Passage to the Azores
Our weather routers urged us to get moving out of the USVI, otherwise the high pressure to the east would continue to build and we would have little to no wind for the foreseeable future. On the morning of April 29, already prepped and ready, we pulled up the anchor in Brewers Bay, made a pit stop for some fuel and set off on an 18-20 day, 2500 mile adventure to the archipelago dos Azores, 800 miles west of Portugal.
The seas north of St. Thomas were confused and choppy and the wind brisk as we pointed the bow north. Winds around 20 kept us moving smartly, but the boat motion was irregular and we needed to regain our sea legs. By the third day the wind was dying. We sailed briefly with the Code Zero, but at 1400 the breeze failed and the engine came on. Drifting was not really an option as the high we had entered was predicting to expand northward, so we needed to escape the doldrums. Historically this area is referred to as the Horse Latitudes and the Sargasso Sea. The sailing ships of old had no engine and sometimes were becalmed in this area for so long that the water supply ran low. Horribly, the horses carried onboard were sometimes sacrificed overboard to conserve drinking water for the crew. Floating yellowish sargassum weed abounds here as well with apocryphal tales of ships being entrapped by vast mats of the stuff. We found plenty of sargassum, but never enough to slow us down. It did tend to foul the prop, so before engaging forward gear we learned to reverse briefly to spin it off.
For 4 days we motored. Swell came and went. Our speed rose and fell as Helacious encountered random currents. The sea became glassy smooth. The high pressure center produced the most intense blue sky dotted with petite fluffy white clouds.The rays of the sun refracted from deep within the water, striking a thermocline of cold water 120’ down. We theorized this because our depth sounder kept showing 120-150’, even though we knew the water was thousands of feet deep. Or perhaps that was a huge fish? We stopped briefly for a swim, engine off, just drifting slowly with a half knot current. One at a time we jumped into the azure pool. I found a length of rope wrapped around the prop shaft. Six feet under the boat the water shimmered eerily in the strong sunlight. Here be dragons! We got out rather quickly, pleased with our bravery and giggling nervously, refreshed and renewed by our mid Atlantic baptism.
At 1020 on day 7, the wind gently filled enough to sail with the Code Zero. Oh silence, blessed relief! We are pleased to have the engine when it is needed but shutting it down is always welcome. Somewhere in that 92 hours of motoring I discovered the second alternator which feeds the house bank had stopped charging due to a broken battery terminal. Fortunately we had purchased a spare alternator just prior to leaving in October, so an hour of sweaty work had it swapped and good as new. I determined that the metal of the terminal had fatigued due to the vibration caused by the heavy battery cable not being clamped to the engine, an oversight I have since corrected.
We varied our course between N and E to keep the shifting breeze in the sails. The wind increased as did the seas and by day 11 we were seeing 25-30, mostly from the SW. The night was pitch black as the moon had waned. Just before midnight the predicted cold front arrived with a wind shift, some welcome rain and one very bright lightning bolt and a terrifically loud thunderclap. We had gybed just before the front hit and were soon on a new course. In the morning the wind had steadied and we poled out the genoa and ran wing and wing. The swell from the SW was 10-12’ and quite amazing to watch, but Helacious took it on her quarter and the trusty autopilot kept us on course.
At 1612 on day 12 we spotted our very first whale spouts. The beasts are expertly shy of my camera. At midnight we gybed to the east and were now sailing directly toward the Azores at last, making good miles. Day 13 saw 191 nautical miles pass the keel in 24 hours, a record for a current- unassisted distance. On day 14 a large grey whale, species unknown, arced across just in front of us, not 25 meters ahead. We also saw dolphins, and several more whale spouts and a breaching in the distance. I think the Azores current must carry some rich nutrients in this area and these great creatures are at Mother’s buffet!
171 miles, 166 miles and we hadn’t touched the sheets in several days. 176 miles, distance to Azores 195. Heralded the previous day by a wicked looking line of black clouds about 30 miles north a weak nearly stationary cold front arrived and with 145 miles to go, just killed our wind. Despite efforts to steer a few miles further south the wind plummeted from 26 knots to 5 in 3 minutes. Fortunately the seas also abated and Iron Genny came to our rescue once again. 16 hours of motoring brought us to within 30 miles of Horta. The skies were heavy overcast and it was spitting with rain, but we were sailing again. At 0720 on Day 18, May 16, we spotted the white cliffs of Ponta da Castelo Branco on the SW corner of Faial, about 7 miles away. We were able to sail right to the harbor entrance at Horta, douse the sails and by 1030 had dropped anchor in the magical green isles of the Azores. A unique mix of joy, relief, satisfaction and gratitude settled over us. All is well, time now to explore these exotic islands in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean.
