A Sail of Two Idiots

by Renee Petrillo

  That insanity lasted about 10 minutes, and then the winds died as suddenly as they had started. There was lots of activity as everyone reset themselves, which was a good thing since we still had to endure the second part of the storm. That occurred at midnight. Of course. The second time around was much like the first, except that all the boats stayed where they belonged. A Coast Guard ship had come into the harbor and considerately shined its spotlight around all night to make sure everyone was okay. But that was it. Dean was gone.

  The next morning we immediately untied ourselves from the mangroves so rats couldn’t scurry aboard. We didn’t need that! We also pulled in the second anchor of three (there were two on the main line); the water was too filthy to add one more thing we’d have to clean. Even after just one day, the anchor rode looked disgusting. Once again, I would owe Michael for doing the dirty work.

  We also decided to do some investigating. If there was another hurricane, we thought the risk would not be from the winds but from too many boats in iffy holding. We’d rather get out and be tied off by ourselves. So we dinghied over (with our portable depth sounder) to a nearby, shallower harbor to see what it had to offer (it was still considered Luperon but was empty because of its shallows). The water was sooo much cleaner out there. No smells; we could clean the boat bottom; we could see the ocean. Who needed to wait for another hurricane? We’d move the boat just for a break. We were so sick of being on top of everybody else and wanted a change. Whisper came out too.

  Break Out the Tissues

  Not having to listen to the constant buzzing of dinghies was a plus. We did have a nice few days out there. Right until the part where we were robbed.

  One night we were up on a hill enjoying a bonfire with friends when someone claiming to be with the navy asked us about our boats. His line of questioning made us nervous, and the fact that he kept waving around a gun didn’t help either. There was almost an international incident when he aimed the weapon at a friend’s nervous dog. The man didn’t threaten us, but he did eventually learn that our boat was down below, isolated, and that no one was home. Feeling uneasy and worried about Shaka, who had not been well, we decided to head back to the boat not long after the man left.

  Ah, the ol’ trust your instincts (LESSON 23). Upon arrival, we found puddles of water tinged with rust (most likely from a crowbar) in the cockpit, our little VHF speaker hanging by a wire outside the main door, and the door itself wide open.

  Shaka was still there but had the jitters. The salon and starboard-side cabins, where we spent the most time, had been ransacked. The thieves had known right where to go and found our stash of U.S. dollars even though it had been hidden in a cabinet under some exercise stuff. They also grabbed my jewelry. It was all junk, but it was one-of-a-kind stuff and all I had, so it was disappointing. Sigh.

  LESSON 68: HIDE YOUR BLING Do not keep valuables where you sleep. This is what a thief would expect you to do. You’re not always in bed (I’m guessing). Put them in a food container, the space behind a drawer, or inside frozen food bags. By the way, traveling with lots of money or high-end heirloom jewelry is dumb. We didn’t have either, so this robbery wasn’t catastrophic. You will never have the need for that diamond necklace while on this trip, I’m sure of it. ATMs are plentiful throughout the Caribbean. Don’t keep more cash than you can afford to lose either on board or on your person.

  Where we caught a break was that the intruder had swum to the boat and therefore couldn’t take our electronics. Had someone stolen our laptop and maybe our cameras, we would have been much more upset.

  Well, that certainly gave the anchorage something to buzz about. Many boaters had been jealous that we were enjoying ourselves out there and were gloating about our comeuppance. I didn’t care. I still didn’t want to go back in. We did report the theft to the commandant and even described the pink motif on the goon’s motorcycle, but all he said was that the guy was not a naval officer and told us to move back into the main harbor. Whisper did, but we didn’t want to.

  A couple of days later, the commandant managed to procure a boat, motored out, and asked us to move in with the others. He couldn’t protect us out there. Well, he couldn’t protect us in the main harbor either (dinghy gas cans were being stolen, a chartplotter was damaged, a solar panel was missing), so what was the point? We didn’t want to move back in, and he couldn’t make us, so he shrugged and motored off.

