for us!), we and three other boats (all monohulls) decided to make a run for it.

Because of a big going-away party the night before, which seemed like a good idea at the time, we were feeling pretty tired and hung over the morning of departure (mistake number one).

LESSON 39: DO NOT DRINK AND DRIVE And do not drink the night before you drive. Especially if you have a long day ahead of you. We were pretty out of sorts, which does not lead to good decision making. Two grumpy people on a boat are no fun either.

The morning was blustery and overcast. The “buddy boats” got a head start on us because we decided at the last minute to fill our water tanks at the dock. The wind was coming right at us and the tide was going out away from the dock, so tying up was not easy. This is where the adage “Don’t go faster than you want to hit the dock” comes into play. We added only one little chink in the boat; that’s what the bumper is for, right? Michael didn’t need that finger anyway. Who knew he had such a potty mouth?

We were still at the dock when one of the captains radioed that he had decided against trying Don’t Rock Passage because the bottom was unreadable (this should have been our first clue to stay put). That shallow route would be dicey for a catamaran, but his monohull’s deeper draft would make it even more so for him. He and the others would head into the ocean via The Whale. So we decided to do the same and left Green Turtle’s harbor about an hour behind everyone else.

With winds at 25 knots and gusting to 35, we put the sails up (without reefs in the sails to make them smaller—mistake number two for the day) and were moving at about 9 knots. We were initially stoked about the speed, but I could see that there was a lot of pressure on the mainsail’s sheet blocks (a kind of pulley system designed to make it easier to bring in and let out the mainsail). I asked Michael to let out some line (lines or ropes that trim sails are called sheets, but I like line better), and he told me that the line I was pointing to was the line used to drop or raise the sail from or to the top of the mast. (That one is called a halyard.) Huh? I thought that was in the front—we’d just raised the sail that way, didn’t we? I was still insecure about it all, and he was too, so I didn’t push it.

Think about it. We had sailed a total of two times (ever), neither time in these kinds of conditions, so we were clueless. The books we had on board weren’t helping because they didn’t reflect our rigging setup. All I knew was that there was way too much pressure on the rigging and something needed to be done.

The genny (front sail, aka jib or genoa) wasn’t looking too good either. The furler (which extends from the bow of the boat to the masthead and holds the genny taut) was curved like a bow. Picture a boomerang here. Not good.
First things first. I told Michael to let out the mainsheet anyway to see what would happen, but he wouldn’t do it (apparently nobody had told him about the only one captain rule, LESSON 27). We were literally fighting over the rope when we were suddenly almost blinded by flying debris.

Well, that shut us up.

One of the blocks (pulleys) holding the mainsheet had exploded, sending metal ball bearings and plastic pieces whizzing past our faces. At first, we had no idea what had happened. Did somebody shoot at us?! A New Yorker’s instinctive reaction, I guess.

Still not knowing what happened, I turned us out of the wind that had been picking up the whole time. It was about a steady 35 knots at this point (a pleasant sail for us was 13- to 20-knot winds). I ran between the sails to help Michael get them down and then back to the wheel to keep us away from a nearby island. After analyzing the debris field, we traced the problem and realized that we had really screwed up.

Now this is where we should have turned around (mistake number three). We didn’t because we felt pressured to catch up with the others. What if they were waiting for us? We couldn’t reach them via VHF and didn’t want them to worry about us.

We figured that if the other three boats made it out, how bad could it be? We’d just motor. We thought we’d be in better control with just the engines on anyway (mistake number four).

LESSON 40: DON’T BE SHEEP Do not ever allow the perceived pressure of another boat make you go into conditions that you are not qualified to be in. Do not even allow the pressure of family or friends visiting you on a yet-to-be-arrived-at island make you do this. You must trust your instincts and know your limitations. We ignored both. Had we not been seduced by group-think, we never would have gone out there. This extends to weather predictions too. Many “expert” boaters think they know all about weather and sea conditions and try to dictate their predictions to others. Do your own weather and sea-condition research and go out only when you feel comfortable.

LESSON 41: TO SAIL, YOU NEED YOUR SAIL UP!Now, of course, our mainsail was useless because we had lost the ability to control it laterally by means of the mainsheet block. But the lesson remains: If you can, always put up the mainsail. This actually helps with stability. In this case, it might have also provided the extra power we would later need (even if the main should have been reefed, given the wind speeds). After we learned this, we almost always had the mainsail hoisted, even on windless days, if only to keep the boat better balanced. Plus, you frequently start out with one wind strength or direction, only to have it change later. When wind conditions become favorable, it’s nice if the sail is already up. We always hoisted the main while we were at anchor—still protected and conveniently faced into the wind.