The passage data: 2540nm in 17 days 10 hours for an average of 6.2 knots. 138 engine hours, 120 gallons of diesel. Admiral and Captain still on speaking terms. A unique mix of joy, relief, satisfaction and gratitude settled over us is well. Time now to explore these special islands.
Passage Prep
Our real reason for visiting the USVI was to receive our Phizer Covid vaccines. The two doses needed to be taken 3 weeks apart, allowing us some relaxed time to hang out and visit these territories of the United States. I’m still not quite sure what “territory” means-not a state, but with some non-voting representation in Congress; no duty on exports or imports; an easy Caribbean beach destination for Americans without passports. USVI also has one of the highest countrywide per capita murder rates in the world after Honduras and El Salvador, something which is not mentioned in the glossy brochures. The fact is skimmed over presumably because the USVI isn’t a country. And because it’s bad for business. Automatic gunfire erupted several times at night in Frederiksted, and even though we were several hundred yards offshore in the anchorage it was unnerving- and I’m from Memphis!
The anchorage at Frederiksted, St.Croix, USVI.
Nevertheless, we found a congenial group of friends, including old acquaintances Dan and Lori from SV Bebe, and we had several fun happy hours onboard Helacious. It’s always gratifying to give tours, she never fails to impress. One evening we went for a night snorkel at the pier. The fish life was disappointing but the coral colors in the bright light of the underwater torches was beautiful. On another windless night 4 dinghies tied together and just drifted through the anchorage, chatting and regaling each other with sailing stories.
Float night! Lori’s hair doesn’t really look like that (thanks funky pano!).
One of the main topics of discussion towards the end of the winter season south of 30N and the beginning of hurricane season is “Where are you going?”. Many cruisers we met make an annual circuit up and down the Caribbean, hauling out or anchoring in the ABC’s or Grenada or even Trinidad, areas that are, while not hurricane-proof, are statistically much less likely to experience a cyclone in any given year. During this year of Covid, the question has become even more fraught, as tests are required, traditional safe harbors are closed or restricted and there is a general air of uncertainty. Another large contingent treks back north every year. Dan and Lori, for instance haul out in Maryland and return to the UP in Michigan for the summer, then head back south in October.
Very glad to have the US Army administering the vaccine site; smooth and organized-and free!
While never really considering leaving the boat in the Caribbean, Helen and I have waffled between heading back through the Bahamas and then to the Chesapeake and on up to Maine, or trying once again to achieve one of our Big Goals: the Trans Atlantic. Our traditional thinking on this has been to sail to Bermuda and then to the the Azores before heading to landfall in Ireland or the southwest of England or Scotland. Last year we had planned to do this route from Georgetown in the Bahamas before the virus changed everyone’s plans. The Bermuda route is more miles than direct to Azores but it breaks the trip up somewhat, and besides, Bermuda is meant to be interesting.
We are not chicken!
Back and forth we went with endless discussions of the pros and cons of both options. Oh great providence, lucky us to have these options and be free to make a choice! We had our first vaccine, and many others were getting theirs. The UK was ahead of the curve on rates and there seem to be rays of light appearing through the doom and gloom of the Covid year. Things seem to be opening up. Plus, we aren’t getting any younger or fitter and passage making is a difficult endeavor, both physically and mentally. A transatlantic passage is a Big Goal. Ah, but there is uncertainty, you say. But if we wait a year there is still going to be some uncertainty about the future state of nations, there always has been and will be. Worrying too much about some imagined future scenario causes paralysis that locks one in place and limits horizons. Who has a crystal ball? While we cannot control the future, we can certainly take steps to provide some credit chips in the bank to call on when events unfold unfavorably. Studying the weather patterns, knowing how to work the amazing electronic navigation and communication gizmos that are available, knowledge of all ship’s systems, spare parts-these are all part of passage prep. Did I mention spare parts?The same careful, methodical work and study and planning that allowed us to retire early to pursue this crazy, wonderful, thrilling, sometimes terrifying life afloat help to insure safe and enjoyable passage making.
A gift of beautiful bananas from this roadside beauty.
Of course we decided to go for the gusto and head across the Atlantic Ocean in Helacious, the boat we built in our backyard. Maine can wait for when we’re old. The Bahamas, too. We sailed to St. Johns 30 miles north of St Croix and spent a few days on a mooring in the national park waters. There we visited with Jill and Michael on Sv Gerty whom we had met in November in English Harbour as part of the Salty Dawg Rally. They were also planning to go TA, rhumb line to the Azores. From there they were unsure of their next move. We still needed our second dose of the vaccine so we sailed to the Brewers Bay on the west end of St Thomas, stopping at Christmas Cove for a day to say farewell to our new pals. Gerty messaged us that they were setting sail for the Azores that evening. We were still planning for the Bermuda stopover option.
