I figured I’d just flip on the one working engine and turn us until the sail flopped back, except that within a minute that engine stalled too. Uh oh. After some sleuthing, we discovered that one of the sheets had come out from the clutch (which keeps the line secure and allows us to winch the sail in and out) and had found its way into the water and into our prop. Our rigging setup was designed with secure lines in mind, so loose lines weren’t something we normally had to contend with. I had heard of this happening to other boaters, so I was alert to this kind of thing, but I hadn’t noticed the broken clutch.
Jacumba was now flopping all over the place in the cut between the two islands as we contended with high waves, strong winds, and nasty currents. Michael had to jump in the water, try not to get knocked unconscious by the bouncing boat, and get the line dislodged. He did so like a pro and we finished the business of sailing. I was beginning to doubt that Melissa would ever get to experience a decent sail; at least Michael and I had memories to fall back on.
I should mention that Dominica has a bad rap. Many yachties avoid Dominica due to stories about obnoxious “boat boys” harassing everyone for money. We had debated skipping the island, too, but we let more positive stories about how stunning the island was override our hesitancy. Sure enough, before we had even turned into the harbor (Portsmouth), we were greeted by Alexis. He seemed perfectly pleasant, had a great smile, and asked if this was our first time visiting. He also asked if we were anchoring or picking up a mooring. I thought, Well, it doesn’t matter, does it, since I don’t need your help. But what I said was “anchoring.” I had hoped he’d just let us be so we could get settled. Instead he headed into the bay motioning us to follow him.
I was annoyed because I didn’t want to pay for someone “helping” me do something I could do for free, but he led us to a spot closer to the beach than we normally would have gone and made sure we were in a place with good holding. More importantly, we were now in a location with good oversight from the beach (they had implemented security there).
We chatted a bit as he told us what services he offered (groceries, tours, whatever) and then he left us alone to get situated. No hassle, no money even changed hands, just a friendly introduction. This was a good application of LESSON 67 about not being a snob.
It turns out that Dominica had responded to the critics, realized they were losing business, and dealt with it. They licensed the boat boys, making them boat helpers responsible for the tourists. If something happened to the helpers’ “charges,” they’d get fined and lose their license. Not long after we left, there was a crime against a boater and the locals were on it immediately, locating the thief within days. But word has not gotten out and people keep relying on old information, missing out on a great place to visit. Go to Dominica.
Another reason to go is for their easy check-in and checkout. We were given an automatic two weeks, no checkout necessary. It was also cheap, and the island isn’t even French!
Once settled in, we asked Melissa how she felt about sailing so far and was surprised that she was rather unperturbed about the rough conditions (she had better sea legs than we did), but she was sick of the constant drizzle, chilly waters, and lack of beaches. She hadn’t seen one since we left Antigua. Where was the warm, sunny Caribbean she had seen on postcards? Yeah! When Melissa did see the little beach on Dominica and found out that we were back on an English-speaking island, she couldn’t get the kayak pumped up fast enough. Wow—look at her go!
Michael and I were also excited: look, a pretty and protected anchorage! We all ended up partying at Big Papas until 2 a.m. (and listening to the music until it stopped at 3).
A little too early the next day, we met Bogart (Alex’s cohort), who rowed us down the Indian River. The trip wasn’t quite all it’s made out to be in travel logs, but it was pretty and relaxing (no motors allowed) and gave us time to have a good conversation with our widely traveled guide. There was a bar and a few farms at the turnaround point. Bogart knew some of the farm owners, so he walked us around plying us with grapefruits, tangerines, cinnamon, and coconut and introducing us to locals he knew. Melissa was offered a job in the bar there, but she wasn’t quite ready to commit to life in the islands.
After a few days relaxing in Portsmouth, we motored (still on one engine) 20 miles to the southern end of the island, Roseau. Roseau is steep-to (deep) so a mooring is mandatory there. A boat helper motored out and waved us to follow him. The “help” was actually included in the mooring fee (a whole $10), so we accepted the assistance graciously.
