Hola Muchachos,

Our crossing of the dreaded Mona Passage couldn’t have been more benign.  The wind and seas cooperated fully.  At times, the surface of the ocean looked like mercury, with nary a ripple to mar its’ glassy surface.  This particular piece of the ocean has a nasty reputation.  In the slot between Dominican Republic and Puerto Rico, water boils up out of the miles deep Puerto Rican Trench, and is pinched between the islands, the 400-foot depth of Horseshoe Shoal acting like a sandbar off a beach, causing waves to stack up in a rather singular fashion.  Couple this with the prevailing Trade Winds, and thunderstorms marching west off the coast of Puerto Rico nearly every night, and you’ve got the perfect recipe for a lot of sea stories.  Sorry, no story.  We love PLEASURE boating (And, it’s oftimes better to be lucky than good).

With “la Isla del Encanto” in sight, I gave Jose, the owner of Marina Pescaderia a call.  He had expected us to be there the following morning, but our pushing through without an overnight stop at Sand Cay, as originally planned, had put us in early.  He told us that he wasn’t at the marina, but would call his “guy” to help us in.  At 16h45, we were tied up, and ready for a cold one, some 56 hours after leaving Providenciales.  The marina was immaculate, although many of the boats berthed there were far from it.  It looked like we might have been the only transients in what appeared to be a 200 (or so) slip facility.  The electric supply was strong, and the freshwater pressure great.  The fixed concrete docks were pretty new and in very good condition.  The fee structure here also fit our thrifty profile.  $1.20/ft., $.24/kwh, and $2.50/day for water.  That night, we slept in air conditioned comfort-livin’ large! 

Probably don’t need to tell you how we occupied the next morning, arising to the roosters sounding off around the bay, you know that you’re in the islands.  After the Girl was desalted, we headed in to explore the little fishing village of Puerto Real.  There wasn’t a whole lot to see.  The town looked pretty depressed, without much in the way of commerce.  The fish market, a couple of scuba shops, and a marine supply/service operation were the only visible places of business.  Also of note was the relative absence of young people (a sure sign of a dormant economy).  We had lunch at the Mercado Bakery on the outskirts of town, and had a good time people watching (and being watched) as the locals streamed in and out at lunchtime.  No ingles spoken here, we were going down fast when a bilingual teenager from the continental U.S. came in and helped us with our order.  Turned out that she was studying premed at a university on the island, and was from Springfield, MA.

Having seen the sights, the next day was consumed with living.  While Suz took care of office/computer stuff, I re-bedded some deck hardware and repaired a broken hatch.  Late in the afternoon, we finally met Jose, the owner, who had been AWOL since before our arrival.  Over sips of “Don Q” rum, we got the Chamber of Commerce spiel, after which, we coaxed his life story from him.  Jose gave us a several page handout, detailing anchorages, attractions, and his favorite restaurants and hangouts along the south coast where we were headed.  He told us that he knew lots of people along our route, so if we needed any help along the way, that we should call him.  Okay……so here’s the abbreviated life story.  Born here, Jose went off to Georgia Tech to get his degree in engineering.  Returning home, he settled into the family business, servicing the landline telephone system all over the island.  Well, in comes Carlos Slim (see Mexican multi-billionaire) and buys the Puerto Rican telephone system.  Five contracts have since dwindled to one, as Mexican companies (owned by Senor Slim) took over the maintenance operations.  Jose also started a Redi-Mix concrete company, but with the collapse of the Puerto Rican economy (PR is in federal receivership), new building isn’t happening.  They’re now doing custom structural and decorative concrete.  Okay, so where does this marina come in?  As Jose tells it, “My Dad was in town with a few of his buddies, got really drunk, and bought a marina.” His family has no interest in boating or water sports, so the already decrepit marina and its’ wooden docks continued their downward spiral, until finally, as he tells it, a decision needed to be made.  “I told my Dad that he either needed to sell the land or rebuild the marina.” I guess the rest is history.  They started the permitting process in 2008, as the economy was tanking, and completed construction in 2011.  Jose, who loves the water, and has had a boat of some type since his first Boston Whaler as a 10-year-old, runs the operation in his spare time.  He told us that the bank was paid, and the marina is breaking even financially.  Of course, he is looking to build the business so that he can “sit at the marina bar and drink Don Q.” I have no doubt that he will, with the level of service that he provides.  I love stories about people who work hard and succeed, but I digress.

We fueled up the Girl on relatively inexpensive (compared to the rest of the Caribbean) Puerto Rican diesel, and were off the dock at Puerto Real by 07h00 this morning, the 7th.  Taking advantage of the remainder of the Night Lee, we cruised in light winds, and were anchored inside the reef behind Cayo Caracoles by 10h30.  Here, we spent the day just playing in the sun, enjoying dinghy rides and the warm Caribbean water.  We debated staying here for another day, but think we’ll move up the coast tomorrow, and stay a few days at “Gilligan’s Isle”.

No internet, just cell, so no pictures.

-Hasta Luego

Gooood Morning!

It’s 01h00 on……..”let’s see….ahh yes, Sunday morning, and I just came on watch after 7 hours of killer sleep”.  Ever since I became voluntarily unemployed, the time/space continuum has been disturbed-on a passage, even more so.  It’s one of the reasons for the $19 Timex on my wrist (the day/date function), the other being the LARGE readablewithoutglassesnumbers.  Sleep yesterday night was sketchy at best.  Even though the seas were 4’ and less, they were hitting us just off the port bow, giving the Girl some lively movement in all three axis (axes,axises, axees?) whatever, she was pitching, rolling and yawing in rapid succession.  The frequent rain showers didn’t help, as the closed portholes made for a rather stuffy boat belowdecks.   This morning, we had more of the same.  Cloudy skies, and frequent pouring rain were the order of the day.  We’d no sooner get the portholes and hatches open, then the rain would come pouring down (and sideways).  In midafternoon, we got some lines in the water.  Since I was planning on napping to make up for lost time the night before, the fishing effort was halfhearted at best.  No baits, just artificial lures.  True to form, I was just getting off to sleep when one of the reels went zinging out.  Winding in, we could see that it was a little Mahi.  As I was thinking “Should we keep him, or let ‘em go?”, he shook the hook.  Problem solved.  Back to the couch.  Not fifteen minutes later, repeat the process.  I’m not yet quite with it (still sleeping) as I’m letting line out to reset.  All of a sudden, I see a six inch tidal wave rocketing perpendicular to our wake and hit the lure that I’m just letting out.  Three hundred yards of line roll off the spool in a heartbeat.  I’m trying to get some drag on the reel, but to no avail.  I’ve got the biggest fish I’ve ever hooked up, and my reel’s malfunctioning!!  Meanwhile, he’s taken 400 yards, I’m thinking “to heck with it, I’ll just hand line him in”. (and throw away the pile of line that’ll end up on the deck away.)  He saved me the humiliation.  One shake of his head, and he was gone.  Sheepishly, I looked a little closer at the “broken” reel, and realized that I had never set the clutch-one of the hazards of fishing in your sleep.  The third time was a charm.  This time, after a 30 minute nap, when that reel started screaming, I was in battle mode immediately.  Man, it was something big.  Four hundred and fifty yards were off the spool before I could reel in a single inch of line.  I looked at my reel, and saw line that had never been off it (you can tell by the way it’s wound).  For the next twenty minutes, I reeled in twenty yards, he took back twenty-five.  Exhausted, I put the rod back in the holder, and took a rest.  Suzanne spelled me a couple of times, reeling with both hands.  When we finally got him to the boat, this “monster” was no more than a 49” Mahi, no bigger than the guys that we boated in the Bahamas last year.  That was a long story just to explain why I got a good sleep tonight.

After our pal was butchered, yielding about 10 pounds of gorgeous filets, Suz informed that we were done fishing.  “What?”  Seems that the freezers are full-no room for more food.  Remember, we’re headed to the islands, where beef will be somewhat less than plentiful.  The rain showers finally abated, the clouds cleared, and we had a breezy, sunny evening, with the sun setting over calm seas.

I got ahead of myself, so let me go back and fill in the blanks.  After we left Southside late Friday morning, we spent the next nine hours cruising over the shallow Caicos Bank.  The sun was full-on.  The temperature was in the eighties, with humidity right up there to match it.  Wind and waves were on our nose, starting at a manageable 2’, and increasing to 4’ by the end of the day when we exited the Bank at Fish Cays.  Two hours across the Turks Island Passage brought us onto the shoals around Big Sand Cay, where in the pitch black, under a wafer-thin crescent moon, we threaded through, between the island to the north, and the coral rock shoals to the south.  (radar, accurate electronic charts, and GPS are good things-we never saw nuttin’ out the windows).  From there, we expected deep water the rest of the way, and since there was virtually no boat traffic, we flipped on the television for some binge-watching.  Some friends back on dirt had told us about the series “Scandal”, so we downloaded a couple of seasons before we left.  As of last night, we’re on the second episode of Season 3.  As I mentioned before, sleep came with some effort Friday night.  I got my best in the last hour before I relieved the Admiral at 02h00, when the waves started to moderate.

I guess that gets us caught up.  It’s 01h45 on Sunday morning, the seas are less than 2’, and the wind, in the night lee created by Dominican Republic, some 30 miles off our starboard, is less than 10kn.  Before Suz went to bed, we discussed the latest weather report, downloaded from our Delorme satellite tracker.  Conditions look favorable for us to push on to Puerto Rico, so we’ll bypass Samana, D.R. to take advantage of this unusually (for this time of year) nice weather.  I think that I’ll listen to a few of our prerecorded podcasts, drink a Coke, and settle in for the night.

PS:  You mighta guessed no cell or data coverage.  We’ll shoot these last few into space ASAP.