So we headed for the Whale Cut, got between the two islands, and were just about past the shoals off Whale Cay when a huge wave broke over the top of us. We looked up at it before it hit us. We looked up! It was so powerful that it broke open one of the locked hatches, sending seawater gushing into the cabin below.

Did I mention that it started pouring rain around this time? I couldn’t see a thing (I later learned—in spite of laughing at the suggestion—that snorkel gear would have helped here.)

Michael was trying to fasten the plastic wind/rain screen on the bimini (canvas cockpit cover) so we could protect ourselves, but he was getting thrown all over the place. I looked past him and screamed over the roar of the water for him to brace himself because I knew we were going to be slammed by another wave. Yet another window was forced open, this time in the galley.

After that one, I dragged Michael behind me and told him I was going to turn around. We didn’t have strong enough engines to push us past the breaking waves. Smoke was actually coming out of the engines from the strain.

Plus, all we could see for miles ahead of us were churning white seas. Turning around was the first smart thing we did all day. Actually, filling the water tanks had been the smartest thing. They made us heavier and kept us from being flipped. Yes, it was that bad.

I waited for the next lull between waves and then started to turn the boat around. I had to catch a wave just right so we wouldn’t be broadsided. I was terrified. We were so lucky (and it was luck) to hit the wave just right, and we surfed down the other side back toward safety. Before we could even breathe a sigh of relief, though, I looked to our port side and realized that we were incredibly close to the shoals. I had been so worried about all the other stuff, I had completely for- gotten about them. Michael was literally frozen in place gripping the wheel with me, both of us white-knuckled. Whether we hit the shoals or not would depend on how the next wave hit us. Steerage was pretty much out.

This is where scenes go into slow motion in the movies. Here comes the next monster wave; the wide-eyed crew holds their breath; the boat goes up . . . up . . . up . . . and then slides down . . . down . . . down . . . and . . ?
They miss the shoals! Cue the triumphant music! The two waterlogged sailors jump up and down in sheer jubilation!

Well, we had missed the reef, but we skipped the jubilation part.
No really! Whose idea was this?!

Poor Shaka had been so scared that he pooped on our new carpet. He had never done that before, but I understood. I’m not sure we weren’t close to soiling our own pants. He had also barfed all over the place. Michael and I must have been too terrified to get seasick. Neither of us said a word as we motored back to Green Turtle. Neither of us let go of the wheel either. I wouldn’t doubt we were in shock. I’m pretty sure we were both thinking the same thing though. What the heck were we doing? Regarding The Whale. Regarding boating in general. We didn’t belong out there.

AFTER THE WHALE

It was a long, wet slog back, but boy were we glad to get anchored again. As soon as we guessed that the anchors were set (yes, guessed—who knew? At this point we weren’t sure we could do anything right), we started pumping water out of the boat. Even the dinghy, which was hanging above the stern on davits, was full of water—that’s how high the towering waves were that had crashed over us.
We continued to robotically hang stuff out to dry and pull out the bedding and the cushions. It wasn’t long before all the nearby cruisers abandoned their ships like ants from an anthill, and we were surrounded by dinghies full of concerned sailors asking us what had happened.

We were still pretty pale and shaken up and didn’t want to talk about it. Of course, Robbie also tootled over and said he was glad to see us. When we told him what happened, he said we were lucky we turned back. It would have only gotten worse.

As a matter of fact, someone on one of the lead boats had been yelling at us the whole time not to come out. We hadn’t heard them. Turns out they had made it through before the tides switched, and with their deeper keels and larger engines were able to weather the waves better than we could have. Not that they would have done it again. By the time we went through the passage, no one should have attempted it. Uh, yeah, we figured that out.

For all the lessons learned during that debacle, buy A Sail of Two Idiots.

Solo Sailing

noreply@blogger.com (Renee P.) — Fri, 01 Mar 2013 14:30:00 +0000

[Excerpt from Chapter 34, Solo Sailor in Grenada]

We made it to Grenada! We had somehow managed to sail our embarrassingly inexperienced selves 1,500 miles from Miami (well, as the crow flies). While this was very exciting, we had some decisions to make. We had been getting a bit worried about our finances and, to be honest, were getting a bit sick of each other (I might have mentioned this once or twice before). We had been on the boat now for over 1 ½ years. Other than a week-long road trip in the Dominican Republic and a short stint with family in Tortola, we had spent every single night on board our floating chariot and were starting to feel a little...confined.
Michael had kept in touch with the developer he had worked for previously (LESSON 11 about your bridges!) and discovered that the guy was onto another project in Mexico and was interested in using Michael for a limited time on the project. It sounded perfect. Michael would spend hurricane season in Mexico making money, and I’d stay on Jacumba maintaining her and trying to get her sold...

