January 10 - 24, 2016

Puerto Rico to St. Croix

Back in Puerto Rico after the holidays, we spent some time sightseeing, including driving the narrow streets of Salinas during a horse festival, nearly getting our tiny rental car kicked in by horse hooves. We fell in love with the happy spirit of the Puerto Rican people. In our last update we neglected to mention the band of singing merry-men parading through the halls of the Salinas hospital. We also did some provisioning. Da Sailor Cat wouldn't let us leave without taking a trip to the last PetCo, which sold her special limited ingredient food. We left Salinas for Puerto Patillas on a squally day.

Soon after, Da Admiral got the bad news. Her aunt had lost her battle with cancer. The world will surely miss a firecracker of a woman who fought cancer and underwent trials and tribulations with strength and dignity. We were very glad we were able to see her over the holidays and will strive to live life with as much spunk.

As we arrived in Patillas, some friendly fishermen pointed out the correct way to the entrance, as there were some shallows and rocks. We entered, selected a spot to anchor and dropped the hook. Da Admiral at the helm was a bit concerned that a small "island" or set of rocks on the chart was nowhere to be seen. As we were finishing up the anchoring procedure, we felt a light thud. We looked into the murky water and suddenly it was crystal clear--we were in the middle of the "island." Somehow, we had managed to get our keel right between some big rocks without hitting anything. We immediately started raising the anchor but we had to be careful not to get the chain stuck, as it was snaking around between the rocks.  Plus, we didn’t want to hit any of the tall rocks on our way out. De Captain on the bow and Da Admiral on the helm, with good teamwork we successfully looped our way out from between the rocks in reverse.

That eve, the anchorage turned extremely rolly, and we were happy to get out of there and head for Vieques in the early a.m. We had a very eventful sail. We got caught in a mild squall. There was lots of sea foam around and, for the first time, we noticed it crackled--quite loudly. Loud enough that we both noted it aloud. Then, De Captain yelled "dolphins!" Their visits always get us very excited. As we ran to the side deck, we noticed something wasn't quite right. Only their rather unusually large fins protruded out of the water. They were also moving very slowly, and the fins were very black. We paused in silence. De Captain then yelled, "Whoa, are those Orcas?" "What? There are no Orcas around here," retorted Da Admiral. Well, we looked it up when we got to Vieques and, sure enough, there are Orcas in the waters around Puerto Rico. There are also pilot whales, but their fins don't curve as much. So, we may have seen a pod of Orcas. Already, the cruise was starting out well.

We reached the calm west coast of Vieques in time for what may have been the most stunning sunset we’ve seen in all our cruising, which means ever. In the distance, the setting orange ball was surrounded by squalls and cloud formations. It was fabulous and relaxing, and De Captain blew his conch shell.

Spectacular sunset

The next morning, Chris Parker reported on the first named storm of the 2016 Atlantic hurricane season. Scary.

We sailed to the south cost of Vieques and anchored east of the town of Esperanza in Sun Bay, one of the most perfect and picturesque bays we’ve seen. We were baffled there was no one there. The town was interesting and filled with modern hippies milling about amongst the locals. We decided to go on a bike riding adventure to visit some sights, but aborted the operation after ending up on a buggy, muddy trail. Also concerning was the fact that a cute dog followed us on the trail for miles even though we kept telling him to go home. But when he stopped in his tracks once we reached a main road, we figured he was not lost. We had identified what we thought was the fastest route to our destination, but it ended up being closed because it led to some sort of top secret government radio installation with dangerously high radioactivity levels (according to the million warning signs). We had seen it and wondered about it as we sailed by. Luckily the nice man guarding the dangerous radio installation showed us the shorter way around and back to town. But the adventure was not over yet. Da Admiral got chased by a vicious pit bull, which only stopped when De Captain, pedaling behind her, let out a caveman-like roar, stopping the dog in its tracks.

When we got back to Sun Bay that afternoon, a couple of yachts had come in. The secret was out.

We decided we wanted to see the famous Bioluminescent Bay (lagoon) on our own, and not as part of some tour group, at all costs. It’s prohibited to anchor in or motor into the lagoon, but just outside the lagoon there is a very exposed anchorage. So, the next day, we decided to anchor outside the Bio Bay just before dark, row to the lagoon, and leave the rolly anchorage early the following morning. Indeed, when we arrived and dropped the hook we knew we would be in for an interesting night. We’ve actually moved around less on passage.

The Bio Bay was very cool. As our paddles went through the water, they left quite a show. Although it was pitch dark out, you could see the fish swimming below the water in the form of bioluminescent streams. We ran our hands through the water and shouted about how cool it was. We took photos and a video, but it was too dark for them to turn out. Back at Trance, we saw a dinghy coming out of the lagoon and circling around near Trance. It appeared to be full of scientists collecting samples. Although we were outside the lagoon, there was still some bioluminescent activity around us, so they must keep an eye on it. The biologists must have wondered what we were doing anchored out there rolling around like crazy. We decided it was probably good prep for what we read would be a very rolly Gallows Bay, St. Croix.

It was smooth sailing to St. Croix in ideal conditions: 14-19 knots, mostly on a beam reach. It got a little tougher when the wind turned southeast in the last few hours, but we made it in just at sunset.

In St. Croix we visited with a family friend from Florida, Corinne, and her then fiancé (now husband). Da Admiral’s mother is friends with Corinne’s dad, Jack. In Da Admiral’s youth, when Corinne was just a toddler, the two families would go boating on the ICW, which we locals call “the river.” It was only recently, when we started cruising, that we learned that Corinne’s parents were cruisers, which is how they found and ended up in “Velcro Beach.” Jack has been one of our biggest supporters and sources of inspiration. He has given us much wise advice. We often find ourselves repeating and heeding his words, “trust your sails, they’ll get you there eventually.” Thank you, Jack!

We had a wonderful and reminiscent time with them. It was also fabulous to see what a fine person Corinne has grown up to become and to see what a beautiful and smart couple they are. Thank you so much, guys. We had a wonderful time and are so excited about your future life together!

Another highlight of St. Croix was renting a car and feeding pigs beer. Yes, pigs beer. Although they weren’t really “pigs.” So, we pull up to the Domino Club, up in the beautiful St. Croix “rainforest.” We order a drink, chat with the friendly locals and American "expats" hanging out, and ask about the pigs. We finish our beers and shots of Mamawanna (thanks for the tip, Corinne) and head for the stalls with the gentleman in charge of overseeing the pig feeding, cans of alcohol-free beer in hand. As we approach the stalls, a ginormous boar that probably weighed more than a small car props his front paws and head, huge tusks and all, over the top of the stall. The gentleman instructs us to hold the can out and quickly pull away as soon as the “pig” grabs it in his mouth. De Captain goes first. The monster takes it out of his hand and sticks it with his huge teeth, popping holes into the can, which he then points into his mouth. Of course, some of the beer sprays our way, and we hoot and holler while the gentlemen tries to get Da Admiral to remember to take photos and De Captain to look into the camera. Then it was Da Admiral’s turn. We got plenty of photos, but De Captain and Da Admiral aren’t really looking into the camera.

Drunk pig

We also ran into some friends from the big charter ketch, Stargazer. We had met them in St. Thomas the year before when we played, well, bumper boats in the night. Thinking back, boy, were we newbies at the time. We were anchored across from a huge cruise ship in St. Thomas, just outside a bunch of local moorings when, of course, the huge Stargazer picked up the empty mooring ball right next to us. Being nubes, we weren’t expecting a boat that big. We considered moving but decided to stay put after chatting with them. They were about our age, and very nice and cool when warning us it was likely to get fun when the “Allure of the Seas,” the largest cruise ship in the world, turned on its thrusters and sailed out. They said to have fenders ready, as apparently it had churned up the mooring field in the past. It was a sight to behold, having such a behemoth all lit up and sailing by so close. We watched carefully with fenders in hand, but the ship cleared us without too much movement. All was well and we retired inside for the night. At about 3:00 am, there was a loud thud. The wind had completely died and all the boats were drifting, including us into none other than Stargazer. Stargazer is big and stout and we are aluminum, so there was no damage. After putting fenders in between, De Captain informed them that we would move. De Captain started the engine and called to Da Admiral, who was still lying down in a sleepy daze. He weighed anchor and then instructed her to go in reverse to get away from Stargazer. Well, being sleepy, Da Admiral went into forward. Annoyingly our throttle is positioned starboard to port instead of forward-aft. Straight toward Stargazer we went. Luckily it was Stargazer’s inflatable that we hit, which turned into a huge rubber fender. De Captain promised to pay for any damage and to check in with them in the morning. Early the next morning, we were glad to learn that the only damage was some loose wires on their outboard. $100 bucks later, we had new friends.

We had a fun time hanging out with Stargazer and their friends at the St. Croix boardwalk, and checking out the cute town. Buck Island was also gorgeous. The disappointing part was the snorkeling, as all the coral was dead. But we did see a friendly dolphin. We also saw the folks from Stargazer with a few local boats, partying and enjoying the weekend. Just in time for sundowners in the cockpit, entertainment was provided when a boat ran over another boat’s anchor rode and a heated exchange ensued. Because you need a permit to overnight, it was only us and one other boat there after sunset, so it was nice to have it almost all to ourselves.

January 24 – February 1, 2016

Sint Maarten to Saba

We left at dark for Sint Maarten. Due east, we knew it would be a hard sail, but it’s only 90 miles, so how bad could it be? Well, it was pretty awful. The water is shallow for miles and full of fish traps, so we couldn’t relax all night. The forecast called for 15 knots from the southeast, but it turned out to be gusting in the low 20s from the east. 18-20 knots is usually right up Trance’s alley, but not that fun when you’re hard on the wind in shallow waters surrounded by fish traps. We had to tack half way to the British Virgin Islands. We almost decided to head for Tortola, as Dan and Ame from Chalk Point were there again, but we had too many missed islands to see and not a lot of time. Last season the weather did not permit us to go to Saba or Statia, and we didn’t make it south of Martinique due to work commitments. So we gritted our teeth and sailed about 20 miles northwest of Sint Maarten, when we turned on the engine and headed straight in. Luckily the winds had died down by then (although they had finally turned to the southeast).

Feeling defeated, it was nice to be in Sint Maarten again. There were many familiar boats there, included the big Canadian Kanter we saw last year. They had warned us about bottom growth in the lagoon and were right. So this year we anchored outside, not too far from them.

Back in the land of superyachts, we saw what we thought was a cruise ship anchored well outside Simpson Bay. It turned out to be the aptly named Eclipse, the second largest private yacht in the world. Luckily it was not between us and the sunset, as it certainly would have eclipsed it.

As usual for Sint Maarten, there was plenty of activity to keep things interesting in the anchorage. First there was a boat fire in the lagoon. Luckily, our friend Andrew had charter guests and was not at his mooring ball at the time, as the toxic black smoke would have gone right over his boat. We were bummed that we missed him, but knew we would be back in Sint Maarten on our way north.

Then, some young French sailors came in and we watched as they had trouble anchoring. When they finally anchored, they immediately went to shore. Of course, not long after, their boat started dragging halfway out of Simpson Bay. Luckily, some good Samaritans dinghied over and let out more chain. When it started getting dark, the whole anchorage was on the lookout for lost Frenchies, as surely they would be unable to find their boat. Also that day, a boat that came in struggled for an hour with tangled lines, until a guy went up the mast and wrestled with the jib before anchoring.

With no duties, good prices and friendly folks (some even recognized us), we took the opportunity to buy new genoa sheets, a spinnaker halyard, etc. Sometimes it’s just nice being in a familiar place.

We resumed our ritual of listening to the cruisers' net every morning. After the net we eavesdropped on the captain of a boat named First Lady talking about his time in the Pacific--“nothing but trouble.” First, he got hit by lightening in Las Perlas, Panama and ended up with a hole in his boat. Then, in the Pacific islands, a tsunami carried his boat up the main street of the town. He got his boat fixed and tried to go to New Zealand for typhoon season, but with gale conditions and mountains for waves, he landed in New Caledonia, where the immigration officials forced him out at the start of typhoon season. Sure enough he found himself 60 miles from the eye of a typhoon. We’re glad he lived to tell the tale.

Amusingly, while waiting for the bus to Maho Bay, we were approached by a young French couple who claimed we had won $750 from a scratch-off card. All we had to do was go to a resort to collect it. Da Admiral stood back, watching their hands and our backpacks with hawk eyes. As the bus approached, she told them they had 10 seconds. The young trickster looked at her in bewilderment and asked De Captain, “Is she crazy? There are like a hundred buses, this is $750!” De Captain shrugged, tried to get the guy to give him the scratch-off card and jumped on the bus after Da Admiral when he refused. We later Googled it and it is a timeshare ploy. We don’t exactly look like the timeshare types, especially when we’re cruising, so they must have been desperate.

We made it to the beach at Maho Bay just in time for the KLM jumbo jet taxi and takeoff. What a sight to behold and what a strange contrast to see sunbathers so close to the huge craft. The roar of the engines was impressive. We recorded the event but the video really doesn’t do it justice. Since we were there, we figured we would have the obligatory beer and gasped as a few flights came in, soaring just over our heads.

Duck!

Of course we had several meals at Lagoonies. With great food and $1 beers at happy hour, who can argue with that?

The time had finally come. With no wind and flat seas forecast for the next two days, we left for Saba the following day. Having no protected harbors, Saba is off the beaten cruising path. Our “flight” to Saba was at a cruising speed of 7.5 knots with apparent wind of 10-16 knots just aft of the beam. It was one of our most amazing, memorable sails. We overtook another 11.5-meter aluminum boat that had also left from Simpson Bay a bit earlier. We were thrilled to meet the nice Dutch woman on board, who was thoughtful enough to dinghy over to give us the photos she had taken of Trance under sail. They had crossed the Atlantic and were on their way to Panama and across the Pacific. It was too bad we were going in different directions. Not that age ever matters out here, but it would have been cool to make cruiser friends with them, since they are our age.

Flying to Saba

Right on schedule, the wind relaxed. We took one of the few remaining mooring balls near Ladder Bay. De Captain dove to check it, as we had read reports of boats drifting, but it was fine. Much to our delight, some folks we met at Curacao Marine through Peter came in. They had just bought the boat in Curacao, were brand new to cruising, and we were very excited for them and their new adventure. They were heading to the DR, then east from there.  We were happy to see them looking salty and confident coming in to Saba.