Be forewarned—Roseau was not a pretty place to be “parked” and probably still isn’t. But we were safe. Sea Cat (Octavius) maintained the moorings and dock and lived right there to watch the boats. Sea Cat turned out to be a hoot, and we were excited to learn that he could take us on the grueling Boiling Lake hike the next day.
Of course, Melissa wanted no part of that six-hour (8-mile) hike and instead decided to go snorkeling with Sea Cat’s right-hand man, Smokey (our “helper”), and another family.
Boiling Lake and the trail to it are one of the top five things we’ve done in our entire lives. We attribute a lot of our exuberance about the trek to our guide. Sea Cat was a lot of fun and made the steep, hard hike worth it. We had a blast. We played in the clay (good for your skin), boiled eggs in the hot lake streams, hot-tubbed it in the lukewarm pools, and had a great time goofing off while we huffed and puffed our way to the lake. Well, Michael and I huffed and puffed; Sea Cat (no spring chicken) ran ahead like a mountain goat.
The hike took us through changing foliage (from lush to stunted) down a long, stepped hillside (that we later had to come back up) to Desolation Valley, which looked just like it sounds. We were surrounded by a stark, dead landscape crisscrossed by hot and cold multicolored mineral springs. Then it was up, up, up to where we were greeted by beautiful blue-water (glacier colored) pools and waterfalls. They were the perfect temperature for soaking, so we were glad that Sea Cat had told us to bring swimsuits. A little more up and we were looking down into a huge sulfur-spewing, boiling lake. Spectacular.
The lake is about 200 feet across and of varying depths (documented as deep as 195 feet). Temperatures have been recorded between 180 and 197 degrees Fahrenheit, so you do not want to dip your toe into this body of water. Although the lake is shaped like a crater, scientists believe that it’s a crack that allows gases to escape from the molten lava below (similar to the geysers found in Yellowstone National Park). The basin of Boiling Lake collects rainfall from the surrounding hills and two small streams. The water seeps through the bottom to the hot lava below, where it is heated until it boils. This startling geological feature is constantly changing. In the late 1800s a geyser shot mud and water from its center. In 1988 the lake boiled only intermittently. In 2004 the lake went dry for a few months. Who knows what you’ll see when you go, but I’m sure you’ll still be in awe.
We didn’t want this trip to end, so we took a detour on our way back to Titou Gorge, with its high volcanic walls and waterfall surprise at the end. This escapade involved some very cold water, so I was out. Michael and Sea Cat jumped in and disappeared into the canyon. I laughed as Michael and Sea Cat’s whooping and hollering echoed off the walls while the waterfall pounded on their hollow heads. Goofballs.
You should start working out now so by the time you make your way to Dominica, you’ll be ready for Boiling Lake!
Later that day, we mentioned to Sea Cat that we were having engine problems, and the next thing we knew an ancient fisherman whom Sea Cat sent over was on our boat with his head in the engine room telling us we had a bad water pump. He was sure we’d be able to get another one on Martinique. Let’s go to Martinique then!
Same stuff—one engine, leaking windows.
27
Martinique Gets a Quickie
Duplicate our past two cut crossings and you have the likes of our 88-mile sail to Martinique. Getting behind the island was no help because nasty stor
m squalls brought 40-knot winds that knocked into us from all directions. We tacked, jibed, took the sails down, put the sails up, loosened the sails, tried reefing them.
A quick aside on reefing. Our mainsail rigging allowed us to decrease or increase the sail area in three increments. If we wanted only a third of the sail up, we’d raise the sail until we reached a spur, or reef point (a strip of cloth attached to the mainsail and sporting a grommeted hole); attach the spur to a slider on the mast; and then “lock” down the reef line using a lever located at the bottom of the mast. If we wanted to shake that reef out and raise more sail, we’d just unlock the lever, undo the clasp, and hoist the sail up to the next third or two-thirds, or all the way up, before locking the sail in its new place. This process wasn’t difficult under normal conditions, but if we were heaving up and down on waves and/or dealing with gusty winds, reefing could be challenging if not impossible. If we were reducing sail area, we’d have to release the mainsail just enough without overshooting the appropriate clasp, or have to winch the heavy thing back up to where we needed it. If we were releasing (or shaking out) a reef, we’d have to winch the heavy sail up. Doing that over and over again could be exhausting.