And He’s Gone

Off to Mexico with Michael—right at the beginning of our second hurricane season (June 1).

Commentary on Being Alone: I know a lot of women are asking right now— you stayed on the boat by yourself for months?! Weren’t you scared? I can’t tell you how many people asked me that. Well, the answer was no, I wasn’t scared. From a safety and loneliness standpoint, I knew people in the harbor (the same people we had been tag-teaming with all the way down the Caribbean) and knew more who were coming, plus I was meeting new boaters every day. If anything, I was worried about being inundated by well-intentioned folks checking on me. I like being alone. From a boat standpoint, who knew the boat better? I had been doing most of the same tasks Michael had, at least once, plus my own, and I knew I could ask for help if needed. And crime wasn’t a worry where the boat was anchored.

I wasn’t scared; I was excited. Just me and a 37-foot catamaran. Who would have imagined it? Well, even we wouldn’t have, but both of us were confident in my abilities and never questioned the situation. I would miss Michael’s cooking though (and maybe even him a little bit).

You may feel differently, but you don’t know how to sail yet! Your confidence level might change and so will your mind. Or maybe you’ll never have to or feel the need to separate, so this will be a moot issue. For us, this separation was a good thing. End of commentary.

I lasted exactly four days in Mt. Hartman Bay before I decided to move. There was no wind! At all! Using the engines just to keep the freezer, lights, and laptop running would take all our diesel! Plus, without wind it was hot. Really hot. Oy! Plus, it wasn’t that close to Prickly, and there was a big nasty hill to get there, or anywhere.

Decision made, I was now going to have to lift the anchor, putter over to Prickly Bay, and drop the anchor again by myself. This was a first, although I did know how to do it. So I practiced. Luckily there was no one on the few boats in the harbor to watch (and laugh or critique), so I did it as many times as I felt necessary. It wasn’t a big deal, except that I had a hard time with the clasp on the bridle (it was difficult to push in with my puny fingers), plus it was slippery (or sharp from barnacles) and I’d often drop the whole contraption in the water and have to fish it back out.

I also realized that trying to position the boat without being able to see the anchor chain was going to be an issue. Until you put the bridle on and after you’ve taken it off, the anchor chain can go under the hulls and scratch them. That’s why you usually have one person at the anchor signaling or yelling back to the captain where the chain is at all times.

And if that wasn’t enough, I’d be standing at the wheel (in the cockpit) 30 feet away from the anchor (which was at the bow), so I’d have to find the perfect place to set the anchor and then stop the boat (that is, put it in neutral) and run or walk forward to drop the anchor. No problem unless a current picked me up or a wind gust shoved me back. I’d then have to run back to the wheel and reposition myself, all the while hoping I didn’t run into any other boats . . . or the shore. Gulp. Well, there wasn’t any wind or strong current, so I decided I was ready to go for it. Anchors aweigh!

I raised anchor, motored west for 20 minutes to Prickly, stopped the boat, calmly walked up to the bow, dropped the anchor, calmly walked back to the wheel like the proud single-handing captain I was, gunned the engines in reverse to make sure the anchor was in, went below, and then did an Irish jig and giggled like a little schoolgirl. I had done it. Give me a high five!

About mid-July, guess who decided to come back for some more abuse . . . I mean fun? Chuck and Jen, the couple who decided to have a baby instead of buying a boat. The plan was for us to sail together to Carriacou (50 miles northeasterly), where they had rented a villa. They had been married on Carriacou and were back to celebrate their anniversary. I’d play third wheel and mooch off the villa’s extra bedroom. We’d be there for two weeks, enjoying Paradise Beach, Sandy Island, and other spots that Jen knew on the island. I knew I was ready.

Of course, Jen and Chuck brought the requisite good weather, and we had a great sail. Once there, I definitely enjoyed some much needed time away from Jacumba.

But three days into my vacation from my vacation, I received word that a buyer was not only interested in Jacumba but was on a charter boat in Prickly Bay, Grenada ready to look at it. AACK!