Saba was absolutely breathtaking. There is a reason she is called “the unspoiled queen” of the Caribbean. We snapped a million photos of the raw, jagged coast and cliffs as we dinghied the two miles to the small harbor. It was a bit sporty once we reached the south side of the island, but Origami handled it fine. At the harbor, we checked in with all the necessary authorities, chatted with our friends from Curacao Marine, and found a tour guide. We had to plan our sightseeing and move fast, as the calm weather wouldn’t last.

 Approaching the Unspoiled Queen

This is what we signed up for

The two beauties

Mr. Peterson was an 8th generation Saban. He drove us to the two towns, Windward Side and The Bottom. He taught us about the history of the island and the road the Dutch said couldn’t be built but was, after a local man took a mail-order engineering course. He also taught us about how the airport was built after the locals brought in a pilot from St. Barts. The daredevil pilot figured he could land on the only small stretch of flat land if the locals smoothed it out and filled in the holes. After successfully landing on the strip no bigger than an aircraft carrier, the Sabans got their airport (which the Dutch also said couldn’t be built). The toughness and hardiness of the people was inspiring and the scenery the most magnificent we’ve seen in the Caribbean. Mr. Peterson dropped us off to have lunch, sign up for a dive, and hike to the highest point in the Kingdom of the Netherlands--Mt. Scenery. With a cloud perched atop the peak, we weren’t expecting a view, but De Captain couldn’t leave without climbing to the highest spot in his kingdom.

Windward Side -- can we move here?




The Bottom

Stunning Saba

We had lunch at a lodge up in the rainforest. We made friends with a cute black pet lamb and a guest turned temporary helper, Sunshine. Sunshine had had enough of the yachting industry and took off from Sint Maarten to explore the unspoiled queen. He had extended his flight but would have to go back to the UK soon. We felt his pain. Saba was an absolutely magical place that rewards those who dare to make the trek.

After lunch, we hiked up through the Elfin Forest to the peak of Mt. Scenery, where the resident rooster was hanging out. As expected, there would be no view for us, but the climb itself was breathtaking (literally), and De Captain got his snapshot of himself next to the sign designating the highest spot in the Kingdom. As a bonus, the rooster photo-bombed some of the photos.

Resident of the highest point in the Kingdom

Mr. Peterson picked us up and drove us back to the harbor. Lots of boats had come into the mooring field. We hoped they knew the swell would be picking up in 24 hours. The plan for the next day was to dinghy to and climb the ladder in the morning, before it got swelly, then go for an afternoon dive and head out the following morning.

Try lugging your supplies up that.

That night, we awoke to the mooring ball hitting the side of boat. The boat had turned. Thud thud it went the rest of the night. The next morning, we had turned 360 degrees and our mooring lines were completely tangled, including around our keel. De Captain had to dive to untangle them. With some wind filling in and the cliffs causing bizarre katabatic effects, it had become quite rolly and swelly. The mountain was curving the east winds to the west, so there would be no ladder for us. Although disappointed, we had no choice but to shrug it off, and De Captain snorkeled and saw a ray.

Our afternoon dive at The Boulders was beautiful. We saw two sea turtles. A big one was chomping on corral. We also saw a moray eel and 200-year-old coral. It was fabulous and relaxing to work our way through the beautiful rocks. We are so lucky that our first dives have been at some of the world’s greatest dive sites.

That evening we made water again. The numbers were not as low as we would have liked, but good enough to put into the tanks for washing and boiling for tea (still no coffee since De Captain’s “incident.”) We resigned ourselves to the fact that this was the way it was going to be.

February 2 – 6, 2016

Statia to St. Kitts

Our “flight” to Statia was almost at wind speed-8-10 knots true. We proclaimed, “This is what we signed up for!” It was a close reach, so we weren’t sure what was going on, other than the fact that the seas were almost flat and close reaching is Trance’s favorite point of sail. We made a mental note to look up currents in the area.

As expected, Statia was rolly so we deployed our first stern anchor. It was quite an operation but worth it. We’ve had lots of firsts this season – using our staysail and checkstays, diving, and now a stern anchor. We’ve enjoyed expanding our knowledge and experience. It really does take a year of cruising to figure things out. On shore, we met the nice folks aboard the ketch Sitara and laughed about unrealistic expectations. They also have friends who think they are on a six-month vacation, every day sailing calm, clear waters with a cocktail in hand.

We walked around the town and learned about Statia's status as part of the Netherlands from locals, who are quite unhappy about how expensive it has made life. We looked forward to climbing the volcano, but after paying the various fees to the various authorities and learning there was another fee to hike, we felt shaken down and decided against it.

Although rough around the edges, Statia has lots of potential and we enjoyed it overall. It was fun walking around town and the beautiful fort. Because of its historical significance as the place where the United States was first recognized as an independent State, we won’t be surprised if it's teeming with Americans one day. Perhaps like Nevis, due to Alex Hamilton's birth there.

Trance guarding Ft. Oranje

Speaking of St. Kitts and Nevis, it was a short sail to the coast. Just as last year, we turned on the engine after reaching the coast and the crazy katabatic stuff kicked in. We anchored in Basse Terre to check in. Last year the officials were disinterested, but Da Admiral has since taught De Captain the ways of the Caribbean people, and he now does quite well endearing himself to the local officials. Of course, Da Admiral a prime example, Caribbean ladies love him.

We anchored near the Shipwreck Bar very close to the beach. We had forgotten that it tends to be buggy and rolly closer in. We beached the dinghy on the rocky beach, using the paddling technique of the young Canadian couple anchored near us. It has come in handy several times since. We had a great lunch at the Shipwreck before heading back to the boat for a rolly night.

The next day we moved to White House Bay and made water underway. Sitara came in so we had fun with the conch shell at sunset.

The following day, we loaded up the bikes and beached the dinghy, again using the paddling technique. It was a far ride up some hills to Reggae Beach, but we needed the exercise. Believe it or not, turning into a well-oiled machine makes for less physical activity. We chatted with the local staff, and peered at and felt sorry for the poor monkeys in cages. We were glad to see a wild one on the ride back to the dinghy. We hollered at him, “Go rescue your friends!”

Although last year we complained about the prices at the fancy beach bar, Salt Plage, we decided it was nice enough to warrant making it a tradition, so we dressed up in our fabulous sand-colored linen and headed to shore. It wasn’t that busy and we had fun getting tips on Dominica from our wonderful bartender. Back on the boat we turned on the deck flood/spreader light and lit Trance up like a sailing superyacht.

February 7 - 17, 2016

Montserrat to Antigua

We knew the first half of our sail to Montserrat would be sporty. The wind was on the nose and there was water everywhere. Of course, we forgot to install our new dorade covers. Those conditions are always exhausting even though once the sails are set, we’re sitting down. We were reefed (too) tightly and tore the mainsail below reef. “Just like last year, more repairs in Antigua,” we thought. We did experience a very cool fly by, though. The small plane came so close that we could see the two men in the cockpit, their sunglasses and hair color. Then we passed some stinky seas. At first we were scared that the holding tank had somehow overflown in the big waves but the smell was outside, not down below. We hoped a passing cruise ship had not just emptied its holding tanks. As we approached Montserrat, we first saw haze, then spewing smoke. We were very excited to finally see the island, after having to anchor and leave the next morning last year.

We got a great island tour from Mr. Philip. He showed us his old neighborhood, which is now so overrun with growth and trees that he had to point out the houses behind all the green. He recalled how, when evacuating them, the authorities said it would only be for the weekend, so they only packed a few things. As we got closer to the exclusion zone, we could smell the sulfur from the volcano. We got an eerie, birds-eye view of the abandoned city, roofs sticking out of the ash and all. At the volcano observatory we got an unforgettable first-ever (for us) view of a live, smoking volcano.

Ghostly ruins of Montserrat

After our tour, we had lunch at Pont's. It’s run by a local who returned to the island from England and is trying hard to make Montserrat a vibrant place again. A great guy who even gave us a ride to the ATM when we walked in and asked if they took cards. We highly recommend it. The food was excellent and the restaurant is perched on the best spot on the island. The entrance is tucked away in the trees and as you walk through the restaurant the dining room leads to a great deck overlooking the water and cliffs. We had lunch on the deck and sighed at how lucky we are.

But of course everything can’t be perfect. Over the past few weeks, we had become a well-oiled machine. We hoisted and disassembled Origami, prepared the sails and running rigging, weighed anchor, hoisted the sails, lowered and furled the sails and anchored, often without having to say a word to each other. But just when you’re starting to feel confident, things happen, as if to protect you from carelessness caused by complacency. Everything went wrong when we were leaving Montserrat. We couldn't get the staysail and checkstays rigged correctly, we couldn't get the reef in correctly, we had trouble weighing anchor, etc. We must have looked like newbies. But it happens to all of us. Salty sailors know better than to scoff at others.

It was a sporty beat upwind to Antigua. Our cruising guide says that it’s sometimes smarter to sail to Guadeloupe and then to Antigua, but we were too stubborn. Luckily, a huge pod of dolphins escorted us for a while as if to deliver a better afternoon. They played and danced in our bow waves and alongside, diving under Trance from side to side. No matter how many times we see it, it never gets old, and never ceases to fill us with childlike glee.

By the end of the day, we were back in the land of sailing yachts with masts tall enough to have (require?) red anchor lights. Speaking of anchor lights, we have no idea what is up with the boats with blinking anchor lights, anchor lights with strobes, disco anchor lights, etc. Perhaps it’s fun for a few hours if you’re clearly and obviously having a gathering on board, but otherwise it is annoying and distracting. Worse is no anchor light at all, which we see quite often. Enough about our pet peeves. We're not supposed to be scoffing at others.

We found a spot next to Skook, owned by Markus from Germany, creating an aluminum South African-built corner of the anchorage. Unsurprisingly, the official was ornery during the check-in process. For some reason, Antigua is the only place where the locals refused to warm up to us, even though we always respect the local customs and culture when interacting with them. Big, genuine smiles usually go a long way. Not in Antigua.

While we were over at Nelson’s Dockyard checking in, a few rowers doing the Atlantic Challenge came in. Crossing the Atlantic in a seaworthy but small sailboat is daunting enough. We can’t imagine rowing across. We are very impressed by and greatly respect this display of human courage and determination. Cruising has turned us into adventure seekers, and we envision doing, or hope to do, even more adventurous things in the future. However, we can’t imagine ever wanting to row (steer, really) across the Atlantic.

We removed our main sail and took it in for repairs at a local place. Those guys know their stuff. We got a dogbone added to the main which should fix the bad angle issue we have when reefing. We thought it was us, but it's actually the sail, which makes us feel much better. We had a great experience with them.

We also saw some familiar folks from Curacao and Bonaire. They were trying to make Sint Maarten from Bonaire, but their auto pilot failed so they made landfall in St. Croix. Given our rough passage from Bonaire to Puerto Rico, we can’t imagine what they (and their autopilot) went through.

We were glad to finally meet up with Markus and Skook. We had been stalking Markus for a few months. We found his boat for sale on Yachtworld. It looks similar to Trance—beautifully shaped aluminum hull, hard dodger, etc.--but bigger: 48 feet. After checking it out, turns out it’s too much to handle, but we’re really glad our paths finally met. We learned so much from him and know we will stay in touch for a long time to come. He is a very experienced single-hander, and it has made him wise. He had very tough sails from Cape Town to Namibia, and to St. Helena and the Caribbean. He’s been through everything from a blown out sail to a line in the prop, and a broken autopilot at sea, some simultaneously. For us, he reaffirmed the theme that all sailors, even the best, make mistakes, and the more we learn the more we realize we don't know. On top of that, there is no specializing on a short-handed sailboat. You have to attempt to know everything. He passed on the wisest advice he’s gotten, from none other than the man who designed our anchor: no matter what mistakes you make along the way, if you get your boat and your crew safely to port, you have succeeded.

Other highlights in Antigua included Da Admiral giving De Captain a haircut for the first time and it turning out pretty well. We also saw Phaedo the racing trimaran go out, practicing for the Caribbean 600. We couldn't tell if it was going forward or in reverse—it looks more like an insect than a sailing vessel. But it goes 40 knots! (That’s almost 50 mph for you landlubbers.) Lots of boats came in for the race. One even dropped its chain in the harbor, marking it with a buoy. We also took a bus to St. John to the most expensive grocery store ever. However, they have cheap boneless chicken breast, so we stocked up. It was cool riding the bus with the locals. Finally, we hiked up to Shirley Heights. It was a beautiful view, the barbecue was delicious, and the steel drum band perfected the atmosphere. Finally, it was a major bonus when Hogfish came in! Under sail, of course. Chris was crewing on a boat in Caribbean 600. It was great to catch up with them, albeit for too short a time.

Of course, there were the usual boat jobs. Not exciting but we don’t mind it. We get a lot of satisfaction out of the fact that Trance is immaculately maintained. Even Markus commented on what good condition she's in. We spend a lot of timing keeping her perfect. We made more adjustments trying to find the best setup for the staysail and check stays, as we’re planning a longer passage south soon. We spent several hours adjusting the reefing system. We discovered that single line reefing is easier, when the lines don’t get stuck. We greased our wheel and steering cables to avoid squeaking, installed new, beefier engine panel cover hinges, and Markus helped us install the repaired mainsail. The nice gentleman from A&F Sails had given De Captain a ride back to the harbor with the repaired sail. That was the end of nice locals.

Last year De Captain got the feeling we were tolerated as a lesser species. This year it was Da Admiral's turn. As always, she greeted the ladies at the laundry service with a big smile before getting to business. Laundry lady’s response to her cheery “good afternoon” when she returned to pick up her load, "Sit down and read a book." Eying her conspicuous green sack in the ready pile, she politely waited, the only customer in the place, while the ladies went about their business. Abruptly and randomly, the lady looked up and proceeded to try to charge her more than the agreed-upon price. Already irritated, in the dinghy with clean laundry sack in tow, she had to navigate through the big wakes of tenders almost as large as Trance, the crew members not blinking an eye nor bothering to slow down as they whizzed by. One came so close that the wake nearly capsized Origami, which is bigger than many dinghies, by the way. That night, her experience at the Skullduggery Bar sealed the nail in the coffin. Politely but assertively holding her cash and waiting to order at the bar, trying to make eye contact with the bartendresses, she watched in bewilderment as superyacht crew-looking males with British accents, one after the other, walked up to the bar and were immediately served. She decided to do a little test. She went back to De Captain and asked him to order the drinks in his best accent. Da Admiral stood behind him. Sure enough, in less than three minutes, he had placed his order. When the bartendress returned with the drinks, she found a smiling Admiral, grinning Captain behind her, waiting to receive the drinks. We’ll spare you from the details of the following exchange, but you can probably imagine what happened when Da Admiral got a hold of her.

