A Sail of Two Idiots

by Renee Petrillo

  We endured 25- to 30-knot winds for about 20 minutes, but the seas never got higher than 3 feet. My gamble paid off. With our sails down and the winds swinging around on our nose occasionally, though, we lost speed and therefore time. Worse, we were nervous about the lightning. It wasn’t even safe to escape to various anchorages because some of the most viscous storms were coming from shore. Oh well, we had experienced similar conditions in the Bahamas, so we knew we could get through it (only more easily because we were smarter now).

  LESSON 72: BECOME A STORM CHASER Or a storm avoider. Use your radar to track storms and then calculate how to avoid them, if possible. Rain is one thing. Storm cells are another. You can never know what’s in a storm cell—high winds, lightning, or even hail. Just getting near a cell can suck the wind out of your sails. Or it may pack no punch at all. It’s better to steer away from them if possible. Having radar makes that easier.

  We decided to keep going, and I continued to avoid the storm cells when I could. Hours later, while I was staring straight ahead looking for garbage, dead cows, and other boats (well, that’s what I was supposed to be doing, but I felt rather comatose), a geyser shot up about 500 feet ahead. I watched it happen again and then went to wake up Michael from a light snooze and get the camera. Sure enough it was a whale! Two of them in fact! Michael spotted a third one a little later. We spent the rest of the day looking for more, so we had no problems staying alert and awake.

  The second night was just like the first (yep, I really want that do-over). The radar became useless because it was just a mass of black (from the storms), which meant we couldn’t see other boats. It was harrowing.

  At about 3 a.m. I heard someone hailing a catamaran. How many other catamarans could have been out there? I listened more closely. “Hailing the catamaran at coordinates X, Y, Z.” Hey! That was sort of where we were. So I answered the disembodied voice in the darkness and was then asked our speed and direction intention. Curious, I told him. Within five minutes a brightly lit boat towing a heavily loaded barge motored out of the gloom, passed just behind our stern, and then just as quickly disappeared into the darkness on the other side. How in the world had they known we were there? Sure, we had a radar reflector (a metal device that would help make us visible to others on their radar) hanging from our mast, but the storms were blacking out our radar display. We couldn’t see squat, not even a boat towing a freighter. Good thing they saw us though. Next time I want their radar!

  The towboat passed before the next storm cell hit—a particularly bad one. The lightning lit it up quite nicely, thank you, so again we rushed to get the sails down. In the midst of our scurrying, the radar reflector fell down from its high perch on the mast and hit Michael on the head. He wasn’t hurt, but he was mad at the offending contraption and told it so. That’s where phrases such as “curses like a sailor” come from. At least it fell onto the boat (you’ll remember last time the barbecue grill went adrift). Of course, no one could pick us up on their radar now …

  This squall was so bad that we put all our electronics in the oven and microwave to protect them from the lightning, a trick we had learned from other boaters in the Bahamas. Even the chartplotter … Hey! I need that! Not really, I had my trusty handheld GPS (previously loaded with the track) at the ready. The storm was psycho. It looked as though it was going north, so I’d slow down to let it get away from us, and then it would come back. It was undulating, keeping us in the middle, as if we were the heart of the storm, for 1½ hours. Ay yiy yiy. So tired …

  The pièce de résistance was when we hit something big (in the dark), with the bow and the propeller. We were afraid it might have been a sleeping whale (they float with their airhole exposed), but later, after looking at the damage, we were fairly sure it was a log. We were motorsailing (the rain was gone, but so were the associated winds), and we now had a bent propeller, which meant 10 hours of shaking and rattling before we could finally drop anchor. At least it didn’t kill the engine completely, or tear off the rudder, or send water gushing into the boat, or …

  Jeez, anything else? Praise be, no. The possible Mona Passage nightmares did not come to pass (we had gone through the passage at about dawn). We lost and gained about half a knot with the changing currents, but nothing else too noticeable. No washing-machine effect, no rogue waves. Finally, a break.

