British Virgin Islands

British Virgin Islands
24 May 2008

“It is time to have some fun” says Kuno as he lugs out a huge blue canvass bag into the cockpit. Where he had it hidden in the boat beats me. But here it is, the gennaker. I have never sailed with one before, only admired their shapes and colors on other boats. Although not symmetrical as spinnakers and used somewhat differently, gennakers too are made from a lightweight fabric to be used in light following winds. They are also prone to trouble. The thought enters my mind that it was a messed up spinnaker that caused a huge upset in the last America Cup, but let’s face it, we are definitely not racing here! Although it is somewhat disconcerting that Kuno is getting his pocket knife handy as part of the preparations. As he starts opening the bag, Tatiana exclaims: “Look, a spare toilet seat!” Now why would we have a spare toilet seat packed away with the gennaker I wonder… to which Kuno not so quietly replies that it is for when you are ready to s... your pants while you are pulling the gennaker up. Ok, I feel much better now. After a good laugh, Kuno explains to us that the toilet seat looking thing is the end of the sock that slides up the sail when it is being pulled up and opened and down when it is time to pack it up. Then he goes over the drill of who attaches what line where and off we go. The gennaker opens itself in the wind like a balloon (without a hitch I might add) and the boat picks up speed, rushing down the waves with the wind. With the gennaker, Blue Moon is surely the most beautiful boat on the water. As we get closer to Jost Van Dyke, the wind starts to shift and it is time to take the gennaker down. Once again we go over the drill and Kuno puts the boat on autopilot so that he can go on the bow and I can get the clew line ready. As the wind shifts once again, the gennaker starts flapping wildly, starting to wrap itself around the stays. I rush to the steering wheel to correct the course, but it takes me a while to take it of autopilot and get the boat to do the right thing. In the meantime, Kuno is lying flat on the deck being attacked by the gennaker yelling at me “The other way, the other way!”. Being the good mate that I am, listening to captain’s orders, I start turning the boat the other way (after all, I was being told many times that I am not to question the captain’s orders!) making things worse. My brain kicks in and I return the boat to the proper course, freeing Kuno from underneath the flapping sail. The rest of the maneuver goes well, while Tatiana pitches in to roll the sail back into the bag. It reminds me a little bit of the scene in Harry Potter of Oliver Wood locking up the quiditch bludger in the suitcase.

And so we eventually arrive on the island of Jost Van Dyke in time to watch Foxy’s Wooden Boat regatta. Foxy is a bit of a legend in the British Virgin Islands, having done much to promote the islands, its people and culture, and of course the art of building wooden boats. No cruiser leaves the island without making a stop at Foxy’s bar, for a drink and a bit of live music. We too pay homage to Foxy with a good Painkiller.

But I am skipping ahead… Our overnight passage from St. Martin to the BVIs was uneventful, other than being a new experience for me in that it was my first full overnight passage. We left at seven in the evening, just as it was getting dark, with mild winds and calm seas. The change from daylight to darkness is very fast here and it takes only two or so minutes for the orange ball to dip behind the horizon. The night was bright with the moon and stars. Tatiana and Kuno held a talk about the concepts of “being present” and the futility of “ego” as we were passing Anguilla. It seemed to be the perfect topic as we were bobbing in our little boat in the middle of the ocean. While Kuno and I swapped between steering and sleeping, Tatiana happily fell asleep for the whole night on the bench in the cockpit. I am envious of her young body that can put up with discomforts without noticing. After a while, I too curled up in front of the steering wheel. Our watch was set to beep in 10 minute intervals, to check the course, look for other boats or anything else that might be in our way and adjust the sails. In between I was mesmerized by the water and the sky, suspended in half sleep, the never ending motion of the waves bringing up all sorts of surreal thoughts. The sun rose just as the silhouette of Virgin Gorda appeared on the horizon. As we neared the islands, the wind started picking up and we saw large waves crashing over the boulders of the famous Baths. We chose to go into a nearby marina instead of anchoring. The idea of a hot, plentiful shower on land was too tempting.

The Baths are an amazing phenomenon. Large granite boulders strewn about in a haphazard way on the edge of the water, creating caves and passages above clear pools of water that rushes in through the invisible openings between the rocks with every incoming wave. It looks like a giant’s play, but in real life, it was created in a volcanic explosion that spewed all sorts of materials, including the granite boulders, in a path toward the ocean. Over time, the softer materials were eroded and only the granite boulders left, heaped on top of each other. We explore and play at the end of the day in the rich colors of the setting sun. All the tourists are gone now and we have the place to ourselves. Tatiana leads the way, finding the most impossible passages for us to crawl through, laughing at us struggling to fit in from the other end.