-Later

Ohhh, Yeah……

After we paid de money to da men, we were done with Customs and Immigration (until it was time to get our clearance to leave).  We got the bikes down for some much needed exercise.  We quickly found out that “improved road” didn’t mean paved.  As we toodled out of the drive and onto the “road”, it became evident that we were in for a bumpy ride.  The surface reminded me of those first photos sent back from the Mars rover.  There wasn’t any loose gravel, just sharp, jagged rocks sticking up out of the surface.  Everywhere that there was a slight incline, eroded ruts from 4”-8” deep scarred the crust.  The benefit accrued from this condition was that there weren’t any quiet cars on the island, you could hear them rattling and bumping up behind you long before there was ever any danger.  (Not that we saw many cars on this back road).  Six miles out, near the end of Juba Point, we came upon a man-made basin surrounded by lots suitable for building.  Two homes, built on the prominence between the basin and the sea, created an imposing presence.  We guessed that they were over 20,000 square feet each.  One was rumored (and confirmed) to belong to Prince.  Impressive.  We doubled back past the marina, and headed north to explore Turtle Bay, a marina on the north side of the island.  Crossing Leeward Highway, the paved four-lane which runs east-west down the length of the island was a real trip.  The locals make up for the speed that they CAN’T drive on the improved roads when they’re rocketing down the Leeward.  It took us 10 minutes to get across the roundabout, which was nothing more than slightly controlled mayhem.  Suz and I quickly determined that our bike riding would be limited to back roads.  Over the spine of the island, we worked our way down the windward side to Turtle Bay, riding through platted, but as yet unbuilt developments.  There, we scoped out the marina and grabbed an iced tea and some Tuna carpaccio rolls at “Mango” restaurant.  (Their dinner menu looked great).  We rode the beach road up and down past some beautiful homes, and used the beach access to check out the shore.  It was really windy with a lot of surf, but with many coral heads scattered along a sandy bottom, it looked like a good place to snorkel from the beach in calmer weather.  With the sun dipping low, we pedaled on back to Southside, where our odometer revealed that we had covered over 15 miles, most on bumpy, rutted roads.  Our butts felt it.

Okay, I don’t wanna give you T.M.I., but I’ve gotta say a word about the showers at Southside.  The restrooms are carved out of the side of a limestone cliff.  The women’s shower is open to the sky, and has two great shower heads, replete with hot water.  Since there were no other boaters there, I had the pleasure of using it instead of the more traditional mens side.  (it doesn’t take much to make me happy).  After showers began what was to become our nightly ritual here at Southside.  Bob’s Bar is an open-air affair attached to his house, high on the cliff overlooking the marina.  Since we were the only transients, we were treated by the company of the local “regulars”, mostly comprised of expats from various European and North American countries.  Let’s just say that the conversation was lively.  The cruising guides had warned that Bob was a Bocce aficionado who seldom lost a game.  From our slip, we were hard-pressed to figure out how he had grown grass for lawn bowling.  Well, we got our education up at the bar.  “REAL Bocce courts were made of crushed limestone, 60’-80’ long………..& etc.”.  The Admiral got some lessons in the finer points of the game from the Master.  One night, we thought that we might be the witnesses to local history.  One of the patrons had Bob down by a score of 5 to 1 (game is over at 6.) Bob proceeded to win, 8 to 5.  Bam!  Navarde, the bartender, introduced Suz to Bambarra (a local rum), while I enjoyed Turkshead, the local Brew, as we watched the sun set from the terrace every evening.

Our rental car was delivered the following morning, and we took an all-day field trip, cruising the island from tip to tip.  Of course, we did the marina tour.  Blue Haven, our initial destination, is a very upscale facility, associated with a couple of high end hotels.  Included with your berth is the use of the amenities, including spa treatments, the pool, gym and several restaurants.  Very nice.  Most of the vessels in the near-empty marina were small mega-yachts.  From all appearances, the season was yet to begin.  On the other end of the scale, Caicos Shipyard was mostly a working marina, situated, like Southside, on the Caicos Bank.  It looked like if you needed any maintenance, this would be the place to go, with several large Travelifts and workshops.  We decided that our funky little marina, not too fancy, not too stark, was just about right for us.

Being the good tourists, we hit several of the popular beach bars, including Bougaloo’s, Da Conch Shack,  (where we bought a half dozen fresh Mangoes out of a guys’ trunk), and Kalooki’s.  Each had its own charm.

The Conch Farm, developed in the late 80’s by an American marine biologist for the commercial production of conch, was a must-see for my marine biologist spouse.  Danver led our private tour, which was very informative.  I just couldn’t figure out how this was a money-making proposition.  He told us of the grandiose deep-water fish farming project that was in the works, scheduled to come online the next year.  Even though we were “in between seasons” for the Conch, I couldn’t help but think that things were too quiet.  Danver was adept at answering my pointed questions, and I was careful not to get out-of-bounds.  Suzanne, in her later research, found that the Conch Farm had been closed as a viable aquacultural project in 2008, and only made money through their guided tours.  Just enough of the facility was kept functional so as to provide exhibits to the tourists.  Two vans full of patrons rolled in just as we were leaving, a testimony to the power of advertising.  That said, we’d go again, as we learned a lot of cool but not useful information.

On the way home, we figured that we’d stop at Turkshead Brewery (designated on the Visitor’s map) for a cold one.  When Google Maps just couldn’t get us there, winding our way through the warehouses near the airport, we went “old school.” We stopped at one of the open garage bays, and Suz walked in to inquire about the brewery.  “Oh, they just brew it there-no tasting room.”  With thirsts unslaked, we motored back to the ranch, stopping first at the IGA for fresh veggies and fruit.  In our perch above the marina, we enjoyed a couple of cold ones, served up by our favorite bartendresse, Nevarde.

It looked like the weather would cooperate, and the still-raging winds calm down on Friday.  That was a good thing, as we were finished touring here, and wanted to get down the road.  (Also, staying another day would require us to buy a cruising permit for $300, an instant-replay of the scenario in the Bahamas).  We spent Thursday doing boatchores.  Suz cooked meals for what (if the weather cooperated) could turn out to be a two-and-a-half day passage straight to Puerto Rico.  I attended to more mundane pursuits, mainly polishing all of the stainless steel rails and trying to stay ahead of the ever-looming rust spots.

This morning, Friday the 2nd, the winds were down to about 13kn, the sun high, and the humidity through the roof.  De Customs( $50 enter & exit), and de Immigration($30/p entry & $15/p exit) men came for their exit donations, and we were off on the 11h00 high tide.  (Yeah, we checked out the depth of the “channel” on the dinghy the other day-it was three feet in some spots).  Right now, we’re cruising southeast across the Bank.  The winds are steady at around 14kn from ENE, and the wind waves are 1’-3’.  If we get cell coverage as we pass Great Sand Cay early this evening, I’ll try to bounce this off into space, otherwise,

-Later

Hiya,

Saturday morning, another cloudy day.  Wind still blowing at around 19kn.  Chris Parker (our weather router) did another forecast for us last night.  Instead of reinforcing our decision to go, the new forecast is throwing doubt on the proposition.  As I sit staring at my computer, I’m feeding this growing pit in my stomach.  Am I trying to put a spin on what I’m reading because we are on a (gasp!) schedule, or is the passage doable?  Finally, I decide that it’s probably the plane tickets in Puerto Rico talking, and by 06h00, I’m crawling back in bed, knowing that we won’t have another window for at least a week.  Suz asks me what’s going on-I read her the forecast.  C.P. says that the weather and seas will be rough for the first three hours of the trip, as we beat up to the northern tip of Long Island, then should moderate throughout the day.  After that, the prediction gets a little murky.  If a Low forms along the TROF currently preceding the Cold Front moving our way, it will probably bring with it Squally conditions, with winds of 40+kn, and seas to 7’.  IF we can thread the needle between the Low and the Front, we should have tolerable conditions.  Okay, here comes the disclaimer.  He says “If my forecast is wrong, you could have considerably worse conditions.  If you run into the backside of the Low, you’ll run into the squalls.  On the other hand, if the Cold Front catches you, you will lose the suppressing effect that it is having on the winds.”  At any rate, he says that we MUST be in to the Turks and Caicos by Monday morning, as the winds will be significant for the rest of the week.  His last shot was to the effect of “Fortunately, you’re in a well-found, stabilized boat.”  Suz added “At Home On Any Sea”, Kadey Krogen's corporate slogan.

This is the part where it’s good to be part of a team.  The Admiral breaks it down:  Let’s stick our nose out.  If it’s too bad, we’ll turn around and come back; When we turn the corner at the North end of Long Island, if the beam seas and wind have not moderated, we’ll come back down the lee side to Salt Pond (a 3 hour backtrack); If conditions head south later in the day, we can head in to Clarence Town on the South end of Long Island (at night); After that, we’ll be on our own until mid-morning on Sunday when we could duck into the Bight at Mayaguana Island.  It all still sounded pretty “iffy,” but it was a plan.  By 06h32, the anchor was up, and we were on our way.

During the first leg up to the end of Long Island, we beat into 17kn winds and 2’-4’ seas on 5 second intervals-nothing that we hadn’t rocking-horsed through on the Great Lakes.  As we changed course from NE to SE, we began to have a beam sea, and the waves moderated to 1’-3’ on around 7 second intervals-NICE!  Of course, all day we were waiting for the other shoe to drop.  Toward the end of the day, the seas went to around 2’-4’ on about 8 seconds, with very little wind chop.  When I came on watch at 00h30 on Sunday morning, the conditions were about the same, and stayed that way throughout the night, with the exception being the seas near the Plana Cays.  I had plotted our course a little too close to the islands, and as the depth changed from thousands of feet to one hundred, the waves stacked up accordingly.  As The Girl changed course for deeper water, the steep waves abated.  Rounding Mayaguana Island, Suz woke up, and we decided to continue on under lowering skies, the wind picking up slightly, and the radar showing rain all around us.  With the windometer creeping up, we decided against our original plan of heading to Blue Haven on the north side of Providenciales, opting instead for the South Side marina, and the relative safety of the Caicos Bank on the south (and lee) side of the island.  We figured our ETA would put us through the reef, and on the Bank well before dark, and possibly, even to the marina before all light was gone.  Well……….” The best laid plans.” For the next three hours, the wind and seas crept higher.  We were still seeing rain on the radar, but the cells all dissipated before we hit them.  We now had steady winds in the upper teens, with gusts into the twenties.  The seas were up to 4’-6’, but not uncomfortable.  Then the squalls hit us.  As we passed through each, the winds would rise into the 30’s, with the tops blowing off the now 6-8 footers.  In between squalls, the wind would drop back into the 20’s.  Never scary, but a bit uncomfortable.  We could only imagine what was going on behind the Velcro tie-wrapped doors of the cupboards as we listened to the crashes emitting through their louvers.