We started each crossing with the mainsail at the middle (second) reef and usually just left it there. We spent more time on the genny. To reef our genny, all we had to do was roll it in as much as we felt necessary, or unroll it, depending on conditions. The only issue there was that constantly sailing with a large genny half-rolled will cause wear and tear on portions of the sail, which are not designed for such loads. It’s better to switch to a smaller headsail (a jib or even a storm jib), but under rough conditions this isn’t always possible, and in our case we didn’t have a smaller sail.
LESSON 86: PUT A REEF IN IT! In winter at least, when sailing in the Windward Islands, automatically put a reef in your sail before you head out. The islands have some strange effects, the cuts between islands are usually windy, and it’s much easier to shake out a reef than put one in when winds are gusting over 40 knots and you’re being pelted with rain.
We worked our butts off all the way to Fort de France, about 20 miles down the island on the west side. Just as we were about to turn into the harbor, we were walloped by another squall and had to stop until the whiteout passed. We couldn’t see a thing, although every once in a while we got a glimpse of a drenched fisherman scooping water out of his little boat.
Anchoring conditions in Fort de France wasn’t good either, but we knew we weren’t staying so we didn’t exert great efforts to find a good bottom.
Check-in was a breeze! There wasn’t even a human involved. Just some quick computer keystrokes. The French really know how to do customs/immigration.
The Fort de France harbor was huge and reminded us of a more exposed version of Pointe-a-Pitre (Guadeloupe). Bleh. We really didn’t want to stay there, so we dinghied into a marine store, got our water pump (euro to U.S. dollar conversion—ouch), raised anchor, and motored south about 8 miles to Grande Anse d’Arlet.
We chose that anchorage because we had something really fun to look forward to there. A meeting with our mentors!
Before we left Arizona, we told an acquaintance about our sailing plans. Coincidentally, his brother and sister-in-law, Kevin and Amanda, had left just a few months before to do the same thing. They had sold everything they owned, left their jobs, bought a catamaran, grabbed their kitty, and hit the seas on their new catamaran, Solstice (they had taken lessons though). We e-mailed them to ask how things were going and had been in touch ever since. They had given us a lot of guidance and even more encouragement. As it turned out, they were now coming back up the island chain as we were going down it. We were going to cross paths in a Martinique harbor.
As we pulled into Grande Anse d’Arlet, our pals on Solstice told us to head to the north side, where the holding was better (still dispensing advice!). The next thing we knew we were having dinner with our virtual advisors. Kind of like our Thanksgiving on Tortola. We just loved having things come together like that. It was fun to share experiences, swap stories, and let them know how much their blog had helped us. They gave us a few pointers about places farther south but were impressed with all we had accomplished so far. So were we!
We spent a couple of days together catching up, and then Solstice was on its way north. Two ships passing. We stayed a couple more days, letting Melissa enjoy the big beach there while Michael and I checked out Petite Anses d’Arlet, a quaint town with good veggies just a short walk away.
Then it started raining again. Jeez. We debated renting a car but decided against it. The island was so big that we wouldn’t know where to start, it was expensive (back in the land of the euro), and the weather was terrible.
Despite all the hardships we subjected Melissa to, she decided that she wanted to try crewing for a career. See, she just proved that crazy runs in my family. We heard that big yachts could be found in Marigot, St. Lucia, so that’s where we went next.
Engine fixed. Windows still leaking.
28
Was That St. Lucia?
Don’t blink, because this is a quick one. We sailed across the cut with high … bleh, bleh, bleh, and pulled into beautiful Rodney Bay, 31 miles south. We rested up and then motored farther south down to Marigot—a harbor that looks a lot bigger in pictures than it really is. There was no room inside the harbor for us, so we puttered back out. There wasn’t much room there either, nor was it very protected, but we hadn’t planned on being there long.
