December 15, 2014

Having had a taste of the cruising lifestyle and the tropics the previous season, we wanted more. We left the Chesapeake Bay late in the season and got caught in a strong low off the coast of Georgia. The seas too dangerous to stay on autopilot, Da Captain hand steered us into Cape Canaveral, the closest safe inlet, in the dark.

Thanksgiving in Florida with family was full of hustle and bustle (and boat work) but we managed to made it back to paradise (aka Green Turtle Cay—pronounced “key”)! 

Now we are keen to get underway to take advantage of the calm weather as we make our way further south. We plan to leave for our longest passage ever (1,000 nautical miles) in a few hours, so there is much excitement in the air!

Before we go: some of you have asked what we learned and what adjustments we have had to make along the way—

Our passage to Florida was truly a "shakedown." While in Florida we had a rigger inspect and re-adjust the lower starboard spreader that flew upward, and the related shroud that loosened during all the surfing down waves (more like downhill skiing if you ask us!) and tripping over our keel. Luckily it was just a small wire. It is amazing how we are still finding/learning new things about Trance. Luckily we have a stout rig, spreaders on hinges that can go up or down, and many other shrouds!

We also decided that our harnesses and tethers were more of a hazard than anything, and invested in much better sets. We also invested in a spare autopilot arm after a brief scare when it failed to engage for a few minutes. (Our wind pilot doesn't work well in light winds, and that's exactly what you get just before the full fury of a low hits you, as we now know all too well.) Experienced sailors say that your autopilot is your #1 safety gear on board. All too often, fatigue leads to inability to react quickly and logically, turning challenging situations into catastrophic ones. Da Captain installed the new one and we stowed the old for a back-up/spares.

We also invested in a better mount for our GPS/chartplotter screen. On passage we like to turn the unit to face into the cockpit, so we can sit dry and comfortable under the hard dodger while on watch. But repositioning would take some effort and time. One night, a squall hit and the Admiral had to take the wheel but found it hard to determine the course because, in all the craziness, she forgot what it was (oops—dumb newbie mistake) and the unit was facing the other way! Now it swivels and tilts in every possible direction with ease.

Most importantly, after getting caught in one too many weather “incidents” we decided to sign up for a marine weather service and bought an IridiumGO! so that we can download GRIB files while at sea. We also made countless smaller adjustments and are ready for another long passage (new traveler line and end caps, a zillion more bungees to secure the countless things that rattle and keep the off-watch person awake while underway, etc.)

Until the next land ho!

The Damage

January 26, 2015

Thanks, all, for your emails and well wishes. A lot has happened since we last wrote. Just after we drafted the last update, we embarked on a 9-day passage from the Abacos, Bahamas to Culebra, one of the Spanish Virgin Islands (Puerto Rico).

We were both nervous and excited that afternoon, as our longest passage at the time was four days. But we felt pretty confident. After the hairy weather on our passage down to Florida, we decided to sign up with Chris Parker for weather forecasting and routing over the SSB radio. Both he and our other sources indicated a good weather window. The man is worth his weight in gold (or platinum—whichever is worth more these days). Not only did he provide us with accurate weather forecasts over the 9-day passage, but he also provided us with great routing advice, even specific waypoints (GPS coordinates for you non-sailors).

With his help (and benevolent wind gods), we were able to avoid the typical "due east until the butter melts" route. Because of the prevailing trade winds, this would have involved heading due east until the 65th parallel, then a turn south to the islands, and would have added two days to our passage. Instead we were able to cut it a bit, and mainly head southeast. Oh, and a big shout-out to Mr. Lavranos, Trance's designer for designing a boat that rocks it to windward.

When we left, no wind was forecast for the next three or so days. We figured it was a good opportunity to motor east. And motor east we did. But with the favorable forecast, we ended up motoring southeast for the next day, and the next, and the next. The wind was DEAD for the first four days of our passage. We never knew the sea could be so calm and glassy hundreds of miles offshore. At times, but for the small line of white clouds on the horizon, it would have been impossible to tell the difference between the sea and the sky. Usually, we sailors would curse this. However, the Admiral's body though it an opportune time to come down with a virus. We'll skip the gory details, but it would have been a lot worse heeling at 45 (okay, 25) degrees for days on end.

                                                                    Becalmed

Other than that, the nine days were almost uneventful. Da Captain saw a whale's tail off in the distance. Dolphins investigated Trance's stern/swim platform with their noses at night. Da Captain saw and heard a meteorite during one of his night watches!  Night watches were a good time for self-teaching oneself celestial navigation. The Admiral was hailed by a fellow I-65er (what sailors call the offshore route to the islands) who left the Bahamas a bit before we did and was tracking our progress on the SSB during our daily check-ins with Chris Parker. He was a salty American sailor living in the Bahamas who built his own lifting keel boat and made the trip to the islands every year. During the calm, we were both worried about running out of fuel. We were also hailed by a French boat with anxious crew, asking if we had any cigarettes. They left from the Cape Verdes 20 days earlier and had run out. It was really cool to experience the comradeship and cooperation that exists out there.

When the trades picked up, we beat to windward for the last four days of the passage. Trance was like a wild horse finally set free. Happy as a clam while we unsuccessfully tried to slow her down. Some of the waves were hitting Trance’s aluminum hull like a Mac truck and there was salt spray EVERYWHERE. But she was solid as a rock. We went from an 80 mile-day to a record-setting (for us) 140-mile day.

99 miles to go

We spent a fabulous few days in Culebra before heading to the US Virgin Islands. We were finally east of I-65! Then a client called and we holed up in a marina in St. Thomas to work for a few days. Then we started the process of battling our water maker vendor. Turns out our unit wasn’t working properly and for the meantime we are only using our water maker water for bathing, dishwashing, etc. So we feel like real cruisers now! More on that later. Other than that, we mainly hung around the Water Island area waiting for Da Admiral's parents to fly in. We celebrated New Year’s at a fancy marina and a Tanya Stephens concert (aka “famous lady”). Da Admiral’s parents arrived just in time, as we were starting to feel like locals.

