A Boiling Lake
March 3, 2021 Dominica, West Indies
The distinct odor of sulphur wafted through the humid tropical air, a pungent reminder of the genesis of the magnificent landscape we were slowly traversing. Our destination was Boiling Lake, purported to be the second largest boiling lake in the world.
We met our guide Octavius, aka Sea Cat, at zero dawn hundred near the sole dinghy dock on the Prince Rupert Bay anchorage, Portsmouth, Dominica. Our pod of fellow hikers included Tim and Diane / Skylark, Arden and Jim / Kalli and John from Lark, a new addition to our bubble. Riding in the back seat of the passenger van on the winding roads south along the coast to Roseau and the trailhead was akin to a roller coaster ride-until the traffic jam entering the city.Then it was simply tedious as we itched to get to the trail. We began driving into the rainforest in the hills above Roseau. The rain began falling in earnest- it promised to be an especially muddy morning.
The trailhead began at Titou Gorge, which also turns out to be the water intake for a small scale hydroelectric project situated down the mountain. Tim and I had discussed the efficiency of hydro in this place of 300” of annual rainfall and steep drops. 100’ of head can provide a huge amount of power to drive a turbine.
Sea Cat had been hiking these trails for 25 years and provided a running narrative about the many trees and plants we trudged by in the sloppy, slick conditions. The dark forest contrasted with the brilliant flower specimens. The shiny water on the leaves reflected the gray sky. The trail had been constructed with numerous log segments set perpendicular across the trail to slow erosion and provide a semblance of steps in the steep sections. They were treacherously slick at times. We started out slowly and after about 45 minutes reached a river crossing, where Sea Cat announced that the easy part was over and the fun was about to begin. Fortunately the rain had ceased, so the jackets came off before we really started to climb and sweat. Up and up, sometimes using a knee to lever up to the next level, grasping at roots and trunks. After several stream crossings and some very steep scrambling we reached a knife-edge ridge that climbed to the high point, 3000’ above sea level. The 360˚ view was spectacular, with the Caribbean Sea to the west and the textures of the rainforest all around below. The Trois Pitons loomed high to the south. To the east fell the Valley of Desolation.
The smell of sulphur was strong here. We could see steam rising from numerous fumaroles in the damaged looking barren land below us. This was the beginning of the thermally active area. The geologic instability of this zone led to numerous and frequent landslides and erosion continuously carved new forms. Sea Cat had not been here for a year due to the Covid crisis and said he was amazed at how different the primordial landscape appeared.
Sea Cat had sprinted ahead into the Valley of Desolation as we worked our way down an active slide area, very glad it wasn’t still pouring with rain. We arrived at Sea Cat’s location amid steaming and bubbling pools of milky colored water. He grabbed his walking stick and pulled from the hot stream a plastic bag containing hard boiled eggs! They were a wonderful mid-morning snack to fuel us on the arduous next mile to Boiling Lake. Before we could march on Sea Cat insisted on giving everyone a facial with the mineral rich warm gray mud. Gamely everyone assented, my heavy beard keeping me from getting the full treatment.
The last mile was tricky, with slippery vertical rock scrambling and a rope-assisted down climb to a stream. Then more up, the steam from the lake now thick and pungent. My glasses fogged and cleared as the wind gusted. At last we burst onto the small ledge above the Boiling Lake. A small waterfall fell from the left into the 3 acre pool of white churning water. When the steam cleared we could plainly see that the lake was boiling furiously, an awe-inspiring display of Mother Nature’s power and diversity. Sea Cat said that a few years previously a landslide had reduced the size of the lake by a third. Who knows how long it will last, but the energy in the earth below the lake will certainly be affecting this area for millennia.
After a lunch of fish and salad provided by our amiable guide we had to press on. The day was wearing on and darkness would fall heavy in the jungle on the lower half of the trail. My legs were feeling heavy after the first mile and half of the return hike when Sea Cat announced that the hot tub was open! To our right down a short, steep cliff was a beautiful pool of warm water fed by thundering falls flowing from the Valley of Desolation. I was never one to shy away from a skinny dip and was followed by Diane, Tim and John for a quick soak and magical waterfall massage. Ahh, bliss! I could have stayed there for an hour!
