Chesapeake Bay, Oxford, MD.
We left Little Harbor on Dec. 10, dressed in 5 layers, and made a couple of day trips, stopping at night in Gloucester, Onset (Cape Cod), and Newport RI. Because of the cold, we expected we would have to continue day-tripping through Long Island Sound and New York before coming to the part I had nightmares about: the overnight winter passage down the open NJ coast to Cape May. As it turned out, we had a good weather window so went directly from Newport to Cape May--32 hours. Cold but calm enough with easy NW winds--a most excellent sail and I breathed a huge sigh of relief when we dropped the anchor in Cape May at 1900 hrs, affter making our way into the harbor after dark past giant, halogen-lit tugs, tows and construction vessels that hid the normal aids to navigation.
When we left Cape May the next morning to go up Delaware Bay, it was blowing hard in our faces and the water was very lumpy. We smiled, however, as a sweet little whale surfaced right beside Act III. We anchored at the top of the bay before heading through the C&D Canal into the Chesapeake the next morning. Weather continued cold, but sunny and calm enough to make it easy going.
Three more nights at anchor (in the beautiful Sassafras River, outside not-as-deep-as-charted-oops Rock Harbor, and in Eastern Bay, then we pulled into a marina in Oxford MD for some respite. Power allowed us to run our electric space heater at will and catch up on internet, and let some wind and rain go by.
When we came down the Intracoastal two years ago, we met Dave and Bicki Howell on Nellie D, a head-turning Lord Nelson Victory Tug. They live nearby in Cambridge, MD, in a spectacular home on the Little Choptank River they've been building for 11 years. The best part of this stop was visiting with them and they spoiled us rotten with dinners at their home (fresh oysters from their stash in the river!), lending us their car for 2 days and many other kindnesses. We can't thank them enough for their graciousness and excellent conversation (not to mention washer and DRYER).
Today, freshly provisioned, we'll make our way across the bay to Solomon's Island, We expect to be in the Norfolk/Portsmouth area in 3 days, then the dull grind down the Intracoastal to Sailcraft Services in Oriental, NC, where we'll haul and unstep the mast for some maintenance.
We think it's holiday season, and our hearts are with you all.
Thursday, December 22, 2011
Thursday, December 8, 2011
Season 3
Dear Friends,
We're provisioning to leave NH again, so will rightly wonder how we got back here. I had to refer to the blog to remember where we left off...
We left St. Marten after 2 months of work and play, and sailed for Virgin Gorda, British Virgin Islands where, for the first time we felt we were in familiar territory--before that every port was new.
When in St. Marten, our Swedish friend Nils introduced us to Rob and Natalie on s/v Wilhelm because both vessels were ultimately planning to sail to New England, but we hadn't been in touch with them for a couple of months. We were now delighted to learn they were just a half-day sail away, and our schedules for heading north were in synch. We met in Christmas Cove, St. John, waited for appropriate weather to avoid the problem we were hearing on the SSB that current cruisers were having to stand off several hundred miles for a week or so before approaching Bemuda because of high wind and seas. For the first time we used our SSB radio to chat with another boat--not just listen to weather broadcasts--and arranged a daily radio schedule with Wilhelm. They departed a day ahead of us on May 14, and reported little or no wind.
We left in light wind, but the second day began a lovely sailing breeze. Then Bill celebrated the night of his birthday with thunderstorms -- the most horrific lightning he'd ever seen -- continuous many fingered bolts surrounding us making it like four hours of daylight, and thunder that never stopped. Fortunately, I slept through most of it--hey, it wasn't my watch! Bill tried to sail around the worst of the squalls, visible and clear on radar, but it was impossible to get away from it. In the morning, Wilhem reported they had turned south for the night hoping to avoid the weather, but still got slammed. Fortunately, neither boat was struck. The fine weather returned in the morning and the rest of the 6-day passage was lovely and uneventful. Half-way to Bermuda we passed Wilhelm and took the opportunity to take photos of each other under full sail and spinnakers at daybreak. We arrived in St. George's Harbor a day ahead of Wilhelm, thanking Act III once again for her swiftness.
Bermuda has the most outstanding navigation and radio system we've ever seen; Bermuda Radio contacted us when we were still 100 nm out. We previously had notified them online that we were expecting to arrive, and check-in was a breeze. The Port official even helped us with dock lines. The island is gorgeous, the people most welcoming, and the eponymous onions and shorts were a treat to see. It's not an island where cruisers happen upon by chance, so the harbor was full of serious boaters with wonderful stories--many waiting for weather to head for the Azores and Europe. Natalie and Rob had a time obligation so left ahead of us when conditions were less than ideal; we had no constaints so stayed to enjoy the last snorkeling and swimming we expected for awhile. (The water was a freezing cold 76 degrees! We are so spoiled!)
We buddy-boated to Newport, RI with a wonderful Dutch couple, Caspar and Gjerte, on s/v Abel, and maintained the same 2/daily radio sched we had with Wilhelm. It's a great comfort to hear a friendly voice when you're spending so many days alone on the water, with no other vessels in sight. It's also valuable to share information about what is/was happening with weather and seas.
Our foreign friends have to jump through hoops to get cruising permits, including face-to-face visits to the American embassy. The one thing we were were sure of was that we'd have no problems coming into the States. We are Americans, after all. We picked up a mooring in Newport, RI at 2 a.m., fell fast asleep and called the harbormaster and customs first thing in the morning to arrange our check-in. The customs officer immediately gave us an official warning for not contacting customs by telephone when were were 100 nm. offshore. But we checked all the websites and there was no mention of that, we protested. And we have no working telephone. Yeah, well, you just have to know these things and now that you're in the system as "officially warned" the next time you make a mistake you'll be fined. We were embarrassed about the great USA when Abel arrived late that next night and Caspar and Gjerte stood in a deserted parking lot at 3 a.m. holding a flashlight, filling out their entry papers on the hood of the official's car.
Newport has an unrivaled sailing reputation and we were impressed. Bill also noted that in most of the Caribbean we've seen charter boats who raise their sails just for show while they motor their customers around. The Newport captains deftly sail their large classic boats right through the anchorage.
