A Sail of Two Idiots

by Renee Petrillo

  LESSON 97: THINK AHEAD You should think ahead about where you might end up selling your boat. Consider this before you flag/document the boat so you can appeal to the most number of buyers when the time comes. There wasn’t anything we could have done about our lack of certification, but at least we would have known up front what we’d be up against later.

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  Is This It?

  We had narrowed down our desired place to live to St. Kitts, Turks and Caicos, and Puerto Rico (since as U.S. citizens we could clean toilets there if we had to). St. Kitts was only a day sail away from St. Martin (although a long one), so we decided to head over there and make sure it was as we remembered it. If we had to get back to St. Martin to show the boat, it wouldn’t be a big deal. So off we went (barely noticing that it was Thanksgiving).

  Upon our arrival, we rented a car, toured around, and immediately confirmed that we still liked the island. There was even a Hash House Harriers chapter on there. Sold! We decided to move on-island for a couple of months. What better way to get a feel for what we hoped would be our new home? Even though this would further drain our dwindling funds, we felt it was worth it. So we googled a local realtor and, when we found a newly constructed condo right on the cliffs overlooking the ocean, went to meet with the realtor to check out the place. While we were waiting in the realtor’s office, we saw a brochure for a huge development just getting its legs on the island. Hmmmm.

  We did like the condo, but it wasn’t ready yet. We investigated every anchorage on the south side of the island to get away from swells, fluky winds, and loud bars. The only suitable place was waaaaay down the sparsely inhabited southeast peninsula in White House Bay. The only negative to this arrangement was that although St. Kitts had a small marina, a haulout facility, and even a boatbuilder, it didn’t cater to liveaboards. There were no marine stores or services. Getting boat parts and making repairs would be difficult, so we were unhappy when one of the alternators broke down. Luckily, auto repair shops can rebuild them, so that was fixed, but anything else would have to wait for a trip back to St. Martin.

  We dinghied into civilization occasionally and discovered that the development we’d read about was hiring, and they were looking specifically for what Michael had to offer—someone to start a tree/plant nursery for the upcoming project. Michael had run his own successful landscaping company for two years and had overseen the grounds of a 100-acre 4-star resort in Arizona for seven years. The fact that he was already on St. Kitts might give the company even more incentive to hire him. He immediately sent a resume.

  We also started putting word out around the island that the boat was for sale. The gossip mill flourishes on-island, so spreading the word was not difficult.

  When we learned that the condo wouldn’t be ready until January, we begged the realtor to find us something to bridge the gap. We wanted to celebrate Christmas on land. The realtor happened to have a two-story villa in a new complex that would let us stay the month. Wahoo!

  Before we settled into our temporary abode, we planned to make a quick run back to St. Martin to stock up on food. The selection was better there and the prices were lower. We were determined to have one heck of a Christmas dinner!

  Just days before Christmas, we decided to make our break for St. Martin. The day before our trip, we were handed the key to our villa and spent one night in a fantastically comfy bed. No doubts about that decision! Okay, on to St. Martin and back—in a hurry!

  We motored all the way there with no wind but the calmest sea ever and spent the night listening to Christmas activities onshore. The following day we hit the stores, along with everyone else doing their last-minute Christmas shopping, and then hauled all our stuff back to the boat. Whew!

  We had planned on hightailing it back from St. Martin, but two potential buyers turned up on the day we were supposed to leave. Despite deteriorating weather conditions, we pushed our sail back a day and scrambled to stow all the food we had bought. Par for the course, the people “loved our boat but …” More buyers who had to sell something else first.

  As expected, conditions sailing back were hairy (much different from the sail over), with Michael getting sick and things being tossed around inside the boat. Winds were on our nose and the waves were sloppy. Although we tried to sail offwind, we hobbyhorsed the whole 40 miles before we could tuck behind St. Kitts for the final 20-mile motorsail.

  LESSON 98: IT’S NOT EASY BEING GREEN If you’re inclined to get seasick, you have a number of options: various drugs made for seasickness, behind-the-ear patches, ginger or ginger beer, eating or not eating, special wristbands, you name it. Try everything. You don’t always get your sea legs—or at least not in all sea conditions. When all else fails, be sure to find the leeward side of the boat before you share your lunch with the fish.