But the others had hiked ahead and some incredibly steep climbs awaited. Fortunately Sea Cat was waiting on a perch in the Valley of Desolation and he graciously helped shepherd me up the mountain to the summit. One. Step. At. A. Time. We finished off Sea Cat’s supply of delicious homemade passionfruit juice, and were rejuvenated for the last push back to civilization. The sun shone low along the shark tooth ridge, casting beautiful light across the rugged terrain. I was so fortunate to witness this magic of creation with Helen and our new friends. A tiny yellow-breasted bananaquit serenaded our final descent into the darkening rainforest canopy.
Welcome to the jungle.
Dominica, West Indies. They said it was an ”easy” hike, which I suppose it might have been had we started at the beginning. Instead the taxi van delivered us to the foot of the mountain just a few hundred feet above sea level. Kish, the owner/driver/tour guide was reluctant to proceed further owing to the deterioration of the road into a rocky mess. However, as soon as our group of 8 cruisers walked around the bend a solid, unbroken imminently drivable surface reappeared and was maintained the 2-1/2 miles and 1800’ elevation rise right to the actual trailhead. Colihaut Heights is Segment 10 of the Waitakabuli National Trail and runs north 4-1/2 miles from a road near the village of Colihaut on Dominica’s west coast along the shoulders of Morne Diablatin, the island’s tallest peak, to near Syndicate Falls (a side trail and an amazing place to soak weary feet). Originally we had planned to do the 3-1/2 mile Segment 11 (Partial) down the mountain slope from the falls area to near Picard, just south of Portsmouth where our boats were anchored. But research indicated that this segment might be impassable. Hurricane Maria in 2018 created many landslides, treefalls and washouts on Dominica, as well as the severe damage to buildings and roads, and the trail system is understandably fairly low down on their list of priorities. Plus, I had the bright idea that it would be nicer to hit the falls at the end of the hike rather than the beginning. So began our ascent and education about the lush, wet landscape of the central mountains of Dominica.
The Waitakabuli Trail was pieced together from traditional paths, roads and walkways that connected the villages scattered around Dominica. The beginning of segment 10 was quite well groomed, and wide, as if it were perhaps a former cart road. Indeed in one steep area there was a short section of concrete road amidst the mud and dense undergrowth. Numerous large trees had fallen over the trail and some of these had steps carved into them. Others we had to clamber over or wiggle beneath. Giant leaves made for convenient carpeting to allay the mud on these underpasses. It was a strenuous obstacle course and Helen’s and my legs screamed in protest at the long overdue exercise. Amazingly, there were no mosquitoes to worry us, although we did come across a busy looking red ant colony along with numerous termite nests. The famed parrots were extremely elusive and only fleeting glances were granted, although we could hear their occasional squawking in the canopy.
The group managed to stay together and soon we found ourselves on the down side of the hike. Here the trail deteriorated and the bush was very dense, with many rocks and stones hidden in the undergrowth, ankle breakers for sure if one didn’t stay focused. Slowly we made our way down to another concrete road which promised to connect us to the top of the Syndicate Falls trail. A local banana farmer graced us with a gorgeous bunch of bananas and we feasted on these golden goodies, still warm from the sun. We came to the approach to the falls trail after about a mile of road walking and paid a farmer 10EC each for access across his land. At least we supposed it was his land! The trail to the falls crisscrossed the stream and rather than removing my boots I just plowed ahead. The others removed their boots and tiptoed across the slick rocks while I enjoyed a solitary swim before their arrival. The 70’ water fall created lots of spray and quite a wind. The sun had disappeared behind clouds, so it was a decidedly chilly dip. Half of the group declined to get wet, their loss, as the water was very refreshing.
Soon we had to set out again. We had already hiked about 10 miles and it looked like another 10 back to Portsmouth, so we called Kish and in half an hour she showed up in her van to whisk us home- but not before stops at the ice cream store, her mother’s house / street bar, backtrack to get some ice, then swing by her sister’s house, along with her narrative of how the Anglican Church got it’s start with Henry VIII, whew! It was an amazing, exhausting and satisfying day, a hike unlike any we have ever done.