We dawdled a bit in Newport to allow time for our granddaughter, Fionna (7), to meet us in Onset (near the Cape Cod Canal), for the last leg home. She was a trouper for the 4 days aboard, and absolutely ate up Provincetown, literally and figuratively. You should have seen her put away a plate of mussels in butter and garlic, then steer our dinghy around the mooring field without help.
We arrived at our mooring in Little Harbor at dawn, in the fog, surrounded by the rich scent of the North Atlantic, and happy to be home. It felt strange to return to living on land after nearly 2 years, but Josh has done a great job taking care of the house and we settled in quickly to lots of company. Granddaughters Fionna and Sare (1) spent 3 weeks; Lorenzo (3) was here for a couple of weeks, on and off from NJ (yes, their mom's were around, but they already know us: we needed to connect with the kids who barely remember us.)
In August we flew to Montana for 3 weeks to see our sons: Ben with his new awesome lady Rachel, and Jake and Allie (4). (Allie confided to her Aunt Polly that "I'm the cutest girl in the world but I can only tell my family." We agree, but are clearly prejudiced. Allie is also the reigning Mutton Busting Champion among the 4-7 year olds at the Missoula State Fair and has a belt-buckle as big as her head to show for it.) We floated, fly-fished, sailed, harvested wheat, and played and played and played. Polly and MIles came from NC to overlap our last week, so we achieved our goal of seeing all our kids and grandkids. It was divine.
Bill played a little tennis and drums; I sang some warmups with Sounds of the Seacoast. We sorely miss our friends as well. It was terrific to play with you this summer as well.
In between playing and entertaining the kids, Bill built a hard dodger for Act III this summer/fall. It's a big, complicated project and looking fabulous, but took longer than expected. Then he took a couple of weeks to upgrade the engine. We're now facing a slow trip south in the colder weather, but we're much safer and more protected.
We'll stop in Oriental, NC to haul out for a short time, unstep the mast and install some electronics, then proceed to Key West, the Western Caribbean, and, ultimately, Panama. The current plan is to leave the boat in Panama next hurricane season (summer) and come home to play with the kids again.
Come back here later for pictures from the summer!
We're provisioning to leave NH again, so will rightly wonder how we got back here. I had to refer to the blog to remember where we left off...
We left St. Marten after 2 months of work and play, and sailed for Virgin Gorda, British Virgin Islands where, for the first time we felt we were in familiar territory--before that every port was new.
When in St. Marten, our Swedish friend Nils introduced us to Rob and Natalie on s/v Wilhelm because both vessels were ultimately planning to sail to New England, but we hadn't been in touch with them for a couple of months. We were now delighted to learn they were just a half-day sail away, and our schedules for heading north were in synch. We met in Christmas Cove, St. John, waited for appropriate weather to avoid the problem we were hearing on the SSB that current cruisers were having to stand off several hundred miles for a week or so before approaching Bemuda because of high wind and seas. For the first time we used our SSB radio to chat with another boat--not just listen to weather broadcasts--and arranged a daily radio schedule with Wilhelm. They departed a day ahead of us on May 14, and reported little or no wind.
We left in light wind, but the second day began a lovely sailing breeze. Then Bill celebrated the night of his birthday with thunderstorms -- the most horrific lightning he'd ever seen -- continuous many fingered bolts surrounding us making it like four hours of daylight, and thunder that never stopped. Fortunately, I slept through most of it--hey, it wasn't my watch! Bill tried to sail around the worst of the squalls, visible and clear on radar, but it was impossible to get away from it. In the morning, Wilhem reported they had turned south for the night hoping to avoid the weather, but still got slammed. Fortunately, neither boat was struck. The fine weather returned in the morning and the rest of the 6-day passage was lovely and uneventful. Half-way to Bermuda we passed Wilhelm and took the opportunity to take photos of each other under full sail and spinnakers at daybreak. We arrived in St. George's Harbor a day ahead of Wilhelm, thanking Act III once again for her swiftness.
Bermuda has the most outstanding navigation and radio system we've ever seen; Bermuda Radio contacted us when we were still 100 nm out. We previously had notified them online that we were expecting to arrive, and check-in was a breeze. The Port official even helped us with dock lines. The island is gorgeous, the people most welcoming, and the eponymous onions and shorts were a treat to see. It's not an island where cruisers happen upon by chance, so the harbor was full of serious boaters with wonderful stories--many waiting for weather to head for the Azores and Europe. Natalie and Rob had a time obligation so left ahead of us when conditions were less than ideal; we had no constaints so stayed to enjoy the last snorkeling and swimming we expected for awhile. (The water was a freezing cold 76 degrees! We are so spoiled!)
We buddy-boated to Newport, RI with a wonderful Dutch couple, Caspar and Gjerte, on s/v Abel, and maintained the same 2/daily radio sched we had with Wilhelm. It's a great comfort to hear a friendly voice when you're spending so many days alone on the water, with no other vessels in sight. It's also valuable to share information about what is/was happening with weather and seas.
Our foreign friends have to jump through hoops to get cruising permits, including face-to-face visits to the American embassy. The one thing we were were sure of was that we'd have no problems coming into the States. We are Americans, after all. We picked up a mooring in Newport, RI at 2 a.m., fell fast asleep and called the harbormaster and customs first thing in the morning to arrange our check-in. The customs officer immediately gave us an official warning for not contacting customs by telephone when were were 100 nm. offshore. But we checked all the websites and there was no mention of that, we protested. And we have no working telephone. Yeah, well, you just have to know these things and now that you're in the system as "officially warned" the next time you make a mistake you'll be fined. We were embarrassed about the great USA when Abel arrived late that next night and Caspar and Gjerte stood in a deserted parking lot at 3 a.m. holding a flashlight, filling out their entry papers on the hood of the official's car.
Newport has an unrivaled sailing reputation and we were impressed. Bill also noted that in most of the Caribbean we've seen charter boats who raise their sails just for show while they motor their customers around. The Newport captains deftly sail their large classic boats right through the anchorage.
We dawdled a bit in Newport to allow time for our granddaughter, Fionna (7), to meet us in Onset (near the Cape Cod Canal), for the last leg home. She was a trouper for the 4 days aboard, and absolutely ate up Provincetown, literally and figuratively. You should have seen her put away a plate of mussels in butter and garlic, then steer our dinghy around the mooring field without help.