A couple of nervous “Hee, Hee, Hee’s,” as we entered the unmarked break in the reef and rode up onto the relatively calm Caicos Bank three hours later.  Our ETA now shot to heck, we arrived at the turn which would take us a mile-and-a-half over very shallow water into the marina in near darkness.  This was a story in itself, but suffice it to say that Bob, the owner of South Side Marina, talked us in over the cellphone (another story), and we never saw less than 6’ 3” of depth.  By 19h30, we were safely tied at the dock, and by 20h30 we were dead asleep.

This morning we had visits from Customs and Immigration.  Both were smooth, although a little late.  That was okay with us, as it gave us time to wash the salty Girl.  We chatted with Bob, an expat who has lived in the Islands for some 40+ years.  He chuckled when he said that it was almost a good thing that we came in at night, ‘cause we couldn’t see how bad it was.  (Both of us had sensed the tension in his voice when he had talked us in last night).  We’ll get the bikes down, and do some exploring this afternoon.

-Later

Good Afternoon,

Day broke as we ran due east over the Bahama Bank, just south of Highbourne Cay.  As we passed familiar anchorages heading south in the Family Islands which comprise the Exumas chain, memories from last year flooded back.  We exited the Bank into Exuma Sound around mid-afternoon, and immediately got the lines in the water.  The only rewards that we got for our efforts were a small Barracuda, and a little Skipjack.  As darkness fell, we began to question the wisdom of pushing on, having to enter the reef to our Stocking Island anchorage at night.  And night it was.  With the moon not scheduled to rise until around 00h00, it was dark as a pocket as we threaded through the reef at 20h00.  Of course, (it’s the Bahamas) the sole lighted buoy on the way in was extinguished.  Always a little unnerving to hear waves breaking on both sides of you when there’s 4 feet of water under the boat.  We breathed a sigh of relief as the breaking waves receded behind us.  Approaching our old familiar anchorage in Monument Bay, we discovered that the boat wouldn’t come out of gear as we headed towards shore.  We did a one-eighty, weaving through other boats anchored in the pitch-dark bay, and got the Girl back into deeper water, Suzanne driving while I scrambled around, looking for a reason for our troubles.  Everything looked good under the helm and at the transmission.  Fortunately, the controls at the upper helm responded, and we got the anchor down safely.  (The next day, I bled the hydraulic lines to the shifter, thinking that maybe small bubbles in the lines had coalesced and caused a blockage, subsequent to some work that we had done in Solomon’s).  At any rate, the controls now work, so we’ll see.  By the next morning, the Cold Front that had been chasing us caught up, and the wind was howling, and did so throughout the week.  Morning light revealed that the trawler lying next to us was “Privateer”, a Krogen 52 belonging to Greg and Lisa Smith, delivered just the month previously.  We had met Greg and Lisa two years ago at the Krogen Rendezvous, when they were still Krogen wannabees on a fifty-four-foot sailboat, “Chasseur”.  We enjoyed their company during this past windy week, and shared Thanksgiving dinner with them aboard “Alizann”.

I won’t bore you with the details of our stay in George Town.  You were here with us last year.  Let’s just say that it’s one year and one hurricane older-nothing much has changed.  (Except, our old beer-and-a burger, freewifihangout “Red Boone” burned to the ground last week under suspicious circumstances.)

It’s Friday afternoon.  The wind is still cookin’, but it is supposed to moderate for 48 hours, starting in the morning.  Seas are projected to drop to 4’-6’ at 8 second intervals before the next Cold Front arrives on Monday morning, whipping up the wind and waves again.  It’s about a 35 hour ride to Providenciales, in the Turks and Caicos, so we’ll make a run for it starting early tomorrow.  The wind and seas will still be up then, but by the time that we reach the north end of Long Island and head out into the Atlantic in late morning, they should be diminishing somewhat.  (At least that’s my story, and I’m sticking with it.)  We should be to Mayaguana Island by midmorning on Sunday.  If it’s really dogmeat, we can duck inside the reef there to wait out the weather-probably until late next week.  If not, we’ll continue on to the Blue Haven Marina in the T & C.

-Until next time

Wow! We’re finally off.  Anticipating our Thursday departure, our Krogen pals, Lisa and Mark threw a “Bon Voyage” party for us at the Sunset Bay Marina.  Being the partiers that they are, around thirty fellow Krogenites showed up for heavy apps and sips.  We were touched by the gesture, realizing that we probably wouldn’t see this gang for a few years.  Ever the sentimentalist, Randy quickly brought me back to Earth with the comment that having a party was the only way that they could get our “*sses off the dock”.  True to form, we DIDN’T get off the dock on Thursday.  Angel and his guys weren’t quite finished with the varnish (yes, we broke down and hired it out this year).  It was a good thing, too.  We discovered that one of our heads was leaking, which required breaking in to the inventory for some spare seals.  That crappy job accomplished, I was under the galley sink looking for disinfectant, only to discover that the trap was dripping through a rusted-through elbow.  A quick bike ride to Ace Hardware, and a few minutes of work had that problem cured.  I have to admit that I was a bit shocked by a plumbing job that actually went smoothly.  Somewhere during the course of the day, I got a text from Scottie, our ace mechanic, techie, friend, moral supporter asking if the parts had arrived.  Parts?  Oh yeah, those parts (spare alternator and starter for the generator that I had ordered a few weeks earlier and completely forgotten about (they didn’t make it on to my checklist, which was now empty)).  We weren’t too overly concerned about not getting out quickly, as the weather looked very UNfavorable for a crossing to the Bahamas until the middle of the following week.  Long story short, within a few hours UPS tracking said the parts would be here Friday by 10h30, we went out to dinner with our pals Larry and Deb, and the weather forecast changed.  Surprise! It looked like we would have a very short window to cross the Gulf Stream on Saturday.  So, this is boating, right?  The goods were delivered, and we were off the dock by Noon, headed down the Intracoastal Waterway, planning to exit the Lake Worth Inlet off West Palm Beach.

Since we would be heading into unfamiliar territory this year, and aren’t real familiar with the weather patterns there, we decided to contract with a weather router for personalized reports.  We made our first contact with Chris Parker, weather guru of the Caribbean, for his advice.  He concurred, saying that a midnight departure should provide us with a good ride ahead of an approaching front, which would bring heavy winds with it.  In fact, if we ran non-stop, we might even make it to Georgetown before it caught up with us two days hence.  Sounded good to us.  We pulled in to the anchorage near the turning basin in Lake Worth(Palm Beach) right at dusk, got the hook down, and were treated to the spectacle of a cruiseliner departing through the inlet.  We hit the sack at 19h30, anticipating an 00h00 departure.  Problem was, at 21h22, (but who’s counting?) up on the roof, there arose quite a clatter.  No-it wasn’t Santa and his reindeer.  Suzanne elbowed me awake, exclaiming that there was a boat next to us.  I was in the total fog that envelopes us in the second hour after sleep, but I could totally look up out of our porthole, and see a boat with floodlights ablaze, looming above us.  I pulled on my boxers and scrambled out on deck for a look.  The guy on the boat 3 feet away from us is screaming at me that we were dragging anchor, and that I needed to “get the Hell away from his boat!”  I wasn’t quite sure how we had dragged anchor, then drifted upwind in a 17 knot breeze, against a 3 knot incoming tide to hit him in the stern, but it was no time for debate.  By this time, Suz had the main started, and I was hauling in the anchor, which was well-embedded in the bottom on a 5:1 scope.  We moved about a quarter mile away from the anchoring expert on the 65 foot motoryacht with the rope rode and shiny (and probably seldom-used anchor).  Yes, that was sarcasm.  Two hours later, we woke up and motored out of the anchorage, past the aforementioned yacht, their deck lights fully lit, and someone on the foredeck fooling with the anchor.  No harm, no foul.  Coulda been worse.

The seas had laid down to 1’-3’, on 4 seconds, and it was a gorgeous, moonlit night.  I took the first watch, because, as usual, I was too excited to sleep.  As the night wore on, the seas continued to moderate, and by 09h00, when Suz got up, we had about a 1’ chop, with winds down to 10 knots.  I got my beauty rest in, and we are on the Bahama Bank, cruising under fluffy cumulus clouds, temperature 73F.  I anticipate that we’ll pass by the west end of New Providence Island (where Nassau is located) at around 01h00 Sunday morning, continuing southeast to the Family Islands of the Exuma chain.

-Later

Well……..  The weather and seas were about what we expected on our fifty-one hour passage from Morehead City, NC to the St. Johns River inlet near Mayport.  It was just wavey enough to keep us from doing a lot of reading or writing, but not enough to be uncomfortable.  The wind was predicted to pick up, precluding our heading further south, so we ducked in to the ICW at the St. John’s River.     Our old pal, the Zumwalt (U.S. Navy’s first 1000 Class destroyer, and the vessel that we saw being built in the yard in Bath, Maine 2 years earlier) hailed us on the VHF, asking us to wait for her to pass before entering the inlet.  I suspect that we’re in her database, since we’ve talked to her 3 times, once in Maine, once as she was leaving her berth in Norfolk, and now, here outside Mayport.  They must think that we’re “groupies”.  Anyway, three hours later, we were at Palm Cove Marina, where we spent the rest of the day desalting the Girl.  While we were washing, we spotted “Alba”, a new Krogen 48, toodle down the waterway past us.  The next morning, we headed out around first light, hoping to get past St. Augustine, and in to one of our favorite stops at Marineland.  During the course of the day, the havoc wreaked by Matthew became more visible.  Where docks had once been, there were now only twisted pilings remaining.  We saw literally scores of boats, many of them beautiful yachts, completely on land.  In the early afternoon, we pulled in to the familiar haunts of Marineland Marina, where a large dredge was hard at work.  Finally, the dream that Eric, the harbormaster, had told us of three years previously was coming to fruition.  He told us that the dredging would be done, and the new floating docks should be installed by the Spring of 2017.  Suz and I love the feel of this place, and hope that all of the new improvements don’t change its’ character.  A four-mile bike ride to “Captain’s ,”(we were craving barbeque) revealed more Matthew devastation.  The first-floor contents of most houses were piled at the roadside, awaiting pickup.  Many in low-lying areas were still actively pumping storm water out.  D.O.T. and utility company crews were scattered along the roadside, clearing splintered and uprooted trees.  The dunes that comprised the spine of the north end of the island were now completely gone.  All that remained was the roadbed, with the sea on one side, and the ICW on the other.