As a matter of fact, we were gone the next day, heading back up the island chain. Read that again. We were going back. We learned, based on inquiries to the two megayachts docked in the marina, that the place to be if you wanted to crew was Antigua. If someone wanted to find day or long-term work on a big boat—motor or sail—Antigua or St. Martin were their only real options. It was March, when the yachts take on crew for their upcoming ocean crossings, so it was now or never. Practice makes perfect!
We weren’t there long enough for anything to break.
29
Reverse Course—Back to Antigua!
So we hopped on the express train from St. Lucia back to Antigua so my sister could try to get on her own boat and get paid to live the good life. Let’s just focus on the highlights, shall we?
Dominica
We skipped Martinique completely but lost a lot of time while motoring behind the loooooooong island (32 miles!). We were brain-dead from the constant engine noise (and fumes) when the biggest pod of dolphins we’d ever come across came to play. What fun! They didn’t stay long since we weren’t moving fast enough for them (they like 7 knots or faster), but it refreshed us and psyched us up for the final leg of that day’s journey—the cut between Martinique and Dominica.
In between the two islands, we saw a whale! Dolphins and whales in one day! Two firsts for Melissa and always fun for us.
After putting an impressive 88 miles behind us, we grabbed “our” mooring in Roseau, watched the sunset, and zonked. We woke up to a whale song vibrating through our hulls and then saw its source on our way out of the anchorage. Was it calling us? Had it been waiting? Here we come!
Once again, weather conditions deteriorated, so we took our time motoring up to Rodney Bay, where we were greeted by Alexis and Bogart, our favorite boat helpers/tour guides from our prior visit. They felt like old friends.
It also happened to be Friday night. Jump-up night. Jump-ups involved locals hanging out, eating, drinking, and dancing to loud music in the streets. We felt safe with Bogart so we thought it was something we should experience. He took us on a tour of his neighborhood, brought us somewhere we could get some grub, and then we people-watched. Let’s just say it was interesting.
By 1 a.m. we had all somehow managed to get separated. When I ran into Bogart, he looked worried, which made me worried. Michael wasn’t too far off, but it took a while to find my sister. We finally found her in a dense crowd of drunk revelers, many of th
em getting a little braver about touching the small, pretty, out-of-place white girl in their midst (she’s not even 5 feet tall and looked about 12 years old). The relief on Melissa’s face said it all. Bogart was reassured to have all three of us under his charge again. He was also happy to escort us back to our dinghy.
Somehow, listening to music emit from Big Papas until 5 a.m. wasn’t as much fun as when we had been part of the festivities. Oy.
We got a visit from the Dominican Coast Guard the next day. We were lucky. The papers from our last trip had just expired and we had debated checking in again. We had planned on being there only a day so who would know? Well, because of the weather, we were there for three days, and Alexis had worriedly nagged us to get legal. Glad we listened to him!
We were boarded while Michael was in the middle of cooking. When they asked to see the captain (per the paperwork), I told them he was cooking and they started calling him Captain Cook. Hee hee. They were friendly and were on and off in a jiffy.
They weren’t the only ones to board us that day. While we were doing chores, a few local kids were swimming around and decided to climb up our swim ladder and rest. No problem. Maybe we’d get them a bucket and make them swab the decks. They were inquisitive, asking about the wind generator, the solar panels, and other unfamiliar gizmos. Hot now, they dove off the bow and swam to shore. Well, that was kind of fun.
Except that they came back with 15 of their closest friends and started playing soccer on our trampoline. Some of them who were sitting topside with their legs dangling through the hatches and into our bunks asked us if we had water. Well, as a matter of fact, we were running out of water and they were intruding on our home, so it was time to get the heck off! Jeez, talk about overextending their welcome. They were harmless, and we were kind of flattered that they felt comfortable enough with us to want to bond a bit. We were also glad when they left (typical guests).
A Sail of Two Idiots Page 25