  I changed my mind, though, when I saw someone snorkeling near us. The waters weren’t clear enough for snorkeling—hmmm. I took his picture and let him see that I had taken it and he swam off, but we were back in the main harbor by the end of the day. The two locals who serviced the harbor (and cleaned our props) gave us a thumbs-up. Guess it was the right decision. I was still grumpy about it though.

  LESSON 69: THERE IS SAFETY IN NUMBERS Particularly in a place known for crime. Don’t do what we did. Don’t be stupid (or stubborn).

  Do you have your tissues handy? The worst was yet to come. At the end of August, Shaka, a lively 16 year old, had a urinary infection. We went to a local pharmacy and asked for antibiotics and hoped that would work. After a couple of weeks, it was obvious that Shaka needed something else.

  We had quite the trip to a vet’s office in Puerto Plata and were given medicine to be injected. We later found out from a friend, who was a nurse, that the prescribed amount was an overdose. A really large overdose. That became obvious over time.

  LESSON 70: DID SOMEONE CALL A DOCTOR? No, but an impressive number of nurses are on boats—no wonder there’s a shortage on land! Ask them for guidance, whether for a human or a pet. Many islanders don’t have or understand the concept of pets. To them, if an animal is sick, you kill it or just let it die. Dogs are mangy, flea-covered mongrels useful only to bark and warn of possible danger. Cats catch mice or are worthless. If livestock or horses are suffering, oh well, they’ll eventually die. Islanders don’t understand our devotion to these creatures. Chickens are carried live, upside down, in bundles by the legs; live pigs are strapped to motorcyclist’s backs and are obviously terrified; goats are skinned by the side of the road. Yes, it’s a different philosophy there. The vet we had gone to was used to providing minimal care to livestock; she had no idea what to do for a small cat or dog.

  This is graphic (although not as bad as what actually happened), but I include it because it’s an incredibly important point if you’re going to travel with a pet. If a four-legged boat mate is not in your future and you don’t need the heartbreak, skip this section.

  Over the next few weeks the overdose caused Shaka’s already old kidneys to start shutting down. This, of course, led to the next nightmare. We would have to put Shaka down. We couldn’t find any drugs to do this either. We didn’t want him to suffer and we went online and asked people what to try. Dominican pharmacists told Michael to use rat poison, so you can see what we were up against.

  A diabetic recommended insulin, saying it would put Shaka into a coma. He would have a few convulsions, and that would be it. That may happen in humans, but it didn’t happen with Shaka. Five minutes after I gave him the injection, I got a desperate e-mail from a vet telling me not to do it, but it was too late. What she said would happen sent chills up my spine, but watching it happen was horrifying.

  The whole excruciating process took hours, with me staying with Shaka and Michael still running around town trying to find anything to end this faster. Once I realized how much pain Shaka was in, I decided to ask a boater for his gun. It sounds cruel, but it would have been much more humane than what was happening. I was on the VHF putting in the request when Shaka shuddered for the last time. It was the worst thing I’ve ever been through and something that should never happen to anyone else—ever. Except that it was happening to other people. Their dogs were licking poisonous toads and the toxins were like rattlesnake venom. The dogs suffered horribly.

  LESSON 71: CALLING DR. KEVORKIAN Carry something on board that can put your pet down if it becomes necessary.
You cannot expect a vet to be available or find a vet with the means to do the deed. I think it’s impossible (even illegal) to get a U.S. vet to give you a humane kit you can use to put an animal to sleep, but you can get these humane kits in Europe. It’s worth making the effort.

  We dinghied Shaka’s furry little body to the smaller (cleaner) harbor and hiked into the mangroves before finding a good place to bury him. It took us a long time to recover from all that. Going to the stern of Jacumba, where I had been cradling Shaka, brought back all the awful sounds, the look in his eyes—all of it. Boaters wanted to talk about the robbery and the cat, but we didn’t want to think about it so we didn’t go ashore. We did appreciate Half Moon Becky’s brownies, baked and delivered with love and sympathy.

  The heart of Jacumba was gone. It was difficult returning to the boat and not having Shaka eagerly run out to greet us. To not have to move him from his favorite spot on the freezer so we could get into it. To not have him racing around the boat at 2 a.m. after his morning poop announcing this fact to everyone. He had been one of the reasons we had bought the boat, if you remember. After about two weeks, we started going to some of the social stuff again, but the damage had been done.