  We were happy to come around the protected side of St. Kitts and get checked in. We anchored the boat so we could see it from our villa, dinghied our stuff to a small nearby rock beach (eight dinghy trips—oy), carried it all up to our place, and prepared to celebrate Christmas on land. Ho! Ho! Ho!

  Onshore

  We quickly adapted to all the appliances, the cushy king-size bed, the four-burner stove, the easy-to-access cabinets, the TV, and being able to walk out the front door and onto solid ground. Even monkeys were playing in the backyard. Jacumba who?

  We even took the barbecue grill off the boat. Here’s an irony for you. We had been paranoid about a possible propane explosion on the boat. We had heard of deaths and met someone maimed by such an event, so we had taken great pains to avoid potential problems, using various leak detectors and safety valves and turning off the tanks after every use. During our first on-land barbecue, the top of the grill burst off, pieces of soy dog coated Michael’s face, and the grill went flying into the bushes. Michael was startled but unhurt. Go figure.

  The villa was within walking distance of town (about 45 hilly minutes), so we were able to wander down there and watch the Carnival festivities. We could also walk to the grocery store (although it was a long trek) and could easily get to The Strip to hang out at the beach bars when we needed an outing. We also lived near one of the hashers, who would pick us up every three weeks and bring us along. Yep, we could get used to this.

  Michael was even going to interviews with the developer (dinghying down the coast to get to them). The officers seemed interested, but this was going to be a looooong process.

  A Visitor!

  Our blissful month in the villa was up, our scrumptious Christmas had been an unqualified success, and it was now time to move into the condo on the ocean. We rented a car, took two trips with all our stuff, and moved in. We even had our first on-island guest, my dad.

  It was a fantastic visit. We divided the island into thirds and ventured out around noon. Taking him around the island reminded us yet again that we loved St. Kitts. And because we still had Jacumba, we took Dad sailing to Nevis for the day.

  We had considered keeping the boat just for these kinds of outings, but we couldn’t do it without living aboard (because of that darned bank loan) and we knew we didn’t want to do that anymore. We knew we’d miss the boat, but we couldn’t do both, and we’d had our minds set on island living for a while. Maintaining the boat was a pain in the butt. It was time to let Jacumba go so she could take someone else on his (or her) seafaring adventure.

  Work, Work, Work

  Jacumba was anchored off South Frigate Bay, only 10 minutes away from our place, so it was easy to check on her, but we didn’t want to leave our dinghy at the dock. This meant that we had to carry our inflatable kayak (about 23 pounds) to and from the beach, inflate/deflate it, and then paddle to/from the boat. We took turns doing this. We did luck out by having a hasher friend with a business on The Strip, and he kept an eye on the boat for us too.

  While we waited to hear from the developer—it had now been four months since Michael’s first contact with them and still no job offer—we tried to remember to ba
lance Jacumba’s maintenance with the fun she still brought. We’d lie on the trampoline some nights or take new friends on sails to Nevis and back. As a matter of fact, we were thrilled to still be boat owners when we got word that some friends were sailing to Barbuda.

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  Maybe, but Let’s Go to Barbuda for a Look-see

  We hadn’t missed many islands during our trip. We had skipped a handful of smaller islands here and there and decided to pass on a few, including St. Croix and Barbados. We had always wanted to see Barbuda, but sailing conditions often seemed to be against us. From St. Kitts we were only about 70 miles away, but the waves always looked 12 feet or higher and on our nose (Barbuda was due east). We were excited when we received the e-mail from our friends Anne and Steve on catamaran Fine Line, last seen off Calivigny Island, Grenada, who were heading over to Barbuda from Antigua and insisted we meet them there. For once the conditions were in our favor, so we didn’t hesitate.

  Time to move some food, clothes, pots and pans, and toiletries back onto the boat and turn on the freezer. Somehow I didn’t remember this being so complicated.