We spend a few days in a place called Bitter End in the North Sound. The Sound is fringed by several islands, including Richard Branson’s private Necker Island. I suppose that is where the name for Virgin Airlines comes from. We tie up in front of the Bitter End Resort and Yacht Club. It has all sorts of amenities, but most importantly it has a swimming pool. One would think that with the largest swimming pool around us, the ocean, Tatiana would be content… alas, fresh water is still preferred. One night we join a beach party with live reggae music where Tatiana wins a limbo contest. Unfortunately the prize is a bottle of rum and they don’t deem it appropriate for a ten year old. Shame really, there never is enough rum on a boat. In fact, the British Navy had a long standing tradition from the seventeenth century of distributing daily rations of rum that was only abolished in the 1970’s! The name of the famous Pusser’s Rum is in fact a corruption of the word “purser”. A purser is in charge of the stores on a ship. Yo ho ho.

It is rather amazing how easily one can slip into doing nothing and our days unfold alarmingly fast despite the fact that not much happens. We read a lot, swim, eat and do crafts. Occasionally Tatiana does a bit of schoolwork. Opportunely, we are right now practicing angles and degrees on a compass rose. And we play a lot with stuffies. Here they are having a line climbing contest. You might also notice that our stuffies have little knitted scarves around their necks, some even have a sweater. Amazing what one does when there is a lot of time on hand! Arrrr mateys.

St. Barthelemy

13 May 2008

Our stern is getting awfully close to the neighboring boat and Kuno still does not have the bow tied to the buoy. It is time to start relying on raw power instead of skill and I reluctantly push the lever far forward and reverse again to gain some control of the boat in the narrow channel strewn with other boats and buoys. In an opportune moment, just as Kuno cleats the bow, I run to the back and finish tying us to the stern buoy. Sweat is running down my back as I exhale in relief. We are secured now, back in Port of Gustavia on the island of St. Barts and this is a repeat rendition from our November visit of tying up between two moorings in the harbour that must pride itself on getting as many boats in as possible. It of course assumes completely competent crew, which I am not. Last November, while attempting to tie up, we dropped our hastily extended 40 foot line in the water with the engine running, after we realized that it wasn’t long enough. It wasn’t pretty. So when it was time to chose between handling the lines or the boat this time, I went for the boat. But this time, luckily, we are assigned by the harbour master a spot with moorings closer together, more appropriate for our boat size. And so we are settled in now without a scratch to us or anyone else and the wonderful world of fancy St. Barts awaits us.

St. Barts has an interesting history. It was fought over by the British, French and Spanish, despite the fact that it doesn’t have enough water and was not suitable for agriculture. It, however, has a strategic position at the entrance to the Caribbean. It is said that many pirates used to come here to spend their loot. Well, even today one could spend a fortune here, prices of anything on this island almost require one. In the mid 18th century the French exchanged St. Barts for a port in Europe with the Swedes and for about 100 years, the island ended up being a Swedish free port before being resold back to France. Today, it is part of France and it is a spectacular hangout for the rich and famous. I haven’t been to France, but Kuno says St. Barts is “frencher” than France. I think he secretly really likes the French women here – all skinny, tall and very chic. If I was to pick an island in the Caribbean to live on, it would be St. Barts (except that I would have to finally learn French). Not only does St. Barts have beautiful landscape with both peaceful and wild beaches, underwater natural reserves, hilly green countryside with super narrow roads, that reason would tell us are too steep to drive, and driveways that rival West Vancouver (minus the snow problem), it also seems to have a well developed community with arts and active social life. We are struck by how many young families are living in St. Barts – there are strollers and small kids everywhere, prompting Tatiana to comment that there must be a convention on “How to become great parents” going on (with a cheeky hint in her voice that we must have missed that course ourselves). Gustavia must be the most picturesque harbour in the Caribbean. The town perfectly encloses the harbour on three sides with boardwalks lined by restaurants, bars and stores. Boats are tied stern or bow to all along the edges, as well as in the middle of the harbour. It has a very European feel. The protected feeling of the harbour is deceiving though and Gustavia has a constant swell going through it and the boats are moving continuously back and forth stretching the lines to the max. I must be getting used to it, as the motion, in small doses is comforting (unlike the disco that starts right across from our boat around midnight and keeps us awake into the early hours one night). The stores are full of beautiful stuff, be it food or clothes, very different from what we would find in North American stores. And food in the restaurants does full justice to the French reputation. I am surprised we are not yet spilling out of our clothes, but Kuno insists that the climbing around the boat keeps us in shape. Well, that is his story. I am just happy there is no scale on the boat!