Our last evening, we had Markus on board for a goodbye dinner and promised to stay in touch.

When we weighed anchor the next morning, Trance for the first time felt small and easily manageable to Da Admiral. We used our "new" reefing system. Lots of boats were headed into Falmouth Harbor for the race, so we got out just in time. We had had enough of the disrespectful people. Of course, there are exceptions to every rule—there were nice, helpful locals on bus, and the A&F Sails gentleman was great.

February 18 – 26, 2016

Guadeloupe to Grenada

Our sail to Guadeloupe was uneventful. We anchored in cute Deshaies for the eve. A French woman dinghied up to Trance, offering her great service—morning warm baguette delivery plus a pain au choco for De Captain for 5 bucks. The French version of a boat boy (in this case girl)! We love the French islands.

Early the next morning, we set off on our fast 48-hour passage to Grenada. Trance flew. Each day we did 130+ nautical miles even though there wasn't supposed to be enough wind for sailing during the first 12-24 hours. Other than in the lees of Guadeloupe and Dominica, she did a steady 6+ knots. It was surprising that Dominica could have a wind shadow 25+ miles away, but it was not a coincidence because the same thing happened to a lesser extent in the lees of Martinique and St. Lucia. After dark and well off the coast of St. Vincent’s, we heard a nearby sailboat on its way to Antigua for the race call the coast guard, having picked up two traumatized fishermen whose outboard had failed. We couldn’t hear both sides of the story, but apparently the coast guard was hesitant to pick up their citizens, and the captain of the sailboat had a deadline to make. We sincerely hope the fisherman were properly cared for by their government.

At sunrise and in the early morning before landfall, we had an unforgettable sail. It seemed as if we were gliding on air. Da Admiral awoke in an almost panic because at first it felt like we weren't moving at all. Did she sleep through the landfall and anchoring procedure? Exiting from the sleepy haze, she realized we were gliding perfectly over the water. With a steady breeze and the protection of the lee, it was like something from a dream.

Check in was easy and pleasant, other than the fact we had to pay overtime fees for arriving on a Sunday. Prickly Bay was a very international anchorage. There were lots of activities to keep folks of all persuasions entertained and a very active cruisers’ community. There were hippies dancing, older folks doing tai chi, even cooking classes. Not our thing but fun to watch from the restaurant.

We rented a car for two days and toured the entire island. Talk about adventurous driving. Luckily De Captain was skilled at driving manual, on the left, on narrow roads with steep inclines while being tailed by locals who like to speed, and all while dodging cars parked in the lane, and having to honk the horn before every curve, not to mention the potholes.

We met some nice people, Michael the local tour guide and Jenny from London, at the spot where the Caribs threw themselves off a cliff rather than subject themselves to French colonial rule. They were touring by bus so we happily merged the tours into our 4-wheel-drive.  Mike took us to a lunch spot and to bubbling sulfur ponds we never would have found on our own. We also toured a cacao estate and bought delicious organic chocolate, and visited a rum distillery for a tasting of the, literally, fire water. We also visited a crater lake, our first, and three sets of waterfalls. There were tropical flowers and amazing mountain views at every turn.

Duquesne Bay. We never did find the petroglyphs.

Before leaving Prickly Bay we took on water at the marina. We also wanted diesel but they were out until the next shipment in three days time. The gentleman at the fuel dock was a really nice guy. Admiring Trance, he said she looks like a sports car.

We sailed by some of the beautiful protected anchorages on Grenada’s south coast. We chose one and successfully navigated the entrance through the reefs, then anchored near Calivigny Island off Petit Calivigny Bay. The next day, we picked up Jenny in the dinghy, showed her the boat, and took her to the town of Woburn where we checked out Nimrod's grocery, bar and restaurant. There was a live band playing and it was packed with cruisers. There were minimal numbers of dial-a-cruisers; more of the "possibly a drug runner" kind. Again, very international. (Search Windtraveler AND “types of cruisers” for entertaining and informative definitions of the various labels. Remember it’s all in good fun.)

The next day we took Jenny sailing. It was a beautiful run then beam reach around to the leeward side of the island. We were excited to be the ones to take Jenny on her first sail, during which she proclaimed she was going to encourage her son, who one day dreams of going cruising (she had no clue where he even got the idea). We took a mooring ball in Dragon Bay to see the famous underwater sculpture park. It’s nothing to write home about but you can’t go to Grenada and not see it. Plus, the purpose behind it--to draw attention to the dying coral reefs--is a noteworthy one. Before we set off in the dinghy to see the sculptures, the park patrol came out to charge us the EC 26.60 ($10) for the mooring ball. The poor gentleman had no idea how to come alongside. He attempted to approach our port side perpendicularly, bow first. He missed on the first attempt. For the second attempt, he decided to gun it, misjudging and hitting Trance so hard Da Admiral, who was down below, had to quickly grab onto the table to prevent from falling over, while she yelled, "what the...?!" His poor young assistant, who was on the bow to collect the money, almost got launched off the boat and onto Trance. He left just a small line on Trance's bare aluminum hull, which would not have been the case had we decided to paint and give her a shiny gel coat. When De Captain jokingly asked if we would be getting a discount, he obliged. The discount was EC 1.60 ($.59). In hindsight we probably should have been a bit more serious about the discount request, but hopefully some of the money will go toward sending the gentleman to a seafaring school.

It's not the first time Trance has been hit. Once raising the mainsail at our mooring ball in the Chesapeake Bay, a skipper with some guests approached to school them on aluminum as a boatbuilding material. He either had too much to drink or also needed to be sent to seafaring school, because he approached very closely. Of course, when Trance swung, he nervously tried to steer his sailboat away, while exclaiming, "whoa, why are you moving?" Apparently he was not familiar with the concept of boats swinging while at anchor or moored. He was unable to steer away fast enough, and his port side bumped right into Trance's starboard side. His guests just looked at us silently with wide eyes. So we like to joke that Trance is named Trance not only because she takes us to other worlds in a flash, and because she sails so beautifully that she puts all aboard in a Trance the second we cut the engine, but also because she puts others who are looking at her in such a Trance that they completely lose their faculties and crash into her!

That evening, we said sad goodbyes to Jenny and promised to keep in touch. She would be heading back to England after her sister finished her medical treatment in Grenada. We are keeping them in our thoughts and sending positive energy their way.

February 27 – March 2, 2016

Carriacou to Union Island & Mayreau

We sailed off our mooring just before 10:00. The sail to Carriacou, although only 25 miles, took all day because we had to make a few tacks. Once we cleared Grenada, the wind was supposed to be due east but, perhaps due to some katabatic effects, it was more like east northeast. Trance did a pretty good job under double reefed main and reefed Genoa, and we could still get her up to 6 knots 35 degrees off the wind. Under a rainless squall cloud, we had her going a steady 7 knots. Origami did a great job being towed, too, and we had fun joking about whether the underwater volcano, Kick ‘em Jenny, would erupt.

Reaching Tyrrell Bay, we were finally in the Windwards, land of boat boys. Less than 30 minutes after settling in, two sets of men in skiffs demanded our presence on deck to sell their wares. The French boat girl in Guadeloupe could teach them something about good bedside manner during the approach. Our boat is our private home, so it was a bit disturbing to be roused into the cockpit. They also try to solicit boats as they are trying to anchor. But we found it made the experience more pleasant to go with the flow, be nice, and make friends with the boat boys. One you get past the interruption, they are great guys to chatter and joke with.

Lunner at the Lazy Turtle was delicious. During our meal, we couldn’t help but notice when a couple we saw drinking at the fuel dock quite early in the day walked in for more drinks.

At about 8:00 pm while locking our outboard onto our stern rail, a man started shouting that he was "bleeding all over the deck and dying." Intermittingly, he would also yell, “You f…ing stabbed me!” It was coming from a boat quite far away. After some time, it was clear that no one was doing anything, so Da Admiral called the police. Things quieted down, and we figured it was a domestic disturbance that fizzled out, as surely no one dying could be shouting it so loudly but nonchalantly. Ten minutes later, we saw blue lights on shore and, sure enough, it ended up being the police responding to our call. On the radio we heard a cruiser asking someone to call the police, at about the same time we first saw the blue lights. Some good Samaritans had dinghied over and were treating the man. Da Admiral broke in that she had called the police 10 minutes ago. From what we heard the man was taken away by the ambulance. Turns out that a local woman had stabbed a male cruiser in the arm in a domestic altercation. We figure it was the couple we saw drinking at the fuel dock early in the day and again later at the Lazy Turtle. It was quite disturbing to learn that although there were tens of boats much closer than ours, we were the first to call the police. Apparently the man had lost a lot of blood, was passing out, and it was quite a serious situation. Who knows what would have happened to him had 10 more minutes gone by before the police and ambulance arrived.

The next morning, we prepared to go around the corner to anchor in front of the town of Hillsborough. A minute or so after the engine started, the bilge pump went off. We checked the bilge, which contained quite a bit of salt water. We immediately started checking the entire bilge from bow to stern for the source, and it turned out a hose clamp on the raw water engine intake had broken and salt water was gushing out. We cut the engine and De Captain installed a new one. Crises averted. We felt lucky.

When the search for the source of the leak narrowed down to the engine compartment, Da Admiral commented that we would just have to sail our way north without an engine, and could get it sorted in Martinique, where we know a good mechanic who we trust. It was nice to think that we finally felt confident enough that, although dropping and weighing anchor would be challenging and maybe sloppy, we had the ability and skills to do so under sail. That way, we could go to someone we know and trust. Many sailors may think it's curious that we would prefer going to a French island instead of stopping at the first island (where they speak English) to have work done. It's true, we don't really speak French (anymore), but have found that given the right effort, humans always find a way to communicate. Anyway, our man in Le Marin did a good job for a fair price, unsupervised while Trance was in Martinique for two months, so we trust him, and that’s what matters most when it comes to your engine! Luckily, this time it was just a hose clamp--no mechanic needed.

Hillsborough was beautiful and cute. We have no clue why Tyrrell Bay is so popular with cruisers. Hillsborough is uncrowded and there is also a beautiful anchorage off nearby Sandy Island. The town was the cutest bustling little town we had seen to date. There was also surprisingly great provisioning and the locals were friendly and helpful. Loved it!

Back at the boat, we set off for the Grenadines. Once we cleared the island, we started racing a slightly larger boat and dusted it! To be fair, it was a ketch and was not flying all its sails, and it wasn't exactly built for speed, but comfort. With calm seas and steady trades, Trance flew to Union Island at 7 knots—we were there in an hour. We were feeling confident so we anchored right behind the reef. It was a bit tricky and tight, so we had to approach twice. Regardless, later we felt confident enough to move right up to the edge of the shallow water when the boat in front of us left. The captain of the neighboring boat even saluted and gave Da Admiral a thumbs up. It was a nice compliment and a great day, but it's always in the back of our minds that there's no place for cockiness at sea. Poseidon will always find a way to humble you.

The anchorage was amazing, with turquoise blue water leading to the reef onto which the swell crashed making a wonderfully soothing sound. Kite surfers flew their colorful sails over the reef. It is one of those special places. Relaxing in the cockpit, we again proclaimed "this is what I signed up for." On the reef, an entrepreneuring local created "Happy Island" out of old conch shells. Just big enough for a bar, it was a place we could not miss.

Trance in 8+ feet of water, Mr. Rocna in 6.

That day, several familiar boats came in, including a woman single-hander. Respect. The town of Clifton was adorable with super nice locals. We had fun doing some provisioning in preparation for some time in the Tobago Cays. We thoroughly enjoyed our time there and even closed down Happy Island. Not that he needed to be told, we told the proprietor that he is famous.

The next day we had lunch in Chatham Bay. There was no reception there so we anchored in Salt Whistle Bay, Mayreau for the night. It’s a beautiful anchorage complete with a reggae beach bar and a bonfire. It was full of charter cats that cleared out first thing the next morning. When we went to leave, the engine didn't start. Not even a click. When messing with the start button we removed the rubber cover and then it started. Who knows.

March 3 - 5, 2016

Tobago Cays to Mustique

Straight into the wind, we motored the two miles to the beautiful Tobago Cays. It was amazing to approach the clear blue waters and protective reef. We saw a few familiar boats and a superyacht crew setting up a tent on Jamesby Island, next to which we anchored. We sometimes wonder why some humans try to modify and humanize everything instead of enjoying the beauty of raw nature. It ruined the view for us, really. But they didn’t stay long.

Finally in the Tobago Cays

After paying the park rangers the obligatory 20 ECs, we spent the couple days relaxing and enjoying the scenery. We noted how beautifully the teal water reflected off the undersides of white birds as they glided over the water. Although the snorkeling was less than spectacular, it was teeming with turtles near our boat and we saw two big rays during our dinghy adventuring. We had fun taking soundings of the water around us and took lots of underwater photos.

Gliding with the local residents

Now that's good holding

We were feeling adventurous when we weighed anchor, so we took the southern exit and went around Horseshoe Reef, which had been protecting us from the open sea, and sailed by Petit Tabac. Then we dodged fish traps on the way to corporate-owned Mustique.

Having permanently berthed in a slip for only one year, and moored the rest of the time, we consider ourselves adept at grabbing mooring balls. Our cruising guide states that to grab the mooring balls at Mustique, one should either launch a dinghy or (if you have an open transom) grab the ball from the stern, because they only have eyes, and no loops, which cannot be pulled up. "We’ll see about that," we thought to ourselves. As De Captain steered toward the ball, Da Admiral held the boat hook in hand and stared down the ball like a toreador facing a bull. "It's on." De Captain approached slowly and hit the throttle if we started drifting away, holding the boat in place. Da Admiral struggled, but finally managed to get the hook through the tiny and slippery metal eye. With the hook through the eye, De Captain ran forward, got the line, laid stomach-down on deck, and tried to get the line through the eye while Da Admiral kept the hook in. “They don't both fit! Damnit.” The hook then slipped free of the eye. “Damn it, get it!" On the second try, just before drifting away, Da Admiral hooked the eye again. De Captain squeezed the line through, cleared it, and we smiled at each other. We walked back to the cockpit with confident strides, the eyes of the yachtsmen in the anchorage on us. We do a secret high five in the cockpit.

We say yachtsmen and not cruisers because Trance was by far the smallest boat there. A small blue catamaran we saw anchored in a bay the cruising guide says not to anchor in came in, tried hopelessly to grab a ball, illegally dropped their anchor, then left when the nice gentleman from Mustique moorings went out to very likely offer assistance with a mooring ball and collect the 200 EC fee.