We love this stop, but it was time to keep moving.  We were up early, motoring from “Cain’t see to Cain’t see”, making it to the NASA Causeway bridge, where we anchored after dark for the night.  We were up before dawn, motoring to the Vero Beach Municipal mooring field.  There, we planned to stay a couple of nights to catch our breaths, eat some fantastic tuna nachos at the Riverside Café, breakfast on the beach at JC’s Seaside Café, hit the farmers market, and visit Krogen friends, Bruce and Sue, who have a condo north of town.  We did it all.  It sure felt good to hop on the bikes and pedal around one of our very favorite little towns.  (they don’t call it Velcro Beach for nuthin’).  Bruce drove over and picked us up, taking us out to Sue and his fabulous home (there’s nothing “condo” about it), where we enjoyed good food, great company, and a little college football.  Joining us were Brian and Judy, who had arrived on “Alba” that day.  Many bottles of wine later, we called it a night.  Sunday morning, we began the leg which would bring us to Sunset Bay Marina, in Stuart.  There, we would pick up our mail, do our provisioning, and boat maintenance in our last U.S. port.

-Soon

 

 

 

Hola!

After three days in Deltaville, VA, our heads were about to burst.  The first day’s seminar was presented by ABT, the designer and manufacturer of our boats’ hydraulic system.  You probably remember that we built an “all hydraulic” boat (bow thruster, anchor windlass, and stabilizers), as we didn’t think that electrical motors and saltwater were a good mix.  But……. that’s a debate for another day.  The seminar was a slimmed-down version of one that we flew to California for several years ago, but it was a great refresher for our ever diminishing memory banks.  Days two and three covered all things trawler-from electrical troubleshooting, engine room 101, bottom paints, weather, anchoring, and an olio of tips ‘n tricks, all presented by Steve D’Antonio, a nationally renowned authority.

At first light on the 17th, we felt like we were finally on our way.  This time, we were headed in the right direction (south).  We made the 17h00 opening at Great Bridge, and wedged in to the gas dock at our old haunt, Atlantic Boat Yard, as there was “no room at the inn”.  The bridge had been damaged by Hurricane Matthew, and had just recently opened, leaving a clot of boats stranded above it.  Coupled with the gang headed south after the Snowbird Rendezvous in Hampton Roads, the closure created quite a traffic jam.  I think that The Girl was a little worried that we were going to leave her at AYB for another three months, so when we toodled off the dock at 05h00, I’m sure she was relieved.  Running down the ICW, which was strewn with storm trash was a trip, but the full moon helped the Admiral as she kept watch on the bow in the 58-degree morning chill.  A few thumps and bumps were the only indignities that we suffered.  By the time the sun came up, we were at the start of the twisty-turnies, and the turnpike bridge behind us was closed for the rush hour.  Bonus!  That effectively made us the only boat on the ICW for just about the whole day (we only saw three other boats and a barge).  Running past Coinjock marina in Virginia, we impulsively made a left turn, heading out to Roanoke Island, in the Pamlico Sound, rather than to our intended anchorage at Deep Point.  We had planned to visit last May, when weather stopped us at Okracoke Island.  Over the VHF, Mr. Carl Jordan, the dockmaster at Manteo, guided us to the harbor through the shoaled-in channel (the Admiral had already pulled up a video on You Tube demonstrating the proper course in).  Safely secured, we were greeted by our old pals, Steve and Julia, from “Erben Renewal” (see Bahamas & Nova Scotia).  “Lost Colony Brewery” across the street from the marina, gave us the perfect venue for reconnecting with our good friends.  Next day, we hauled our trusty, rusty bikes down from the boat deck for some exploration.  Our departure was delayed.  Even though the machines had been in their bag for the past months, their chains were frozen solid with rust.  Armed with oil and a couple pairs of vice grips, each individual link was resurrected to flexibility.  Riding the paved bike trail out to the north end of the island knocked some rust off our joints as well.  On the way home, we stopped at the National Park on the site of the “Lost Colony”, whose 117 settlers disappeared without a trace in between 1585-1590, while awaiting the arrival of reinforcements and supplies from England.  To this day, their fate remains a mystery.  After stops at the Verizon store, post office, and Piggly Wiggly (groceries), we tossed the bikes back up to their perch, vowing to keep their goodies oiled in the future.  Mark and Mary, aboard “The Good Life”, had just returned from visiting some local relatives, so the 6 of us convened on “Alizann” for some cocktails and conversation.  Even though Steve, Julia, Mark and Mary had been at our Rendezvous, we really hadn’t had a free minute to get with them, so it was nice to have some one-on-one.

At 0700 on the 20th, we were off the dock at Manteo, headed for Ocracoke, with “Erben Renewal” and “The Good Life” in hot pursuit.  Pamlico Sound was placid, and we had a beautiful, sunny day for the eight-hour cruise.  At Ocracoke, we tied up at the National Park Service dock (around $16/night), and headed out to “Smacnally’s” for a brew.  What? Closed.  The kid at the golf cart rental next door said that they had a power outage that morning, so probably decided not to open.  Not to worry.  Down the road to “Jolly Roger.”  Closed.  Next.  “Ocracoke Bar and Grill.”  Closed.  Okay, what was the name of the place that we ate at in the Spring (when we had bikes under us)?  “Ocracoke Oyster Company”.  By now, the 200-yard walk had become a mile-and-a-half mission.  Success!  A couple dozen raw oysters, a few baskets of steamed shrimp, and (whose countin’ anyway) Carolina Blonde lagers assuaged our disappointment, sated our appetites, and quenched our thirst.  Oh, Man!  Forgot we told S & J that we were headed out for a brew.  Fortunately, we caught them in time to suggest bikes, and a good time was had by all.

So……you’re probably wondering why we’re dinkin’ around in the Pamlico when we should be heading South (STAT).  The weather offshore had been dogmeat, and was going to be, for the next few days.  Better to spend time with our buds on these beautiful islands than sit in the marina at Morehead City waiting for a weather window.  On the 21st, it looked like the weather would be favorable for an offshore run on or about the 23rd.  Given that we were having our mail sent to the Morehead City Yacht Basin, we said goodbye to our friends, and headed to Morehead City.  There, we pre-cooked some meals, cleaned up and battened down the Girl, making preparations for a 2-day offshore south.  It wasn’t all work and no play.  We caught up with some other Krogen friends who were berthed there, and watched my Wolverines dismantle Illinois on the Big Ten Network.

I haven’t really said much about the aftermath of Hurricane Matthew.  Up north, where we had travelled thus far, the damage was limited mainly to the effects of high water, with only moderate wind damage.  As we passed down the ICW, the water was still very high, and the channel was strewn with floating debris.  Reports were filtering in from South Carolina and Georgia, relating the news that whole marinas had been destroyed, and that the ICW (always dicey in many spots through here) had new shoals and hazards, with many buoys off-station.  These reports reinforced our preference for biting off big chunks for our travels south.

The morning of the 23rd dawned clear, with the temperature at forty-eight degrees, wind at 19 knots out of the northwest, and the barometer high (1029mb).  Since the forecast had been consistent for the previous 3 days, and the conditions were as predicted, our plan was a “go.” Planning landfall at the mouth of the St. John’s River in around 50 hours’ time, we had possible bailout ports at Bald head Island, Charleston, Beaufort, SC, and Fernandina Beach on the table.  At the sea buoy off Beaufort Inlet (Morehead City), we were surprised to see “Ida Rose”, “Bulldog Sally”, and Klassy Kadey, 3 other Krogens, on our AIS, following us out.  There was a bit of a beam sea, but we expected that to subside in around 3 hours or so, so we fired up the satellite dish, and settled in for a day with the NFL.

-Later

 

Hola!

After three days in Deltaville, VA, our heads were about to burst.  The first day’s seminar was presented by ABT, the designer and manufacturer of our boats’ hydraulic system.  You probably remember that we built an “all hydraulic” boat (bow thruster, anchor windlass, and stabilizers), as we didn’t think that electrical motors and saltwater were a good mix.  But……. that’s a debate for another day.  The seminar was a slimmed-down version of one that we flew to California for several years ago, but it was a great refresher for our ever diminishing memory banks.  Days two and three covered all things trawler-from electrical troubleshooting, engine room 101, bottom paints, weather, anchoring, and an olio of tips ‘n tricks, all presented by Steve D’Antonio, a nationally renowned authority.