Looking north towards Prince Rupert Bay
Passage to Antigua
The Proposal: Sail to Antigua, West Indies, nonstop 1675 nautical miles on the open ocean in stiff winds ahead of the beam, in a boat I built from scratch in my backyard in a town 500 miles from the nearest saltwater. What could possibly go wrong?
Helacious as seen from SV Django on the first evening.
A bit of history: After the pandemic forced our return to the USA from the Bahamas in June, 2020, we headed up to the Chesapeake for the summer. After some hot weather and lots of jellyfish we put the boat on the hard in Deltaville, Virginia for a few months and drove back home to Memphis to regroup. During discussions about how we could continue cruising in the fall and winter I mentioned that I had read about a rally called Salty Dawgs that went to Antigua and was still planning to make the trip again in November, 2020. So we contacted them, did some research and realized that this was a viable option. The plan was to leave Hampton, Virginia on or around November 2. The rally would provide guidance and support in the form of custom weather forecasts, emergency response, advice on routing, fleet tracking, immigration liaison and webinars on various topics. In addition, once we got to Antigua there would be a ready made social group and activities. For $300.00 this seemed like an ideal way to begin proper ocean passage-making. Having access to the knowledge base of cruisers who had done the passage before turned out to be invaluable.
After weeks of preparation, quarantining and Covid testing the fleet set sail early on November 3. The trade winds had moved very far north to near 35N, so that the normal route of a rhumb line course SE to around 27N 64W, then S to Antigua at 17N wasn’t viable. Instead we needed to make as much easting as soon as possible before turning SSE. The Gulf Stream turns ENE near the mouth of the Chesapeake, providing a current boost of 2-3 knots if played correctly. It was decided to try to use the current to head as far east as possible. Unfortunately the wind began to turn E even this far north and against the GS current resulting in some pretty large waves builing up, forcing us to exit the stream. We fought hard to still work our way east. Winds built to mid 20’s and then higher, into the low 30’s, seas were 2-3 meters just ahead of being beam-on. It was pretty wild ride and conditions new to us. Our course was close-hauled as the winds stayed E and then developed a SSE component, forcing us closer to the wind and slowing our progress. Squalls become a new game at night, with not all of them showing on the radar or suddenly popping up just 2 -3 miles away. We jealously guarded our easting, unwilling to bear off in most cases, and then just enough to keep some speed.
The winds and seas were unchanged for 10 days. We kept the main double reefed, staysail tightly sheeted in with a tweaker and reefed the 105% yankee genoa as needed, often half a dozen times a night. On a technical side note, we kept complaining about the wind forecasts, both our human router and PredictWind, being -10 to15˚ in error from what we were observing. To compound the frustration the human weatherman kept saying in his written synopsis that we should be enjoying a beam reach, when in fact the wind was well ahead of the beam and we were close reaching at 50-55˚ apparent wind angle, not 80 or 90˚! Not until the end of the passage did I figure out that the wind report is given as True degrees, without accounting for local magnetic variation. The variation in the ocean area between Bermuda and the Lesser Antilles is more than 15˚W, an amount that must be added to the True wind amount to align with the observed wind in your particular location. We navigate and sail the boat according to Magnetic directions. In addition, when the wind is ahead of the beam the Apparent Wind (the wind felt by the boat) moves forward, creating an even tighter wind angle. These concepts are common knowledge, and make sense now that I have had the epiphany, but in talking to other sailors, while many acknowledged the similar frustration with the weather router, not all understood my explanation regarding magnetic variation. At least it makes sense to us!
Misery loves company and it was good to have satellite email contact with some of the other boats, especially on the dark watches. We lost visual contact with all of the other 30 or so other boats after 2 days but the Iridium satellite tracking allowed us to keep up with the locations of all of fleet. At least we weren’t the slowest boat! The catamarans were unhappy with the angle and steepness of the beam-on waves, fearing for their bridge deck structural integrity as the waves hit first one hull then the other. The monohulls crashed and banged into the sea as they fought onward. Several boats diverted to Bermuda for repairs, including a split black water tank, eww! Green water flooded over our deck and invaded the anchor locker, which we pumped regularly after discovering several feet of water inside. The watertight bulkhead is indeed watertight! Heeling was not so bad on our boat and we kept the side decks out the water most of the time. Having 12,300 lbs of lead 6 feet down in a completely structural keel makes a difference!