  You softies who tuned out can start reading again, but note that Shaka has died.

  Hurricane Season? What Hurricane Season? We’re Leaving

  Talk about needing a pep talk! The thought of quitting had crossed our minds again (without Shaka, we could travel by plane), but despite a rough couple of weeks we wanted to keep going. The robbery and even Shaka’s overdose could have happened on land too. All this was making us stronger and testing our resolve. We were starting to feel like sailors; giving up now felt wrong. Okay, so we wouldn’t quit, but hurricane season or not, we were leaving. We were sick of Luperon.

  We had only a couple of months of hurricane season to go. After doing our research, we felt confident that Puerto Rico’s hurricane holes were sufficiently safe. A hurricane hole is an anchorage that provides a good bottom for anchoring and protection from the wind and from storm surges. We decided that if something evil came our way, we’d run to Las Jobos, Bahia de Boqueron, or Bahia Fosforescente, just east of La Parguera, and hunker down. All were protected enough to be considered “safe” during hurricanes, and they had mangroves, which are held firm by their deep roots, preventing boats from being lifted and dragged when they’re tied up to the plants. Many cruisers had spent summers in Puerto Rico’s southern harbor of Salinas and fared just fine by tucking themselves into their favorite nearby hurricane holes when necessary.

  We did want to leave on a good note, though, so we took part in the things we had come to love about the Dominican Republic before we left.

  The Dominicans asked Michael to play on their team for an away baseball game (a real honor). The team won!

  We celebrated Michael’s forty-second birthday by going to our favorite restaurant, El Belga’s. The food is prepared by a local woman in an outside kitchen with all fresh ingredients. She can seamlessly serve a table of eight a variety of dishes, all at the same time. Mashed potatoes with nutmeg? To die for.

  The big day ended with karaoke. Our first time doing such a thing in front of people. And a last, too; it’s just better that way …

  Another birthday, Half Moon Joe’s, involved salsa lessons, lots of sweat, and sore toes at the Upper Deck. Now that was fun. Feliz cumpleaños, Jose!

  For our final send-off, we rented a car and stayed overnight in the town of Cabarete. We had stopped there on our earlier road trip and liked it. It’s a very happening place, with all the colorful kite/windsurfers and crazy beach bars (including Irish, Spanish, English, and German).

  Now we were ready for the next chapter of our sailing lives.

  The day before we left, we excitingly prepped the boat by filling the fuel tanks and water tanks, replacing belts, changing the oil, servicing the dinghy, returning loaned books, and cleaning the boat bottom (as best we could). Although we’re not big eaters while under sail, we made some food ahead of time, hoping we wouldn’t feel nauseated throughout the journey.

  We tried not to think too much about the fact that this would be the longest nonstop haul yet. Three days to be exact. We would always be within sight of land, so it wouldn’t be as scary as it sounded, but we had never before tested our sailing stamina for this long.

  We were also worried about traversing the Mona Passage (which runs north-south between the west end of the Dominican Republic and the east end of Puerto Rico). In the Bahamas, the problem was a deep ocean trying to squeeze through to a shallow(er) sea. That plus wrong weather equals gargantuan waves. In the Mona Passage, lots of ocean water squeezes through the gap between the islands. Although the water is deep on both sides, there are undulating depths. Combine the varying depths with the island squish factor, and weird currents and waves could make a trip unpleasant if you’re caught there in the wrong conditions. Sigh.

  Although we would take our respective watches on this trip (LESSON 65, The 15-minute rule), neither of us usually slept much in these situations due to noise, nerves, and excitement, so we knew we’d be entering the passage with 36 hours of little to no sleep, and we weren’t sure how we’d fare. Our nerves! I picked a weather window that might involve some storms but would guarantee nearly flat seas, figuring we’d at least avoid the possibility of monster waves. There was only one way to find out if I made the right call; remember that weather/sea–condition sources can be wrong.