Finally in the Virgins

We spent a wonderful week cruising the British Virgin Islands "charter style." Da Captain caught the Admiral's dreaded virus at the end of their stay. But the Admiral's stepdad is a very skilled mariner and pulled his weight while the Admiral got to play Captain (a downgrade in rank from Admiral). Two years ago when they visited us as we were cruising the Bahamas, they were part of a dingy recovery mission in the Whale Cay channel. Serendipitously, we lost our dingy again during their visit, and they got to witness it being towed in by a tour boat captain. Thanks guys for an awesome time! You are our lost dingy lucky charms!

We made new friends with fellow cruisers in Soper's Hole and caught up with friends from our home port in Trellis Bay. Big shout out to Dan & Ame from Chalk Point! Thanks so much for all your support. When you're cruising, friends (and with a car) are a lifesaver! We will definitely be taking you up on your transportation offers.

Then the fun started. The wind died. The wind has now been nonexistent for longer than any cruisers we have met down here can remember. In Trellis Bay we hung out with a sailing yacht captain with 40+ Atlantic crossings under his belt who confirmed he's never seen anything like it. So, since we're "real" cruisers now, we decided to do what they would do and fly our spinnaker to Jos Van Dyke. It was awesome. Until the wind completely died (literally 0.0 knots).

So we give up and go to turn on the engine, and nothing. Try again. Nothing. This had been happening all they way down to the islands, but it always started after Da Captain installed a bypass wire on the panel after reading that it is a common (wiring) problem on Yanmars. Not this time. No problem. We're salty now. We'll sail in. Wait, there's no wind…So our trusty dingy (with a 4 horsepower outboard) led us into Great Harbour, where we dropped the hook on the outskirts of the anchorage and prayed that Mr. Rocna (our anchor) would set. Thankfully it did. We called around, made arrangements for a mechanic and marina for Monday, and spent the weekend in Jos Van Dyke. We bought a conch shell at Ali Baba's and Mr. Baba himself tried to teach us to blow it. Sunday night at sunset, Mr. Baba's lessons paid off, and we were giddy with excitement when someone (probably Baba himself) signaled back at us.

Monday we successfully sailed off our anchor and tacked our way just outside the marina, where Husky's towing delivered us to our slip. We're hoping for a speedy repair. (After lots of troubleshooting with a multimeter and an old screwdriver we're pretty sure it's the starter motor.) But we've adjusted to Island Time and understand that if they don't come today, it'll be "tomorrow mon, tomorrow."

January 26 – February 19, 2015

Much to our delight, it was just a dirty ground wire.  The wire appeared clean to the eye, but after shining it with sandpaper and re-connecting it, the old Yanmar started up right away.  The bill: $100 and one night in a marina.  So we were free to leave and continue our cruise, right?  Nope.  You can't make this stuff up.  During the first night, the sailor cat decided to abscond through a partially open quarter berth porthole.  We frantically looked everywhere.  Da Admiral posted signs and harassed the marina staff and groundskeepers.  We were stuck until the sailor cat was ready to come home.  Turns out the sailor cat had gone through an open porthole into a neighboring 50+-foot yacht for sale, with no one aboard, and she couldn’t jump back out.  The look on the broker's face when Da Admiral presented herself in his office and asked him to open the boat to retrieve her cat was hilarious.  He was certain the sailor cat was trying to tell us that she wants a bigger boat.  Of course.  The French-Canadian female Captain in the slip next to us (her gentleman friend was the first mate—kick ass!) proclaimed she was going to detail the account in her diary.  We enjoyed a bottle of Martinique rum with a British couple in their 70s who are finally done after circumnavigating for 10 years.  All was well and we were on our way again the next morning.

We beat to The Baths where we learned that “dry” bags are not dry enough for a swim to shore.  Luckily, in Virgin Gorda we found a guy named Scrippy who sold us a new Blackberry out of his trunk.  Usually one must await Scrippy’s regularly scheduled appearance on a street corner but, after calling at least 40 of his contacts, our taxi driver tracked down his home number and Scrippy met us in a parking lot where we sealed the deal.  Blackberry in hand (not that we ever had good reception), we enjoyed our time in the Gorda Sound, where we admired Sir Richard’s 105-foot sailing catamaran. Da Captain and the sailor cat continued their jokes/claims about Sir Richard sightings and their invitations to Necker Island…  To the Admiral’s irritation, they were spewing this smack since we arrived in the BVI.

We sailed back to Trellis Bay (again) where we attended Aragorn’s world famous full moon party.  It was a sight to behold.  On the beach, Aragorn’s ginormous steel sculptures were filled with wood and lit on fire while stilt walkers and fire eaters circled the crowd and a band beat out Caribbean rhythms. 

                                                                    Full moon

It was a fabulous, exhilarating close reach to Anegada.  We’re fine-tuning our skills every day, and we continue to be amazed at Trance’s speed.  We anchored outside, as Trance’s 7-foot keel is too deep to enter the inner anchorage.

Fast forward to the next morning. Imagine the scene:

Early in the morning we go on deck to launch our dinghy (“Origami”) and, to our irritation, a helicopter keeps flying overhead, observing and photographing nearby kite surfers.  At one point we notice a photographer leaning out of the helicopter and snapping photos of Trance.  Ugh.  They’ll probably try to sell us photos later.  We assume kite surfing rentals are available on the island and discuss whether we have time to give it a go.  But the first order of business is to go onshore and bike to the other side of the island, to Cow Wreck Bay and the Cow Wreck Bar, recommended by Dan and Ame, our friends from Chalk Point Marine.  We enjoy a fabulously scenic bike ride, and proclaim that this is our kind of cruising.  Unspoiled nature, azure water and secluded white-sand beaches, bulls and goats standing in the middle of the road eyeing us with suspicion, and no tourists.  This is what we signed up for.