Normally, we would not have subjected ourselves to the 200 EC shakedown but had to see what all the fuss is about. The water was amazingly crystal clear, the scenery was some of the prettiest we've seen in the Caribbean, and our hopes were high. We went to shore and had lunch at Basil's famous "beach bar," home to the Mustique Blues Festival and impromptu Mick Jagger performances. (The island is frequented by much of the jet set and British royalty.) It was tasty but the portions were tiny and we were still hungry so had to order dessert. US $95 later, we left somewhat but not entirely full.

The view from Basil's

Perfection everywhere

We wandered up the street to the "town" and checked out the grocery store. Almost nothing had a price, and we had to ask before picking up the few items we needed. We headed up the hill and came to an intersection, where two of the three options were marked private property/no entry. We stood there waiting for all the workers on golf carts marked with the Mustique Company logo to whiz by, then turned left and passed the police station into what is clearly the neighborhood where the locals are allowed to reside. The vistas were gorgeous. We turned around and walked back down the hill to find a bunch of cute land turtles milling about. Bizarrely, there was also a cage of blue peacocks. We passed the town and headed toward the only beach on which visitors are allowed. It was breathtakingly beautiful. White sand, blue water, palms planted in a perfect row. Every so often we would pass security telephones marked with the Mustique Company logo and an instructional sign reading something to the effect of "simply pick up the phone and state your emergency. Security will be on the line." We felt like we were in an episode of "Lost." We were tempted to pick it up to see if a Wizard of Oz-like character would be on the other end.

Follow the yellow brick road?

We wandered down the beach and found the trail to the salt pond. It was a pretty walk along a gorgeous beach and mangrove forest. Farther down the trail, we approached a group of Brits drunk out of their minds, dancing. A drunk female wandered off to find a place to relieve herself, not even noticing us, even though we were in plain view. As we walked no farther than 100 feet from them, one of the males loudly asked, "Is someone else there?" We kept walking.

Later down the trail we heard a strange noise and what looked like water misting in the distance. Was it a water hovercraft or jetpack? It turned out to be a man with a fumigator on his back. Slowly we realized what on the surface seemed unspoiled and raw was really just a fantastic and beautiful creation.

The real fantasy island

Yes, that is a mountain of conch shells

Another thing we found strange was that a lot of the locals were indifferent. Not rude, but unlike on the other islands where they always say hello. They just sort of ignored us.

An exception, the nice gentleman who collected the mooring ball fee told us about a local and affordable restaurant, but having blown our budget for the day at Basil’s, we made supper on board. Just before sunset, we saw some local men go out, looking like they were going on a hunt. There were two boats with outboards, one man rowing and one swimmer who kept going under as if to listen to something. We cringed and wondered if it was a whale hunt. In this department, we really struggle with respect for the local culture and customs, and respect for what are clearly highly intelligent animals.

At sunset, De Captain blew his conch shell just because he could. Similarly, before departing in the morning we disposed of all trash on board in the provided receptacle on land.

March 5 - 7, 2016

Bequia to St. Lucia

It was a 20 mile run to Bequia. We had high hopes, as we had heard a lot of good things. As usual, a boat boy tried so sell us a mooring ball for the night. There were lots of illegal mooring balls and most of the boats in the harbor were on them--except a couple other cruisers and The World! We read that The World had gone bankrupt, but we can confirm that it is back in business. It even did the Northwest Passage recently.

The waterfront was spectacularly beautiful. We caught up on laundry and watched the youth sailing club come in from St. Vincent's while having lunch at Maria's. As they skillfully tacked their way in, we noted how it was good to see local youth excelling. Later, the lady single-hander came in.

The Whaleboner Bar

Bequia was pretty dead at night. We had the obligatory cocktail at the Whaleboner Bar. Then we decided to ditch the touristy part of town and stopped in for a beer at a local place, the Rendezvous. The nice owner had sailed around the world working on container ships and then owned a bar on Staten Island. The Rendezvous is an authentic local place, and we highly recommend it. Don’t let all the hype about danger put you off. Plus, you will pay almost double for a beer at the touristy places.

The next day we checked out and set sail for St. Lucia. Based on a recommendation in our cruising guide and the wind forecast, we decided to take the windward side of St. Vincent, which we planned to boycott due to the recent murder of a German cruiser and the government’s response. It was a good decision. We made it to the Pitons by 4:30. It was possibly the most beautiful anchorage we've ever been in. Even Da Sailor cat loved it. She lounged on deck and gazed at the Pitons. They were absolutely stunning and we will never forget it. When it came time to negotiate on the mooring ball fetching service—it’s better to go with the flow here—we bartered with the young men and threw in an old mobile phone. One of them carefully inspected it before accepting it, and asked for assurances that it was unlocked. They were really smart and nice guys.

The Pitons

Trance and the Gros Piton

Just when you think the anchorage can't get any better

Our only negative experience at the Pitons was due to our German neighbors, who were naked pretty much the whole time. They were even naked on deck when the park rangers came to collect the mooring fee. We found it very disrespectful of the local culture. Unless we have a deep-rooted philosophical objection (like with the whale hunting), we always respect and follow the local customs. And when we can’t we don’t participate, leave, or don't go there at all. It was just awful. Then, a French boat that came in at dark accepted help mooring from the boat boys, failed to negotiate in advance, and then refused to pay. Everyone knows that is the deal, and if you don't want to pay you don't accept the help.

March 8 - 15, 2016

Martinique

The sail to Martinique was also fast. Trance was showing off again. We were doing a steady 5.5-6.5 knots, even though we were pressing her 30-35 degrees into the wind at times. Although we usually prefer seclusion, we were looking forward to some modern luxuries again. We planned on going wild provisioning on magnifique Martinique.

It was good to be “home.” Da Sailor cat was pleased as well. She wasted no time parading on deck. This is where her French passport was issued, after all. We went to the fuel dock, drooled at the grocery stores, and enjoyed Belgian beers at lunch. How can it be so night and day in terms of products and prices only 30 miles in each direction?

It was also nice to see many familiar faces. We stopped by Douglas Rapier’s office to say hello. He is such a nice guy. He printed us information on the east coast of the island, as we hoped to circumnavigate Martinique if the weather settled, but it didn’t look like it would be the case. Douglas’ business is doing very well, rightly so. We are very happy for him and highly recommend him and his team.

We rented a car and toured Martinique, which wowed us. We saw our future house, which was featured in the film the Thomas Crown Affair, and we visited cute Ste. Anne. We did a rhum (as opposed to rum) distillery tour and tasting, and bought the ingredients for the local drink, ‘Ti Punch, which is similar to a caipirinha but with rhum. We saw a mini version of the Sacre Coeur, but with two amazing pitons (peaks) as the backdrop.  At every turn, the mountain foliage was beautiful and lush, with tropical flowers everywhere. The semi active volcano, Pelee, was gorgeous, towering in all her majesty. And we toured it all on perfect and smooth French roads.

Rhum, not rum

Although a bit more developed than we would like, we still think Martinique is one of the most, if not the most, beautiful tropical Caribbean islands. It’s a big bonus that you can get everything you need at reasonable prices, including delicious French food, especially baguettes and wine. After a while, it gets a bit old having to pick through a dearth of dusty, if not expired, products at three times the price to attempt to provision. It's sad because most of these places are within 100 miles of a French island. We even picked up a hard to find part for our spinnaker pole. The downside is the traffic. There is a lot of it near the capital. And no one goes to the Caribbean to be stuck in the same rat race traffic jam as at home. If we lived here we would stay well away from Fort-de-France.

Just before weighing anchor we realized we needed a professional repair. Our routine checks didn’t uncover the broken bolts in our headsail furler. We had to extend our stay for only a day to get the necessary repairs done (darn). So, we anchored closer to the machine shop and decided to do a fun boat job while we waited: In the Windwards where you tend to see fewer Americans, fewer people dinghied up to Trance to ask about her and make friends. One of the jobs on the project shelf involved rigging a flag halyard on the port spreaders, like the one we have on starboard for the courtesy flag. That way the flags of the nationalities of the captain and owner can be flown, thereby increasing the probability of attracting friends. We installed the halyard and flags and waited for the friends to come. An hour later De Captain disappointingly announced that it wasn't working because a plethora of friends had not yet come. Then, two cruisers in a dinghy sped by and waved. It was working! The next morning, the German single-hander anchored next to us waved. It was definitely working.

While we waited for the repair, we also did some work and excitedly searched for preparatory reading material to send to friends who would be joining as crew for a week during Da Admiral’s birthday. We came across blogs of young cruisers excited to get out there, having spent the last few years buying and refitting a boat. It was sad that many of them were giving up cruising much earlier than expected, and had spent more time refitting than cruising. But we really respect the fact that they were candid about not liking the cruising life and giving it up early. They noted how they missed working, the routine of the working life (aka rat race) and, mainly, that cruising was getting in the way of sailing. It's true that often you have to rush to be somewhere because of weather, or because entering new harbors at night is a very bad idea, so you worry when you aren't getting somewhere fast enough, and that ruins the enjoyment of sailing along slowly. Also, cruising can involve a lot of boat work and if equipment failures and repairs become the norm, it takes all the enjoyment out of sailing. Indeed, cruising can get in the way of sailing. We can certainly identify with this, as we felt the very same when we first got out there.

But we've learned a lot along the way and realized we made some good initial decisions. The factors that put us on the keep cruising train:

-   We learned to love the ocean swell. And if fresh breezes don't excite you and make you feel more alive, it will absolutely kill your cruise. This is not a day sail on a lake. If you expect it to be (not that these folks did), you'll always be running from the weather and you won't want to heave to or forereach at night while waiting for sunrise. You won’t like to keep moving. This also has a lot to do with your boat.

-   An overbuilt, stout and fast boat makes a huge difference. Although Trance's flat bottom and high performance design makes her less comfortable than a traditional cruiser, she still feels like a tank. We’re sometimes wowed by the blast of the wind when we peek out from behind the hard dodger. So many boats today just don't feel as nice and won’t withstand offshore conditions without something breaking. For example, at the Pitons in St. Lucia, we were surprised to notice that our neighbor's French aluminum boat's mast looked toothpick-like. In Marin we looked at other boats of the same make and realized they were all like that. The boat is a well-known production line, yet supposedly built for offshore passage-making. We've seen so many boats bigger than Trance with thinner rigging and masts, less stays, smaller and plastic-y roller furlers, stuff screwed to the deck (no joke), and we wonder what the production lines are thinking. So, we're lucky we selected a stout boat. A woman who crewed on Trance when her previous owner raced her (she now races J-boats) said she would have never become a racer had she not started on Trance, because she feels so strong and solid, and she felt secure even when burying the rail.

-   We've learned to move slower and to be willing to change plans in a split moment. We still move fairly quickly because we tend to get tired of an anchorage after 2-3 nights and frankly because we love sailing Trance and start itching to get out there. But we have actually moved slower this season. Plus, when the forecast calls for southeast instead of northeast wind for the coming weeks, we're happy to make the decision to do a 48-hour passage south southwest and work our way back up the islands, instead of beating our way down (knowing that the wind will change to the northeast when we get ready to head north...).

-   It takes time to figure things out. Having been out for a while, this cruise we've been doing less of what we call "monkeying around.” And we established procedures to make unavoidable “monkeying” tasks (namely hoisting the dinghy and outboard) quick and painless. Sometimes you just have to give it time.

-   Then there's the repairs issue. We’ve absolutely had our fair share of this. But the longer you cruise and the more you are willing to simplify your boat or have a manual back up for everything, the less time you spend on repairs. Trance is a very simple boat, and we installed so know how to fix many of the more complex systems if we need to, but we don't need to if we don't want to, because everything has at least one manual backup. You can say that we are obsessed with redundancy. For example, our fancy electronic solenoid/propane sniffer system is currently not working due to user error (long story). Are we worried about it? No. Because we installed it in a way that we could reinstall the manual switch, and we kept the manual switch. And if that fails we know how to bypass the solenoid. Not recommended but at least we can do it if we begin to starve. One of the best pieces of advice we got was at an Annapolis boat show seminar. The presenter said that you should be willing and able to put a "screw it" sticky note on broken equipment, which you can get to when you feel like it, when you do your major annual repairs/maintenance, or never.

In sum, this cruise we have spent very little time fixing things and very little time monkeying around. This coupled with the fact that we have come to love the feeling of going out into that ocean swell (and Da Admiral has learned how to stem seasickness) has absolutely been what put us into the want to continue cruising category rather than the want to give up cruising category. And believe us, it could have gone either way at first. The downside: our first seasons out cruising we became skinny and strong. While working on shore, we ate what we wanted and relied on the assumption that we would easily shed weight on the boat. Not so much this year. Not enough monkeying around!

After eight days in Martinique, we were bummed that the weather never settled long enough to go to the east coast. With the clock ticking, it was sadly time to move on.

Au revoir, Le Marin

We anchored in St. Pierre for our last night in Martinique. Formerly the Paris of the Caribbean, it was absolutely picture perfect. No one knows how to bring out the romance of the old Caribbean like the French.

We checked out at the tourist info office, leaving a small voluntary contribution. The French should be praised for making the formalities so easy and for being so cruiser friendly.

 The former Paris of the Caribbean

Two fiery girls - Trance and Pelee

The difference between a squall and a storm

March 16 - 20, 2016

Dominica to Guadeloupe

Yes, we sound like a broken record, but it was yet another great sail to Dominica. We got up to 8.2 knots at one point and dusted yet another boat. We got so far ahead they were no longer in sight (okay, we admit it was a bit hazy that day).

Just as we were making landfall, Dominica greeted us with a non-bow rainbow that resembled giant jellyfish tentacles coming down from the sky. Oh, what a magical place. We hadn't seen a dolphin in the entire Windwards and, sure enough, a few short minutes later an emissary from the welcoming committee, no doubt, greeted us by doing multiple vertical jumps into the air. Up the coast, we were met by a mighty river. Dominica has 365 of them. As with the point where the Amazon meets the Rio Negro, there was a clear line both in color and current where it met the sea. We slowed down and proceeded cautiously, in case last year's hurricane created shoaling. Luckily the depths stayed around 100 feet.

 Wild Dominica

We anchored off the town of Mero, over which a light rain fell most of the night. We awoke to a magical waterfall on the cliff. Then the Layou River started flowing out. We held our breath as it approached Trance, as if it would sweep us out to sea like a tsunami.

It's heading right for us!