We arrived at our mooring in Little Harbor at dawn, in the fog, surrounded by the rich scent of the North Atlantic, and happy to be home. It felt strange to return to living on land after nearly 2 years, but Josh has done a great job taking care of the house and we settled in quickly to lots of company. Granddaughters Fionna and Sare (1) spent 3 weeks; Lorenzo (3) was here for a couple of weeks, on and off from NJ (yes, their mom's were around, but they already know us: we needed to connect with the kids who barely remember us.)
In August we flew to Montana for 3 weeks to see our sons: Ben with his new awesome lady Rachel, and Jake and Allie (4). (Allie confided to her Aunt Polly that "I'm the cutest girl in the world but I can only tell my family." We agree, but are clearly prejudiced. Allie is also the reigning Mutton Busting Champion among the 4-7 year olds at the Missoula State Fair and has a belt-buckle as big as her head to show for it.) We floated, fly-fished, sailed, harvested wheat, and played and played and played. Polly and MIles came from NC to overlap our last week, so we achieved our goal of seeing all our kids and grandkids. It was divine.
Bill played a little tennis and drums; I sang some warmups with Sounds of the Seacoast. We sorely miss our friends as well. It was terrific to play with you this summer as well.
In between playing and entertaining the kids, Bill built a hard dodger for Act III this summer/fall. It's a big, complicated project and looking fabulous, but took longer than expected. Then he took a couple of weeks to upgrade the engine. We're now facing a slow trip south in the colder weather, but we're much safer and more protected.
We'll stop in Oriental, NC to haul out for a short time, unstep the mast and install some electronics, then proceed to Key West, the Western Caribbean, and, ultimately, Panama. The current plan is to leave the boat in Panama next hurricane season (summer) and come home to play with the kids again.
Come back here later for pictures from the summer!
Saturday, April 30, 2011
St. Marten Vortex
We have no idea of time, except that it's not hurricane season, so I guess we're officially cruisers. I have a sense that it's been too long since we've posted to this blog, and I don't recall what or from where we posted. We've missed holidays and birthdays--Allie, our granddaugter, and Ben, our son--and hope they know we think, thank and talk of them on their special days.
We've been in St. Marten for something like 6 weeks. We've passed the official date of our papers, but won't bother to correct them. The French islands are very relaxed about paperwork--a good thing since we arrived without checking out of Antigua; it was too difficult to get to the office in Barbuda.
We ran out of beer in Barbuda, so finally had to sail to St. Marten, where every kind of boat product and service is available at duty-free prices. We had a long list of wants and needs. We hauled Act III for bottom cleaning and repainting. We bought a new gasoline generator, a 2,000 watt Honda, that fully satisfies our power needs--for the moment. Bill made several trips up the mast to repair wiring and replace anchor lights, and to begin troubleshooting the windicator that had stopped working over 6 months ago. It's not essential, but nice to have the wind speed and angle working together electronically with our autopilot so we can automatically steer by wind angle. He brought the unit down to start testing with his various meters, including his beloved multi-meter/oscilloscope that he keeps safely beside him when he sleeps. The Nexus windicator is an unusual make and model, and Bill expected he would have to send the unit to the Canadian manufacturer for rebuilding--the electronics were whacked.
We awoke insanely early on a Saturday morning to sell our old 1,000 watt generator at the monthly boat jumble. It was gone within an hour, but not before I had recognized our very same windicator offered for $12 at the table across from us. Aha! Someone had torn it off th their mast mount, but perhaps the circuit board could be installed in our old mount. After more days of testing and mast climbing and soldering, the new one went into place. It seemed to work, but showed the wind from the opposite side...more mast climbing to turn the circuit board around. Point is, it's easy to spend a lot of time on one island when you're insanely busy. (yeah, right.) Windicator now seems almost perfect: maybe one or two bizarre gremlins still at work in its microprossessing circuits.
We made a long weekend trip to Saba, a Dutch island about 20 miles east of St. Marten, with spectacular scuba diving. Saba is the tip of a mountain coming straight out of the ocean...no harbors or beaches, only some sketchy moorings off the concrete pier on the leeward coast. We left Act III safely in the St. Marten lagoon and took the fast ferry to Saba, because NE swells can make mooring "untenable"--a word we shudder to hear. Sea Saba dive center greeted us and stowed our gear aboard one of their boats, and we taxied to our lodge at the top of the island. The road, entirely built by hand, is a feat of engineering designed by a local who took a correspondence course in civil engineering, after a Dutch engineer came for a look and deemed a road impossible. It winds about 2000' up to the EcoLodge. (One may hike another 1,000' to the summit--the tallest point in the kingdom of the Netherlands.) The lodge consists of 10-12 uniquely painted cabins, separate and hidden from each other, and is largely self-sufficient. They collect rainwater, shower water is solar-heated, and the hottub of rainwater on our small porch took only 20 minutes to heat with an efficient propane heater. The dining room at the reception cabin is lit by candles only, and the owner/chef is a world-class chef. He grows many of the vegetables and all of the herbs they use. He and his friends took five years to build it, primarily because all the cisterns had to be dug with pick and shovel (not possible to get a back-hoe in without destroying the ecology). Each morning we hiked 5 minutes to the main road, took a taxi back down to the waterfront, and were pampered by the divemasters. In thirty minutes we went from 2000 feet above sea level to 100 feet below. The diving was indeed fabulous; we swam with sharks, barracuda and endangered hawksbill turtles. We made 5 dives over the course of 3 days and thoroughly enjoyed our vacation from ACT III. (We know friends, some of you might think that a "vacation" from a lovely boat anchored in paradise is not quite fair. Sorry.)
We finally provisioned and left St. Marten. First we backtracked a bit to Tintamarre, a small island off the NE coast of St. Martin, where we picked up a mooring and found ourselves at a small clothing optional beach where day-charters bring boatloads of naked folks to enjoy swimming and snorkeling for the day. Pretty funny. We planned to stay a day or two before heading to the BVI's, but we so enjoyed the beautiful island and having turtles and dolphins swimming around our boat that we lingered a few more days. Then the wind died completely and we lingered a few more days. After 10 days, winds picked up a bit and we pulled back into Marigot Bay and the lagoon--we had good friends to see again.