The scene when we arrive at Cow Wreck, walking our bikes over the sand: Random guy: “Excuse me, sir. Are you [Sir] Richard…?”  Wild haired barefoot blond man on way to bathroom: “Yes, I am.”  Random guy then babbles something about it being nice to meet him.  Da Captain and I meet eyes with gasped mouths.  Out of corner of eye, Da Admiral sees brunette (Mrs. Sir Richard) smiling at us/our reaction.  Da Captain exudes childlike vindication aura rest of way to the bar.  Da Admiral shakes her head in disbelief.  There’s 15 or so of us at the Cow Wreck that day, including the Sir Richard party, until his Island Crew shows up, that is.  We spend the rest of the day hanging out with the Island posse.  After everyone eats, the kite surfers start their show while the helicopter hovers overhead.  The brightly colored kites paint a surreal picture on the turquoise sky and reef-laden water.  A barefoot Sir Richard hangs near all of us to enjoy the show.  So cool.  Da Admiral tracks down the photographer from the helicopter and he promises to email us photo of Trance from the sky.  We’ll see if he delivers.

Could it be?

Photographing the pro

We checked out of the BVI in Virgin Gorda and, with the moon still big, had an uneventful overnight passage to St. Maarten, where we planned to install our newly purchased Wi-Fi antenna/booster, yet another attempt to access “The Internets.”  (Thanks to Dan and Ame for driving us to pick it up!)  We circled inside the flattest, most protected part of the lagoon seeking the best spot to install the antenna. We have a tendency to drop tools and fasteners in the water...  The water shallows quickly in the lagoon, so after endless circling and cringing in skinny water we concluded that all the spots were taken and tried to hail a marina (unsuccessfully--we now know they don’t answer on Sundays).  Andrew from SV Adela noticed all the circling around, chased us down in his dinghy and led us to the last deep spot.  We proceeded to spend the rest of the week having a wonderful time in St. Maarten, visiting with Andrew and Edwin almost daily.  Those guys made our stay, and paint a perfect picture of what cruising is all about.  Miss you guys!  Da Captain was in Dutchie paradise, riding his bicycle over a small mountain to the big Grande Marche to score dropjes (Dutch licorice) and other goodies.  Plus we were lucky enough to hook up with folks who are friends with the President of the company that makes our water maker.  We're optimistic they'll set things right.  Before leaving St. Maarten, we anchored on the French side and had a lovely Valentine’s dinner in Grande Case.  Thanks for the recommendation, Andrew!

We had a beautiful sail to St. Barth, tacking our way past Ile Fourchue, which was once green.  It’s now a barren rock because a bunch of goats were left there unattended. Luckily, the offending goats have since been removed.  With both carnival and a big blow impending, we settled into the anchorage, which was teeming with huge turtles, and spent three days amongst the drop-dead gorgeous people of St. Barth.  Carnival was a riot and we especially enjoyed downloading information about the next islands from Frenchman Antoine, who was anchored behind us.  He and his family have been cruising the Caribbean for two years, after crossing from the Cape Verdes in just two weeks!  In a catamaran, of course.  Once again, we also shared the bay with the super yacht Venus, which locals call “the Apple boat.”  We think Mrs. Jobs may be following us.

The beautiful people

Once the weather settled down a bit (not much—the theme for the rest of the cruise is “big wind, big waves”), we sailed to St. Kitts.  It was after this point that we completely and fully realized our lives had changed. We pray our posts are getting progressively saltier.  But it’s unlikely, as the more we learn the more we realize how much we don't know and how much more there is to learn.  Stay tuned for a write-up of our adventures from St. Kitts – Martinique (part 2)!

February 20 - March 8, 2015

After checking in to St. Kitts and checking out Brimstone Hill (a UNESCO World Heritage site), we anchored off the construction site of the soon-to-be St. Christopher’s Marina and resort. The winter storms up north translate into heavy conditions in the Leewards, so yet another storm caused us to hole up for the weekend, which we spent snorkeling, exploring the construction site in our dinghy, and hypothesizing about the cruise ship-sized super yacht anchored near us. It was lit up like a Christmas tree at night, but looked like a ghost ship during the day--no crew swabbing the decks, preparing for al fresco dining or ferrying the owners to shore. Then we really scratched our heads the day a steel workboat we saw at anchor while sailing down the coast circled the anchorage. We had thought it unusual that it had Canadian flag. To make things more suspicious, the handful of local men on board launched a very large, Blackwater-looking (not workboat-looking) black dinghy while the two bikini-clad white girls on board looked on. Inexplicably, they pulled up a thick mooring line that was floating in the water with no floatie (yet another reminder to never enter an anchorage in the dark), threw it right back down, then hauled the dinghy back on board and left the anchorage, all in a 10-minute time frame. Bizarre. That evening, we enjoyed the most spectacular sunset we have ever seen from the fancy beach bar. Once the weather settled, we pulled anchor and headed for Nevis.

Saba from Brimstone Hill

Strange things afoot

The most spectacular sunset

It was a brisk, short sail to Nevis. Wind was the usual east at 20ish knots (after a while you stop watching the weather when island hopping in the eastern Caribbean). We were on fish trap watch the entire way. The coast of St. Kitts was riddled with them. Anchoring is not permitted in Nevis, so we got a (free) mooring fairly close to shore and beached the dinghy in front of Sunshine’s, where we spent the day hanging with the local Rasta dudes and a British lady gone-local, dreads and all. Like Foxy in Jos Van Dyke, Sunshine is apparently a local celebrity. Back on board, the captain of a boat moored next to us asked where we tied up the dinghy on shore. “Oh, you just beach it,” Da Captain told him. “It’s easy.” Mind you this was a full-on beach with sets of waves coming in, and it sounded like the poor guy had never beached and then secured a heavy dinghy above the high-tide line...alone. Good times for him.