Sugarcane field and craft distillery near Frederiksted.
Permission to enter Bermuda is contingent upon a negative Covid pcr test. We had learned of free testing on Tuesday at the Home Depot (yes, there’s a Home Depot on St. Thomas, very Americanized) and were pleased to be saving the $300.00 testing fee that the hospital charged. There was still the test timing/weather window issue, but we figured we could always get another free test if the weather didn’t cooperate and we had to stay longer. After the nasal swab we stopped at a dreadful vegan restaurant across from the shopping center. While waiting ( and waiting) for our food we suddenly got a text message with our test results. Of course we were negative. But the results had arrived within an hour, far too soon for a pcr test to be processed. It was a rapid antigen test, not acceptable to the authorities in Bermuda! In our glee over free, we had never even thought to check. I said to Helen over our dismal plates of dry fake meat tacos and tasteless cold roti, “Let’s skip Bermuda and go straight to the Azores”. She looked at me and said,”Hmmm. Why not?” In a matter of a few minutes we cycled through the details and decided to sleep on it.
Helen contemplates the easy method of going trans Atlantic (hint: it involves wings). This is Brewers Bay, our last anchorage in the Caribbean for awhile.
By morning It was obviously the right decision: fewer total miles, more time in the fabulous nature of the Azores, save the money (about $500 for the testing and admin fees for Bermuda, none for the Azores) and besides, Bermuda didn’t have a crater lake surrounded by lush rainforest. The downsides were a slightly longer continuous time at sea, about 18-20 days, missing out on the history of Bermuda, and that was about it. Gerty had started out on a rhumb line (direct route) but soon found themselves becalmed in the high pressure area known as the Horse Latitudes. We were advised by our weather routers to head straight north to at least 30N before turning east. Oh, and the time to go is NOW, they said, on Wednesday morning. Fortunately we had already been provisioning in Charlotte Amelie and just needed to get clearance papers from customs and grab a few more cans of beans. On Thursday morning, April 29, 2021, we raised anchor, visited the fuel dock and headed out into the big blue on the next chapter of Helen And Brian’s Big Adventure.
Divers Down
Diving, at last
Tiny Statia, or St. Eustatius Netherland Antilles, is well known for its excellent shallow and medium depth dive sites, many of which are located on ancient pyroclastic flows that oozed out into the ocean forming humps and canyons. Helen and I had done our basic Open Water dive certification about 4 years ago in Memphis, but had never been able or willing to follow it up with “real” dives in the big ocean. I had experienced some intense ear pain on one of the checkout dives at Vortex Springs in Florida due, I think in retrospect, to having a slight head cold or some allergic sinus condition. In Statia we encountered some younger cruisers who we had previously met on Antigua. They were dive fanatics, and convinced us easily enough to get some tutelage from the folks at Golden Rock Diving. Irish divemaster Gary agreed to take us on a refresher dive in the bay where we were anchored.
The Quill, volcanic cinder cone on Statia, with the open roadstead “harbor” in the foreground.
In the late 1700’s Statia was known as the Golden Rock due to its tax free status and resultant slave trade and associated rum market. For several decades in the late 1700’s until the collapse of the sugar market, it was the busiest port in the Caribbean. There was a huge wharf complex for docking ships. All that remains now are the stone foundations, a pleasant ecosystem of fish, turtles and coral. After some coursework, which we “passed”, and having donned our gear we waddled down to the water in the nearby small shallow beach bay and practiced our skills: clearing the mask, removing and replacing the regulator, and hand signals. We swam a hundred meters or so to the 5 meter depth along the submerged quay and eased down into the crystal clear water- it was magnificent. We swam very slowly along the bottom with the rays, turtles and the odd crusty iron cannon or two. By the time our air was exhausted Helen and I had both settled down and gained that vital breathing and buoyancy control. Now all we needed was to jump back in for a proper deep dive.
The Golden Rock Dive center-basic but extremely friendly and competent.
Unfortunately, that next dive had to be delayed. During Covid times the timing of moving from one country to another has gotten very complex. If a pcr test is required there is usually a strict time limit. Departures also have to coincide with a good weather window. And the Immigration departments have curtailed their hours and access for checking out. So when Gary found out we were planning to leave on the weekend he advised us to proceed post haste to Customs as they frequently were not available on the weekends, or even Friday afternoon. Then the weather report showed increasingly unfriendly winds arriving sooner than expected. So our big dive had to be postponed and we sailed away from friendly Statia.