At first light on the 17th, we felt like we were finally on our way.  This time, we were headed in the right direction (south).  We made the 17h00 opening at Great Bridge, and wedged in to the gas dock at our old haunt, Atlantic Boat Yard, as there was “no room at the inn”.  The bridge had been damaged by Hurricane Matthew, and had just recently opened, leaving a clot of boats stranded above it.  Coupled with the gang headed south after the Snowbird Rendezvous in Hampton Roads, the closure created quite a traffic jam.  I think that The Girl was a little worried that we were going to leave her at AYB for another three months, so when we toodled off the dock at 05h00, I’m sure she was relieved.  Running down the ICW, which was strewn with storm trash was a trip, but the full moon helped the Admiral as she kept watch on the bow in the 58-degree morning chill.  A few thumps and bumps were the only indignities that we suffered.  By the time the sun came up, we were at the start of the twisty-turnies, and the turnpike bridge behind us was closed for the rush hour.  Bonus!  That effectively made us the only boat on the ICW for just about the whole day (we only saw three other boats and a barge).  Running past Coinjock marina in Virginia, we impulsively made a left turn, heading out to Roanoke Island, in the Pamlico Sound, rather than to our intended anchorage at Deep Point.  We had planned to visit last May, when weather stopped us at Okracoke Island.  Over the VHF, Mr. Carl Jordan, the dockmaster at Manteo, guided us to the harbor through the shoaled-in channel (the Admiral had already pulled up a video on You Tube demonstrating the proper course in).  Safely secured, we were greeted by our old pals, Steve and Julia, from “Erben Renewal” (see Bahamas & Nova Scotia).  “Lost Colony Brewery” across the street from the marina, gave us the perfect venue for reconnecting with our good friends.  Next day, we hauled our trusty, rusty bikes down from the boat deck for some exploration.  Our departure was delayed.  Even though the machines had been in their bag for the past months, their chains were frozen solid with rust.  Armed with oil and a couple pairs of vice grips, each individual link was resurrected to flexibility.  Riding the paved bike trail out to the north end of the island knocked some rust off our joints as well.  On the way home, we stopped at the National Park on the site of the “Lost Colony”, whose 117 settlers disappeared without a trace inbetween 1585-1590, while awaiting the arrival of reinforcements and supplies from England.  To this day, their fate remains a mystery.  After stops at the Verizon store, post office, and Piggly Wiggly (groceries), we tossed the bikes back up to their perch, vowing to keep their goodies oiled in the future.  Mark and Mary, aboard “The Good Life”, had just returned from visiting some local relatives, so the 6 of us convened on “Alizann” for some cocktails and conversation.  Even though Steve, Julia, Mark and Mary had been at our Rendezvous, we really hadn’t had a free minute to get with them, so it was nice to have some one-on-one.

At 0700 on the 20th, we were off the dock at Manteo, headed for Ocracoke, with “Erben Renewal” and “The Good Life” in hot pursuit.  Pamlico Sound was placid, and we had a beautiful, sunny day for the eight-hour cruise.  At Ocracoke, we tied up at the National Park Service dock (around $16/night), and headed out to “Smacnally’s” for a brew.  What? Closed.  The kid at the golf cart rental next door said that they had a power outage that morning, so probably decided not to open.  Not to worry.  Down the road to “Jolly Roger.”  Closed.  Next.  “Ocracoke Bar and Grill.”  Closed.  Okay, what was the name of the place that we ate at in the Spring (when we had bikes under us)?  “Ocracoke Oyster Company”.  By now, the 200-yard walk had become a mile-and-a-half mission.  Success!  A couple dozen raw oysters, a few baskets of steamed shrimp, and (whose countin’ anyway) Carolina Blonde lagers assuaged our disappointment, sated our appetites, and quenched our thirst.  Oh, Man!  Forgot we told S & J that we were headed out for a brew.  Fortunately, we caught them in time to suggest bikes, and a good time was had by all.

So……you’re probably wondering why we’re dinkin’ around in the Pamlico when we should be heading South (STAT).  The weather offshore had been dogmeat, and was going to be, for the next few days.  Better to spend time with our buds on these beautiful islands than sit in the marina at Morehead City waiting for a weather window.  On the 21st, it looked like the weather would be favorable for an offshore run on or about the 23rd.  Given that we were having our mail sent to the Morehead City Yacht Basin, we said goodbye to our friends, and headed to Morehead City.  There, we pre-cooked some meals, cleaned up and battened down the Girl, making preparations for a 2-day offshore south.  It wasn’t all work and no play.  We caught up with some other Krogen friends who were berthed there, and watched my Wolverines dismantle Illinois on the Big Ten Network.

I haven’t really said much about the aftermath of Hurricane Matthew.  Up north, where we had travelled thus far, the damage was limited mainly to the effects of high water, with only moderate wind damage.  As we passed down the ICW, the water was still very high, and the channel was strewn with floating debris.  Reports were filtering in from South Carolina and Georgia, relating the news that whole marinas had been destroyed, and that the ICW (always dicey in many spots through here) had new shoals and hazards, with many buoys off-station.  These reports reinforced our preference for biting off big chunks for our travels south.

The morning of the 23rd dawned clear, with the temperature at forty-eight degrees, wind at 19 knots out of the northwest, and the barometer high (1029mb).  Since the forecast had been consistent for the previous 3 days, and the conditions were as predicted, our plan was a “go.” Planning landfall at the mouth of the St. John’s River in around 50 hours’ time, we had possible bailout ports at Bald head Island, Charleston, Beaufort, SC, and Fernandina Beach on the table.  At the sea buoy off Beaufort Inlet (Morehead City), we were surprised to see “Ida Rose”, “Bulldog Sally”, and Klassy Kadey, 3 other Krogens, on our AIS, following us out.  There was a bit of a beam sea, but we expected that to subside in around 3 hours or so, so we fired up the satellite dish, and settled in for a day with the NFL.

-Later

HooooWeeee!!

That was a quick 4 months.  With our teeny weeny SUV packed to the roof, and the cooler loaded with dry ice, we headed on back to Michigan, with stops in Greensboro, NC, and Ann Arbor, MI.  The Admiral’s family gathered in NC to celebrate her Aunt’s 95th.  Then it was off to the home of the Maize and Blue to visit our daughter and son-in-law at their new digs.  After a quick stop at our home in northern Michigan, it was off to Europe for a cruise down the Danube (can’t get enough of boats) with Suz’s sibs ‘n spouses to celebrate her Mom’s 90th.

Back at the ranch, we started working through the list of dirtchores, of which there was no shortage.  We didn’t fret about the work, as it was interspersed by reconnections with our landfriends and family.  We took a timeout in mid-summer for a road trip and week at the beach in Charleston.  Before we knew it, it was time to haul and winterize the mini-fleet and move on down the road to rejoin The Girl in Chesapeake, VA.  Leaving Michigan was bittersweet, as we realized just how many great friends we have there.  On the way out, we got a chance to go to a game in The Big House to watch my beloved Wolverines do their thing.  Living in Ann Arbor, our daughter is the beneficiary of our 48-yard line tickets, so we all enjoyed the game together, celebrating Ben and her anniversary at the same time.

After getting Alizann cleaned up, we kicked the tires and lit the fires, heading up to Solomon’s, MD ahead of then-forming Hurricane Matthew.  Not sure if I had mentioned it before, but in a weak (and possibly ethanol-soaked) moment a few years back, we volunteered to chair our annual Kadey Krogen owners rendezvous in 2016.  After a years’ work in planning this 4-day event, which included educational seminars, catered meals, and social gatherings, culminating in a party with live music, we had to consider the possibility of cancelling everything as Matthew roared through the Bahamas, heading our way.  Besides the monetary loss, we had to weigh the safety of the crews of the 51 vessels and 139 people attending the event.  From day to day, we all were on pins and needles, monitoring the National Hurricane Centers’ website on an hourly basis, and getting haul outs scheduled for 24 boats locally, and others’ elsewhere.   At literally the eleventh hour, Matthew turned East and headed out to sea after battering the Southeast.  Party On!  The wave of relief spreading through our group was palpable.  Haul outs were cancelled, crews that had bagged out earlier called to tell us that they were coming, and the good times rolled.  When the party was over on Saturday night, the weather hemmed us in for another two days.  Finally breaking up on Monday, I’m pretty sure that many of us realized that we weren’t the partiers that we used to be (but we all did our very best).

Suz and I stayed until Tuesday to recoup and regroup, getting ready to head over to Deltaville, VA for a one-day course in hydraulics, followed by a two-day seminar in trawler maintenance.

-Soon

 

Pages

Captain's Log

Morning, Morning!

So…..I don’t usually do trips back to the States in the Log, but a trip to Ann Arbor to welcome our new Grandchild?  Whatever.  Suffer through it.  Jesse’s guy Stanley picked us up at 04h30 and whisked us off to the airport.  There were no gate agents or signs, but we got in with a family of 6, and started a line.  Forty-five minutes later, we had fifty people behind us (and another 30 milling around, waiting for an official start-Trinis don’t like lines, they wait until the last minute, then push to the front).  The gate agents sauntered in, en masse, and the young lady from American Airlines tried to move us.  Not a chance!  Trinis are also very outspoken, and not a little bit resistant of authority.  We kept our mouths shut as several people at the head of the line with us argued heatedly that we weren’t moving and risking giving up our place in the queue.  In the end, several male agents came out, and moved the tightly-packed line backwards so that everybody more or less maintained their respective positions.  (Of course, some of the loiterers wedged their way in, which is why nobody in line wanted to move in the first place.)  We held our ground, as this was not our first rodeo, and it was on to the next hurdle.  Every passenger needed to be interviewed one-on-one with a security agent (Yep, you heard me right).  Then…. every checked bag was opened and hand-inspected.  I guess Trinidad is a high-risk point of embarkation for flights to the U.S.  Didn’t mention it before, but several alleged members of an ISIS cell were arrested right before Carnival.  Maybe the airport was on high alert.  Fourteen hours after we got up, Alison picked us up at the airport in Detroit, and we were at her and Ben’s house in Ann Arbor.

Nash wasn’t due until the 25th but didn’t make his arrival until the 5th of March.  The ten days was interminable for Alison and Ben, but it allowed us to get a lot of work done around their house.  And…we saw snow.  First time in a couple of years.  That’s the Admiral in Lowe’s parking lot.  Among other things at the house, we replaced all the copper plumbing in the kitchen, ran a new circuit from the main panel, installed a dishwasher and garbage disposal and plumbed an icemaker.  A ceiling fan was added to the living room, and we put 3 coats of paint on the inside trim of the windows, which had all been replaced during the Summer.  The list goes on, but you get the picture.  Busy, busy, busy.