The plan for the next day was to head for the volcanic island of Montserrat and spend a day touring the island and the modern-day Pompeii before the next big north swell made the anchorage untenable. We set off early to arrive before customs closed. We motor sailed along the lee coast of Nevis in calm conditions, and put in a reef in preparation for stronger winds once we left its protection. We were both on fish trap high alert, and Da Admiral was behind the wheel. About 45 minutes after exiting the lee, after the fish trap watch was slightly relaxed (of course), she noticed that we had slowed down substantially. “Hmmm, why are we only going three knots in 20 knots of wind on a close reach? We should be going at least 6.” She looked aft, and to her horror, we were trailing a line as far as the eye could see. In 6-foot waves, there was no way we were diving out in the open sea. We were closer to Nevis than to Montserrat, so we made a careful wide turn and back to Nevis we went. In protected waters, we anchored far from shore and Da Captain dove to free the line, which was stuck around the rudderpost. We considered ourselves lucky, as it could have been much worse. By that point whatever was attached to the line had broken off, so we had to find somewhere to dispose of the huge, nasty, smelly, fishy rope. On deck it went, calculations were made, and we decided we could still make it to Montserrat before dark, albeit not before customs and immigration closed. We set off again and about an hour into the trip, the autopilot started beeping. The display had been acting up in the last few days, and now it was totally gone. There certainly would be no repairs in Montserrat. Hand steering it would be while in the lee of islands; hopefully the good old windpilot would do its job otherwise. It was not our day. They say things always happen in threes, so we wondered what would happen next.

As we approached Montserrat, we could see the volcano smoking. At first it was difficult to tell whether it was smoke or the clouds that permanently encircle the tops of all the volcanic islands we have seen. It was an amazing sight to behold. Like Saba and Statia, Montserrat has almost no protection. They say the most protected anchorage is in what is now an exclusion zone. We resigned ourselves to a rolly anchorage, where we saw some familiar boats, including a very traditional wooden boat called Gaucho. It was dark by the time we settled in, so we stayed on board for the evening to plan our next steps. We had hoped to explore the island the next day because an even larger swell was forecast to arrive the following day, which would make the anchorage untenable. Plus, we had to keep moving because we were expected in Europe in a few weeks. With formalities to deal with, it would not be so. Again, with heavy hearts we decided Montserrat would have to wait another season. We hoped for favorable winds the next morning, because the beat to Antigua would be slug otherwise. We would not be so lucky. We bashed our way to the north coast of Antigua in 25 knots and waves to match. Along the coast, we turned south toward the famous Falmouth and English Harbours. Protected from all directions, they were the perfect place to wait out the blow.

We anchored in Falmouth Harbour and over the next few days admired the super sailing yachts and racing yachts, and toured the famous Nelson’s Dockyard in English Harbour. This is a true sailor’s paradise. We saw a famous Antigua rum for sale, which apparently those who cross the Atlantic from Europe take back as proof of the crossing. We wondered if we'll bring something back from Europe one day. The bulletin board at the yacht club is littered with notes from folks seeking to crew on yachts, and it seemed like we are the only ones who haven’t done a “transat.” What a place. We even scored a used autopilot control unit for $100!

Falmouth Harbour bulletin board

Our next boat

Expensive repair

More boat porn in Falmouth Harbour

After three days in Antigua, the wind was finally forecast to fall below the 30-knot range, and the waves down to below 10 feet. Still wild, but we resigned ourselves to the fact that we must get used to those conditions at some point. Trance was built for them, and we were ready. We set off early in the morning for the sail to Guadeloupe. With a double-reefed main and a reefed jib, we set course for the northwest coast of the French island, putting us on a beam reach. The waves were the biggest we had seen since leaving the U.S. Trance took it all in stride and Da Admiral hunkered down in her usual spot under the doghouse while Da Captain enjoyed the conditions. This is what he loves and makes him feel alive. Da Admiral just shakes her head at his craziness and lets him enjoy pretending he’s in the Volvo Ocean race, as long as it’s only a day sail, that is.

We managed to dodge nasty-looking morning squalls after which the skies cleared up a bit. About 3-4 hours into the passage, Da Captain yells “whale whale!” To our amazement, there were two sperm whales surfacing and blowing less than 40 meters from our port stern, disappearing and reappearing with each passing wave. “Oh my God,” Da Admiral yelled. “We’re too close!” But in just one minute, they were out of sight, swimming in the opposite direction.

We anchored in the bay of Deshaies, Guadeloupe and enjoyed sundowners in the cockpit, admiring the picturesque anchorage. Gaucho was there, along with a similar looking yellow sailboat. The salty-looking captain of the yellow boat rowed his dinghy over to Gaucho, and we commented on how it made perfect sense that they’re friends. After leaving Gaucho, he rowed over to admire Trance and we learned that his boat was made out of ferrocement. Talk about old school. The captain was a Brit who had been cruising for many years and was finally calling it quits after this season.  He and his wife would buy a cottage and plant a garden—a story we’ve heard more than a handful of times during our voyage. As he rowed off Da Admiral said, “see you later” and he replied that he hoped so. Such a nice guy.

Before we set off on our cruise, we decided we didn’t want to be like those cruisers that just hang out with other cruisers. Ignorantly, we compared them to the folks who holiday abroad but stay in places where they serve their own food and play their own music. We almost wanted to go out of our way to stay away from other cruisers.  But it turns out that meeting other cruisers is one of the coolest (of many) things about the life. We tend to be younger than most, and really do feel like they consider us the torchbearers. It’s a wonderful feeling. So we’ve struck a balance between being friendly to other cruisers and mingling with the locals.