There was no way I would ask Chuck and Jen to shorten their trip, so I decided to sail back by myself; they could take a ferry back to Grenada for their flight later. Sail by myself! I know—I get goose bumps just thinking about it again. I wanted to do it. I had already proven so much to myself during this trip. But to accomplish a sail by myself would be the icing on the cake.

We all got up early and Chuck came out to the boat with me. He helped hoist the mainsail (it would have taken me forever; it’s heavy!) and raise the anchor, and then had a local bring him back to shore. I waved good-bye and off I went. Alone!

There wasn’t much wind, so I had to motorsail, but I did have the excitement of several nasty squalls. The islands disappeared and my radar went black. Since I couldn’t see a thing around me, I figured it was the perfect time to wash down the boat (it had to look good for the potential buyer). Friends still make fun of me for this.

Even though I wasn’t supposed to give a tour of Jacumba until the following day, I was worried that the buyer would catch me off guard, and I wanted the boat to look its best. I set the autopilot and used the downpours and Simple Green to scrub the boat (watching for any surprises emerging from the monsoon). By the time the skies started clearing, Jacumba was looking great!

Eight hours later, I was outside Prickly Bay. Wahoo! I turned into the wind, dropped the mainsail (which is much easier going down than up), and motored into the anchorage. I was touched when two fellow boaters came out concerned, knowing that I wasn’t supposed to be back so quickly—and that I had come back alone.

I yelled that all was okay, and they yelled back that they could help me anchor if I wanted. No! I wanted to finish it up by myself—and did. Yes! I feel another jig coming on.

Still high from my achievement and now settled in again, I was not the least bit surprised when my prospective buyers pulled up in their dinghy. Good thing I had cleaned (and you laughed at me!). The family of four didn’t come on board; they just wanted to introduce themselves, but I was still glad I was ready. It turns out that a reef had sunk their relatively new boat near Antigua and they wanted another one just like it. Our boat was the same make but a little smaller (and older) than what they had lost, but they still wanted to take a look

They really liked Jacumba and were a lot of fun, but they had one other boat to look at in Georgia (an exact replica of the one they lost). That was the boat they purchased, as it turned out. While sad about this, I was also slightly relieved. What if the boat had sold? We hadn’t yet decided where we were going!

Puttering Around St. Kitts

noreply@blogger.com (Renee P.) — Fri, 01 Mar 2013 14:00:00 +0000

[Excerpt from Chapter 22: Island Hopping to Saba, Statia, and St. Kitts and Nevis (Islands That Brush the Clouds]

St. Kitts (St. Christopher)

Continuing southeast, we enjoyed a great 12-mile sail in the cut between Statia and St. Kitts, but then motored for the next two hours (another 12 miles) when St. Kitts got between us and the wind.

On our way to the capital of Basseterre, we puttered past an incredibly intact fort on the top of a very formidable Brimstone Hill. Storm the ramparts!
Our guidebooks told us to head to the Coast Guard’s home just east of the city of Basseterre. We pulled in, but where was the dock? Where was the office, for that matter? All we saw was a shipyard and a concrete freighter/offload dock. Michael dinghied to some rocks, tied himself off to something, climbed up the breakwall, and wandered around the yard. Someone saw the clueless white guy scratching his head among the cranes and asked him what the heck he was doing there. Apparently the customs office had been moved to the cruise ship dock five years before. Five years, huh? Even with the delay in publishing, it made me wonder how current the information in our latest books (and charts) was, despite the year of publication written on the cover.

TIME TO REHASH LESSON 28B: Keep your friends current This is why you use word-of-mouth in addition to sailing guides. Things change. Although I think that this one should have been caught, sometimes things change fast. A hurricane (or a volcano) can reshape the landscape or the seascape; a bridge opening schedule can be modified; ships can sink, causing hazards. Remember how much Philipsburg, St. Martin, changed after Hurricane Luis? If you can find someone who has recently been to where you’re going, ask lots of questions! Note that I say “recently.” I cannot tell you how many times someone regaled me with stories about things they loved or hated about a place only to find that they had last been there 20 years before. Not helpful.

Someone gave Michael a lift to the new office, but he had to walk back afterward in order to retrieve the dinghy and get back to Jacumba. The walk was about 2 miles long and on legs still sore from all that hiking we had done on Statia the previous day. Poor Mikey. Meanwhile, I wondered if he had become a permanent resident because the whole process had taken so long.

We then anchored closer to the capital. After a sleepless night listening to music, buses honking, and waves slapping our hull, we put Basseterre on our list of worst anchorages. Oy.