We're still here in St Martin, anchored in the lagoon right next to our good friend Nils, waiting for fair weather, so we can try to leave again. Hearing Nils' tale of international romance involving several countries, the internet, an Italian actress, story-book villas, and high adventure makes our stay here fun. See "Swedish Meatballs" post for details. (follows this post.) Pictures
We've been in St. Marten for something like 6 weeks. We've passed the official date of our papers, but won't bother to correct them. The French islands are very relaxed about paperwork--a good thing since we arrived without checking out of Antigua; it was too difficult to get to the office in Barbuda.
We ran out of beer in Barbuda, so finally had to sail to St. Marten, where every kind of boat product and service is available at duty-free prices. We had a long list of wants and needs. We hauled Act III for bottom cleaning and repainting. We bought a new gasoline generator, a 2,000 watt Honda, that fully satisfies our power needs--for the moment. Bill made several trips up the mast to repair wiring and replace anchor lights, and to begin troubleshooting the windicator that had stopped working over 6 months ago. It's not essential, but nice to have the wind speed and angle working together electronically with our autopilot so we can automatically steer by wind angle. He brought the unit down to start testing with his various meters, including his beloved multi-meter/oscilloscope that he keeps safely beside him when he sleeps. The Nexus windicator is an unusual make and model, and Bill expected he would have to send the unit to the Canadian manufacturer for rebuilding--the electronics were whacked.
We awoke insanely early on a Saturday morning to sell our old 1,000 watt generator at the monthly boat jumble. It was gone within an hour, but not before I had recognized our very same windicator offered for $12 at the table across from us. Aha! Someone had torn it off th their mast mount, but perhaps the circuit board could be installed in our old mount. After more days of testing and mast climbing and soldering, the new one went into place. It seemed to work, but showed the wind from the opposite side...more mast climbing to turn the circuit board around. Point is, it's easy to spend a lot of time on one island when you're insanely busy. (yeah, right.) Windicator now seems almost perfect: maybe one or two bizarre gremlins still at work in its microprossessing circuits.
We made a long weekend trip to Saba, a Dutch island about 20 miles east of St. Marten, with spectacular scuba diving. Saba is the tip of a mountain coming straight out of the ocean...no harbors or beaches, only some sketchy moorings off the concrete pier on the leeward coast. We left Act III safely in the St. Marten lagoon and took the fast ferry to Saba, because NE swells can make mooring "untenable"--a word we shudder to hear. Sea Saba dive center greeted us and stowed our gear aboard one of their boats, and we taxied to our lodge at the top of the island. The road, entirely built by hand, is a feat of engineering designed by a local who took a correspondence course in civil engineering, after a Dutch engineer came for a look and deemed a road impossible. It winds about 2000' up to the EcoLodge. (One may hike another 1,000' to the summit--the tallest point in the kingdom of the Netherlands.) The lodge consists of 10-12 uniquely painted cabins, separate and hidden from each other, and is largely self-sufficient. They collect rainwater, shower water is solar-heated, and the hottub of rainwater on our small porch took only 20 minutes to heat with an efficient propane heater. The dining room at the reception cabin is lit by candles only, and the owner/chef is a world-class chef. He grows many of the vegetables and all of the herbs they use. He and his friends took five years to build it, primarily because all the cisterns had to be dug with pick and shovel (not possible to get a back-hoe in without destroying the ecology). Each morning we hiked 5 minutes to the main road, took a taxi back down to the waterfront, and were pampered by the divemasters. In thirty minutes we went from 2000 feet above sea level to 100 feet below. The diving was indeed fabulous; we swam with sharks, barracuda and endangered hawksbill turtles. We made 5 dives over the course of 3 days and thoroughly enjoyed our vacation from ACT III. (We know friends, some of you might think that a "vacation" from a lovely boat anchored in paradise is not quite fair. Sorry.)
We finally provisioned and left St. Marten. First we backtracked a bit to Tintamarre, a small island off the NE coast of St. Martin, where we picked up a mooring and found ourselves at a small clothing optional beach where day-charters bring boatloads of naked folks to enjoy swimming and snorkeling for the day. Pretty funny. We planned to stay a day or two before heading to the BVI's, but we so enjoyed the beautiful island and having turtles and dolphins swimming around our boat that we lingered a few more days. Then the wind died completely and we lingered a few more days. After 10 days, winds picked up a bit and we pulled back into Marigot Bay and the lagoon--we had good friends to see again.
We're still here in St Martin, anchored in the lagoon right next to our good friend Nils, waiting for fair weather, so we can try to leave again. Hearing Nils' tale of international romance involving several countries, the internet, an Italian actress, story-book villas, and high adventure makes our stay here fun. See "Swedish Meatballs" post for details. (follows this post.) Pictures
Swedish Meatballs
We first met Nils (s/v Kairos) at the quiet anchorage in Barbuda , and quickly became fast friends. Nils was one of the first Scandinavian base jumpers and a renowned filmer of base jumping, making IMAX films, which meant he had to jump with a heavy camera on his helmet. That ultimately led to shoulder injuries and he had to quit jumping about 10 years ago. He is divorced with 2 grown children, and has been sailing alone for 3 years. We spent many hours visiting and when it came time to leave Barbuda, we bid our farewells and sailed off to different harbors in St. Marten.
A few days later Nils sailed in an anchored beside us in Marigot Bay, and a couple of days after that, Curt (s/v Bellis) sailed in from St. Bart's. He is another solo sailor from Sweden, who Nils first met in the Canary Islands. Curt was a dairy farmer; and has 3 grown children. His first wife and love of his life, died very young, and his second marriage became intolerable. He divorced, was offered a good sum for his farm and he decided to buy a boat and go sailing. He also has been cruising for about 3 years.
The four of us became a team, sharing stories, and projects. We fondly introduce them to our friends as the Swedish Meatballs, but they are far from that description. They are bright, interesting, funny, sensitive people who have made our time here pass quickly. Nils is waiting here for a friend to join him to sail back to the Azores; Curt was waiting for his passport to be mailed here from the American Embassy in Sweden, as he plans to cruise the east coast of the states and needed a visa. We were appalled at the hoops he had to jump through to get a cruising permit for our fair country, including a face-to-face meeting at the embassy. Show up at 8:00 a.m., no sooner, no later. He finally got his meeting 6 hours later.