The next morning we sailed to Portsmouth. Alexis, a Pays member, would be our yacht services agent for this visit. On our way to check in, we saw Wild Bird and stopped to chat. We had lunch and scheduled a tour of the Indian River with Alexis the next morning. He arrived at 8 am on the dot, with the great folks on sv Infini also in tow. We saw Calypso's hut from the Pirates of the Caribbean film and went up to Cobra's river hut for tea. The swampish river and its trees were majestic.

Ghostly beauty

We love Portsmouth!

When we got back to the boat Tim from Wild Bird came over to invite us on a hike. They were leading a group of about four boats in 30 mins! We scarfed down some bread and cheese, packed some gear and off we went. At the dinghy dock the group assembled and we proceeded on a challenging 4-hour hike on the Waitukubuli Trail. The forest was beautiful and the vistas from the top were even better. We could see the Cabrits and the anchorage. We sure paid for it though. Amazingly, the folks from Crazy Diamond, true ocean voyagers, really gave us a run for their money. We can only hope to be in that kind of shape when we're their age. Back in town and exhausted, some of the group stopped for beers and we ordered lunner and ate it like cavemen in the spring.

The Cabrits and Guadeloupe - a well-earned view

The next morning Alexis arranged for a tour of the Syndicate Rainforest with guide Jeffrey. We weren't lucky enough to spot any parrots, but heard them and a plethora of other birds during our walk. On our way out we encountered a group of tourists off the small cruise ship that had docked in the Portsmouth harbor, decked out in neatly pressed safari gear. They looked like a different species in contrast to our raggedy band of cruisers. Next, Jeffrey showed us the local flora and took us to Milton Waterfalls, where the group pranced around the thunderous falls like school children. Sue from Infini echoed our sentiments exactly when she proclaimed she could stay there all day. By the end of the tour, it was nice to see that Dominica was recovering well from the recent hurricane. A washed out bridge had already been replaced by a new one.

Wonderful sensory overload

That eve was the much anticipated Pays barbeque. Just after we tied Origami to the dinghy dock, it became totally packed and cruisers started beaching their dinghies. We had a great time chatting with the folks on Infini, Crazy Diamond, and really cool and salty friends of Infini’s on the very first Saturn 47, designed by Bill Dixon. It's always so fun to listen to and learn from real ocean voyagers. Our friends from Infini are finishing a circumnav and crisscrossed the Pacific like it's a parking lot. They hit Easter Island, the Pacific Islands, Hawaii, etc. (perhaps not in that order.) The folks on Crazy Diamond need no introduction, and we were spellbound as they told us about their time running in 80 knots of wind in the Pacific. We also caught up with Wild Bird and company once the dance party started. It never ceases to amaze us how much energy some of our fellow cruisers have. Gale on Wild Bird is the fittest person we've ever met, and she danced up a storm along with the folks from Crazy Diamond.

March 21 – April 1, 2016

Guadeloupe to Antigua

The next morning we sailed to Pointe-a-Pitre, Guadeloupe to pick up our long awaited friends. Da Admiral's best friend, officially declared in about first grade, and her fiancé were flying in for Da Admiral's birthday. The best present ever! As we closed in on the northern tip of Dominica, we spotted a pod of dolphins. Soon after, the katabatic winds hit 29 knots. They were definitely warning us. About 10-15 miles off Dominica, De Captain spotted a whale. Then another smaller one--a mother and calf! They were on a different course, eastbound, and eventually passed our stern. By that point we could only see the blowhole spray. We weren’t close enough to decipher what kind of whales they were, but they were quite large.

In Pointe-a-Pitre, we picked up our friends. Unfortunately, Murphy's Law ensured the weather would be rough. We sailed with them to the beautiful Saintes. With no mooring balls left by the time we arrived, we anchored just behind the mooring field in very rolly conditions. We saw the folks on Infini as we came in and did a sail by, promising to meet the next day. However, the next morning, afraid our landlubber friends were getting seasick at anchor, we moved to a more protected but farther and much deeper spot behind Pain de Sucre. Those mooring balls were also taken, so we had to anchor in 55 foot depths. Luckily we have 300 feet of chain and rode. Ashore, we introd our friends to 'Ti Punch, hiked to the fort and beach where they had a swim, and had a lovely dinner. We had hoped to run into the folks on Infini, as their boat was a bit too far for Origami to dinghy with our friends in tow, but it was not to be. We were really bummed, as they were really nice people. Plus we were very impressed with and hoped to learn from their experiences and inquisitive nature—they asked such good questions and it was obvious they really savor life and the world around them.

The next day we sailed to Deshaies, just in time to hunker down during the worst of the wind. Luckily it was a broad reach so our friends were quite comfortable.  We rented a car for two days and toured the island, hiking up the Soufriere Volcano, the tallest in all the Lesser Antilles. Da Admiral celebrated a major birthday milestone so we spoiled ourselves by having both lunch and dinner at waterfront establishments.

Caribbean birthday

The following day, the weather had not yet settled, but since our friends had a flight out of Antigua in two days, we prepped the staysail and ourselves for a rough ride to Jolly Harbour. It was a close reach and Trance, as usual, handled it like a champ, making the 46 miles in under eight hours against eight foot waves. A little over halfway, Da Admiral's befri, who throughout the week had proven herself worth her weight in gold as a fish trap spotter, spotted a whale and then two more. They were small pilot whales, similar to the ones we had seen last year in this same area. They were not even 20 feet off our port side and dove under Trance. With the waves so big, it all happened so fast we couldn't even attempt to change course.

Luckily the whales provided a bit of a distraction, as our friends were feeling quite queasy and got a bit sick, but they made it through and once we dropped anchor we officially anointed them as being lightly salted. We had a lovely dinner on shore and said our goodbyes, thankful for the quality bonding time. One of the hardest things about cruising is being away from loved ones for so long.

The next day we set about cleaning, dropping off the laundry, and putting the boat back in order after a whirlwind week of fun. To our delight Markus and Skook came in. He was having a rough time with his windlass so we offered help. Once again, we saw our friends from Curacao Marine in the grocery store.

That evening we learned about the young professional captain of a 75-foot sailing yacht deciding it would be appropriate to awaken all of Falmouth Harbour at 2:00 am with a fog horn because, although it had been anchored there all day, he suddenly decided that the neighboring sailboat was too close for comfort. Sadly, it was not surprising to hear of this happening in Antigua.

Also not surprisingly, despite Da Admiral’s cheery good afternoon, the laundry staff offered no pleasantries in exchange. And no apologies that the laundry wasn’t ready when promised, knowing that the anchorage is a long dinghy ride away. Talk about night and day from the locals in places such as Sint Maarten. But it was the laundry staff’s lucky day. Chris Parker reported bad conditions so we stayed another day, finally leaving four long days after arrival.

April 1 - 3, 2016

Barbuda

The passage to Barbuda was uneventful. Not very fast and against a current and 7-8 foot waves. The wind teetered from 18-23 knots plus gusts, so the staysail was sometimes not quite enough, but the genoa would have been too much canvas for the 25-27 knot gusts.

Leaving Antigua, we were annoyed that we got totally and completely dusted by a large sailboat in the distance that went between the reefs east of us. Da Admiral thought it looked much larger than Trance but it was hard to tell from so far away and visibility was poor.

Approaching Barbuda was amazing. Using waypoints from our charts, we slalomed through the reefs just fine even though it was cloudy so Da Admiral, on the bow, was unable to read the water. The reefs were too deep to have breaking waves but shallow enough to do some damage to our 6'9" keel. We were happy to find a 100+ foot sailing yacht in the anchorage--must have been the boat that dusted us. Whew! The only other boats at Coco Point were a Dutch sailboat and an American sailboat. It was fabulous to have plenty of room and to be so far away from anyone. We dropped the anchor close to the beach in 17 feet of crystal clear water. The resort guests waterskiing stayed inside their buoys and all was well. We donned our fins and swam to the most beautifully perfect pink-sand beach we’ve ever laid eyes on.

For Da Admiral’s post-birthday celebrations, we opened our good bottles of French wine and champagne and cooked a gourmet dinner, finishing it off with Grenadian organic chocolate for dessert. It beat any five-star hotel. The vistas were amazing. At dark we watched shiny tiny reflective fish in the water. The sounds of the waves on the beach lulled us to sleep.

We awoke to find the anchorage teeming with sea turtles early in the morning. One was so large we mistook it for a human snorkeler. We also saw a large splash in the distance, too big to be a dolphin so probably a whale. Everywhere we looked, we were continuously amazed. Could it be that the same country in the Caribbean is comprised of both our favorite and our least favorite islands?

The next day we moved to the Louis Mouth anchorage so we could go across the lagoon in the dinghy and be closer to our meeting point for the Frigate Bird sanctuary tour. Except for the beach at Coco Point, it was the most perfect pink sand beach ever. We beached the dinghy and almost got totally swamped by a breaker. Then it was a tough drag up the steep incline to the lagoon side of the beach with bikes in tow. The wind was strong and the waves in the shallow but wide lagoon were steep. Origami was fine but we got drenched during the long ride over. Locals who saw us coming across the lagoon must have been surprised. We found solace in the fact that the trip back would be with the wind.

Across the lagoon, we did not lock our dinghy for first time, as it is completely unnecessary in Barbuda. With the exception of a few very young men (children, really--blame it on testosterone) the locals were extremely friendly and helpful. We even borrowed a bike pump for our flat bike tire. In the town we tried to check out but it was a no go—-they were closed. However, our ATM mission was successful. We then biked a tough 45 minutes against the wind to Two Foot Bay.

It was an amazing ride. We encountered families of donkeys and goats hee-hawing and baaing their way closer to the brush as we rode by. There were also agave plants with flowering stems as tall as trees. The red rocky soil backdrop made it all look like something out of a 1960s LSD trip cartoon. The cliffs of the Highlands were magnificent. We climbed through a cave to the top of a cliff, where we got breathtaking views of the Atlantic. It was the most beautiful spot we have seen in the Caribbean (technically the Atlantic). We rushed back to town before dark to find the lagoon then a peaceful lake. Even better, the dinghy drag up the sand was much easier this time, as the lagoon side of beach is not as steep. We timed the launch into the sea perfectly and made it to the boat just at sunset. It was an exhausting but perfect day. We took showers, made dinner and collapsed into bed by 9 pm.

Electric Kool-Aid not necessary

The mighty Atlantic

The next day, our frigate bird tour was not until 2:00 so we prepped for the 70 mile run to Sint Maarten. The forecast called for light winds and a dead run so we set up the pole for the Genoa and also the spinnaker sheets in case the wind was light enough. We also rinsed our bikes and De Captain went on a distant depth sounding excursion to check our waypoints through the reefs. It would be a long sail and we had no time to waste if we wanted to make it in before dark.

The tour of the Frigate Bird colony was amazing. Our guide Mr. Jeffries was very prepared and informative, but most importantly he’s a wonderful human. His stories and observations of the birds, his island, and why he chooses to live his life the way he does were refreshing and inspiring. After spending the day with him, we feel like he’s an old friend. He took us to check out and the officials were wonderful. He then took us to see the Sunday horse races with the locals, which we felt very lucky to catch and which were great fun. We really thought twice about posting the details of our experience on this most exquisite, amazingly beautiful island for fear that it will be ruined. Therein lies the dilemma. How can we ensure responsible tourism to support the local people without having too great an impact? Luckily, like Saba, it is a tough place to reach and only those who make the effort are rewarded.

 Frigate juves

April 4 - 15, 2016

Sint Maarten

We weighed anchor from Low Bay, Barbuda at exactly 6 am. We flew the spinnaker for most of the passage. We doused it once when a nearby squall turned the wind. The second time we tried to douse it the sock got stuck so we had to lower it without the sock, which had happened several times before.

The next day we checked in, took the spinnaker sock to the sail maker, and did boat jobs. St. Maarten is an easy place to be productive. The next day we installed a new clutch, rented routers for fast internet for working (a client called), refilled our propane, and fixed an issue with our shower head. Of course, we had lunch at Lagoonies, always our favorite. Markus was there and came by for beers.

We celebrated De Captain’s birthday at the Soggy Dollar with Markus and with pizza at Maho Beach on Sunday. We were glad that Andrew was in town this time and took the opportunity to visit with him and catch up. When a boat from his marina grounded, we joined all the neighbors in trying to help. But Origami, with her 4 HP outboard and pointy bow, couldn't help. One after the other, neighbors with progressively bigger dinghies and outboards tried but failed. Finally, some friends with a huge dinghy and outboard came by and ended up having enough power, pulling a halyard, to make the sailboat heel the necessary degrees while Andrew expertly steered his friend’s boat off the shoal. The next night, we had dinner at the yacht club with some of Andrew’s friends.

Other than that, we mostly worked. There was no wind so it was sweltering hot in Simpson Bay. One afternoon, as Da Admiral was showering off the stern in her bikini, the men and one woman in the coast guard patrol boat decided to board Trance. Of course. But as usual, they were very nice and it was not an unpleasant experience.

Our last night in St. Maarten, we had a goodbye dinner with Markus and promised to keep in touch. With family graduations on May 20 and a deadline of June 1 to be in the Chesapeake Bay, it was time to leave the Leewards and start heading home.

April 16 - 21, 2016

Sint Maarten to Puerto Rico

Before leaving for Culebra at 6 am, we did a quick look-see around Anguilla. No wind was predicted so it would be an overnight motor across the Anegada Passage, as usual. Normally we would have waited for wind, but we had to get moving if we wanted to make Da Admiral’s cousins’ graduations in Florida and Georgia. We had hoped to get in a few hours of spinnaker flying, but it was not to be. The wind hovered around 2-4 knots, even less as the day went on. It appeared to have a NNW slant to it, but it was probably just our apparent wind. We saw a dolphin, boobies, and flying fish. De Captain also saw a squid. Off Anguilla we could see the bottom in 45 feet of water. With no wind, the 4-foot north swell created by the storm in the Atlantic that suppressed our trades was very obvious. The sea looked vast and magnificent, and the swells resembled a giant underground serpent--reminiscent of some bad movie we saw in the 80s--but a nice and gentler version. Visibility was excellent, the best ever. We could still see Saba at 4 pm. At the same time, we could also see Virgin Gorda and some of the neighboring Virgins. It was so calm we had all but the v-berth hatch and one porthole over a bunk open during the day.

The 24-hour passage seemed like a tiny hop this time. In the past it was a huge undertaking. But as we crossed our track from St. Croix to St. Maarten, we were reminded how even an overnight hop can be challenging. Still, after two seasons in the Caribbean, we feel confident and ready to go farther.

As the sun rose and we entered Ensenada Honda through the reefs, we couldn’t help but feel that a circle had been completed. This is where we made landfall two years ago after a 9-day passage from the Abacos. Still to date our longest passage and an accomplishment we are proud of.