  We were almost there! We had planned on a quick stop at Mona Island for some hiking, but we were too tired to even consider such a thing. Mayaguez, in the middle of the west coast of Puerto Rico, is normally the main check-in place on the island, but the holding was supposedly lousy there. Wanting to be able to sleep soundly, we headed for Boqueron, also on the west end of the island but slightly more to the south. That decision added yet another hour to our trip. Oy.

  Yes! We had arrived! After motoring/sailing from 4 p.m. on Wednesday to 7 a.m. on Friday, we were incredibly happy to be anchoring in clean, nice-smelling, empty Boqueron. Let the celebrations commence!

  We were proud of ourselves, not to mention relieved. What we learned during that trip was that we would never do any journeys longer than the one we had just taken. We had bought a bluewater boat to make sure that if we wanted to do ocean crossings and sail around the world, we could. Now we knew we wouldn’t. Such a trek would be too exhausting. Getting to the Pacific or to Europe would require at least 30 days at sea, and that was not going to happen (shipping the boat would not happen either).

  This was not a depressing thought. If anything, it helped us focus on the task at hand—finding an island to live on in the Caribbean. It was the Caribbean or bust!

  19

  Hola, Puerto Rico! The United States on Island Time

  Considering we had been awake since 6 a.m. on Wednesday, minus tiny catnaps here and there, you’d think we would have gone right to bed upon dropping anchor, but we were just too hyped up. We had just accomplished a 2½-day sail! Can you believe it? We couldn’t either! Plus we were no longer in Pooperon! Breathe in the fresh air. Look at the clean water. I hear angels’ trumpets! Or was that a Jet Ski?

  Instead, we grabbed a cab to Mayaguez and stumbled, bleary-eyed, into customs (after hitting rush-hour traffic on the way). Checking in was free and painless (it would have been even more painless had we previously purchased a customs decal that would have allowed us to check in via telephone). We headed back to the beach where we were anchored, wandered on the beautiful sand, had a nice sundowner, and were passed out by 7 p.m.

  We happily spent the weekend on the beach with lots of Puerto Rican families. Unlike the Bahamians, the locals here used their beaches. It was quite a party atmosphere, but we enjoyed it.

  A few days later while sprawled on the beach, we looked up from our books and noticed that our boat had moved all by its little self. Grumble, grumble. We raced to the dinghy and got back to the boat, only to find that Michael had lost the key to the boat’s door. We wouldn’t normally need to get inside the boat for this exercise, but our anchor windlass breaker had tripped. We needed to get to the breaker … inside. I threw out more anchor chain (easier going out than up) and kept the engines running while Michael dinghied back to the beach to find the key.

  Amazingly, Michael found the little booger in the sand. He zoomed back, we flipped the switch, changed anchors, and dropped it again. We didn’t know what the bottom was; we had been too tired to dive on it the day we arrived. I hadn’t been all that confident in the pull when I had backed down on the anchor either, but was too exhausted to be appropriately concerned about it. The harbor floor turned out to be mud, not something our Bulwagga handled well, so out went our CQR. Hrmph.

  Let’s remind ourselves of the steps: Drop anchor, back down hard after a minute until satisfied, dive on anchor to be sure. These steps had to be completed regardless of hours slept … or not slept.

  LESSON 73: ANCHORING CAN BE A DRAG Anyone who tells you they’ve never dragged is a liar or just didn’t know they dragged. I’m not aware of any anchor that works in all cond
itions, so it’s best to have several. We found that when we had questionable holding and a dive confirmed it, it was safest to put two anchors on one chain. The 44-pound Bulwagga would be our main anchor; we’d put out 30 feet of chain and then attach our 37-pound CQR before paying out the rest of the chain. This combination was a pain but worked well. A heavier anchor will usually resolve the problem too (LESSON 48). Just a suggestion …