When we first arrived here last month, Nils began to contact a woman in Italy that a friend from Australia had insisted he should meet. He had tried to connect with her, Cristiana, months ago, but she never responded to his overtures and he had dropped it. But, he said, seeing Bill and me together encouraged him to try again. This time, she answered his phone call, intending to tell him she was-not-interested-in-a-relationship-thank-you-very-much. But something clicked between them and they began a fast and furious long-distance relationship. Nils spent hours with his computer in the local bars talking on Skype, reported to us every day on how wonderful she seemed to be. She was an actress in Germany before building her ecologically-efficient villa in Italy, so we were not surprised when her picture arrived: she's drop dead gorgeous! Next thing we knew, Nils was thinking of flying to Italy, and then he had a ticket. He would leave his boat in St. Martin to fly to Italy for two weeks--he had to know if they were suited. Bill and I felt like parents (with a fifty year old hopelessly romantic son) and loved watching the birth of this romance. We hugged sad good-byes (again), and Curt dinghied Nils to the airport in early April. Bellis and Act III would surely be gone to the British Virgin Islands by the time Nils returned.
We waited nearly a week for good weather to leave, then had no problem spending longer than expected at Tintamarre. We can't swim off the boat in the lagoon where we anchor comfortably in St. Marten, so we spent many hours in the water at Tintamarre. By then, we realized it would be only a few more days before Nils returned from Italy and if we went back to the lagoon, we could hear how the trip went. Were they well-suited after all?
Nils was surprised to see us dinghy up to Kairos, and the huge grin on his face told us all we needed to know. The trip went better than he even imagined, her villa has a nearby marina, she'll meet him in the Azores in 7 weeks, and then .... ahhh the stuff of fairytales.
Curt was also still here when we returned, but left within hours to head through the Bahamas on his way to the States. I have a hunch we'll see him again in the northeast. We'll provision again this week and expect to really arrive in the BVI's' soon. We only have to be in position to head for Bermuda sometime in late May.
A few days later Nils sailed in an anchored beside us in Marigot Bay, and a couple of days after that, Curt (s/v Bellis) sailed in from St. Bart's. He is another solo sailor from Sweden, who Nils first met in the Canary Islands. Curt was a dairy farmer; and has 3 grown children. His first wife and love of his life, died very young, and his second marriage became intolerable. He divorced, was offered a good sum for his farm and he decided to buy a boat and go sailing. He also has been cruising for about 3 years.
The four of us became a team, sharing stories, and projects. We fondly introduce them to our friends as the Swedish Meatballs, but they are far from that description. They are bright, interesting, funny, sensitive people who have made our time here pass quickly. Nils is waiting here for a friend to join him to sail back to the Azores; Curt was waiting for his passport to be mailed here from the American Embassy in Sweden, as he plans to cruise the east coast of the states and needed a visa. We were appalled at the hoops he had to jump through to get a cruising permit for our fair country, including a face-to-face meeting at the embassy. Show up at 8:00 a.m., no sooner, no later. He finally got his meeting 6 hours later.
When we first arrived here last month, Nils began to contact a woman in Italy that a friend from Australia had insisted he should meet. He had tried to connect with her, Cristiana, months ago, but she never responded to his overtures and he had dropped it. But, he said, seeing Bill and me together encouraged him to try again. This time, she answered his phone call, intending to tell him she was-not-interested-in-a-relationship-thank-you-very-much. But something clicked between them and they began a fast and furious long-distance relationship. Nils spent hours with his computer in the local bars talking on Skype, reported to us every day on how wonderful she seemed to be. She was an actress in Germany before building her ecologically-efficient villa in Italy, so we were not surprised when her picture arrived: she's drop dead gorgeous! Next thing we knew, Nils was thinking of flying to Italy, and then he had a ticket. He would leave his boat in St. Martin to fly to Italy for two weeks--he had to know if they were suited. Bill and I felt like parents (with a fifty year old hopelessly romantic son) and loved watching the birth of this romance. We hugged sad good-byes (again), and Curt dinghied Nils to the airport in early April. Bellis and Act III would surely be gone to the British Virgin Islands by the time Nils returned.
We waited nearly a week for good weather to leave, then had no problem spending longer than expected at Tintamarre. We can't swim off the boat in the lagoon where we anchor comfortably in St. Marten, so we spent many hours in the water at Tintamarre. By then, we realized it would be only a few more days before Nils returned from Italy and if we went back to the lagoon, we could hear how the trip went. Were they well-suited after all?
Nils was surprised to see us dinghy up to Kairos, and the huge grin on his face told us all we needed to know. The trip went better than he even imagined, her villa has a nearby marina, she'll meet him in the Azores in 7 weeks, and then .... ahhh the stuff of fairytales.
Curt was also still here when we returned, but left within hours to head through the Bahamas on his way to the States. I have a hunch we'll see him again in the northeast. We'll provision again this week and expect to really arrive in the BVI's' soon. We only have to be in position to head for Bermuda sometime in late May.
Wednesday, March 2, 2011
Still Northing the Leeward Islands
We feel lost in time as we wander from island to island northward. We stay in one place until something prods us to leave, sometimes weather, sometimes officialdom which defines our cruising time. We thought we had a year to stay in Martinique, but it was a trick of the different method of writing dates (month first) and we suddenly had to scurry to check out.
We provisioned well in Fort de France, Martinique (wasabi!), I got a chic, short haircut and, with some difficulty, kept myself out of the millinery boutique crowded with feathers, fancy ribbons and leopard trims (where would I put the hats I fashioned?)
Next stop was Portsmouth Harbor, Dominica, where the local boat boys are organized and professional. We hired a taxi for a day to tour the island, especially impressed with the Caribe village with descendents of the eponymous tribe of Indians who originally settled these islands, killing off indigenous peaceful Arawak Indians as well as proving fierce opposition to the European colonizers. The present day Caribes call themselves Kalinago, partly to avoid their reputation for being canibals. Tthe local manner of baking cassava bread was impressive , using a foot-operated grater to prepare the taro root that has fed tropical natives for millenia. The short, oriental-looking Kalinago baker mixed the grated cassava with coconut and sugar cane, then baked round flat patties on a section of old iron cannon he heated over an open wood fire. it was delicious.