Helacious performed beautifully, showing her sea kindliness and keeping us safe and snug in the cockpit. The granny bars at the mast and midline jacklines made working at the mast to reef the main secure and non-threatening. Slowly we learned what to do and not to do. When 45 knot squalls hit beam on, Helacious bowed slightly and kept right in her groove as we eased the traveller down to spill some wind.
One of the drawbacks to sailing a boat you built are the “0300 doubts”, when in the dark of night the imagination you relied on so heavily to create the ship turns to scary thoughts and what-ifs: did I weld it correctly? Did I tighten the flange bolts on the transmission? Are the turnbuckles tight enough on the standing rigging? Too tight? I feel a special burden of responsibility for literally every nut and bolt onboard. Thankfully these night terrors recede with dawn and have slowly diminished as we hit the 7000nm mark of our voyage on this latest passage. And Helen always reassures me: You have thought of everything, and if you didn’t then you have enough tools and parts onboard and the expertise to fix anything. And she’s right, knowing where every component is, how it’s installed and that you actually have a complete wiring diagram for the 678 wires and that they are labelled on either end-these things set the mind at ease. I am sure that my keel will not fall off. There are watertight collision bulkheads fore and aft. The concept of impeccability I relied on during the construction is the backstop. And the really beautiful icing on the cake? Helacious, heavy as she is at 18 tons, sails really well. She’s not the fastest out of the blocks, nor can she point as high as a J boat. But when she smacks a wave there is a reassuring solidity there, not staggering, but punching. Her stout cutter rig means we can shorten sail and keep the center of effort at the mast by reefing the jib. Being in confident control of the boat in high winds and rough seas like this Salty Dawg Fall Rally passage to Antigua made all the difference to the two of us being able to manage by ourselves for 12 nights. We found slowing down at night kept us rested, reduced the noise and stress, both on our nerves and on the boat.
On the 12th day of our voyage the winds and seas finally calmed down and the skies were beautifully clear. On the 13th day we sighted Barbuda and made landfall several hours later in historic, spectacular English Harbor, Antigua. Tired, but not broken, we managed a celebratory glass of bubbly before some gloriously uninterrupted sack time.
So what went wrong during this passage? Amazingly little! Some water in the anchor locker, a few small hatch leaks, and a chafed staysail sheet cover -10 days on the same tack will do that. And, twenty miles from English Harbour our Iridium Go satellite device gave up the ghost without so much as a warning.
What did we do right, in addition to spending the time, 12,000 hours at last count, to build a boat to the highest standards and methodically gaining ocean sailing experience and confidence on the water? Joining the Salty Dawg Rally was a good move. The knowledge we gained by listening to the captain’s calls, webinars and weather briefings was invaluable. Sailing conservatively was smart, reducing our risk of mechanical breakdown or injury. We were near the back of the fleet, but there were no prizes being given, so arriving unbroken was a major plus. Stories of flooding, ripped sails, boom breaks, stanchions torn off , failed autopilots and more circulated through English Harbour as the crews socialized. Most felt that this passage ranked among the more difficult due to the strength of the trade winds and their higher latitude range. We felt very lucky to have been able to sail to a paradise island -and in one piece!
Waiting for the wind
We sit at anchor in N. Lake Worth as the late January cold fronts swirl about, one after another. Nothing too severe this week, unlike the previous week’s 35 knot winds, but enough to keep the Gulf Stream unsettled. So we wait. Happily, the anchorage is very well protected and the only waves come from speeding sportfishers. There is a grocery store easily accessible by dinghy and our local friends Clayton and Deanna have generously chauffeured us around. in their car. The days speed by remarkably quickly, as I begin numerous new projects like this blog, learning to edit videos on Premiere, work on my book, read, swim a bit (brrrr 71˚). Helacious is in good shape, maintenance items checked off the list. Having time is the most precious commodity and it’s really why we’re out here, keeping this treasure to ourselves, spending it so we can relish every moment rather than getting lost in the haze of the business as usual cycle. Lucky us.