The next day we set sail along the coast of Guadeloupe toward the Saints. A few years back we went to a boat show seminar on cruising the Caribbean, and the presenter said it was not a place to be missed. So we decided our mad dash to get as far south as possible before having to fly to Europe (we were eyeing the world-class facilities of Marin, Martinique) needed a brief hiatus once we reached the Saints. We’ve learned a lot about sailing in the lee of the islands. We’ve learned to reef conservatively due to the way the wind can funnel through valleys. When the wind dies as we sail behind a mountain, we patiently enjoy the view (although we did have to turn the engine on a few times). When sailing to another island, we’ve learned not to deploy our jib until we’ve cleared the tip of our current island, as the wind funnels furiously between them. This experience served us well as we neared the southern tip of Guadeloupe. As we closed in on the southernmost point with our double-reefed main only, we started “racing” a 38-foot Jeanneau that had full sails flying (all you sailors know that two similarly sized sailboats going the same way = a race!) The wind became furious as we rounded the tip and we saw 40 knots. We looked behind us and the poor Jeanneau was completely overpowered by the wind, and when the huge swell started wrapping around the island, his bow started bashing up and down violently. After about five minutes, he turned around. Trance, with her heavier displacement and 7-foot keel, continued on to the Saints with reefed main only.

We entered the Terre de Haute harbor, quickly dropped our main, rounded the shoal and zoomed toward the moorings, as it was entirely too rolly to anchor out. We’d heard that the moorings fill up quickly and people literally fight over them due to the rolliness of the anchorage. There were no mooring balls in sight but as we were about to turn around, a speedboat from the Capitanerie waved us over to a huge metal ship mooring. We had gotten the last one! As soon as we finished tying up, a bronzed cruiser dinghied up to us and asked, “Is that a Lavranos 38?” “Yes,” we said, surprised that someone knew the boat. “It was built in Cape Town, South Africa, right?” he replied. “Yes!” again, our eyes wide in amazement. “My boat is Hogfish,” he said. “OH MY GOD!” screamed Da Admiral!

Unforgettable anchorage

Beautiful Les Saints

In trying to make our updates as succinct as possible, we neglected to give the full lowdown on Hogfish. We were a few days into our 9-day passage from the Abacos to the Virgins, must have been two hundred miles from anywhere and had not seen a boat in days, when the VHF suddenly lit up and Da Admiral heard “Trance, Trance, this is Hogfish Maximus.” Da Captain was asleep, so she turned it down and scanned the horizon in every direction. Nothing. “What on earth? Who the hell knows we’re out here?" Curiosity winning over fear, she responded, “This is Trance.” Turns out Chris from Hogfish heard us relaying our coordinates to Chris Parker on the SSB and had calculated at about what time we would close in on his position and be within VHF range. “I haven’t talked to anyone in like 5 days,” he said. So talk we did. We shared info about our boats and he told Da Admiral all about his boat and how he built Hogfish. Long story short, meeting Hogfish, as we call him, has been one of the coolest things about the trip. Hogfish has no chartplotter, no refrigeration, no bimini, nothing. He is a true sailor and the wealth of knowledge he has shared with us has changed us forever. We’re not giving up our chartplotter anytime soon, and we’ve always been of the school that all systems must either have manual backups or be something we can do without, but he has taught us tricks of the trade that have made us even more self sufficient.

For the next several evenings we hung with Hogfish and their friends from Wild Bird, who are probably the fittest people we’ve ever met. They literally run up volcanic mountains for fun. We all left the Saints for Dominica on the same wild and windy day, albeit at different times, and regrouped that night to find out how we all fared. The winds were steadily in the 30-35 knot range, with waves to match. They agreed it was the windiest they had ever seen it in the eastern Caribbean! For us, ignorance was bliss and although it did feel slightly wilder than what we had seen in recent weeks, we had gotten pretty used to the conditions. Wild Bird made their usual fun of Hogfish, who refuses to use his engine and instead sails into every anchorage, and Chris agreed that it was the harriest, craziest, longest tack into the bay.

As usual, it was a packed anchorage and we dropped the hook farther out at the edge of the pack. Prior to setting off, we had studied our guide in preparation for our first encounter with the famous “boat boys” of this part of the Caribbean. Our cruising guide has pictures of the various characters and, sure enough, as soon as we tacked in to the Bay, Cobra’s assistant came alongside in skiff. We gave him a thumbs up, and he happily headed in to wait for us to anchor. Once we anchored, he came alongside and gave Da Captain a ride to check in. These guys, organized into a group called PAYS, are amazing. It really does not do them service to call them “boat boys.” They organize cookouts for cruisers to raise money to keep the anchorage safe, clean and cruiser-friendly. It was in this anchorage that we first saw the green flash. For those who have never seen it, just watch the sun set over the ocean on a clear day with absolutely no clouds on the horizon. To make things even more ridiculously amazing, one afternoon we sighted a pair of small sperm whales at the edge of the anchorage.

We spent the next couple days touring what we consider the most magnificent island of the Caribbean. Cobra took us on a tour, rattling off the different scientific names of the various flora and fauna species. He pulled over to pick some grass, crumbled it in his hand and gave it to us to smell. “Lemongrass!” He carved some bark off a tree for us to take a whiff. “Cinnamon!” He picked wild cacao, beautiful bird of paradise and other tropical flowers in every possible color and variety for Da Admiral. He took us to a delicious Criollo restaurant for lunch and to a spot that looked like the surface of Mars, which was guarded by a member of the last remaining Carib natives. He took us to a waterfall, where Da Captain noticed an adolescent Boa Constrictor perched on a rock not more than 2-3 meters from some bathing French tourists. They had been there for at least 30 minutes, blissfully unaware of the serpent. Dominica truly is the Garden of Eden. We just hope its secrets are not ruined by development.