  LESSON 74: GET USED TO ANCHOR DIVING You must always dive on your anchor. Don’t deprive yourself of the beautiful sight of your entire anchor, or at least a good portion of it, buried in the sea bottom. Many people don’t. Ignore them. Note: You’ll rarely be in over 30 feet of water when anchoring (you wouldn’t be able to carry enough chain for that kind of scope anyway), so you should be able to see the anchor. It may be too deep to dive down and kick in, if necessary, but if the ground is good, backing down on the anchor should serve this purpose too. If not, move. If holding is bad and there are moorings available, grab one. Then dive on your mooring …

  Do you know how we spent our final day in Boqueron? Watching the thunderstorms pummel the ocean, blissful that we weren’t sailing in them, munching on the potato salad we had made in the Dominican Republic, and listening to music being broadcast from the beach. Did I mention we were soooooo glad we had left Luperon? We even saw boats sailing in the clean harbor. What a concept!

  A Tour of the Southern Coast—First Up, Cabo Rojo

  After a few days recovering in Boqueron, we went to four different anchorages in six days. Why? Because we could!

  All these hops were via engines because we were tucked behind the island, which blocked the prevailing wind. Not that we were complaining. First we sailed south around the western end of Puerto Rico and then motorsailed east along the southern coast to Cabo Rojo, about 1½ hours away. There was an old lighthouse, built in 1881, on the hill above the anchorage. Now automatic, it could be seen for 20 miles. We stopped because it was a serene place to anchor and enjoyed a calm evening.

  La Parguera

  Next up was La Parguera, stopping at Margarita Reef on the way to see what there was to see. It was an impressive reef from above but was mainly hard white coral and seagrass from below. Most of the fish swimming around the reef were flying fish, which we’d already seen plenty of from above. Although it was a little disappointing, we were proud of ourselves for stopping (LESSON 61, Stop and smell the roses).

  Upon arriving we went looking for monkeys and manatees. Yep, you read that right. Monkeys had supposedly escaped from an old research center on nearby Isla Cueva. We hiked around a bit and dinghied up and down several mangrove-lined tributaries, similar to the ones throughout Conception Island, Bahamas. Although we didn’t hear or see any monkeys, we did see a few docile manatees.

  Most of the houses in La Parguera were literally right on the water. Owners would bring their boat into a dock next to their front door as if they were parking their car in the driveway. We stopped there because it was considered a possible hurricane hole. The homes were barely above sea level and seemed as though they’d been there awhile, so this area had to somewhat protected.

  At night we dinghied over to Phosphorescent Bay (La Bahia Fosforescente), which had the same glowing organisms we had become familiar with in the Bahamas and Luperon. The water sparkled anytime something disturbed it. This lagoon was definitely protected, and after later looking at crowded Salinas, we decided that we’d return to the bay east of La Parguera should we be threatened by any nasty weather disturbances. We later learned that all the little fishing boats would do the same thing (and might not be as careful as we would be anchoring and tying ourselves to the mangroves securely), but it’s never perfect. (Note that boaters may no longer be able to tie off to mangroves on Puerto Rico, so do some homework should you expect to use them as hurricane protection.)

  Coffin Island

  Next up, Isla Caja de Muertos, or Coffin Island, a nature preserve about 10 miles to the south of Ponce, so named because supposedly a pirate fell in love with a married woman and was later able to marry her, only to have her die in a battle a year later. He put her in a coffin and brought her to a cave on this island where he could visit her. He and his crew were killed a year later when pirates, seeing the regular treks to the island, thought he had been burying treasure there. The murderers were shocked (and I’m sure pretty disappointed) to discover the decomposing body of the woman instead (who was later buried on St. Thomas). Wow, that’s romantic. The island was also shaped kind of like a coffin …

  Coffin Island was yet another sand spit, but with a beautiful anchorage located near the southwest corner. Supposedly it was a madhouse on weekends, when ferries dropped off hordes of people from the Puerto Rican “mainland,” but while we were there it was just us, the pelicans, and fish. There wasn’t much on the island other than mosquitoes, so we decided to take advantage of the crystal-clear waters to try to clean the boat bottom.