Dominica is unspoiled and spectacularly beautiful with 7 volcanoes and 365 rivers. We were advised to arrive early for the weekly market on Saturday morning. Partying begins on Friday night, the farmers arrive from the countryside about 3:00 a.m. to start setting out their fresh produce on the closed-off streets, and the revelers routinely buy up the best greens before they head home for bed.
It was an easy day-sail north to The Saints, a group of small islands off the south coast and part of Guadeloupe, and we were back into the routine of French baguettes, croissants and a local specialty cake called tourmants d'amour--a 4" cake/tart with guava or passion fruit filling, delivered to our boat at 0700 hrs. daily. We rented motor scooters to tour the island, which we easily could have circled twice even stopping to swim at every beach. It was my first time driving a scooter and I felt like a tough Harley biker babe, until the iguana I stopped to admire by the side of the road reared up and hissed at my tire, only inches from my ankle making me squeek and careen away.
A week passed and we headed to Antigua (An-tee-Gah), breaking up the trip to sleep in Deshaies (Day-hay), on the NW coast of Guadeloupe. As we came into to the anchorage we admired a superyacht clipper-bow ketch about 100 yds off our port bow. It wasn't until we had covered our sails and jumped into the water that Bill noticed the name Islandia on her boom-- my (favorite) (only) Uncle Harvey's boat. She didn't answer our radio hail and we didn't want to bother inflating our dinghy--which Bill is adamant about not towing, but let's not get started on that topic-- so I donned bathing suit, snorkle and fins to swim over. I bobbed and yelled (you can't just knock on the hull of a 130' yacht and expect anyone to hear) until my uncle came out into the cockpit. He's deaf (85 yrs.) and it took several minutes to figure out who this crazy lady in the water was. It was a great surprise for us all and we enjoyed quality time together in a way we've rarely had.
The superyachts in Falmouth Harbor, Antigua left our jaws hanging. You can google Maltese Falcon and Elena to get some idea of our neighbors.
We enjoyed two very touristy things on Antigua: a "Rainforest Canopy Zipline Tour" and snorkeling with stingrays. Although Antigua has no rainforest and it wasn't really canopy, it was lovely woods and we had a grand time riding 9 ziplines back and forth across creeks and rocky stream beds. The tour finished with a ropes challenge course; Bill had no problem and I was pleased my body still has some grace and balance. The toughest part of the tour was having to wear real shoes (sneakers, but still...).
We moved north to Barbuda and are now ending a 2-week stay at Spanish Point on the isolated southern coast, surrounded by reefs, dolphins and wild donkeys. Fast, free Internet is courtesy of the all-inclusive Cocoa Point resort about 4 miles away, where you can relax on the pink sand beach in front of our boat for a mere $1,000 per night per person. We figure we've saved $24,000 during this anchorage, enjoying all the same benefits of snorkeling and swimming, although I had to do the cooking.
We're out of beer so we'll leave tonight for the French side of St. Martin. We have no plan for how long we'll stay--we want to scuba dive at nearby Saba, and pick up some boat parts. We want to get to the British Virgin Islands soon to haul-out for painting Act III's bottom. A few days at anchor and we have a veritable forest growing underneath, home to god-knows-what critters. Even though Bill scraped 80 percent of it off, Act III still provides enough food and shelter for lots of little creatures. We hear them chomping at night.
We think about everyone a lot, and sometimes we wish you were here; but this time of the year, we never wish we were there.
We provisioned well in Fort de France, Martinique (wasabi!), I got a chic, short haircut and, with some difficulty, kept myself out of the millinery boutique crowded with feathers, fancy ribbons and leopard trims (where would I put the hats I fashioned?)
Next stop was Portsmouth Harbor, Dominica, where the local boat boys are organized and professional. We hired a taxi for a day to tour the island, especially impressed with the Caribe village with descendents of the eponymous tribe of Indians who originally settled these islands, killing off indigenous peaceful Arawak Indians as well as proving fierce opposition to the European colonizers. The present day Caribes call themselves Kalinago, partly to avoid their reputation for being canibals. Tthe local manner of baking cassava bread was impressive , using a foot-operated grater to prepare the taro root that has fed tropical natives for millenia. The short, oriental-looking Kalinago baker mixed the grated cassava with coconut and sugar cane, then baked round flat patties on a section of old iron cannon he heated over an open wood fire. it was delicious.
Dominica is unspoiled and spectacularly beautiful with 7 volcanoes and 365 rivers. We were advised to arrive early for the weekly market on Saturday morning. Partying begins on Friday night, the farmers arrive from the countryside about 3:00 a.m. to start setting out their fresh produce on the closed-off streets, and the revelers routinely buy up the best greens before they head home for bed.
It was an easy day-sail north to The Saints, a group of small islands off the south coast and part of Guadeloupe, and we were back into the routine of French baguettes, croissants and a local specialty cake called tourmants d'amour--a 4" cake/tart with guava or passion fruit filling, delivered to our boat at 0700 hrs. daily. We rented motor scooters to tour the island, which we easily could have circled twice even stopping to swim at every beach. It was my first time driving a scooter and I felt like a tough Harley biker babe, until the iguana I stopped to admire by the side of the road reared up and hissed at my tire, only inches from my ankle making me squeek and careen away.
A week passed and we headed to Antigua (An-tee-Gah), breaking up the trip to sleep in Deshaies (Day-hay), on the NW coast of Guadeloupe. As we came into to the anchorage we admired a superyacht clipper-bow ketch about 100 yds off our port bow. It wasn't until we had covered our sails and jumped into the water that Bill noticed the name Islandia on her boom-- my (favorite) (only) Uncle Harvey's boat. She didn't answer our radio hail and we didn't want to bother inflating our dinghy--which Bill is adamant about not towing, but let's not get started on that topic-- so I donned bathing suit, snorkle and fins to swim over. I bobbed and yelled (you can't just knock on the hull of a 130' yacht and expect anyone to hear) until my uncle came out into the cockpit. He's deaf (85 yrs.) and it took several minutes to figure out who this crazy lady in the water was. It was a great surprise for us all and we enjoyed quality time together in a way we've rarely had.