The next day we sleepwalked through town, realized that everything was closed (no cruise ships), made a date to hike a volcano with a local guide, and then motored southeast along the coast to anchor in White House Bay. Aaah, much better, thank you. Just us, some goats and cows on the cliffs, and monkeys on the beach. Monkeys! Yes, there were lots of monkeys running around like squirrels. How fun!

We spent an entire day doing nothing. Well, nothing strenuous. We didn’t even lower the dinghy. Michael snorkeled on a nearby wreck (there are two) and I read an entire book. My favorite part of the day, however, was when Michael went to empty the veggie peels from our cutting board into the bay. He tripped over his own feet and did a complete somersault into the water. I was really impressed when he didn’t lose the cutting board, his sunglasses, or the knife he was holding (nor did he stab himself). I’m still laughing about it. Bravo! Encore! Encore!

We were revitalized enough the following day to move the boat back over to Basseterre and rent a moped. We had a blast. We kept riding on the “wrong” side of the road (it was the first time we had to drive on the left since George Town in the Bahamas), but when people saw us laughing it up, they just smiled and shook their heads while we moved into the correct lane. We were told you couldn’t get lost, but we managed to do so many times. The main road looks just like the side roads, so we constantly ended up in little neighborhoods. Folks would flag us down and tell us we missed our turnoff and send us on our way.

Among other things, we checked out possible anchorages. Hans and Kristen on tiny Whisper had stayed in Dieppe Bay (on the northwest coast) and loved it, but after seeing it from the shore we decided to skip it. All we could see was reef, and fishermen told us that the entrance was dicey if you didn’t know what you were doing. Alrighty then . . .

LESSON 80: INVESTIGATE It’s not a bad idea to check out anchorages from shore if you have a chance. Either rent a car or a bike, or take a bus. You never know: A place you couldn’t wait to go might be crowded or uglier than you expected, or a place you thought you’d skip looks like paradise.

Of course, we had to visit the Brimstone Hill Fortress, which was as impressive up close as it was when we had motored under it a few days before. It’s worth get- ting the electronic guide and storyteller. We then thought we were headed for the southeast peninsula and its white beaches, only to miss the turn and end up on the other side of the island going north. Um, okay, no problem.

We looked at the map and noticed that Ottley’s Plantation was coming up, so we turned in—just in time to run out of gas. Oops. We momentarily forgot about our fuel problem, though, when we saw the grounds and the view. Wow! While we were oohing and ahhing and taking it all in, we ran into the owner/ manager and told him our predicament. The next thing we knew, his land- scaping staff was siphoning fuel from their mower and putting it in our tank. Thanks, guys!

By now it was time for a sundowner, so we headed downtown to the capital. We were surprised when someone called our names from above—who knew we were there? It was Mike and Kim from Child’s Play, last seen at a parade on St. Martin! Soon enough we were imbibing together, and Michael was getting a nice slimy aloe massage from a local—um—masseuse. It looked disgusting, but it made for a great picture.

We used up the last of our moped hours the next morning by making our way toward that elusive peninsula to the southeast. How could an island the size of St. Kitts (about 23 miles long and 5 miles wide) have so much open land? It was like the Serengeti out there and just as dry. Green (vervet) monkeys were everywhere. What a blast.

We didn’t stop until we scooted down every road we encountered before reluctantly returning the bike.

LESSON 81: PLAY BIKERS FOR A DAY If you want to “feel” an island, a moped can be the way to go, if you have the stomach for it. If the island roads weren’t too curvy and were wide enough, we gave it a shot. Mopeds, as opposed to cars, make it easier to get around potholes, maneuver through traffic, and take in the sights (because you’re going slower). Locals feel that they can talk to you, you can smell your surroundings (both a bad and a good thing at times), and it’s easy to blend in. Mopeds use less gas too. Yes, if you get hit it’s more dangerous than being in a car, but that’s why you’re paying attention! If motorbiking is for you, then St. Kitts is an island to do it on (just remember to stay left!).

Nevis—The First Time

We had one more day before our guided volcano hike, so we decided to take a day sail the 12 miles southeast to Nevis. It was one of our best sails. We went a steady 8 knots with the wind right where we wanted it (on our beam) from anchor up to anchor down (about 11⁄4 hours) off Pinney’s Beach by the Four Seasons Resort (north of Charlestown). The water was beautiful, the sail was easy, and the Nevis beaches were alluring.