Helen at the bottom under the pier at Frederiksted, St. Croix.
The good news is that our new destination, St. Croix (STX), United States Virgin Islands, was renowned for the clarity of their water and quality of their diving. Gary recommended we seek out Nep2une Dive in Frederiksted on the west coast. This is a small dive shop that takes no more than 6 divers at a time on their boat. Many of the good sites are just out of the anchorage and easily accessible and calm on typical trade wind days. With spring break in full, albeit abbreviated, swing, the dive shop could not accommodate us for a few days. Our friend Dan from SV Bebe wanted to dive the cruise ship pier that juts 1500’ from the town center, so we gamely rented some gear from the shop and waddled down to the pier. Entry into the water consisted of simply stepping off the edge of the quay to water 6’ below. With a huge splash and ok signs all ‘round we then proceeded submerge and swim out between the enormous coral covered pilings under the pier. We all easily equalized our ears and sinuses and made our way along the bottom at a depth of 25’. I reached a new record of 31’-somebody call Guinness! It was a fascinating dive with lots of colorful tiny fishes swimming in and out of the vertical coral garden. It was also a huge confidence booster for us.
Brian is O-K!
A couple of days later we went out in Nep2une’s little dive boat to a couple of sites just south of the pier. The day was overcast and the bottom was stirred up by the wind and waves- not ideal conditions. Nevertheless we soldiered forth to The Aquarium. This reef was 50-90’ deep. Our dive master Paul was awesome, taking the time to keep us relaxed and comfortable. The other two divers both had hundreds of dives and were patient with taking newbies down to the bottom. Numerous technical hiccups with the gear kept us floating for awhile as Paul skillfully swapped o-rings and repaired faulty inflater valves. One of the divers had forgotten her mask. Finally we descended. It was bizarre not being able to see the bottom as we started sinking slowly down the mooring line. Helen had a bit of trouble at first getting her ears right, but persevered and eventually joined us at 50’. We then drifted down to around 60’. I couldn’t believe it-we had finally gotten down deep! What they say is true- there’s not much difference between 30’ and 60’. Despite the limited visibility we had an excellent swim and saw several new fish, including a large Filefish. I seem to use more air than anyone else, a classic big guy beginner issue, so I ascended a few minutes early. I took the opportunity to get some breathing pointers from Kay, the dive shop owner and boat captain. Slowing the exhale is the key, count 1-2-3 in, then up to 8 out. Our next dive spot was The Swirling Reef of Death, a joke name for a very mellow 30’ popular dive spot. Here Paul showed us a pretty little seahorse that had been hanging around a crevice in the reef for several months and a couple of tiny yellow jawfish making their home on the bottom. These shy little critters live in holes in the sand and emerge vertically to spit out the sand from their excavations. We also came upon a fairly large Southern Stingray. It is amazing to be right next to these glorious creatures.
I know in the grand scheme of things, and in the diving world, our small accomplishments underwater are trivial. Yet, oddly, it feels like a burden has been lifted by finally consummating the relationship we started with the sub-aqua world 4 years ago. There’s no more “Will I be able to?” or “Can I do it?”. We did it, and look forward to many more explorations under the sea.
Volcanoes!
I never really understood how volcanically active the Caribbean is …
We sailed from Dominica north to the tiny Dutch island of St. Eustatius, aka Statia. It is more or less on the way to the USVI. Statia and its nearby cousin Saba are isolated rocks with steep drops and 17,000 year old volcanic cones. The one on Statia is called The Quill and is a child’s imagining of what a volcano looks like: a symmetrical cone rising abruptly from the surrounding land and sea. We hiked up the dry forested slopes of the Quill with Tim and Diane from Skylark and found a magical microclimate had produced what was correctly termed the Elfin Forest. Just along the narrow edge between cone and crater at a certain elevation on the eastern rim grow numerous exotic looking ferns and thick viridian mosses, twisting vines and gigantic philodendron. This lush growth is kept verdant by the moisture that condenses at just this spot as it passes from east to west over the top of the Quill. At the end of the trail stood Mazinga, a giant boulder perched on the edge of the cone. Not many rocks get their own name.
St. Kitts. The smoke is just from a field being burned off, it’s not an active volcano!