Gotta quick tell you a funny story.  Here’s a copy of an email that I sent to John, Paulette, Ken and Sylvianne:

Alison and Nash were supposed to come home today, but her blood pressure is high, so they decided to keep her another day.   Nash is doing great.  Can't believe it, but he almost turned himself over yesterday.  But....I digress. A couple of months ago, Ali told Ben that she wanted Schramsberg Cremant when they came home from the hospital with the baby.  Schramsberg is a California sparkler that happens to beat many of the houses of Champagne in French competitions.  It is also the official sparkler of the White House since Nixon entertained the Chinese.  Well...Ben had a lot on his mind and failed to get a couple of bottles.  Hey Marty!  So, I call the high-end wine stores that I know in Ann Arbor, and no dice.  Finally, I find a little hole-in-the-wall liquor store that has the goods.  I get a couple of bottles of Cremant and a bottle of Blanc de noir for Suz and I.  Night before last, I grab what I thought was the odd bottle and cracked it.  Pour it, sip it...sh**, it's one of the bottles of Cremant!  No problem, we're coming home from the hospital today and we wheel in to pick up another bottle of Cremant.  As you know, Suzanne loves hardware stores and marine chandleries.  I guess that she likes liquor stores too.  I make the purchase, and she says "I just want to look around a bit. Wow, they have a ton of single malts and Bourbons.  Look at this, look at that" & etc.  She says that she just wants to check out their rums.  Now the owner's interest is piqued. He says that he has rum from this shelf divider to that, floor to ceiling.  Next, he's telling us that he saw a show on TV about rum, and that some of these distilleries have stockpiles of rum in barrels in warehouses as far as you can see.  "Yeah, we know.  We live in the Caribbean, and every island has a half dozen distillers." The Admiral says "They don't have Don Q.".  "Oh yeah, I do.  It's on the bottom shelf"  "Crazy, we have a friend that loves Don Q.  He had us buy 6 handles for him when we were in Puerto Rico.” ” That’s really strange." he says.  "I had a guy call me from Trinidad today asking me to deliver some to a friend that just had a baby"  "You taking it to ***** Dunmore Rd.?"  The rest, as they say, is history.  We took it and two bottles of Veuve, saving you a delivery fee.  CRAZY, No?  

Is truth stranger than fiction?

 

When the kids came home from the hospital, Ben’s parents and sister came in all the way from Pennsylvania for a visit.  It was a bonus for the Admiral and I, ‘cause we hadn’t seen them since Ali and Ben’s wedding in 2015. 

After a month of being house guests, it was time for us to leave and let their new rhythm settle in.  The flight home was uneventful, although boarding the plane in Miami was a bit unusual.  Customs and Border Patrol ,with dogs in tow, was on the jet bridge, greeting every passenger before they boarded the plane.  Home again, just call us Grandma and Grandpa.

-Later

 

Good Day, Good Day

OMG!  Has it really been 2 months?  My bad.  No excuse except that we’ve been having waaayyy too much fun.

So, we arrived in Trinidad, which was where I left you hanging.  The marina at Crew’s Inn was pretty comfy.  We motored in, and the dockmaster put us in an end slip with the port side of the Girl along the wall, and her stern on the dock.  Right below the swimming pool-SWEET!  With the Admiral’s expert directions, we backed our little home between the boat next to us, the wall, and the boat that was tied on the wall ahead of us.  Paulette and John, aboard Seamantha were a few days early, but a spot was still located for them while they waited for their assigned slip to become available.  For the next few days, we just walked around to get the “lay of the land,” locating vendors, repair guys, boatyards, and most importantly a “Doubles” roadside stand, and the “Roti Hut.”  Suz and I contracted with Peake Boatyard to haul us and give the Girl a couple fresh coats of bottom paint, lined up a tech to remove our stabilizers (I’m getting’ too old to haul those babies around), located a welder to fabricate some “Burglar bars” for the hatches over our bed and “knees” for the stanchions holding our new awning on the boat deck.  In between these jaunts, we lit up the internet, ordering some replacement spare parts and miscellaneous doodads.  One day, when Mitch, the welder was over taking some measurements, I was knee-deep in sewing machine parts which were scattered all over the cockpit table.  He asked me if I was okay, to which I jokingly replied “Do you do sewing machines too?”  To my surprise, he said “Sure.  My Mom’s a seamstress.  Who do you think takes care of her machines?”  Knowing that I had a backup in case of disaster was reassuring, but YouTube pulled me through.

Meanwhile, we all were anxiously awaiting the arrival of our friends Ken and Sylvianne on the Krogen 48 “Sylken Sea.”  They had recently launched in Antigua after the boat spent hurricane season on the hard there.  I’ve already alluded to the fact that the weather and seas have been very uncooperative this season.  Every day that they were stuck behind the weather, we had 6 sets of eyes checking numerous weather websites and offering their valued opinions.  Emails and texts flew back and forth hourly (actually, more frequently) for days with conjecture about weather windows and best routes for them to take.  Of course, there was no pressure for them to get to Trini, just the fact that they wanted to participate in Carnival, and oh yeah-they had boat guests flying into Trini from Canada.  Long story short, they made it after a less-than-enjoyable few days at sea with the Mother Hens on this end following their progress and texting them every hour of the trip.  Their guests, Ken and Carol arrived to find a lovely boat to sleep on.

Jesse James is THE go-to guy for cruisers visiting Trinidad.  He runs tours and shopping trips for cruisers with his fleet of five minibuses.  Besides that, he is the master facilitator.  No problem is too large for him to help solve, and it seems that he knows everyone on the island.  Unfortunately, when we arrived he was busy with a big job in another area of the island.  We went to his office daily, arranging tours and outings with his wife, Sharon Rose.  It became a standing joke that Jesse didn’t really exist, he was just the mythical face of the business.  When he finally appeared, we all had a good laugh.

Carnival here isn’t just for a day or two.  Some say that it is the third largest Carnival in the world, behind New Orleans and Rio.  Words alone can’t describe the two weeks leading up to and culminating with Fat Tuesday.  We attended the Junior King and Queen competition, a 6-hour marathon featuring elaborately costumed boys and girls separated by age from 2 to 16 years old.  Another night, we visited several “Pan Yards,” where various steel bands ranging in size from 20 to over 100 drummers practiced for the big competition.  Another evening took us to a costume shop, where workers fabricated costumes for the locals who played in various bands during carnival.  Made to order, some of the costumes were priced into the thousands of dollars ($TT).  (So, let me digress for a moment here.  There are many “bands” which march in “Pretty Mas,” which is the big parade on what we call Fat Tuesday.  The bands range in size from a few hundred to six or seven hundred.  Each band has a theme, so the costumes that are worn by the players all conform to that theme.  You may pay upwards of $1,500(TT) or $200(USD) to march (or play) in that band.  What you get as a participant is 4 semi-trailers: one with the hugest sets of speakers and amplifiers that you’ll see short of a rock concert, one with an endless bar (mostly serving beer and rum (150 proof) punch), the next is the food truck, lastly there’s the trailer loaded with porta potties.  Security details surround each band to help keep a modicum of control.  Picture band after band moving down the street, music cranking to the point that you need earplugs, stopping at four judging points along the 5-mile route all day long.  In between judging points, there’s a lot of winin’ and chippin’ going on.  The competition for the King and Queen of Carnival was another marathon which extended well past midnight.  The costumes were beyond incredible.  The semi finals for the pan band competition lasted a good eight hours, but we wimped out after six, just before 1:00 A.M.  So, you see, the lead up to Carnival was quite rigorous for us middle-aged cruisers.  I said nothing of the “Fetes,” which went on around the island virtually nightly (I say nightly, but the Fetes usually start around midnight or so and last until midmorning.  Pronounced Fet, these parties usually feature live music and lotsa’ adult beverages.  Some were attended by upwards of 10,000 people.)

Monday morning, J’Ouvert, or “Opening of day,” A.K.A. “Dirty Mas.”  There was no way that Suzanne and I were not going to participate.  You don’t need costumes for “Dirty Mas.”  In fact, the less the better.  You join a band, (ours had around 400 people) pay your money, put on some clothes that you don’t mind being trashed, show up at 2:00AM and start the parade.  Our 4 semi-trailers were ready to go, so off we went.  It’s Dirty Mas, because along the way, paint, mud, and chocolate are flying.  By the time 9:30AM rolled around, we looked like walking rainbows.  After seven-and-a-half hours of strong rum punch and dirty dancing along our 7-mile route, I’m not sure that my feet were even hitting the ground, but what happens at Carnival stays at Carnival.  We coerced Paulette, John, Carol, Ken, Sylvianne and Ken to join us, but that’s their story to tell.  We all recovered sufficiently to be back in Port of Spain the following morning at 7:00 to be observers for “Pretty Mas.”  The costumes were incredible, the excitement level built during the day, and by the time we bailed at 5:00 PM, it looked like it was going to be another long night.  All right, let’s address the 500-pound gorilla in the room.  There IS a lot of crime here in Trinidad.  The poor economy, due in part to the low price of oil is not helping the matter a bit.  It’s very important to be aware of your surroundings at all times and stay out of certain areas.  That being said, aren’t those precautions important anywhere?  Trying our best to adhere to “Alizann Rules,” i.e. not being far from home at night, not flashing a lot of cash, and not wearing jewelry makes us feel a bit more comfortable here.

After Carnival was over, the eight of us headed to Asa Wright Nature Center and Lodge, located in the north rainforest.  Our diet hadn’t been bad enough during Carnival, so we stopped at one of Jesse’s favorite roadside stands for some Trini Streetfood.  The Saheena was to die for.  The Roti, doubles, and etc. weren’t too shabby either.  Winding up to 2,000 feet above sealevel through the rain forest, the road narrowed to 1 ½ lanes in places.  Rounding one corner, we came across a well-kept little home.  In the carport, a lady had a 12’x12’ tarp laid out, covered with a medley of hot peppers.  Red, orange, yellow and green, glistening from their recent hose-down, they made for a real Kodak moment.  We got out of the van and chatted with her and her husband.  She makes hot (peppah) sauce for some of the local markets.  On Sunday, the carport is transformed into a church where her husband preaches the Gospel.  Cool.  Back on the road, Asa Wright’s main gate soon came into view.  The lodge consists of the original manor house and several outbuildings, accommodating up to 50 guests, on 200 acres of wildlife conservation area.  There, we had three days and two nights of quiet relaxation, hiking and bird-watching.  Suzanne and my room, one of 2 guest rooms in the manor house, afforded us easy access to the dining room, and the veranda which overlooked a dozen or so bird feeders as well as a several-mile view of the forest valley.  Guides were always available on the veranda to help identify any of the 170 species of birds found there.