  The day we were supposed to leave, we discovered that we had to cough up another $15 for each month we’d been anchored and another $20 to the commandant. I got into a screaming match with the officer. The “match” consisted of me yelling in pidgin Spanish that we had already paid him his “tip” (propina) when we first arrived, and Mr. Commandant smiling at me until I forked over the money, all the while saying, “No dinero, no despachio” (de embarcaciones/exit visa). Burro! So we had to make one more run to the ATM. At least the moto-concho rides were fun.

  On October 2, 2007, we took off under the jealous eyes of other cruisers. We’d take our chances, gracias. Adios amigos! Oh wait, we still had to take our deworming pills. I’m not kidding …

  The second starter battery died and needed to be replaced.

  We had an antifreeze coolant leak, a broken water hose, and an overheated water pump, but the Dominican Republic had people who could work on this kind of stuff and all problems got fixed. Both water pumps were repaired for much less than new ones would have cost.

  We also fixed the freezer fan, the solar panels, and an electrical short in the mast wiring leading to the navigation light.

  A bilge pump broke; when we tried to replace it, we punched holes in our water tank. We fixed that too.

  We replaced a cracked shower bilge pump.

  We bought enamel paint so we could repaint the interior (again). Each can was $15 a gallon as opposed to the $50 a gallon we paid in the Bahamas.

  We replaced the anchor light (bulb only) again.

  We re-covered our dilapidated cockpit table with some pretty blue tile that we found and bordered it with sea glass that we had picked up in the Bahamas.

  18

  Our Longest Sail Ever—Adios, Dominican Republic!

  In planning our trek, we had to make a choice. We could stop at various harbors along the Dominican Republic’s northeastern shore (the same ones we had passed on a motorcycle during our road trip) or simply wave at the coast as we passed and head directly for Puerto Rico. We didn’t want to deal with the bribery and theft issues reported in the other anchorages, particularly Samana, so we decided to sail straight to Puerto Rico, 287 miles away.

  We had a choice of sailing two days and one night or two nights and one day. We would have much preferred only one overnighter, but Van Sant’s “bible” told us we had to worry about daytime trade winds that could gust over 30 knots, causing irregular and unpredictable wave conditions (especially around the capes), as well as confused seas in th
e Mona Passage. Despite knowing that the winds and seas were predicted to be low, we went against our instincts and decided to follow the book’s recommendations like sheep (eschewing two fundamental lessons: Don’t always go by the book [Lesson 63] and Trust your instincts [Lesson 23]). We’d be out there for two nights and one day. Can we get a do-over?

  We raised anchor with some sunlight remaining (around 4:30 p.m.) so we could see (and avoid) scattered crab pots along the way. We were hugging the coast close enough to be bitten by a no-see-um and to smush a mosquito!

  While we were shedding tears about leaving Shaka behind (he should have been in his spot in the kitchen), two dolphins swam up and frolicked in the water around the boat. We greatly appreciated their antics.

  About four hours into our trip, massive thunderstorms developed. We dodged them for about 13 hours, from about 8 p.m. to 9 a.m. The radar came in handy, allowing me to judge direction and distances. At one point we were sandwiched between two storm cells—one on land, the other on water. Worried, I took advantage of our proximity to the coast and checked the weather online. I was unnerved by what I saw. The two blobs weren’t even red; they were white (for most severe), huge, and sprawling—heading for us. Aack! Must go faster! Just a few minutes later they merged behind us and gave us quite a show.

  The rest of the night we were flanked by storms but managed to stay slightly ahead of them. The next morning was more of the same, but at least we could see everything. Maybe that wasn’t a good thing. The storms were coming from every direction. At times I motored Jacumba in a circle trying to figure out whether I could get around the worst of it.

  About 10 a.m. we could see some serious nastiness ahead and realized that we couldn’t dodge this one. The rain was bouncing hail-like off the ocean, and the thunder sounded like pins being knocked down in a bowling alley. We scrambled to drop the sails as quickly as possible. Some squalls pack winds that can blow out a sail (rip or detach it), and with these dark, swirling skies we weren’t taking any chances. What stunk about this particular timing was that we were just passing Cabo Cabron, the second cape on the northwestern edge of the Dominican Republic. Remember how I told you that capes can generate their own winds? Just like that, we were swallowed by the storm and walloped with 31-knot winds (up from 5 knots) and pelting rains (ouch!).