The superyachts in Falmouth Harbor, Antigua left our jaws hanging. You can google Maltese Falcon and Elena to get some idea of our neighbors.
We enjoyed two very touristy things on Antigua: a "Rainforest Canopy Zipline Tour" and snorkeling with stingrays. Although Antigua has no rainforest and it wasn't really canopy, it was lovely woods and we had a grand time riding 9 ziplines back and forth across creeks and rocky stream beds. The tour finished with a ropes challenge course; Bill had no problem and I was pleased my body still has some grace and balance. The toughest part of the tour was having to wear real shoes (sneakers, but still...).
We moved north to Barbuda and are now ending a 2-week stay at Spanish Point on the isolated southern coast, surrounded by reefs, dolphins and wild donkeys. Fast, free Internet is courtesy of the all-inclusive Cocoa Point resort about 4 miles away, where you can relax on the pink sand beach in front of our boat for a mere $1,000 per night per person. We figure we've saved $24,000 during this anchorage, enjoying all the same benefits of snorkeling and swimming, although I had to do the cooking.
We're out of beer so we'll leave tonight for the French side of St. Martin. We have no plan for how long we'll stay--we want to scuba dive at nearby Saba, and pick up some boat parts. We want to get to the British Virgin Islands soon to haul-out for painting Act III's bottom. A few days at anchor and we have a veritable forest growing underneath, home to god-knows-what critters. Even though Bill scraped 80 percent of it off, Act III still provides enough food and shelter for lots of little creatures. We hear them chomping at night.
We think about everyone a lot, and sometimes we wish you were here; but this time of the year, we never wish we were there.
Friday, January 14, 2011
Day To Day
We've written about our more memorable explorations and experiences, but not so much about our routine days at port. Like everyone else, we need to find groceries, do laundry, run errands, exercise, maintain our "home," find entertainment and relax, but while cruising these mundane chores can be a challenge and delight.
We don't rise with the sun like many cruisers. We enjoy sleeping in and relish the frequent early morning showers when rain softly pitters against the plexiglass hatch above our heads, the boat gently rocks and and we snuggle contentedly in our king-size master berth. We don't have a king-size bed at home, nor do we have 2 bathrooms (heads), so Act III is quite luxurious by comparision. (and remember: 2 heads are better than...) At home we started the day with one or more cups of fancy cappucino from our espresso machine, but now we're satisfied with a single cup of French press coffee, and we highly recommend the Friehling stainless-steel French press, which Miles told us about. It's one of the few things that doesn't show a single bit of rust after a year of daily use. Sometimes I make home-made pancakes, but more often we pick at fruit or breads and read for a bit while mustering energy to start the day's projects, which often begin with a swim.
In some islands, St. Vincent most frequently, you might not have to leave the boat to do your shopping. "Boat boys" come to you throughout the day in brightly colored skiffs with outboard engines, proudly named "Alexis the Great", "Dragon Mon" or "God is Truth and Wonder," selling vegetables, fruits, fresh fish or lobster (spiny), t-shirts, breads, or they will deliver anything else you may need, like cases of beer or water. For the most part they are friendly and cooperative, and their prices reflect the personal service, but some "boys" become aggressive and insulting if you don't need/want their services, which bums you out and puts you off the anchorage. This pushiness is also found ashore in the open-air markets, resulting in the officially printed sign in the Bequia marketplace that tells shoppers they have some rights, including "not to be pulled in different directions and having food shoved in their mouths for tasting." St. Vincent officials are aware that hassling of cruisers can keep money away from the island, so has begun educating and training the locals, who are now officially "Beach Front Sevice Providers."
Martinique, a much wealthier island, does not not have that sort of "service" but when we hear a conch shell being blown, we know there's fresh fish in town. To go shopping we first must bail the u sual accumulation of water out of our transportation, pack our own shopping bags, and make sure we have the right currency for the island: euros or EC (East Caribbean Dollars = $.37). We expect to get a little wet on our way to shore, thus we roam around town with damp, salty dinghy-butts--only one of many ways the locals peg us a cruisers (skin color and back packs are others). We lock our dinghy to the docks, which vary from sturdy concrete with ladders to ramshackle floats of old tires with splintering boards balanced across.
Nothing we've seen compares to the grocery stores we have in the States. Bahamas and Dominican Republic were the least well-stocked, while Grenada had a bright, modern IGA that actually stocked fresh milk once a week--we mostly drink UHT box milk. The milk was just down the aisle from the attractively displayed pre-packaged chicken feet--the only product in the poultry section. We've noticed that most islanders have no aversion to bones in their meat, so the wonderful curried roti (a kind of spicy meat and vegetable wrap) will likely have randomly whacked chicken legs with pieces of bone in--not my personal favorite. New foods we've enjoyed include dasheen (taro), callaloo (green and leafy, like spinach), various fish we cannot identify or understand the local names of, plantains, and goat. I did not find the advertised wild, fresh local iguana in Foodland, and I'm not sure how I would have cooked it. Most of the stores sell clear 1 qt. plastic buckets of what I believe is an animal product: large chunks of smooth, shiny, red-pink somethings in a purplish bloody liquid. I don't even want to ask. (Fact is, we've probably already eaten whatever it is in a local stew, but still...) The small local store here in Trois Islet, Martinique--like our ubiquitous convenience stores--carries your basic necessities: fresh baguettes, rum, wine, beer, brie and camembert cheese, soap, candy, pate de foie gras, and clear vacuum-sealed packages of something slippery pink labeled "groins de porc". Looks like just what it says, and I'm not tempted. We eat lots of vegetables and I can often find good local chicken.