  We spent the entire afternoon in the water, unsuccessfully trying to erase the brown discoloration around the waterline (thank you, Luperon). We got the chunks off (that’s right, chunks. Eew) but couldn’t remove the more embedded brown stuff.

  That meant it was time to enjoy the solitude, the beautiful beach, and the clear, warm water … Heaven. We had planned to go on to Salinas the same day but just couldn’t drag ourselves away.

  Salinas

  One morning we slipped behind some thunderstorms and followed them east over to Salinas, staying as dry as could be. We would use Salinas as our base as we reprovisioned and fixed stuff (such as the bent propeller). We figured we’d be there about a week.

  We compared this harbor to the other “major” ones such as George Town and Luperon. The harbor was crowded, and we did see a turd float by, but the water didn’t smell. The supermarket was about a 2-mile walk, but it had produce and other goodies that we hadn’t seen in a long time. Peanut oil! Liquid smoke! Fake soy meat!

  We rented a car and encountered culture shock. Huge malls, toll roads, traffic cops, and movie theaters. Overload! Overload! We did nothing but shop for three straight days. We hit one of the biggest malls I’d ever been in, with the usual (Sears, J C Penney, Macy’s, Starbucks, Barnes & Noble, and every clothing-store chain I’d ever seen). Surrounding that was a Super Walmart, Home Depot, Wendy’s (we craved French fries), West Marine, and Super K-mart. I was even able to get a new battery for my watch!

  We had to go into all those stores because Michael had lost weight and needed some new shorts. This should not have been a problem, but it was late October and the stores had winter stuff. What? We were on Puerto Rico and couldn’t find shorts because all the stores were selling coats and sweaters. Let’s shake our heads together in disbelief, shall we? Michael eventually found enough to keep him going. I didn’t fair as well. The rest of our purchases were food and spare boat parts.

  You’d think that boat parts would be simple purchases, but noooo. There were lots of stores, but most didn’t seem to be aware of the concept of restocking. We needed eight filters? That’ll be five stores. Need a metric Allen-wrench socket? That’ll be seven stores because all were out of number six.

  We even visited every grocery store we drove past because they each carried something the others didn’t.

  LESSON 75: BECOME A GROCERY STORE CONNOISSEUR You’ll note that we seemed to provision a lot. It wasn’t so much because we needed things but because each store carried something different. Some carried things we’d never seen before, and likely never would again, plus it was fun to see what other people consider “staples.” Go into every grocery store you encounter on your travels. Just remember, if you find something you like, buy lots of it!

  After the end of our fourth day, we’d had enough of the car. We saw more of the turnpike than we would have liked. The thrill of the drive was long gone.

  Let’s not forget about boat repairs (you didn’t, did you?). Our most important project would be the propeller. The question was whether Michael co
uld get it off while he was underwater. The answer turned out be yes (yay!), but not without losing the spacer for it (boo!). So then we had the spacer to order (that would be $55).

  LESSON 76: DON’T HOLD YOUR BREATH Unless you’ve dabbled in free diving, I highly recommend some kind of scuba gear to allow you to stay underwater longer than holding your breath will allow. Even if it’s just those hoses attached to generators that you keep topside, it’s better than holding your breath. And have weight belts. Michael usually got these jobs simply because he had an easier time staying down once he got there. I was like a bloated cow, floating right back up while I was kicking to go down.

  When we went to take the propeller to the guy who would bend it back to pitch, it took four hours to find his shop. Why? Because many streets had the same name (kind of like Main Street in the States) and few streets had signs. After three hours of driving in circles, the store owner finally answered his phone and then told us to go to the corner with a Walgreens and a McDonald’s catty-corner to each other. That seemed a reasonable description until we discovered that there were half a dozen corners in the area with that exact setup. No exaggeration. An hour later we grumpily handed the guy our propeller and hoped for the best.