  Our anchor was so set in that it took us a half hour to hoist it. We were a bit rusty but had a nice day motorsailing. Barbuda is barely above sea level, so we didn’t even see the island until we were about 45 minutes away. We arrived at the southwest anchorage near Spanish Well Point just before sunset—again cutting it a little too close—and tucked in behind a reef next to our pals.

  We immediately added Barbuda to our “favorite” list. As advertised, the beaches were pink and as soft as powder. The waters were Caribbean blues and greens. Absolutely beautiful.

  Our anchor light went out and the metal shackle holding up the mainsail halyard snapped (we had just lowered the sail), so Michael got one of the best views of the area when he was yanked up the mast to fix everything.

  We anchored our boats at various places along the west coast for different vantage points and took a tour in an incredibly rough and large lagoon to see the frigate bird sanctuary. We also hiked in the fierce sun, vowed never to drink from another plastic bottle after seeing the entire ocean-side beach littered with them, and just hung out with Anne and Steve (we didn’t know if we’d ever see one another again).

  Anne and Steve decided to stay an extra day. We were tempted to stay, too, but I had a feeling that conditions would turn unpleasant sooner than predicted and wanted to get back. A storm system was coming, but no one knew exactly when, and I didn’t want to get trapped in the unprotected Barbuda anchorages.

  We had one of our longest outright sails ever on the way back to St. Kitts. The winds stayed a perfect 19 to 21 knots, the waves were gently pushing from behind, and we returned in a record 7½ hours. We even saw two whales! The trip was perfect … except for the fire in the engine room …

  The anchor light went out, we replaced the bulb, it lasted one night and then blew again. We didn’t have any more spares …

  Our dinghy sprang a leak around the drain plug, so we were happy to have Steve and Anne play water taxi while we kept gooping the plug with epoxy and trying to get it to cure.

  One of the dinghy davit block shackles fell apart (steel doesn’t do well in salt air), but we had a spare shackle.

  The steering wheel started squeaking, but it was nothing that a little WD-40 couldn’t fix.

  On the day we were supposed to go back to St. Kitts, one of the engines wouldn’t start. Michael quickly traced it to a loose wire to the starter motor and we were off. During our sail, the same wire came loose again and caused an engine fire. Flames and everything. It was tempting to just let the boat burn.

  Air got into the other engine fuel line and had to be hand-pumped out.

  39

  It Was a Bad Sail; It Was a Good Sail

  My instincts were right on (LESSON 23, Trust your instincts). The seas were really ugly the next day, so I’m glad we left Barbuda when we did. Once anchored in rolling White House Bay off St. Kitts, unpacking the boat was not fun. We got seasick and had a hard time dinghying to shore in the high, choppy seas. Off, we wanted off!

  In keeping with the mood, Michael received an e-mail from the developer. Yes, they were still interested, but they would have to advertise the position in the local paper for three weeks. Not only did that extend the wait almost another month (it was now mid-March), but someone else might get the job. Uh-oh.

  We were getting worried but weren’t sure where to channel that concern. We tried to network with people by joining groups cleaning up beaches and hashing/hiking, and we researched jobs on Puerto Rico and Turks and Caicos, just in case.

  Spinnaker R.I.P.

  Our 90-day visas came due again, which meant we had to sail to another country and back, so we decided to head the 80 miles to Marigot, St. Martin. More boat parts, more food, and a visit to the silent boat broker.

  Bring stuff back on boat, turn on freezer …

  Sea and wind conditions were shaping up nicely. It was calm and the winds were behind us. We could have had the perfect sail. Instead, we thought we’d gain a little more speed by putting out our spinnaker. Greed is not good. We should have just left things as they were.

  We had just gotten the spinnaker hoisted when the winds shot to over 30 knots and shifted. The spinnaker went flying around the genny furler and became twisted on the forestay and furler. I tried spinning the boat in one direction to undo it and then the other. That didn’t work. Michael tried to shimmy up the furler and see if he could untangle the spinnaker from there, but he was tossed around by the waves—plus the spinnaker was wound tightly. Both of us were seasick from the waves sideswiping us.