Spot the boa

Trance decked out

Our tour of paradise came to an end and we headed to Martinique, where we had arranged to leave Trance for two months while we worked in Europe. (Insert record scratching sound effects here.) SAY WHAT? Yes, you read that right. Back to the life-changing realizations:

Several weeks ago, my (Da Admiral) dear childhood friend unexpectedly passed away from a brain aneurysm.  She was just 38 and a vibrant mother and wife.  She was a true free spirit, and she and I shared a lot of adventures in our youth (and could have gotten ourselves into a lot of trouble).  She passed almost exactly a year after my dear cousin's husband also passed unexpectedly.  When a young, healthy person is taken away so unexpectedly, you wonder why life is so cruel.  But, you are reminded to live life to the fullest, to treasure what is truly important and to not allow fear to keep you from your dreams, because time is short.  So I'm dedicating my cruise to her memory, to no fear, and to continuing the dream.  Her free spirit is an example and reminder to live life adventurously.  So on that note, the NEWS…

Recently we received word that we were needed back in Europe.  Seeing as it was the dead of winter, we couldn't sail Trance to Maryland, plus we’re not ready to stop cruising. So instead of continuing the cruise until May then sailing to the U.S. to continue life as usual and dream about the next cruise (that was the original plan), we chose the route that will enable us to continue cruising beyond this winter.  Yes, we've decided to follow the dream.  So Trance has now rejoined the ranks of the world cruising boats, with a homeport on paper but not in practice.  We were very sad to give up our coveted mooring in the West River.  We're hoping our friends at the marina will take pity on us and take us out on the water if we're in MD, boat-less during hurricane season. For now, Trance is in Marin, Martinique where Douglas Yacht Services is keeping an eye on her, and the family unit is in Europe.  Just before June, we'll fly to Martinique to sail her south of the hurricane belt.  Next stop is the ABCs.  Who knows where the winds will take us then!  We'll keep you posted on our whereabouts.

It was an uneventful sail, and we then spent almost a week decommissioning Trance. As we closed up the boat on the day of our flight, taxi already waiting in the parking lot, the all too well-known Martinique officials decided it would be a convenient time to board us. We ticked off the taxi driver, who had to wait 30 minutes for us, and almost missed our flight. But we made it and Trance enjoyed some time off in Martinique while we went to work.

May 14 - 18, 2015

Passage from Martinique to Curacao

With hurricane season impending, it was time to figure out what to do about it. We still had work to do in Europe but didn't want to risk leaving Trance in Martinique. We ruled out Trinidad because of the humidity (we heard horror stories of cruisers returning to find everything covered in green) and because they don't take kindly to sailing cats. Da Captain being a Dutchie, we decided that Curacao would be our spot. It has great facilities and we were very curious about the mix of our two cultures that is Curacao. (Da Admiral being a Latina and all.)  Plus, it is below the hurricane belt, statistically safer than Trinidad, and it is a very dry island. There are cacti everywhere.

We set off for Curacao from Ste-Anne (Marin) Martinique, a bit anxious over what to expect. It would be a dead run, and so far our experiences with running had not been good. Experienced sailors, we're sure you are baffled by all of this, as the traditional tropical circumnavigation is just that because it is "easy." But each time we've had the waves and wind aft of the beam, it has been stormy, big and we've spent it uncomfortably tripping over our keel. We figured it was because Trance was just not made for low latitudes. Boy, were we newbies in for a big enlightenment! Our course would be about 270 degrees magnetic, adjusting at the end if we got too close to Venezuelan waters, as we were warned of possible piracy in the area. We started with an average of 17-18 knots of wind and were doing 5 knots with just the jib. We decided to hoist the full main (with preventer) and pole the jib out to starboard, and were soon running along beautifully at 7 knots! The waves were an average of 5 feet, and it was the most fantastic, easy sailing we had ever done. The wind averaged about 20 knots during the entire passage, and we did 144 miles on our first day. Pretty good for a 38-foot sailboat.

Easy sailing

At shift change on the second night, at about 12:30 am, we were both in the cockpit doing some adjustments, when suddenly the entire night sky turned to day. We froze in horror. Was it the apocalypse? Is this really how it will end? Then, we saw an orange ball with some green and white literally fall from the sky, into the sea not more than a mile away. We looked at each other with wide eyes and quickly woke the radar from standby mode. Nothing. Was it a flare? Did someone out there need help? Could it be a pirate trick? We scanned a second time. Still nothing. Wait a moment, the ball of fire never went up, it just came down. Plus, there was some green and white in it. It must have been a freaking METEORITE! Unbelievable what you see out here.

After two days at sea, we were 177 nautical miles from the north tip of Bonaire. Our second day was a 137-mile day. Again very respectable. Da Captain was disappointed over the lack of whale and/or dolphin sightings. Sure enough, a few hours later, we had a dolphin sighting. They were shorter than their north Atlantic brothers. We made a mental note to look them up. We were still amazed at how comfortable running could be. We could cook comfortably and live life rather normally (for being at sea). Da Admiral even took a quick shower off the stern! A shower on passage--now that's comfort!