Well, just about time to wrap this one up.  We headed back to Alizann, packed some winter clothes, and headed to Michigan to await the arrival of our newest Grandchild, Nash Joseph Wells.

-Later

Good Day, Good Day

John and Paulette recovered all of the stuff that bounced out of their dinghy when the hovercraft crashed, including the 2 new gas cans.  It didn’t look like the outboard went in the drink, but we took both dinks ashore just in case.  Customs and Immigration-Oh, Baby!  Sign on the door says that if we are not dressed appropriately (respectfully), that we will be turned away.  Luckily, we all put on our Customs clothes before checking in anywhere.  We had 4 sets of forms, in triplicate (lotsa carbon paper).  The “Do you have Stowaways on Board” form woulda made us laugh if we weren’t being on our best C & I behavior.  Next came the “If you have Stowaways on Board, what are their names and nationalities” form.  Really?  Computer is not scanning passports, so all info is hand-entered into the system.  I’ll make this quick-an hour later we were done with Immigration.  On to Customs down the hall.  So…..you can’t just “bay hop” here.  You need to give an itinerary, letting Customs know where you are at all times.  “It’s for your protection.  Officers check on your whereabouts for your safety.”  By the way, the island is divided into 2 sectors.  If you move to the other sector, you need to clear in and out there, as well as provide an itinerary for the anchorages that you visit within that sector.  Made our heads hurt.  Good reason to just stay in Charlotteville and explore from here by land.  Total C&I time, 1 hour, 20 minutes.  Good thing that no one else was in line.  Next stop, the only ATM in town.  Nope, neither of our cards work.  John’s only able to get a couple hundred TT dollars ($1TT=$.15US) out of it.  At the tourist office, the nice lady tells us that it’s a small ATM.  The truck from the bank arrives to fill it, and it’s immediately emptied by the folks who’ve been waiting in line for $$$.

It was time to stretch our legs, so we decided to hike up to Flagstaff Mountain for a view and photo op, then down to the windward side to check out the anchorage in Anse Bateau, and the dive shop at the Blue Waters Inn there.  The hike was on pavement all the way.  We had been previously warned by more than one local not to stray out into the bush without a guide.  Seems that over the years, several tourists had gone missing after not heeding this admonition, causing the whole village to be mobilized for search and rescue operations.  After being lounge-chair lizards for a few weeks, the 6.2-mile, 1,300 feet up and down was plenty of exercise, even on pavement.  Of course, it was lunch time when we hit the Blue Water, so lunch on the veranda, featuring Tobagonian delights was in order.  I wondered out loud how my rubber legs were going to make it back over the hill.  I must have missed the memo (not unusual), ‘cause the other three just laughed and informed me that we were getting a ride home.  Whew!  Hate to see a grown man cry, especially when it’s me.

Charlottesville is a fishing village, and there’s not a whole lot else there, so the Sunday check out town day went pretty quickly.  We walked over to Pirate’s Bay, a 600’ up-and-down, then walked the streets of the village, ending up at “The Suck Hole” restaurant.  “No local food,” our waitress informed us.  Our lunch was super good, starting out with an order of fries which were served as an appetizer.  OMG!  There was probably a pound of fries in each order (x4).  We had watched other diners squirting ketchup, mustard, and mayo all over theirs, so asked our server if this was a local custom.  Hahaha.  The squirt bottles contained Pepper sauce, Garlic sauce, and Chadon Bene (Windward Islands equivalent of Cilantro).  Squirted liberally over the sautéed plantain and eggplant-covered fries, the finished product might have been responsible for a paroxysm of ecstasy (tryin’ to keep things G-rated here).  When the main plates of fried fish, shrimp and chicken arrived, we were pretty much sated, so doggie boxes were distributed all around.

On Monday morning, Junior picked us up for a day of touring Tobago by car.  We toured the length of the island, checking out every anchorage and little fishing village on the leeward side.  After our recon, we decided that staying at anchor up in Charlottesville was still a good idea.  Moving to the interior of the island, Junior took us to visit the “Herb Lady”, Philomene, at Eboe Gardens.  Around her house, perched on the side of a hill (and what house here isn’t?)  were a myriad of imaginative containers filled with dirt and harboring a variety of herbs, medicinals, and decorative plants.  The containers ranged from discarded Styrofoam cooler tops to garbage bags, with all manner of holders in between.  Suz bolstered her collection of herb plants here.  Next, we had to stop at Bucoo Bay for a peek at the goat-racing track. Once a year, on Easter weekend, the annual goat races are held there.  Crazy-a huge stadium, built around a grass-covered dragstrip, and used only once per year.  I guess it’s a huge event.  People come from all around the islands to participate in the betting and spectacle of it all.  (Think a boisterous Kentucky Derby.)  BTW, these aren’t your garden variety goats, these are RACING goats.  With long legs and slimmer bodies, they look more like Greyhounds than goats.  The trick, though, is picking the right jockey(?).  Young men sprint alongside the tethered goats, so the oddsmakers place a fair amount of weight on who’s drivin’.    Might just have to get back for this event.  Wheeeling into Scarborough, the vibe was like day and night compared to little Charlotteville.  Very touristy, and a much busier, apparently the “business center” on Tobago.  We stopped for “Doubles” at a roadside vendor (the back of a station wagon).  Okay……Doubles are a breakfast staple here in Trinidad/Tobago.  Delicious.  First, a sheet of waxed paper.  Next, two Bara (a fried pancake made of Gheera (roasted ground cumin), flour and curry powder).  Next, Chana (chick peas, minced onion, ground garlic, chopped pimiento, chopped onions, curry powder, amchar masala, water, salt, and chadon bene is ladled on top.  The Chana has the consistency of split pea soup.  You bet it’s a challenge to eat.  Ya got no implements.  Hold the paper in one hand.  Slip one of the Bara out from under the fray.  Use it as a spoon to sop/scoop the Chana off the other Bara.  Then, eat the other Bara with the remaining Chana.  Or………….Get yer face right into the whole mess and slurp/suck your way through.  Walk to 2-gallon water jug and wipe off mouth, chin, nose, hands, shirt, shoes, etc.  Or be a Trini.  Eat and walk away without a trace of food on your Sunday finest.  Mastering the Double will become a quest during the following weeks here.   A short hike the Argyle waterfalls gave us a chance to stretch our legs with a stroll through the forest.  Back to the boats by early evening, we had a good feel for the island.  Paulette called Newton George, a renowned local guide to arrange some hikes in the rain forest later in the week to do some bird-watching.

Another day took us back to the Blue Waters Inn, where we had arranged for a half day excursion to Little Tobago Island.  This National park is a bird sanctuary, where we expected to see Frigate Birds, Red Footed Boobies, Brown Boobies and Red-Billed Tropic Birds.  We weren’t disappointed.  We saw all of these and more, even spotted a Tropic Bird in her nest on the ground, guarding her single chick.  After our hike, we enjoyed a nice snorkel on the reef, seeing the usual suspects plus a Hawksbill Turtle.

Well, that old weather thing cut short our sojourn on Tobago.  During our stay, the winds continued to build, but it looked like we’d get a bit of a reprieve late in the week before the Trades became “Brisk” again.  We had to cancel our Rain Forest hike, but promised ourselves that we’d return in March or April to finish what we had started.

Back at Customs and Immigration, our pleasant conversation about grandchildren, kids, and life in general paid off.  We were granted passage out of Tobago on a “nod and a wink.”  The officer provided us with a handwritten note, which she dutifully stapled together.  She told us that while we anchored overnight in the Scarborough sector that we didn’t have to check in, and when we got to Trinidad,  present her note to Immigration, and everything would be all right-she’d make a call.  So, we left the office after more chittin’ and chattin’, promising to bury her in New Grandbaby pictures upon our return.  (Oh, the Admiral tells me that I mightn’t have shared the news.  Our daughter and son in law are giving us a new little boy at the end of February.)

We crept down the lee side of Tobago on Thursday and anchored in Store Bay, outside Scarborough.  On Friday, we made a smooth passage to Trinidad over two-foot seas.  One more 48” Mahi in the freezer, by the way.  We docked at Crew’s Inn Marina and Hotel and readied ourselves for the Customs and Immigration ChaCha.  (Even tho’ it’s the same country, you still have to clear in and out.)  Ha Ha.  We produced our “Get out of jail free” note.  Frowns on the officers turned to smiles.  No paperwork.  Zip, Zilch, Nada.  After some more chitchat with the officers while everyone else in the room was filling out forms and waiting in line, we were home. 30 seconds formality, 5 minutes rappin’.

We’re here for the next couple of months.

-Later

Good Day,

John and Paulette arrived just when we were finishing up with our projects.  The last coat of Awlbrite went on the teak, Gazza and Peter finished up with the detailing, and I was done with the mechanicals-for now.  It looked like the wind and seas would abate somewhat in a few days, so we made ready to skedaddle to Tobago.  We said goodbye to Rob and Cindy over dinner at the marina, and had our last Indian food fix at “Spice of India” (sister restaurant to “Masala Bay”, which we enjoyed several times while at Marigot.)