It took us about 5 months to find a battery for Bill's watch (yeah, he still wears one, as he needs to time some of his on-board chores, like water-making.) The Spectra water maker Bill installed in North Carolina last year is a great luxury. We never have to ration and nothing beats diving off the boat several times a day for a swim in warm Caribbean water, followed by a fresh water rinse on deck, then air-drying in the hammock rigged on the foredeck--no suits or towels involved. One of our early projects back in the states was to find the correct (non-universal, French) fittings to extend the shower hose in our forward head so it reaches out the portlight to the deck. At the time it was something like 30 degrees during the day, and we could scarcely imagine how fine it might be someday. Ahhhhh. It was worth the many trips to plumbing departments down the east coast.
Sometimes we find a laundry that will fold and dry for a reasonable fee, but normally I do that aboard using a bucket and the sink. Towels and king-size sheets are the only hassle. Dishes are washed mostly with the salt-water foot pump, with a fresh water rinse.
Entertainment is easy, because we don't need much. One can spend hours just watching the water or other boats in the area, and we read prodigiously, finding many unusual books at free cruiser book-swaps located at cruiser hang-outs, and our Kindle allows us to get anything as long as we have computer or telephone signals available. When we have internet access we download favorite podcasts like Car Talk or Wait, Wait Don't Tell Me (our major news source), Fresh Air or RadioLab and listen during supper at sundown. Then we go to bed and...read.
I need to end now so I can post on this trip to town. We don't have internet access from the boat here, and the local shop with "wee-fee" has uncertain hours. Qnd I need extrq ti,e to figure out the French keyboqrd:
We love and miss you all.
We don't rise with the sun like many cruisers. We enjoy sleeping in and relish the frequent early morning showers when rain softly pitters against the plexiglass hatch above our heads, the boat gently rocks and and we snuggle contentedly in our king-size master berth. We don't have a king-size bed at home, nor do we have 2 bathrooms (heads), so Act III is quite luxurious by comparision. (and remember: 2 heads are better than...
In some islands, St. Vincent most frequently, you might not have to leave the boat to do your shopping. "Boat boys" come to you throughout the day in brightly colored skiffs with outboard engines, proudly named "Alexis the Great", "Dragon Mon" or "God is Truth and Wonder," selling vegetables, fruits, fresh fish or lobster (spiny), t-shirts, breads, or they will deliver anything else you may need, like cases of beer or water. For the most part they are friendly and cooperative, and their prices reflect the personal service, but some "boys" become aggressive and insulting if you don't need/want their services, which bums you out and puts you off the anchorage. This pushiness is also found ashore in the open-air markets, resulting in the officially printed sign in the Bequia marketplace that tells shoppers they have some rights, including "not to be pulled in different directions and having food shoved in their mouths for tasting." St. Vincent officials are aware that hassling of cruisers can keep money away from the island, so has begun educating and training the locals, who are now officially "Beach Front Sevice Providers."
Martinique, a much wealthier island, does not not have that sort of "service" but when we hear a conch shell being blown, we know there's fresh fish in town. To go shopping we first must bail the u sual accumulation of water out of our transportation, pack our own shopping bags, and make sure we have the right currency for the island: euros or EC (East Caribbean Dollars = $.37). We expect to get a little wet on our way to shore, thus we roam around town with damp, salty dinghy-butts--only one of many ways the locals peg us a cruisers (skin color and back packs are others). We lock our dinghy to the docks, which vary from sturdy concrete with ladders to ramshackle floats of old tires with splintering boards balanced across.
Nothing we've seen compares to the grocery stores we have in the States. Bahamas and Dominican Republic were the least well-stocked, while Grenada had a bright, modern IGA that actually stocked fresh milk once a week--we mostly drink UHT box milk. The milk was just down the aisle from the attractively displayed pre-packaged chicken feet--the only product in the poultry section. We've noticed that most islanders have no aversion to bones in their meat, so the wonderful curried roti (a kind of spicy meat and vegetable wrap) will likely have randomly whacked chicken legs with pieces of bone in--not my personal favorite. New foods we've enjoyed include dasheen (taro), callaloo (green and leafy, like spinach), various fish we cannot identify or understand the local names of, plantains, and goat. I did not find the advertised wild, fresh local iguana in Foodland, and I'm not sure how I would have cooked it. Most of the stores sell clear 1 qt. plastic buckets of what I believe is an animal product: large chunks of smooth, shiny, red-pink somethings in a purplish bloody liquid. I don't even want to ask. (Fact is, we've probably already eaten whatever it is in a local stew, but still...) The small local store here in Trois Islet, Martinique--like our ubiquitous convenience stores--carries your basic necessities: fresh baguettes, rum, wine, beer, brie and camembert cheese, soap, candy, pate de foie gras, and clear vacuum-sealed packages of something slippery pink labeled "groins de porc". Looks like just what it says, and I'm not tempted. We eat lots of vegetables and I can often find good local chicken.
It took us about 5 months to find a battery for Bill's watch (yeah, he still wears one, as he needs to time some of his on-board chores, like water-making.) The Spectra water maker Bill installed in North Carolina last year is a great luxury. We never have to ration and nothing beats diving off the boat several times a day for a swim in warm Caribbean water, followed by a fresh water rinse on deck, then air-drying in the hammock rigged on the foredeck--no suits or towels involved. One of our early projects back in the states was to find the correct (non-universal, French) fittings to extend the shower hose in our forward head so it reaches out the portlight to the deck. At the time it was something like 30 degrees during the day, and we could scarcely imagine how fine it might be someday. Ahhhhh. It was worth the many trips to plumbing departments down the east coast.
Sometimes we find a laundry that will fold and dry for a reasonable fee, but normally I do that aboard using a bucket and the sink. Towels and king-size sheets are the only hassle. Dishes are washed mostly with the salt-water foot pump, with a fresh water rinse.
Entertainment is easy, because we don't need much. One can spend hours just watching the water or other boats in the area, and we read prodigiously, finding many unusual books at free cruiser book-swaps located at cruiser hang-outs, and our Kindle allows us to get anything as long as we have computer or telephone signals available. When we have internet access we download favorite podcasts like Car Talk or Wait, Wait Don't Tell Me (our major news source), Fresh Air or RadioLab and listen during supper at sundown. Then we go to bed and...read.
I need to end now so I can post on this trip to town. We don't have internet access from the boat here, and the local shop with "wee-fee" has uncertain hours. Qnd I need extrq ti,e to figure out the French keyboqrd:
We love and miss you all.
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