We end up staying for five days, just loafing around. In the mornings we go for breakfast to the local bakery, enjoying an espresso with freshly baked baguette and croissants, watching the comings and goings of the locals. And in the afternoon we sit at our favourite bar La Route des Boucaniers at the edge of the harbour, eating ice cream and playing cards. It is wonderful to have the luxury of “doing nothing”. A cross Atlantic sailing race Transat ag2r from France is scheduled to arrive in Gustavia, but as the wind does not cooperate, the arrival is being delayed every day. Despite the delay, the festivities go on, with all sorts of exhibits and live music. Technology is amazing and we watch the strategy and progress of the boats on a giant screen (as well as internet) as it unfolds.

One day we rent a car, well, more like a remnant of a car – I don’t think I have ever had a ride in such a beater, and drive around the island to the few places that we have not visited in November. It is a relief that the brakes seem to work, unlike the roof that almost flies off when we try to open it and the lock to the trunk that leaves the car attached to the key as Kuno tries to pull the key out after locking our possessions inside. We discover a beautiful wild beach, Anse de Grand Fond, and spend the afternoon playing in the shade of the overhanging cliffs, building sandcastles (this time the competition is who can build the fanciest Caribbean villa) and watching two young guys getting beat up in the surf as they ride and jump the waves.

Mothers Day made it to St. Barts! Ladies, this may sound as sacrilege, but getting a 12V vacuum cleaner for Mother’s day is in fact a wonderful gift. That is, if you are living on a boat with no access to shore power. Which I am! And so, after a wonderful breakfast spread and a very yummy rum cake from Tatiana, I happily vacuum the whole boat (as Kuno painfully watches the battery being run down), limited only by the length of the cord. Alas, a new job is on the horizon for Kuno – we need an additional 12V outlet in the aft cabin so that I can vacuum there too. As a treat for Mother’s Day, I walk around town checking out the boutiques, feeling completely inadequate both financially and physically. That sounds like an oxymoron, but I have fun anyway. To improve my looks, I buy myself a hat – Kuno says I now look very French!

We sadly say goodbye to Gustavia and leave for a brief stop in St. Martin before we will set out for an overnight sail to the Virgin Islands. Just as we are leaving the harbour, two giant turtles swim by, poking their heads out of the water as if to wish us fair winds.

Barbuda, the forgotten island

8 May 2008

The darkness is disorienting as I am trying to keep to a course Kuno carefully set out in the evening before our departure. Just a sliver of a new moon is dangling in the distance, inviting Tatiana to hop on, as if into a hammock, to dream, cuddling her favourite bunny. Even the stars have lost their sparkle from earlier in the evening. Now it is very dark. Before I find my bearings, I make the boat turn twice in a circle, prompting Kuno to jump up in a moment of concern. Reefs are on both sides and in the blackness of the night there is nothing to guide us other than the carefully planned course on chart and the GPS. We are leaving Barbuda, returning to civilization of the French island of St. Barths, and this is my first nighttime sail. Once we get through the reefs, moving through the nothingness, being gently picked up and dropped down by the waves coming from behind becomes very soothing.

I call Barbuda the forgotten island. Forgotten by tourists that is. It is as laid back as I have ever encountered. It doesn’t have the hotels, bars and other tourist attractions that other islands offer, just miles and miles of deserted beaches. It also doesn’t have a very good anchorage and our nights are rolly in the northerly swell. It is a good thing we have a foam mattress top that makes us “stick” to the bed. Even then though, after several nights of it, I am looking forward to a night in a calmer place.

Talking to people in Barbuda and reading up on it in our various guides, I can’t help but wonder what the island’s future will bring. There is no infrastructure, nor potential for solid economy other than one based on tourism. Barbuda is an exception in the region and has elected to not go the tourism route. Ownership of land is non-existent. All properties are leases and any development is discouraged (sometimes in a somewhat militant way). The only source of income is export of sand. The sand in Barbuda is beautiful, tinged with pink of the broken shells and corals. But exporting sand?? Barbuda is apparently supplying all of the Caribbean with sand for building and beaches. We witnessed large barges leaving the island as we were sailing to Barbuda. One has to wonder what it will eventually do to the island. There is no way that this amount of sand can be replaced naturally. Some old-timers have mentioned that they notice the shrinking beaches. The only other source of employment on the island is the government itself. In a typical Caribbean fashion, countless government offices dot the only town, Codrington, and are literally stuffed with staff that have nothing to do. Efficiency is not important here and when we want to check out from the island, we have to walk in the lunch time heat all around town to three different offices. Lengthy forms, manual copying, stamps and signatures are the order of the day, yet I saw a Blackberry on one of the desks and people are busy talking on cellphones in the most unexpected places and situations. The government jobs must pay reasonably well, as we see some very nice cars and generally people seem to live well for a Caribbean standard. Yet all of this is financed by the sand… Recently, exporting lobster has become a growing industry, but we all know how lasting that can be.