We even got a welcome from the Nevis water police when they motored out to us while Michael was diving on the anchor. They told Michael he was swimming too far from shore. We looked at them strangely and told them that we weren’t swimming but were checking our anchor. We thanked them for their concern, and they left. Guess it was nice that they were looking out for us.

We hung out at Sunshine’s Beach Bar and tried their famous Killer Bee rum drink while talking with Sweet Pea, a hair braider. (No, neither Michael nor I had our hair done.) After a relaxing afternoon, we had a flawless sail back to St. Kitts. What a perfect day.

Back to St. Kitts

For our volcano hike and final day on St. Kitts, we first had to motor from White House to Basseterre at 6 a.m. to meet our guide. The weather was chilly and rainy, so we decked ourselves out in rain gear. The tour truck then proceeded to pick up some Marriott guests who were dressed as though they were going to the beach— bikini tops and brand-new strappy sandals.

It poured all the way to the mountain. The open-air truck had plastic flaps to protect us, but the zippers leaked. By the time we got to the trailhead, everyone was soaked and cold. Well, everyone but Michael and me and two other boaters who had worn their rain gear too. Nice and toasty.

We slipped and slithered up the mountain from 8 a.m. until we reached the gusty and cloudy top, and then slid to the bottom by 4 p.m. It took so long because people wearing sandals take a long time to hike in the mud. You can’t say we didn’t earn our rum punches. On the way back, we took pity on the least dressed of the bunch and sat where the truck zippers were leaking most. Quack!

We really enjoyed St. Kitts and placed the island as a definite contender in the island-as-home search.

Nothing! I’m pretty sure this was a record. We had gone two weeks without anything breaking down. Wahoo!

St. Kitts Book Signing

noreply@blogger.com (Renee P.) — Fri, 11 May 2012 14:30:00 +0000

That most certainly has to go down as one of the most fun things I've ever done. Talk about feeling the love. I even felt a little verklempt at times.

First I'd like to say thanks to everyone that made it all possible:

1) The powers that be for not letting it rain on me. As a matter of fact, the sun actually made an appearance.

2) Mr. X for letting me use his Shiggidy Shack for the venue, for all his efforts to work with me on the set-up, sponsoring the free drinks for the book buyers, and for even buying a copy when he hates to read (thanks to Esther for her purchase too). Since that's Maila in the picture, thanks to her too.

3) Pat, who borrowed some props from Destination Solutions (thanks Teresa!), set up a beautiful table.

4) Heather for not only helping to set up, but handling the money, handing out the books, and telling me people's names when I brain-farted and couldn't remember them.

5) Everyone of you who have held my hand through this process, rooted for me, and then bought a book (do I have pictures of all you Idiot fans?).

Ok, so first there was the set up. Table placards, posters, and video.

Next up? Cutting the coconuts, emptying them of their coconut water, and refilling them with one heck of a strong rum punch.

Yummy.

Another nice added touch were the drummers.

Mr. X wants to do this every Thursday (the complimentary rum punch and drummers), but I'm not sure there are enough coconuts to do that (many of the trees are dying of something). Books we did have though, so it was time to sell a few. Kat was the first in line...

and had to fight off Derek who was right behind.

Then I had to say good-bye to Alexandre & Patricia (France/Belgium) who bought a book last night even though they already had it on Kindle. I'll miss them, sniffle (I'm not sure why we look so awkward in that picture).

Michael's sister and family made it in yesterday too. There's his niece Annette after supporting the cause.

And then it was sign, sign, sign! (Thanks for the photo Liz - and the purchase).

Although I did know most of the people who bought last night, I also met a few folks who had been coming to St. Kitts for years and happened to be visiting again. I even re-met a couple that sailed with us to Nevis for a hash almost 3 years ago. This isn't everybody, but some photos came out better than others (thanks to Michael for playing photographer for the evening).

Can I just say - Fly Windies Mike - really, you wrote me a check for $50EC?! Sheesh. Bob and Laura, the 6-pack of Blue Moon was a nice touch. Yep, last night was a lot of fun. As if that wasn't enough, the Amazing, Blazing Fireman was out doing his thing, and TALL Thorne was kicking butt during the limbo (he won the prize from Abbotts Jewellery) when he wasn't drumming with the drummers.

Thanks again to everyone who participated and made the evening such a success. I do have plenty of books left, so if you wanted one and didn't get one, no worries. If you like the read, be sure to write a review on Amazon or email me so I can add it to my Chit Chat page. If you don't like it - shhhhhh.