Our final night brought one of the craziest, scariest experiences we've had. We're still not sure what happened. We were maybe 30 miles from Venezuelan waters when, during his watch, Da Captain began tracking a vessel on radar. It had been making somewhat erratic but slow movements. Suddenly it started heading straight toward us, rather abruptly and quickly. He shone the spotlight on our sails in case they didn't see us, but they still kept coming. He woke up Da Admiral and tried to hail them on VHF. They did not respond, but kept coming. What do we do? Can we call someone on the SSB? We started preparing ourselves for being boarded. In a last attempt, Da Admiral got on the VHF and in her best angry Latina Spanish yelled, "vessel located at x and x coordinates, this is the private sailing vessel Trance, you are headed directly toward us, reveal your intentions immediately." She yelled it twice like a crazed, angry Latin lady. Suddenly, the vessel changed course, and off into the night it went. It had worked. We're still not sure who they were or what they wanted, but most cruisers we speak to agree they probably did not have good intentions. There were a couple of larger ships within radar and VHF range, and we think that perhaps relaying our coordinates in Spanish and in a frantic tone made it too high of a risk for the potential evil-doers. It was a good lesson and a stark reminder of how vulnerable one is without local knowledge and foreign language skills. Of course, the five languages between us won't come close to covering us everywhere, and it's impossible to learn the language of every land we will cruise, but we're certainly planning on making an effort to learn some strategic words and phrases and investing some time into practicing pronunciation so we sound as native as humanly possible.

On the third and final morning, we were 42 miles from the north tip of Bonaire. At approximately 06:00 a rogue wave crashed into our port stern corner and into the cockpit. Everything was salty! Soon thereafter, we surfed down a wave and clocked 10.7 knots! Yep, we're definitely nearing the ABCs. At approximately 09:00, Da Captain spotted a grey military vessel headed toward us. We had heard it hailing other vessels in the earlier hours. It was the Venezuelan navy/coast guard searching for a vessel named "Blue Rib" that had gone missing. It stopped approximately 2, may be 3 nautical miles from us and hailed us on the VHF in Spanish. Da Admiral responded and ended up having a pleasant conversation with the Venezuelan navy Captain. Da Admiral agreed to keep our eyes peeled and report if we saw anything. She also told him about the encounter of the evening before, and the navy Captain made a note of the incident and of our coordinates at the time. He was very polite, professional and appreciative. A reminder that for every bad encounter we have, there have been ten that reinforce our faith in humanity.

As we rounded the northern tip of Bonaire, we decided to try to make a run for Curacao before dark. We figured we could always abort to Bonaire if we didn't make good time. It turned out not being necessary. We flew to Curacao at a consistent 8+ knots and arrived in Fuik Bay exactly at sunset. It was a Sunday night and there were still a few local yachties enjoying the last moments of the weekend. Much to our delight, the boats were full of locals speaking both Dutch and Papiamento, blaring both Latin rhythms and Andre Hazes. Just as the free guide to the ABCs says, “I think I'm going to like it here!”

The next day, we got a ride to immigration from a German who lived in South Africa and is familiar with the Jacobs Brothers, Trance's builders (who we had the pleasure of visiting when we were in South Africa last year). We are constantly surprised at how many people know of the Jacobs Brothers and their work. We spent a long, hot week decommissioning Trance. Da Captain went up the mast and ran messenger lines so we could remove the halyards, saving them from six months of destructive UV rays. Da Admiral cleaned and covered every inch of the interior with vinegar. There would be no green when we got back! The tasks were endless. Every day, we ate delicious Criollo lunches with the locals at the market, sampling stews and Rotis made lovingly by tantes (aunties) starting at the crack of dawn. When we were finally finished, the folks at Curacao Marine hauled Trance with a trailer and put her in the depot next to her sailboat friends for the next six months. Like doting parents dropping a child off on the first day of kindergarten, we followed the trailer to the depot gates and watched between the fence as the yard workers secured her stands.

Hauled and washed

December 9, 2015

Return to Curacao

The last two weeks have been quite a whirlwind. After what seemed an eternity, hurricane season ended and we found ourselves on a flight to Curacao the Friday before Thanksgiving.  We had Trance moved out of the depot for our arrival, and spent the weekend changing her anodes, greasing her prop, and beginning recommissioning work. Her decks were filthy so we spent a good deal of time washing them. On Monday, she was launched back into the water, and we spent a week on the docks getting her ready to cruise again.

We are amazed at how smooth it went and how little was broken. There was no green to be seen anywhere, until Da Admiral opened a Ziploc holding a carpet that likely had not fully dried after laundering. Not bad. Of course, our engine would not start and we quickly determined it was the starter battery. We tracked down a replacement AGM by chance (we were looking for Napa and stumbled upon a shop run by a very knowledgeable Dutchie). It turns out that because starter batteries usually have a different state of charge than the house bank, by keeping our battery switch on “both” over hurricane season and before, we overcharged the starter, which likely killed it. Lesson learned.

Our accumulator tank connected to our water pump (pressurized water) lost pressure and we had to blow it back up with a bike tire pump. No pressurized water = no hot water, so Da Admiral had a slight panic attack until that was sorted. Of course, everything with electrical connections had traces of corrosion, so we spent a lot of time inspecting and carefully removing it from everything. We even spent hours cleaning the engine, and Da Admiral plans on painting the flaking parts with high heat paint. Da Captain changed the impeller after some friends from the marina found theirs in pieces. Turns out it was unnecessary and getting it out and the new one back in was quite an ordeal that necessitated a trip to Napa to buy special plyers. Also, our steaming light, which we had to replace in Martinique was out AGAIN. Finally, our head pump was leaking, but luckily we keep a whole new one as a spare. The poo job is just too disgusting to mess with a rebuild kit that’s only $30 cheaper.