But for now, the forgotten island is a string of nearly perfect beaches, ringed by several reefs and mostly known for one of the largest frigate bird colonies. 19 thousand pairs of frigates come here from October to May to mate and raise their one off-spring each. The males take care of the babies for the first few weeks, but after a while, they leave for another colony in Yucatan (party time?) until it is time to mate again. Then the good old moms take over. The chicks are not ready to fly and be independent until they are at least 8 months old and as a result frigates have babies only every second year. They live to be 40 years. The frigates are magnificent fliers with wings spanning up to 8 feet. They fish by scooping fish from the surface. If they are unfortunate enough to fall into the water, they cannot fly off by themselves and if unaided by other birds lifting them from the water, they will die.

We got to visit the colony within the mangroves of a lagoon in the northern part of Barbuda with one of the local guides. Amazingly, we ended up within arm’s reach of the chicks, with their mothers sitting right next to them calmly watching. Frigates don’t have any predators and are unafraid of people. This little guy in the picture is about 3 months old, patiently waiting for some food.

One day, while Kuno snorkeled the reef, Tatiana and I were playing in the water close to the beach, when we saw a most intriguing sight. A see-through, purple and pink inflated object, merrily floating on the water, propelled by wind. It looked like a kids toy and my first reaction was to go pick it up. As I got close I could see that this was no toy, as the “body” of the object was rhythmically inflating and constricting. A quick look with goggles under the water revealed long dark blue curled tentacles on one side of the body. Beautiful in a very creepy and unreal way, I have never seen such a creature before. Tentacles are usually bad news, so needless to say, we didn’t feel like going snorkeling after that and Tatiana is still reluctant to get in the water now, few days later. A bit of research uncovered that it was a venomous Portugese Man-o-War (this picture is from Wikipedia), often mistaken for a jellyfish. Its stinging tentacles can be more than 30 feet long (I know I was closer then that observing it… lucky). A sting to humans can cause extreme pain at best, death at worst. Yikes! How can something so beautiful be so deadly?

So instead of snorkeling, we searched for coconuts and after some serious coconut throwing against a stump, Tatiana succeeded in cracking one open, giving us a taste of coconut water (I have to say, that has to be an acquired taste) and delicious coconut “meat”. Later on we tried to lure a giant turtle that lived in our anchorage and faithfully broke the surface every 15 minutes or so, closer to the boat with bits of the coconut, but it didn’t work. Neither did bread or cucumber.

Barbuda is flat as a pancake and when sailing up to it, not visible until the last 5 miles on a clear day. But it has what is called the “Highlands”, all of 125 ft high. Our family, being of a mountain goat kind, had to scale these peaks and so we set off to the other side of the island. We climbed through a cave from the beach to the top of the Highlands for a beautiful view of the rugged side of the island, with nothing but the expanse of the Atlantic ahead of us until Africa. Beautiful, but not inviting.

On our way back we stopped at the only internet place in Codrington to check the weather and wind forecast. It was closed, but somebody mentioned that we should ask in the grocery store. To our amazement, the grocery store person just left with us to go to the internet place. After she opened up and started two computers, she gave us the key and asked us to lock up and bring the key back to the grocery store when done. It doesn’t get much more laid back than that.

People are very nice here although carrying a conversation is a bit tricky. To every question that we have, we get only the most minimalistic answer possible, without really getting the real story. It goes something like this:
Us to a man in a store: “Do you know how we can organize a tour to the frigate colony?”
He: “The guide was just here a moment ago.”
Us, waiting in vain for more information: “How can we contact him?”
He: “He was just here.”
Us: “Do you know where we can find a guide, any guide?”
He: “He is the main guide.”
Us: “He is the main guide, ok. Where does he live?”
He: “On the other side of the lagoon, he is the main guide.”
Us looking pointedly at his cellphone: “Is there a way to contact him?” (note that everybody knows everybody on this island)
He: “Yeah, he lives on the other side of the lagoon.” (note the lagoon is several miles long)
Us leaving… tour to be arranged differently. By now I am laid back as well. Survival instinct.