On the 18th of January, we started our first passage of the new year.  Alizann was off the dock at 05h08.  Our plan was to run in the Caribbean down the lee side of St. Lucia, then into the Atlantic for a straight run to Tobago.  The seas were forecast to be 3’-5’, increasing to 4’-6’ by the end of our 26-hour run.  Winds pretty steady at 15-18 knots.  Both the wind and waves were predicted to be just a little aft of our beam, causing us to expect a bit of a rolly ride. As Seamantha is a larger boat, and thus a bit faster, we left about an hour ahead of John and Paulette, figuring that they’d catch us sometime in the middle of the afternoon.  The first four hours were gorgeous.  We had a slight push of current, and seas were running less than 2’.  As we rounded the southern tip of St. Lucia, the seas ramped up a bit to 2’-4’, pretty much on our beam.  A 1.5 knot current pushing against us was going to be the story of our life for the southbound cruise.  (In actuality, it varied from .5-1.5 knots nearly the whole trip.)  The lines went out, and by 12h30, the fishing drought was over.  We hooked into a 4.5’ Wahoo, and before we lost him 15 minutes later, he gave us quite a show.  At 13h00 the reel was zingin’ out again.  This time, we boated a 48” Mahi.  Less than a half hour later we boated a 42 incher.  At the same time, the other reel was spoolin’ out.  When the Admiral brought it in, there was a disembodied Skipjack head on the lure.  Missed another biggie!  Yow!  Suz thought that the fishing would be better out in the Atlantic, and she sure was right.  Stopping for the fish thing slowed our progress, and Seamantha caught and passed us.  By now, the seas were running 3’-5’ with a bit of chop on top, thanks to the now steady 18 knot winds.  Getting a bit too wavy to fish, as every time we hook up we have to slow the Girl, and she commences to rock and roll, pitch and yaw.  It’s always hard to gauge the height of seas, but when I’m standing in the cockpit and can’t see over the top of the waves, I feel pretty comfortable calling them 3’-5’.  We were still 19 hours from Tobago, so our little buddies folded up in the cooler needed to be butchered and refrigerated.  Brought out the Husky portable workbench, braced my back against the bulkhead and went to work.  Of course, after I was done the cockpit looked like the scene of a mass murder.  I didn’t start feeling pukey(sp?) until I was just about done cleaning up on my hands and knees.  Not good.  Suz had to come down and chunk up the filets and throw them in the freezer while I stood in the pilothouse door, gulping in fresh air.  (Note to self-take antiemetics when filleting in cockpit in rolling seas.)  Some pre-cooked sloppy Joe’s hit the spot, then we settled in for the evening.  Four to six feet now, winds back to around 15 knots.  The inside of the cupboards were being re (or is it “dis”) organized as we listened in amusement to the clatter from the outside.  As the sun sunk below the horizon, it was dark as the inside of a pocket, being just a day or two from New Moon.  Suz hit the rack early, so by 00h30, she had six solid hours of sleep under her belt when she came on watch.  By 06h30 when I got up, the seas had dropped to 3’-5’, winds still 15 kn, and the current was abating.  The Admiral said that during her watch, the current had become so intense that she lost another knot of headway, causing her to have to increase throttle.    By morning, Seamantha was two and a half miles ahead of us and headed for the barn.  As Tobago drew closer, the seas dropped to 2’-4’, then 1’-2’ over the last hour of the trip.  When we entered the harbor John and Paulette had the hook down, and Suz maneuvered the girl into position where I snubbed the anchor chain with 225 feet out in 40 feet of water.  While I was studying our position relative to other boats, an “Oh sh$#t” exploded from the door of the pilothouse.  “John and Paulette just dropped their dinghy!” “So?”  “I mean DROPPED, not lowered.”  We couldn’t see their tender due to the relative positions of the boats, but we could see bright red gas cans floating on the water.  Now we’re getting nervous as they’re not answering their VHF and we can’t see either of them.  Boats rotate a bit.  There’s John.  There’s Paulette.  This all transpired in probably less than a minute, but it seemed like an eternity.  Amazingly, all four of the dinghy lifting lines severed at the same moment, dropping the tender straight down where it landed upright.  What if the dinghy hadn’t been clear of the boat?  What if only one or two legs of the bridle had broken?  What if it had swung back and hit one of our pals?  Thankfully J & P had some good JuJu going in a bad situation.

Time now for the Customs and Immigration Chacha, but that’s a story for

-Later

Good Day, Good Day

Here in the islands, it’s very poor form to neglect greeting someone, even if just passing on the street.  A little bit different than back in the States.  “Good day, everything okay?, you good?”  Then, you’d better be ready to chat for a minute (or ten) with a total stranger.

It was a good thing that we headed to Carolina with an extra bag-lotsa boat parts to bring home.  Kurt’s partner, Richard was waiting for us at the airport when we arrived in St. Lucia.  We took a leisurely ride back to Rodney Bay, stopping at a scenic overlook on the windward side, and the “bread man” in the interior.  Baked in a traditional stone oven, the 8 inch loaves were split and slathered with butter and slices of cheese while still hot.  Richard looked the other way as we ate in the backseat of the minivan.  (Just what we needed after all the food and drink over the holiday).  Back at the ranch, the Girl looked good.  Zim had looked after her while we were gone, even watering Suz’s plants.  They looked better than when we had left.

Over the Holiday, I had talked to Jeff, on Idyll Time.  He and Suzie had just gotten their boat surveyed for their insurance renewal.  In the course of the survey, a small leak was noticed in…….Guess what?  The gennie exhaust elbow.  Time to face the music.  Easy(?) jobs always seem to grow in scope as you’re working through them.  One of the screws holding a flange was buried behind the shore power cord bin.  Only the shorty screwdriver would fit-my hand wouldn’t.  Grrrhh!  Sweat, swear, sweat, swear.  Repeat.  Screws out, flange won’t budge.  Chinese 5200 (permanent adhesive) under the flange and around the elbow.  Repeat sweat/swear mantra.  Fetch 4 pound sledge.  Satisfaction.  When the elbow was out, the cause of the problem was evident.  A faulty weld had allowed the stainless steel to corrode, and there WAS a small leak in the tubing.  One of the legs of the new fiberglass elbow not long enough, and another problem discovered with the original installation.  Time for a re-engineer.  Incredibly, Island Water World had some fiberglass tubing.  JB Weld, a couple coats of glass matting and some epoxy followed by a coat of black paint, and the new bits were ready for install.  Channeling MacGyver? Guess the dues were paid on the removal, ‘cause the install went super smoothly.

Suz and I had been commiserating over recoating our brightwork (teak caprails).  The teak still looked good, but we knew that it wouldn’t be long until the epoxy coating (Awlbrite) began to fail.  After procrastinating for a month, we hired Tony and “Friend” to do the job.  It sure felt good to have that project off our plate, as we had both dreaded the prospect of taping, sanding, coating and etc.  Oh yeah, we had to move the boat so that the guys would have access to the port side, and as we were moving the Girl, Suzanne heard a new and strange noise.  We finally determined that it was the raw water pump for the oil cooler.  I thought that it’d always sounded that way (see: Delusional thinking).  Nope, “That’s new” says the Admiral.  Check spare parts spreadsheet-Yep, got one of those.  Yada, yada, yada.  They say that one of the definitions of cruising is “working on your boat in exotic places.”

My sad story is done for now.  I’m sure that it really choked you up.

Gary and Tori came in shortly after our return in anticipation of starting the first leg of the ARC around the world rally, so we had more playmates.  New Year’s Eve saw a cruiser-organized wine tasting dock party on the tee head next to our boat.  Local hikes, including a stroll up to Fort Rodney on Pigeon Island kept us occupied for a few days.  We had eight dive days with Dive St. Lucia.  They have a great program.  A two-tank dive with lunch in between dives off a well maintained, open transom 46’ dive boat costs around $100 (U.S.) a head.  The crew is well trained and very enthusiastic-we love ‘em.  Suz headed back to Ann Arbor in the States for a few days to attend Ali, our daughters’ baby shower.  While she was gone, I had a chance to replace that pesky pump, and do a thorough cleaning on Alizann.  From the flybridge to the bilge, everything was removed from its’ hiding place, cleaned and replaced.  Stopped counting at 29 hours.  (I know, sob, sob, sob!)  The good news was that I ran out of time, so hired Gazza and Peter to wash, wax and detail the outside.  It took the two of them two full days, which of course was stretched to occupy the better part of three-and-a-half to get the job done.  At the end of the workday, we sat in the cockpit of Alizann sipping cold beverages and rappin’.  Gazza is a Rastafarian, and we had some spirited discussions on religion.  Gazza had some very unambiguous opinions on both.  I thought it was a dealbreaker when I told him that Suz and I were Catholic, but serendipitously, a guy came by in a dinghy after just having lost his chain and lock in the water.  When I dropped everything, donned my mask and snorkel and found the lost goods, Gazza decided that I was a righteous man and let the Catholic thing slide.  Whew!

Shortly after Suz returned, Rob and Cindy on “Avventura” (Grenada pals) came back to their boat from a holiday trip to the States.  The weather was so cold in Kansas City, where they live, that some pipes froze and burst in their home.  Maybe one of the few things more expensive than boat repairs is hiring a plumber on New Year’s Day.  This boating thing is so hard to describe, but the intense friendships that you develop and renew periodically are one of the attractions for us.

Too soon, it was time for the World ARC to leave.  After years of preparation and planning, Kim and Zim on Someday and Tori and Gary on Solitude dreams were about to come to fruition.  You can follow these two boat and others on www.worldcruising.com.  As the last days before departure wound down, their moods changed and the tension was palpable.  After all, this wasn’t a 3 or 4-day passage.  They were leaving to go AROUND the world.  Two nights before departure, Suz broke the tension with a “Bon Voyage” meal aboard Alizann.  The “Four Cheese, Drunken Sun-Dried Tomato and Spinach Pasta” casserole, washed down with a few bottles of French red and white pop was delicious.  Dinner was capped with a homemade Key Lime pie, Godiva chocolates, and orange-infused rum.  Yum!  After the forty World ARC boats left the marina, it was pretty quiet, but no worries.  John and Paulette, aboard Seamantha, were soon on their way from Martinique to join us for our Trinidad/Tobago excursion.

Internet is spotty.  I’ll try to bounce some pictures into space when it gets better.

-Later

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