In Culebra, we worked and unsuccessfully tried to order mofongo at Mamasita’s. To our disappointment, they changed the menu. We admired a big Van de Stadt in the anchorage, and put the bug screens back in action. Yep, we were back in buggy Puerto Rico.

Still no wind, we motorsailed to San Juan and berthed in a marina for the first time since we left Salinas, Puerto Rico in January—a record for us. Captain Diaz at the Club Nautico was very nice and informative. We even got the lowdown on the red Canadian work boat we saw in St. Kitts and then again anchored in the San Juan harbor. We loved Old San Juan. It’s a little slice of Europe in the U.S. We finally got some mofongo, worked, and chatted with the captain of a steel Dutch sailboat we had seen during our travels. We also got ready for the 4-day passage to Mayaguana. We were skipping the DR due to time constraints and because given what we’ve heard about interacting with the officials, Da Admiral, in her fight against graft, would probably get all three of us thrown in jail (including Da Sailor Cat since she probably doesn’t have the right paperwork for the DR) and the boat impounded.

April 22 – 25, 2016

Passage to Mayaguana

The first day we broke our 24-hour record. 161 miles! For you landlubbers, that is fabulous for a 38-foot boat. Trance was rocking it, both physically (in the big swell) and figuratively. Then the wind died and turned so we tried to start the engine to set the pole safely. It wouldn’t start. We figured it was the stupid start button again. We used the screwdriver trick and she fired up. We then realized the engine wasn’t charging the batteries, which was not good since we very much prefer to use our chartplotter, electric autopilot, etc. and there was no sun. We have lots of redundancy so it would have been possible, but more of a pain. De Captain went around with a multimeter and checked everything, but it only left us scratching our heads. Then a light bulb went on— “the key in the ignition is not turned because we used a screwdriver to start the engine.” We turned they key and, bingo, we immediately heard the difference and the Link 10 confirmed that we were back in business. We successfully poled the Genoa out to starboard, let the main out a bit more to port, secured the preventer, and sat back to enjoy the ride. Not as fast--5 knots as opposed to 6.5 with a lot of 7, 8s and even some 10 readings when we surfed down the occasional big wave, but we were as comfortable as possible in the light air and rolly conditions.

Then De Captain played what has become the theme song for our cruise, PVD's "Time of our Lives" mix, and morale hit a record high. He also rigged some hot wires to avoid dismantling the whole engine compartment in order to execute the screwdriver trick the next time the engine wouldn’t start. He started by welcoming all his viewers to “this episode of repairs at sea.” "Today we will jerry rig engine start wires." Guess the sea makes us all a little crazy after a day or so. So now we have jerry rigged engine start wires, a propane switch, and a mic commander cable. All except the propane switch (but could have been) were caused by corrosion. We are now proponents of putting reckless amounts of dialectic grease or Lanocote on everything. Thanks for the recommendation, Peter!

The next afternoon we dodged some squalls, watched some dissipate and crossed our fingers the luck would continue through the night. We talked to Chris Parker at 6 pm, and he delivered good news about the weather. The day before he thought a nasty trof would bring squalls of up to 40 knots, but it was not to happen. For most of his watch, De Captain was witness to a scary but beautiful lightening show in the clouds maybe 10 miles away, but it never got close and there was no heavy rain associated with it, according to our radar. We did prep for multiple sail changes throughout the night, as the winds were predicted to clock from southeast to west, then northwest in the morning, making for a sporty close reach past the Caicos and into Mayaguana.

That night a black bird made Trance her pit stop. She was not shy and stayed for over six hours. Unfortunately, the disturbance caused by our tacking at 5 am made her decide to move on. Before we tacked, we had annoying light winds and swelly conditions, and we were in a dead run. Not our favorite point of sail. There was lots of shaking, which is not good. Sure enough, on day 3, De Captain noticed the bolt and nut that hold the mainsheet to the traveler was loose. It was simple to tighten but could’ve been pretty bad. We noted the importance of doing regular checks on passage each day. We vowed to invest in some sort of a running sail that we can fly at night. We were tempted to fly the spinnaker but, with the lightening in the distance, we figured it wasn’t a good idea. So we spent the night crawling along at 4 knots. So slowly that Da Sailor Cat thought we were anchored and tried to come on deck three times. As predicted, the wind shifted and picked up in the morning, so there would be no spinnaker flying for us. We were a bit bummed, as it's our favorite sail. Instead, we beat into 19 knots. This is when we're really glad to have Trance. What a different picture when you stick your head out from behind the hard dodger. A flock of birds about 50 strong hung near our bow, fishing for about 15 minutes before moving north.

The last night, the sea voices finally arrived. This time it was voices of men whispering. We reckon it's the sounds of a sailboat. Humans must associate unfamiliar sounds with something familiar. Finally, the great winds returned and we went from a close reach to a beam reach, racing along at 6-7 knots. It's during those times that we really realize that Trance is a passage maker. Not only in speed but in how she is designed for watch keeping. Even sitting in the companionway, you have an almost 360-degree view, and stay dry, warm and comfortable at night.

We spotted the first lights of the Turks & Caicos at about 11:00 or midnight. We stayed five miles off, as we didn’t want to have any encounters with reefs.

Overall, it was a great passage. The first day we did 161 miles, the second day only 119 miles, and the third day 147, our previous record.

April 25 – 29, 2016

Mayaguana, Bahamas to Crooked Island, Bahamas

After two seasons in the Caribbean, we were finally back in the Bahamas. As the turquoise waters greeted us, we wondered whether, after all those sea miles, this was the most beautiful place after all. Approaching Mayaguana, we saw a real life feeding frenzy, with tons of birds and the water churning like crazy.

There was one other sailboat in gorgeous and huge Abraham's Bay. We entered through the pass in the reef, and Da Admiral stood on the bow pulpit while we worked our way through the clear water past coral heads into the pristine and calm bay. We put the boat back in order after the passage and, that night, De Captain blew his conch shell. The next day we waited for high tide and dinghied the long 3+ miles to the settlement, where we checked into the Bahamas, bought our 5G of internet fix at the Batelco office, and had lunch at Reggie's. Everyone was so nice. We snapped a million photos of the picture-perfect scenery, got some work done, and prepared to head over the the west side of the island, our jumping off point to Acklins.

Trance back in the Bahamas

Need we say more?

The wind had shifted and we prepared for a rolly night on the northwestern point of Mayaguana. But it turned out not to be bad at all, despite the warnings in our guide and chart. We were able to get pretty close to shore (praying for no bugs) and the reef provided excellent protection. At sundowner time, the sky was completely cloudless and we chanted for the green flash. As the sun approached the horizon, we could already see a green halo around it, raising our level of excitement. We yelled with glee as we both saw it, Da Admiral with binoculars and De Captain with the naked eye. Just before turning in, we watched the reflections of hundreds of fish surrounding Trance, and a mini bioluminescent show.

We awoke at 5 am and soon thereafter Da Admiral started getting eaten by bugs. The wind had completely died. “Let’s get outta here,” said De Captain. We rushed about slapping at the bugs as we hurried to weigh anchor. De Captain pulled in about half the chain, when suddenly it wouldn’t budge. Stuck around a rock. We both cursed at it and for the next half hour steered forward, backward, to port and to starboard trying to figure out which way to unwrap the chain. The water being crystal clear, it wouldn’t have been a problem had it been daylight. But it was still only 5:30 am and Mr. Sun had not yet risen. Of course, as the sun was almost up and after we had been completely devoured by the no-see-ums, the last remaining possible maneuver did the trick. We hauled butt out of there, scratching furiously and swearing it was the last time we would pick potential bugginess over rolliness.

There was no wind so we had to motor the whole way to Acklins. About eight miles from Acklins, De Captain spotted a whale. It looked like a big pilot whale, bigger than the ones we had seen in the Leewards. Having carefully studied the charts and guide we slowly made our way through the reef pass into Atwood Harbour. Once again we had the whole gorgeous place to ourselves. The nearest Batelco tower was too far, so we had no signal and were forced to enjoy nature. We thought it a perfect time to break open our bottle of some of Martinique's finest rhum agricole, and enjoyed magnificent 'Ti Punch for sundowners. You really do get what you pay for. De Captain blew his conch shell. Of course, no one signaled back.

That eve, we ranted and complained about our guide and wished that Chris Doyle would write a Bahamas guide. We feel the guide makes everything sound dangerous and scary, and puts us on edge, almost ruining the experience. Sure these are dangerous reef infested waters, where anything over 15 knots of wind from a certain direction can be a problem (unlike in the deep Caribbean) but it really is creating a boy who cried wolf scenario. We've started disregarding the warnings about swelly and "untenable" anchorages that “can become dangerous,” deciding for ourselves when to take heed. The problem is when the less experienced start doing it and aren't able to discern which warnings to heed and which ones to disregard, based on the conditions.

That night/early the next morning, Atwood became uncomfortably rolly in a NNE wind and swell, but in no way dangerous at under 10-15 knots. There was still very little wind so we motorsailed the short distance to Landrail Point, Crooked Island. As we rounded the extensive reef and picturesque lighthouse (did we mention the colors are astoundingly beautiful and perfect here?) friendly locals in two fishing boats waved happily at us. They were the first souls we had seen in days. All the houses on shore had been badly damaged by the recent hurricane, and we really felt for the hardy folks who call the Out Islands home. The anchorage described as swelly and that the guide warned not to even think about in north winds (the wind was about 020-030 at around 11 knots) was a picture perfect vision of calmness and crystal clear turquoise water. We didn’t think we would see anything as beautiful as the beaches of Barbuda, but this about matched it. We didn’t get to shore to test the consistency of the sand, which would have been the deciding factor, as we had some work to do and took advantage of the strong Batelco signal. Later that eve, a ketch anchored behind us. A line of clouds on the horizon, there would be no green flash that night.

We weighed anchor at 6 am. Interestingly, a jet ski rode slowly by as we were leaving, the two men aboard waving at us. It was still quite dark, so we thought it bizarre. Still very little wind, we made water as we motored slowly toward Clarence Town. We witnessed another display of feeding frenzy mania.

April 30 – May 1, 2016

Clarence Town, Long Island to Calabash Bay, Long Island

As we approached Clarence Town, only the second red marker was there, which made the entry confusing. It was also difficult to see the reef in the calm weather, so we entered slowly and cautiously due to the recent hurricane and absence of markers. We looked for a spot away from charted underwater cables, which we never saw despite the clear water. The anchorage was very well protected and not rolly at all in 14-16 knots from the east.

For the first time since Mayaguana, we went ashore. We peered at Father Jerome's churches and had conch fritters for the first time since leaving for the Caribbean in 2014. There was hurricane damage everywhere. De Captain being European and not understanding the limitations, wondered, “When I was growing up, there was a story about three little piggies…”

Tax dollars at good work

That afternoon, our dinghy lock, which had been giving us trouble for some time, finally died. In our experience, it’s been the products associated with tenders and outboards that fail the most. For example, we’ve had to replace our external gas tank hose and parts three times. We’ve also gone through three dinghy locks.

The next morning, we prepped for what should have been a great sail to Calabash Bay, on the northwest side of Long Island. We had missed Chris Parker on Saturday, but on Friday he had predicted gusts of up to 23 knots. We downloaded a GRIB file that showed substantially lower winds--only in the 15 knot range, and less during some parts of the day. For some reason we decided to go with the potentially outdated Chris Parker forecast in deciding to put a single reef in the main, but decided against our best judgment and experience to tow Origami (empty and with no outboard, of course), going with the GRIB file's sea state prediction. After all, Origami had been towing really well lately. The sail started out great. Out of three, we were the last sailboat out of the anchorage. We raised the main and put in the reef at anchor, then followed our track out the cut, with Da Admiral keeping a lookout on the bow, as the sneaky reef was not breaking. In 19-22 knots of wind on the beam, we did an easy, steady 7 knots, and hit 8 quite a few times. We tried in vain to catch up to the larger sailboats that had left before us, but they were a good four nautical miles ahead.

The waves started getting bigger and we started keeping nervous eyes on Origami. 10 seconds after Da Admiral released one of her nervous glances off Origami, De Captain shouted, "Origami's upside down!" We furiously dove to the winches to let the Genoa fly, furled it, then let out the main sail. We slowed Trance down to 3 knots and De Captain pulled Origami up to Trance's stern and tried to flip her over. But then we started speeding up to 3.5 knots. Then, one of the seats fell out of Origami and started floating away. Da Admiral tried to pull in the main to drop it and/or turn around. Meanwhile, De Captain somehow secured Origami, still upside down, to Trance, and finished pulling in the main while Da Admiral started the engine with the hot wires. (Of course it wouldn’t start using the standard method, although it had that morning.) We turned Trance into the wind and De Captain pulled Origami alongside while Da Admiral prepared the halyard for hoisting Origami, all the while running back to the wheel to stay into the wind, as the autopilot needed more throttle than we could give her given that De Captain was using all his strength to barely hold on to Origami in the now 6-foot waves. Of course, she didn’t take the time to make sure the halyard was free of all other lines, so it was being held in place by a lazy jack, making it harder for Da Admiral to winch Origami up. As Origami slowly rose out of the water, us giving every last bit of muscle and energy to winch and keep Origami from flying and hitting someone (and potentially knocking the injured person overboard), we heard a crack--the plastic crown on the inside of the winch was giving and breaking. But this was no time to stop and Da Admiral kept winching anyway. When Origami was finally hanging precariously over the deck, De Captain gave the signal to put her down slowly. We secured her and collapsed into the cockpit, shaking. But there was no time to rest; we had a seat recovery mission to execute. We motored past the spot where we lost the seat and headed back down toward the position, but it didn’t want to be found, and the black seat certainly wasn’t going to be found in 6 foot waves. Something else to add to the list of parts to order for our arrival in Florida. The list was piling up. But we considered ourselves lucky, as we had an almost perfect, malfunction-free season in the Windwards and Leewards.

After reflection, there were many things we would have done differently--we would have dropped the main right away, as that’s the whole reason we sail with the lazy jacks deployed. We also would have pressed the man overboard button on our plotter to have a better feel for when we lost the seat. But really, it was a lapse of judgment and bad seamanship to decide to tow Origami. We know all too well the size of waves that 20 knot winds create. Sure, the conditions feel fabulous and peaceful aboard Trance, but dangerous when you’re trying to rescue a dinghy. We had gotten lazy and complacent, qualities that have no place at sea.