  I decided to take us into the cut between St. Kitts and Statia in hopes we’d find relief from the chaotic seas and wind. Because the spinnaker was wrapped around the furler, we couldn’t put out the genny to gain speed. That meant just the mainsail and our engines going directly into the increasing waves and winds. It took forever!

  Once we were in the cut, the winds finally died down to 5 knots and we got out of the waves. We anchored the boat and I hauled Michael up the mast to see what he could untangle. He got up there and realized he needed a wrench. Back down again. Wrench in hand, up he went. He had gotten the spinnaker halyard undone (one of many tangled ropes) and had just started on the sock (the bag that holds and lets out the spinnaker) when the winds changed to the south and hit us head-on at over 20 knots.

  Michael was straddling both the mast and the genoa furler and had to hang on for dear life. He did what he could, but we realized that we would have to get into a more protected area. So down came Mikey, up came the anchor, and closer to the beach we went. This seemed to work, so we decided to let the boat drift instead of anchoring it, thinking we could unwrap the sail quickly. We immediately started running the spinnaker around and around the furler, passing it off to each other like the ribbons on a mayflower pole.

  The winds shifted again. As we were freeing the sail, it caught more wind and was flapping all over the place while still being wrapped tightly in the middle. Needless to say, it started to tear. We still weren’t in a protected enough spot.

  I moved Jacumba and anchored again (as close to shore as I dared). Michael was on one side of the sail and I was on the other, and we handed sails and lines around, over, below, above—whatever it would take to get the stubborn sail untangled.

  Despite facing into the wind, the spinnaker kept filling, and it took all our strength not to get picked up and thrown off the boat while wrangling with the stupid thing, and not get blinded, knocked unconscious, or beheaded by the flopping ropes. We finally got the sail down but realized that the sock was becoming a permanent feature high up on the furler. So I hauled monkey Michael up again, but while he was aloft, those infernal wind gusts hit again. Son of a … !

  Although the spinnaker was fully unraveled and lying on the trampoline, it was still tied to the stuck sock above and became a parachute. I had to hurriedly let Michael down so we could sho
ve the spinnaker into our anchor locker, where I hoped it would rot (I never wanted to see that thing again).

  Okay, back up. We were both exhausted. The sock was stuck so badly that we decided to just cut it off, except that Michael—aloft again—didn’t have his knife. Back down. Once up again, he finally cut the sock loose. Incredibly, it fell on my head on the way down—OUCH! Michael was lucky that I didn’t let go of the line I was holding. You know, the line that was keeping him up there? What do you think? Radar reflector revenge?

  LESSON 99A: SPINNAKERS! Spinnakers are notoriously fickle; when we thought that conditions were good for setting ours, high winds came out of nowhere. So, be especially conservative when considering hoisting your spinnaker.

  LESSON 99B: THINK BEFORE YOU CLIMB Sometimes you can use one of your halyards as a dumbwaiter and propel tools up and down, but it’s much easier just to have what you need with you from the beginning. Plus in this case, all our lines were otherwise occupied, so Michael—forgetting his Boy Scout training—was inefficient (and that was exhausting).

  The entire ordeal of spinnaker and fouled spinnaker sock took five hours. Boy were we crabby. That meant a change of plan. Hello, Statia! Once checked into Statia, we could have used that stamp to come back to St. Kitts and call it a day, but we now had even more boat things to fix, so we had to go to St. Martin. We overnighted off of Statia and tried to put the tiring day behind us.

  Luckily (for Jacumba), we had a great 50-mile sail to St. Martin the next day, perfectly happy to be using only our usual two sails. What really made our day, though, was running into Jim and Wendy from Merengue (their little 27-foot mono-hull) in the harbor upon our arrival. We hadn’t seen them since we left Grenada seven months before. We toasted Easter with gin and tonics and held a very competitive Mexican Train Dominoes tournament that resulted in me “winning” a loser’s cap—an old drogue (a funnel-shaped parachute that drags behind a boat during a storm to help stabilize the boat and/or act like a brake; it looks just like a dunce cap). Sulk.