The big item, which was thankfully solved very easily, came when our neighbor, Peter, noticed that one of the turnbuckle pins on one of our starboard side stays was bent. Coincidentally, the spreader that went crooked during our surfing adventure off the coast of Georgia was also on starboard. Turns out we had cruised nearly the entire eastern Caribbean like that... We called a rigger who helped us replace it that same day. He said he did not see any cracks, so it was probably fine, but we replaced it for peace of mind. Thanks to Peter! Who knows what may have happened on a later passage. Peter and Cathy, by the way, are the most amazing cruising couple. They are on their second circumnavigation and left 20 years ago. When they cruised to South Africa, they bought a van and disappeared into the continent of Africa for a year, visiting nearly every country. Peter is now 70 and they are leisurely making their way back to New Zealand, where they live not far from Mr. Lavranos, Trance's designer. A million thanks to Peter and Kathy for the wealth of knowledge and advice! Peter and Cathy's boat was also built in South Africa, and we initially met Peter when he strolled by to admire Trance while she was still on the hard. He's not the first one who has opined that the guys at the Jacobs Brothers shape aluminum hulls like works of art.

After a week of recommissioning, we welcomed some Dutchie friends on board for a week and checked out all the anchorages in Curacao. We also had an exhilarating sail to Klein Curacao. After the tourist boats leave at night, you have the entire island to yourself. We climbed the lighthouse, examined a brain coral head in the middle of the island, and peered into a wrecked sailboat on the windward side of the island. It was a  scary sight to behold, and heartbreaking to think that it was once someone's dream. Da Captain and friends also swam with sea turtles, and we were boarded by the Dutch coasties, who were surprised to find a Dutch captain on a US-flagged vessel. When they looked at Da Admiral's passport, she was proclaimed "boss lady" and all was clear. Nice guys.

Once our friends left, we checked out of Curacao, serendipitously getting a ride from customs to immigration and back to Spanish Waters from the cruising couple who took our slip after we left Curacao Marine. They were heading to Panama the following day. On Sunday, we anchored in Fuik Bay, the same Bay where we made landfall from Martinique, also on a Sunday evening, six months ago. Once again, we enjoyed listening to the local yachties soaking up the last minutes of weekend.

Tot ziens Willemstad!

December 22, 2015

Passage from Bonaire to Puerto Rico

Well, we made it to the other side. After a week in Bonaire discovering the underwater realm (images--not even IMAX--cannot do it justice), we set course for the east side of Puerto Rico, hoping to make anything east of the Mona Passage and hoping that the strong current and winds would not push us to the Dominican Republic. The sailor cat waiting for us in Florida would not be pleased, as landing in the DR would make it difficult for her to rejoin the crew after the holidays as planned.

As expected, the first 24 hours were hell on earth. Although we had east southeast winds, we still needed to stay hard on the wind to make easting. The waves were large and hitting Trance's hull like Mac trucks, all too familiar to us. We turned the dorades aft before setting off, but the water still made its way in (mental note to tape them shut next time). Salt spray was everywhere. Going down below required so much energy just to hang on that we both collapsed in the cockpit for 15 minutes every time we came up. All we were able to write in the log book: "nightmare." Fun times. At least we were making good speed. Just as Chris Parker forecast, once we got further north the wind and waves settled, but we still made easy speeds of 6-8 knots with the staysail and reefed main. Some sort of anomaly with the currents suddenly made easting quite easy. We made it in three days (65 hours, actually). We even had to slow ourselves down by letting the main out to avoid making landfall in the dark. So, the second half of the sail would actually have been pretty awesome but for "the accident."

On the second morning, Da Captain decided to make coffee. Conditions had settled a bit, but were still sporty. Just as he picked up the kettle to pour the hot water into the French press, a rogue wave hit Trance's hull and down went Da Captain, along with the kettle of steaming water. Da Admiral awoke to a huge crash and opened her eyes to see Da Captain scrambling up and steam everywhere. Steam? Why is there steam everywhere...? "I'm okay, I'm okay," Da Captain proclaimed. "It doesn't hurt that bad." As Da Admiral inquired into what happened, how long it had been since the water boiled, the seriousness of the situation hit her and into survival mode they both went. Cold water from the fridge went over Da Captain's left side. Medicine at sea book was consulted, aloe was applied, burns were bandaged. Da Admiral suggests turning around, Da Captain decides to wait and see due to the absence of debilitating amounts of pain... When the blisters finally started forming, we were over the halfway point and thankful that our baby was racing as fast as she could to bring her Captain to safety. Another 140+ mile day. It was too bad we had to slow her down to await first light for our landfall in Salinas, Puerto Rico.

Salinas is not an official U.S. port of entry. But who is looking for an official port of entry in a medical emergency? As soon as we tied up, we called customs. The nice officer on the other end did what he could, but still had to put us on hold for what seemed like an eternity to consult with supervisors since we were not at an official port of entry. We were anxious and irritated because, as participants of various voluntary CBP programs, last time we made landfall in Puerto Rico (Culebra), all we had to do was call. Not this time. Despite the medical emergency, we had to wait an hour for customs to inspect us in Salinas. We are very grateful that the officers were willing to drive to us, that they arrived so quickly and that they showed so much genuine concern for Da Captain, but still found the ordeal quite stressful based on our last clearance experience. At the ER in Salinas, the nurses scraped off the blisters and old skin while Da Captain bit his lip in pain. This process was more painful than the actual burn. They applied silver sulfadiazine cream, gave him antibiotics via IV drip, prescribed antibiotics for 7 days, and set him off with instructions on the daily scraping and cleaning ritual. He was also instructed to follow up with his regular doctor in three days. Second degree burns over 80% of his left arm below the elbow, his upper arm, and on his torso and shoulder is serious business. Back at the boat, we changed our flight home for the holidays to leave in two days, rather than in a week, and accepted that our tour of Puerto Rico would have to wait until the new year.

We look forward to spending time with family and friends while Da Captain heals, and will report in the new year once we start heading back down island. (We'll send an e-mail with a link to the next page.) Let us know who wins the poll on how many days go by before Da Captain drinks coffee again (today makes it a week). In the meantime, we wish all of you a healthy and happy holiday season!

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