When we finally made it to Calabash Bay and through the reefs, we were exhausted, dirty, hungry, and had a ton of cleaning up to do. We mustered up our last bit of strength, focused on the jobs at hand, and when we finally sat in our clean cockpit, clean, wearing clean clothes, and our stomachs full, the beer had never tasted so good and the sunset had never looked so beautiful.

Keeps us going

A bonus of the passage--as we neared the shallow water of the Exumas, we learned that in clear weather, you can tell where the shallow water is by looking at the sky. There was a marked difference between the purple undersides of the clouds over deep water, and the Bahamian turquoise blue undersides of the clouds over the shallow banks.

Calabash Bay was gorgeous. In terms of beauty it's up there with Barbuda. The beach was indeed pink. We just didn’t have the energy to dinghy over to check out the consistency of the sand.

The next morning, we got the bad news from Chris Parker. In two days a front carrying thunderstorms with 50 knot winds was headed our way. Calabash Bay, being exposed to the west, was no place to be. It was time to move. We needed to buy supplies and find a safe, protected anchorage in 48 hours.

May 2 - 7, 2016

Georgetown, Exumas

We looked at the chart and decided on Crab Cay, near Georgetown. We attempted to sail. It was a run and there was less than 10 knots of wind yet a decent sized swell left over from the previous day. So we gave up and motored most of the 28 miles. To help us get into the cut and anchorage, we entered into the chartplotter a waypoint for every turn, a first for us. It worked like a charm, with Da Admiral on the bow looking out for any coral heads, of course. Getting into the anchorage was a bit tricky but we figured it out and had plenty water.

To be honest, we weren't expecting much from Georgetown and expected to go unnoticed, having read about the winter "residents" who keep busy with volleyball and all sorts of activities that aren't really our style. We planned on provisioning, getting some work done, and just sitting tight until the weather passed. Not an hour after we anchored, Clark and Emily, the new net controller, came over to greet us. They were one of two other boats anchored in the cove when we came in. They were very friendly and warm, and immediately invited us to an evening of dominos on a catamaran that had come into the bay. With two bottles of wine and delicious snacks from St. Maarten in tow, we headed over and proceeded to have a blast. Our hosts Jamie and Nicki, die hard Grateful Dead fans from Seattle, were the coolest couple ever and had just set out on their voyage. We were later joined by Bill, who had bought his first boat, a beautiful 40-foot Oyster, one year ago, and immediately loved him. So much for laying low in Georgetown! We learned to play Mexican Train and had a blast joking about how it appeared De Captain was going for the "highest" score, compiling more dominos instead of getting rid of them.

The next night Bill planned and, with Jamie's help, beautifully executed a bonfire on the beach, where we met the folks on the other three boats that had come into our bay (aka Clark's Bay). Mel and Don, who had just started their voyage, were fabulous and cool and warm and real, and we immediately wished they were our aunt and uncle. They genuinely admired what we are doing and how we choose to live our life, and we are so proud of and happy for them for realizing their lifelong dream. We also met the nice folks on Someday who, with their smart and wonderfully behaved free-range sons, had also just started their voyage. The bonfire was a blast and De Captain roasted his first marshmallow. There were debates about the proper way to do it but, as Bill insisted, he did it West Virginia style and lit them on fire just before devouring them.

The next eve we did a sunset tour around the anchorage on Origami. We visited with Don and Mel, then joined Bill over at Jamie and Nicki's. The next night it was another game of Mexican Train with Bill over at Don and Mel's. The next day we hung with Clark and Emily, helped him go up his mast, and enjoyed delightful conversation. Clark shared his vast library of information about the area and gave us great tips and local knowledge. Such a good guy. The last night we made nasi goreng and brought it over to Bill's. We had a blast sharing sailing stories and although we will miss Bill, we know we have made a good friend for a long time to come.

Cruiser's midnight appears not to apply to Clark's bay. After five nights, we were completely exhausted, unable to sleep past 7 am. We said our sad goodbyes and moved on to what we expected would be a more secluded anchorage. We had a blast sailing out in the company of Bill and took great photos of his boat under sail for later emailing. We exchanged warm goodbyes over the VHF with Bill, Don and Mel, and motorsailed out the cut.

Georgetown itself was nothing to write home about, so while our expectations were met in terms of the town itself, the time we spent there and the friends we met were completely unexpected, unforgettable and wonderful. Oh, and about the storms. The 30 knot winds only lasted a couple hours, the lightening never got too close, and all was well with the boats in Clark’s bay.

May 7 - 10, 2016

Lee Stocking Island, Exumas to Warderick Wells, Exumas

We sailed the 25 miles to Lee Stocking Island and arrived at low tide. Although we draw 6'9" we decided it would be safer to go through the cut with a favorable current, and arrived just after low tide. We made it in fine and poked around to see if we could anchor in the lee of the island. It was a no go--too shallow--so we anchored in what ended up being a magnificent spot, next to beautiful fluorescent teal shallow sand bores. The current was crazy so we stayed up to watch the boat turn with it. Because we were facing into the current and not the wind, it was actually a pretty breezy, chilly night. The fact that Da Admiral needed extra moisturizer was a sad sign that we were officially leaving the tropics.

The next day we weighed anchor and moved over to Leaf Cay to check out the pink iguanas. Just as we turned in to beach the dinghy, a fast motor cat full of tourists zoomed in. Figures. We quickly beached the dinghy to get at least a few seconds of quality time with the iguanas. As we started walking up the beach, 6 or 7 of them started racing toward us. We threw the old celery we brought and watched them sniff it and walk away. Pink iguanas officially hate celery. A cute small one got within an arm's length of Da Admiral as she spoke to it, but it then decided a tourist with grapes was more interesting and walked away. The grapes were a big hit, so the day wasn't a complete wash for the iguanas.

The locals were not shy

Back at the boat, we weighed anchor and prepared to go out the cut with the wind opposing the tide. Since we had already been in the cut, we figured it was better to arrive at the new, unfamiliar cut with the more favorable conditions, at slack tide. As we neared the exit, we saw white rollers everywhere. Just as Carl in Georgetown had described it, we were literally met with walls of standing waves. A mini rage! They weren't higher than six feet and, even though green water sprayed high into the air with every bang, Trance powered through it just fine.

It was a relaxing but slow sail the 15 miles or so to the Galliot Cut. The wind kept fluctuating between good puffs of 13-14 knots and annoying and slow 8-9 knot whimpers. Lots of boats were out sailing north. When we neared Galliot Cut we heard Don on the VHF and hailed them to say hello. They were going into Galliot Cut as well and, although we would be motoring further on the inside, taking the opportunity to make water (our larger water maker pump and motor was now drawing in the 50-amp area), it was nice to buddy with them if even for a short while. We entered the cut first and once in, they went ahead, watching the depths for us, as it was just after low tide. They were so sweet, slowing down for us and keeping us posted on what they saw. The lowest was 7.7, but only for a short while. We also took photos of each other sailing and exchanged emails in case our paths didn't meet again. It was nice to run into such good people again.

We anchored around the corner from Black Point, which we visited the following day. The locals were extremely friendly, even opening the grocery store for us. A gentleman at the dock showed us the way to the water spigot to fill our jerry cans with free water. We gave him our $1 trash "donation” because the collection box was missing. We also saw our first ever Bahamian police boat.

After the quick provisioning stop, we pressed on to Staniel Cay, where we saw the Dutch steel boat from the marina in San Juan going out as we were sailing in. There was familiar chatter on the VHF, which we never heard in the Caribbean. The sail in was first a broad reach, and then hard on the wind. On the run, a Beneteau appeared to be catching us fast. But when we turned up wind, Trance took off like a rocket. She was not only faster, but could pinch way closer into the wind. We were able to sail all the way into the anchorage past some yachts and a Gunboat, without tacking, while the Beneteau lowered its sails and turned to motor in. What good fun!

A familiar South African catamaran and a South African monohull were anchored next to us. It was starting to get more international, understandably, given all the attractions. Just in time for low tide, we dinghied to the Thunderball cave. It was pretty but crowded. We didn’t spend too much time there and took the opportunity to visit the pigs while everyone was at the cave. They were so smart. They didn’t waste effort on swimming out to us until they were certain we had food. Once we started throwing our scraps, two other dinghies came over to peek.

As we approached Trance again, we decided we were sick of her mustache and that we needed to start looking more civilized as we approached Florida. So in our usual impromptu way, we spent the next hour or two scrubbing her hull. What a difference. A large fish resembling a small shark circled curiously around De Captain as he scrubbed. That eve, it was conch shell madness at sunset. It was good fun, even though the power boats around us cheated by blowing their horns. When we blew our conch in the Caribbean, most folks would just stare over from their cockpits. There is definitely something magical about this place.

World famous Thunderball Cave

Sucked out to sea

After years of anticipation - the swimming piggies!

The next morning, we got some work done and De Captain did some fuel runs, as we expected to be on our own until reaching Florida. A man came by on his dinghy to invite us to a beach bonfire party. We found it so much easier to make friends in the Bahamas. In the Caribbean most cruisers stick with their own nationality. So, although this was the most international anchorage we have seen in the Bahamas, it was probably due to the fact that most everyone was an English speaker.

The next morning, we got some work done then set off for Warderick Wells. Bill said it was the most exquisite place in the Bahamas, so we couldn’t miss it. We arrived a little late, so there wasn't enough light to reveal all the waters' true colors. But it was still magnificent. We anchored out and dinghied into the north mooring field, where boats were peacefully moored in the thin line of deep water between the island and a pink sand bank. The young French couple who beached their dinghy on the sand bank and waited for the tide to come up with a bottle of wine set the scene perfectly. The beauty of this place was truly breathtaking. To top it off, we ran into Don and Mel on our way to the beach, who invited us over on our way back from the beach. The white and pink sand beach was shrouded by gorgeous sand dunes. We took a million photos and from the beach spotted Boo Boo Hill, just a short walk away. We reached it just as the sun set and took another million photos. We ran down and then dinghied over to Mel and Don’s, and Mel treated us to delicious spaghetti for dinner--another bonus. We had a blast with them and the romantic French couple, who ended up joining us. Mel, being so thoughtful, snapped pictures of them on the sand bank with their glasses of wine, and yelled over to get their email addresses.

Powdered sugar or sand?

A perfect day

We made it!

It was pitch dark when we left. The dinghy pass back to Trance was tricky, so we were really lucky that the French couple ended up being anchored next to us and that they had brought a spotlight. It was one of those days. We expected nothing and everything just worked out.

May 11 - 14, 2016

Highborne Cay, Exumas to Great Harbour Cay, Berry Islands

The following day, we sought out the big BTC tower at Highborne Cay, as there was no reception at Warderick Wells. We did nothing but work for two days—didn’t even leave the boat--but you gotta make freedom chips somehow. Don and Mel came in the second day, and we said our goodbyes early the next morning. We were both headed across the Yellow Bank that day, but we were going to Rose Island and north, and they to West Bay and south. They are really amazing, wonderful, beautiful people and we really look forward to following their adventure.

The Highborne Cay airport runway

Bahamian sky

The next morning, there was still no wind, but we raised our main just in case and did a sail by of Don and Mel on our way out. During the crossing, we heard a neighboring sailing yacht on the VHF announcing they had found an inflatable dinghy on the bank, not far from us. Lucky them. Just as we crossed the bank and were approaching Nassau, Da Admiral noticed something under our transom. A first we thought it was a paper towel or trash perhaps stuck in our rudder somehow. Sometimes it was right on the surface, other times it was too deep to see. We slowed down and it stayed with us. We sped up and suddenly a big fish fin appeared. Then an entire fish! It quickly caught back up to us and we realized it had ben swimming just under our transom at 5 knots. It probably joined us somewhere near the shallow Yellow Bank and decided to seek our protection on the cloudless day. Sadly, ever since our bouts with what we have determined was ciguatera on our 9-day passage down to the Virgins for Da Admiral, and then while in the Virgins for De Captain, we've been hesitant to fish. One day we'll get over our fear, but for now it was the fish's lucky day.

Coral head watch across the Yellow Bank

Near Nassau, we anchored off Rose Island, where we previously anchored on our first cruise in 2012. Being nubes and looking at the maze of coral heads on the charts, we had been too scared to anchor closer in. This time, with our water-reading skills greatly improved, we went right into the protected anchorage, where we had only dared to dinghy before. A dude in a jet ski came by and slowed to look at us. That night we were glad to be in the company of a motor vessel. We had heard stories of jet ski men raping women in Nassau. We locked all the hatches into rain position that night.

The next day we hoped to sail to the Berrys, but the wind gods weren't up to it. For the who knows how many days in a row, we motor sailed, sadly, past our most memorable anchorage behind Devil's Cay, to Great Harbour Cay. We needed the BTC tower and it was a good jumping off point for our Gulf Stream crossing. The anchorage was exposed to the east but, given there was no wind, it was just fine. We got some work done and prepped for the 2-night, 3-day passage to the St. Marys Inlet (or Canaveral if the weather didn't work out). We didn't spend the last night of our cruise (sort of, we still had to make it to the Chesapeake Bay) doing what we would have preferred, as we were too busy and too tired to drink that bottle of champagne we had been saving in the refrigerator.

May 15 - 17, 2016

Passage to Ft. Pierce, Florida

As we left on Monday morning, we listened to Chris Parker. Unfortunately, the weather wasn't going to cooperate. He said it was possible we would meet thunderstorms and squalls carrying up to 30 or 40 knots of wind the first night/second day. We decided to keep our options open for running to Canaveral or even Ft. Pierce if necessary. Luckily we had precooked two good meals and placed jars of delicious vegetable ravioli from the French islands, along with cans of baked beams, within easy reach of the stove.

We started out with decent wind and were doing 6.5 knots but, in typical Bahamian diurnal form this time of year, it died to 5 knots. It was a deep broad reach, so first we tried preventing the main to leeward and poling the Genoa to windward. That worked for a while but when the wind died even further, we started rolling and the preventer was doing too much work for our liking. We decided it was time to fly the spinnaker. The spinnaker flew just fine, but it was very slow going, so with the pole still installed De Captain got the great idea to fly the Genoa to windward again. It was a cool sight and worked great at first. Of course, then the wind died to 1.5 knots and the Genoa wasn't happy. So we rolled in the Genoa and resigned ourselves to motorsailing with the spinnaker.

Now that's a lot of canvas

But it was good practice. So much thought and effort has to go into sail handling. We’re constantly monitoring everything, including the position of the lines in relation to each other. Just one night of rubbing can chafe them all the way through. We had plenty of energy because the seas were calm. In rough seas we would be too lazy for all the sail changes and handling, which is not a good thing. If we want to become real ocean voyagers, we need to be able to keep up that level of activity in rough weather. We will definitely be hitting the gym more often before we set out on our next cruise. But it was fun for the first time trying almost every sail combo in a single day.