From its summit we could see south to St. Kitts and its dramatic volcanic cone. I never really understood how volcanically active the Caribbean is until we came here in person. Dominica has 9 volcanic areas considered active: witness the bubbling mud pools. Montserrat, 30 miles adjacent to Antigua blew its top in the 90’s killing scores and devastating half of the island. It still has a no-go zone around part of its coastline and we saw it spewing smoke on several occasions. On our sail to Statia we passed in the lee of Montserrat and could smell the strong odor of sulphur on the evening breeze. And as I write this La Soufrierre on St Vincent south of Martinique is most seriously erupting, spewing ash and smoke which is covering the island and its neighbors.
Saba looms in the distance north of Statia.
Sparendipity
Webster’s dictionary defines serendipity as “the faculty or phenomenon of finding valuable or agreeable things not sought for”. Good luck, in other words. In the realm of boating, and especially cruising in remote locations, making your own luck is an active process. Maintenance of critical gear is a continuous project. There are no hardware stores or chandleries at sea. We have found that the longer a yacht has been cruising the deeper their spares locker is. Having the right spares brings good luck, because weird things happen and stuff breaks.
Last Friday was bright and sunny, with light winds and calm seas. It was a perfect day to take the dinghy north a couple of miles to Toucari Bay for a snorkeling expedition and a beer at the Reef Bar. Toucari is a sleepy, idyllic village with a crescent black sand beach and cliffs coming down to the water at the edges. Andreas and Cordulla from SV Aphrodite and Tim and Diane on SV Skylark were also game for the expedition. The outbound journey was easy and seeing the steep coastline from the water was spectacular. When we arrived in Dominica a month ago the clouds and rain obscured the island.
We found a mooring near a promising cliff and swam for awhile. There were few fish and not much coral. The highlight was a lobster hiding in one of the cone shaped corals. Dominica has not based their tourist economy on diving for a good reason. Their rain forests are where the wildlife is. Nevertheless, it was an enjoyable time and we decided to head for Toucari to have a couple of beers at the bright yellow Reef Bar.
A strong swell necessitated a stern anchor to keep the dinghy from getting swept under the dock. Tim had the bad luck of getting his stern rode wrapped around his propeller. As we walked up the dock to the beach he said he might have “spun his prop”. I had never heard this term before so he explained. The propeller of an outboard fits onto a splined horizontal shaft. Power from the engine is transferred vertically down another shaft which meets the prop shaft via a bevel gear. This gear is rather delicate so the hub of the propellor incorporates a sacrificial rubber connection between the prop and the spline. If the prop gets stalled hard for some reason ( a line wrapped, for instance) the rubber will slip inside the hub, sort of like a clutch. Unlike a clutch, however, this is usually only a one-time safety. After a prop is spun it no longer has enough friction between the rubber and metal to transfer the full torque of the engine to the prop and the shaft/rubber part then spins inside the prop hub. It is possible with the correct tool to press a new rubber spline assembly into the prop hub, but it is not a field operation. Tim said he had several repaired props onboard Skylark and thought that one of them might work as a replacement. Unfazed, we went and had our ice cold Kabulis.
Several hundred yards after we left the dock to return home Tim slowed to a stop and motioned us to come alongside. “I did spin the prop” he shouted and asked us to stay with him and Diane as they motored slowly back to Prince Rupert Bay at one quarter throttle. As we started to follow Tim I told Helen that having a spare outboard prop sounded like a good idea. She was nodding her head in agreement when BAM, our engine died-we had hit something in the water! I tilted the 8 hp Tohatsu out of the water to find a damn coconut husk wedged between the prop and the frame. I easily pulled it loose and restarted the engine. When I gave it throttle to accelerate the engine roared but the boat stayed stationary. We had spun our prop! I called out to Tim to stop but hey were out of range. Helen and I sat there agog, absorbing the situation. This was just too strange, from never having heard of this issue to experiencing it in an awkward spot in under an hour. Meanwhile, Tim and Diane were happily motoring away…and the wind around the point had picked up.
Fortunately we still had some power and were able to creep homewards. We sat as low as possible to minimize windage and continued to shake our heads in disbelief at this odd coincidence. We discussed various ways of fixing the prop, from epoxy to machine screws. Soon we were in sight of Skylark and Aphrodite waiting for us at the edge of the anchorage. Cordulla had looked back at some point and realized we were missing. We related the crazy story to them and Andreas said simply, “ I have a spare onboard that should fit.” He roared off to Aphrodite and by the time we had tied up to Helacious and tilted the engine he was back, spare prop in hand. He was eager to do the swap so I handed him the tools : 17mm socket wrench and needle nose pliers for the cotter pin. In five minutes we were fixed good as new. Tim and Diane also had a spare for theirs, so we are all mobile once again.
Thank you, Andreas and Cordulla. Your twenty years of cruising experience and generosity created our serendipity.
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.