As we were working on the front deck a farewell party of big dolphins came up and started frolicking in front of our bow. They were playing and chirping as we yelled gleeful hellos. They were quite large and got almost close enough to touch. Every once in a while, we could see some of them turning sideways to look at us. As we egged them on, some of them started jumping and the biggest one, showing off, jumped what must have been six feet out of the water, just forward and to port of our bow. Da Admiral let out a scream that surprised even herself. It was magnificent. They stayed for at least 30 minutes. It was the best farewell party ever.

A few hours later, they returned. Da Admiral commented that she hoped they weren’t trying to warn us about something. She noticed that one of them looked like it had a flap of skin hanging from its tail. “Oh no, maybe they are asking for help.” As the dolphin swam with us and got closer to the surface, we realized it was a large fish. It was stuck on like glue and there was nothing that dolphin could do to shake it. It appeared to be the same kind of fish that was swimming at (or maybe stuck to) the underside of Trance's stern in the Yellow Bank.

That night during Da Admiral's watch, lightning filled the sky west of us, in the Gulf Stream. Naturally, she stayed out of the Gulf Stream until morning. The lightening never got too close and she never heard the thunder, but it was a scary reminder of the forecast conditions and kept her on high alert. The Gulf Stream, like a magic carpet highway, was also full of big ships. In case it turned ugly early in the morning, she let De Captain sleep an extra hour so he could get good rest. As she watched the sun rise, she could not help but think, "red sky in the morning..."

The next morning, Chris Parker’s forecast was not what we wanted to hear. We had gotten lucky there were no thunderstorms in our area during the night. He said something to the effect of …It may seem calm now, but this afternoon there will be squalls and thunderstorms to 30-40 knots. I wouldn’t want to be in the Gulf Stream today. I guess you could do it, but it’s not my cup of tea… Well, we decided that if it’s not his cup of tea, then it’s not ours either. Our exchange was as follows: “We could run to Ft. Pierce. It’s only 51 miles. How far is Cape Canaveral? About 90. That’s too far, we wont make it today. If we don’t want the Gulf Stream to carry us too far north, we need to tack NOW.”

Being all to familiar with the full force of the Gulf Stream, we knew we were at the absolute northern limit of being able to make Ft. Pierce. We executed the tack without hesitation. For so long we had been wanting to ride that magic carpet, having read blogs of sailors flying north at 9 knots. As random priestess/druid/seer woman would say, "It is not written." Not for us, not yet. So although we were upset when we couldn't drink our bottle of champagne our last night in the Bahamas, we now looked forward to drinking it in Florida. Things would come full circle, and we would be home. But first we had an angry Gulf Stream to cross.

With full sails flying, we flew across the stream at 7-8 knots. For good measure De Captain cranked on the engine and hit hard on the rpms. It was almost 8 am and we needed to be out of the stream by the afternoon. By 12:30, we were 20 miles outside Ft. Pierce. We had executed the tack in the nick of time. We didn’t touch the autopilot controls, but the stream pushed us north exactly to the latitude of the Ft. Pierce Inlet. We couldn’t have planned it better. But we didn’t have time to be smug. Da Admiral tried to sleep but kept checking our position from the iPad in bed. De Captain watched for squalls and ensured we were going full speed and on course. We were about 8 miles from the inlet when things started turning ugly. Relieved when a thunderstorm with lightening had passed well in front of us and off to the northeast, we watched in horror as another came up behind it a short time later. We calculated and debated, as we weren't sure whether to slow down and wait for it to pass, or beat it. We tried both. Again, it was not written. The next storm was ginormous and was likely to be around the rest of the day, and there was no beating it. We watched a smaller sailboat head south, where the sky appeared to be somewhat clearer, beating into the wind. It did not look like fun. Sure enough the sky to the south turned dark in a matter of minutes. Ft. Pierce being a very familiar inlet to us, we made the decision to go in, and we are glad for it. Just before entering, Da Admiral turned to De Captain and in uncertainty asked one last time, “Should we should wait?” De Captain declared without hesitation, "We're going in."

It's on

We followed a ketch in. Although in pounding rain and limited visibility, we could always see the next set of markers ahead of us. As we approached the final markers before the jetty, we could easily see the waves crashing against the jetty. A little bit too far to starboard at first, De Captain noticed the dwindling depths and corrected course. Although it was raining hard, it was an oasis of calm inside the inlet. Mainsail still up but centered, we slowly motored in. As we approached a makeshift anchorage just off the yacht club, Da Admiral noticed that the anemometer suddenly went to 0.0 knots. She knows all too well that means it is coming, and it is coming hard. Her eyes wide, she informed De Captain that we needed to anchor right away. De Captain dropped the hook and installed the snubber while Da Admiral dropped the double-reefed mainsail, which was still up. Not even a minute after Da Admiral finished backing down on the engine to set the anchor and seconds after De Captain threw a few sail ties around the main, the wind started picking up. We dried off and huddled in the companion way as Trance swung wildly in every direction. We saw 38 knots on the anemometer, and we're pretty certain it was higher while we were toweling off. Lightening of the type that you see most often in Florida crackled from every direction. We rushed inside and rode it out. That night we gave thanks to Chris Parker for giving good advice, to good decisions, and to our trustworthy ground tackle. Had we not heard his forecast, and had we decided to stay out, we would have been at sea in a dangerous situation, due to all the lightening. Anchored in calm waters, we could feel secure inside with lightening around us. Not so much had we been out at sea in the dark, needing to be in the cockpit to keep an eye on the sails or on all the ships riding the magic carpet north. That was our welcome back to Florida.

Our final thoughts on decision-making during storms when a safe harbor is nearby are as follows: agreed that in certain situations, the safest place for a sailboat in a storm is at sea. But if you are lucky enough to be near a safe harbor, know the waters, the conditions are right, and you feel comfortable in the conditions and in your particular vessel and experience (the seas and wind had gotten larger, but nothing close to being dangerously large to enter the inlet, at least not for us, and we felt confident and in control of our vessel going in at thankfully rising tide in southeast winds), then perhaps the safest place is anchored, with your supersized Rocna, overweight high test chain, and overbuilt and ridiculously expensive swivel and snubber, holding you down.

Finally, we were lucky to anchor just before the worst hit (and that De Captain was smart enough to know we needed to race in at 8 knots all morning). Well after we had anchored, we heard more vessels than we would have liked to hear calling marinas as they headed in, during the worst part of the storm. The last thing we would have wanted to do in 30+ knots was to try to get into a slip and tie up in a marina. We wish more sailors would think more seriously about their ground tackle decisions.

That night, we made a reservation at the Vero Beach marina for the following day. The thunderstorms were expected to pause during the wee hours of the night until 11 am, so we would be off early. Looking at the forecast, we learned we would probably be “stuck” in Vero for a while. We had a June 1 insurance company deadline to be in the Chesapeake Bay but it didn’t look like we would be making it. After an eventful and exciting day, getting to bed early that night did not pose a problem.

May 23 – May 29, 2016

Vero Beach, FL to Back River, Chesapeake Bay

The bad weather lasted the exact number of days we needed to be in Florida for Da Admiral’s cousins’ graduations. Figures that car trouble prevented us from going to Georgia as planned. But we enjoyed the time spent with family and are looking forward to being back home in Florida soon.

We set off from the Vero Beach marina a couple hours behind schedule. The plan was to anchor near Cape Canaveral and go out first thing in the morning, before the lock and bridge closed for their morning rush hour curfew. The first order of business was getting diesel, but the pump in Vero Beach was out of order. We were already running on fumes due to the lack of diesel availability in the last Bahamian islands we visited, so De Captain had to drive back into town with our two jerry cans. Good thing our car was in Vero. Jerry cans filled, we motored up the ICW and filled up in Titusville. We enjoyed chatting with the nice gentleman at the marina, who has dreams of going cruising one day. Then we hightailed it to get as close as possible to the bridge before dark.

The next morning, we weighed anchor at 5:30 am and dodged fish traps in the dark. We turned off the ICW and approached the bridge at 6:02, but the bridge tender said we were too late for the 6:00 opening. Then she asked if we were aware that the lock was closed for maintenance. We called the lock and they were open for only the next hour and would close again until 5:00 pm. We wouldn’t have made it, so considered ourselves lucky that we were “late” for the bridge opening. Otherwise we would have been stuck for hours. Interesting that although we did extensive online research the previous day, nowhere was it posted that the lock was closed. Regardless, by now we are used to having to change plans at a moment’s notice.

Plan B was to continue motoring up the ICW and decide along the way which inlet to use. We had gone into St. Augustine before and determined, after a surfer decided to cross 15 feet in front of our bow in the narrowest, scariest part of the pass, that we didn’t want to use that inlet again unless absolutely necessary. We had never considered Ponce. Our only experience in the vicinity was grounding in the ICW “channel” multiple times and finally having a dolphin show us where the deeper water was. It sounded a bit scary in our Waterway Guide, but then again so does everything written in that guide. We called the Coast Guard station, and the nice young gentleman told us we would have good water if we stayed close to the breakwall. Then we hailed a local sailboat and the Captain said we would have at least 6.5 feet (we draw 6’ 9”), which made us nervous. We decided to go for it and heed the Coast Guard’s advice.

It was an outgoing tide and easterly winds, so we battened down and prepped for “rage” conditions. When we turned to starboard into the inlet, indeed there were lots of breakers and a mini rage, but there was also a large sailboat sailing in. Then we noticed a towboat waiting for him and figured he was sailing in with no engine. What a bad ass. We took the opportunity to call the tow boat, not only to make sure we stayed out of their way, but to get a third opinion on the depths. He confirmed the Coast Guard’s information and we throttled up and went for it. In all the commotion, we noticed we still had the sail cover on our main sail, but it was too late to do anything about it. Regardless, we were going straight into the wind so a main would have been useless. The emergency strategy in case of an engine malfunction would have been to turn around and run back in with Genoa only, as the sailboat sailing in was doing.

It was a sporty exit but Trance handled it fine. Once in open, deep water, we raised the main, unfurled the Genoa, and set course directly for Beaufort, NC. The ICW is fun for a day, but no longer. We were glad to be under sail again.

The first 24 hours of the passage were nice and easy. Although, as forecasted, the wind died during Da Admiral’s watch at 2 am (as usual). We were in the Gulf Stream by that time, which still moved us along at 3.9 – 4 knots. She turned the engine on and at quiet, low RMPs, we moved along at over 6 knots. Albeit it under power, we finally got to ride that magic carpet. The next afternoon, we watched the usual squalls form near the coast. They were well away from us, so they were interesting to watch, rather than a concern. However, at 4:00 pm exactly, De Captain yelled “water spout!” Da Admiral ran up into the cockpit to see a huge, skinny funnel cloud about 15 miles west of us. Luckily, as quickly as it formed, it dissipated. We definitely planned on keeping a close eye on the radar that night. That evening, Chris Parker reported on a tropical depression that was set to turn into a tropical storm. We were on schedule to make landfall in Beaufort just in time. We were glad we decided to go out the Ponce Inlet.

One of the things we love about cruising is the fact that you just never know what you’re going to get. The cruising life is a box of chocolates on steroids. (We're pretty sure that's been said before.) It can be good or bad, but either way you feel very alive. The events of that night’s watch were, typically, unusual. A cruise ship hailed us to ask what our intentions were. De Captain responded that they were to stay on course and provided our magnetic course. After a brief silence, the cruise ship captain announced that he would pass behind our stern. Right behind our stern did he pass, not more than a nautical mile away and lit up like a Christmas tree. During Da Admiral’s watch, she heard something fall into the cockpit. “Oh, no. What line snapped now?,” she thought. But the slapping sound continued. Then the smell. A fish? A fish! A large flying fish had leaped into the cockpit down into the steering quadrant and was in danger of being crushed (and smelling up the cockpit). Da Admiral awoke De Captain. A pair of long tweezers, some hand steering and 10 minutes later, the fish, not very active but hopefully still alive, was back in the sea. Not more than 15 minutes later, it happened again. Da Admiral let out a startled scream as a fish landed in the cockpit at her feet. This time, she grabbed a (biodegradable) paper towel, picked up the writhing fish and threw it back in the sea. Luckily, that was the end of the fish attacks for the night.

The temperature hinted at the fact that we were nearing the temperate latitudes. The sea breeze, even during the day, was fresh and cool. It was a nice change.

After speaking with Chris Parker the next morning, we set course for a waypoint further east, to follow a curve in the Gulf Stream. The night before, the stream seemed to lose its grip and we were moving slower. We calculated that although it would add miles to the trip, the extra 3 knots would be worth it. Sure enough, the easting paid off. In puffs of 15 knots, we were moving at 6-7 knots.

That night, all the flying fish stayed on deck, thankfully. The next day, catastrophe hit—the head clogged. Luckily the clog was at the entry to the holding tank, so it wasn’t too awful unscrewing the hose and using tweezers to remove the offending paper. The things that happen at sea…  Then, Da Admiral noticed we were on a collision course with a tug towing a huge load. It started getting too close for comfort, so she hailed them and offered to change course. The captain of the tug said we were fine, so she stayed put. The closer it got, the more nervous Da Admiral got. She wanted a second opinion. She called De Captain outside and informed him she was turning to port. The tug was a half mile away and closing in fast. We changed course to port slowly, and on that course we would clear the tug, but not his load. Da Admiral brought in the main while De Captain made a hard turn to port, missing the huge barge by less than three boat lengths. He cursed as he noticed that the barge was also towing a line. We held our breaths, but nothing happened. We wondered what on earth the tug captain was thinking.

Too close for comfort

That afternoon the wind and current picked up and we started flying, making a steady 7.5 to 8.5 knots and hitting 10 knots several times. We saw yet another deflated helium balloon drifting in the water and declared they should be banned. At 7:30 that evening, we hit our Gulf Stream exit point, but it did not want to let us go. We had to turn on the engine and motor out of it. We weren’t ready to cross the Atlantic just yet. The last night before making landfall, we were surrounded by ships and smaller dots on the radar, likely sailing vessels. We made landfall just before noon, with one sailboat a few miles ahead of us, and another a few miles behind us.

Flying on the magic carpet

Since it was still early in the day, we decided to continue into the ICW. The tropical storm was set to make landfall in Charleston shortly and it was possibly heading our way. Our exhaustion showed in our bloodshot eyes, and we were filthy--so much that Da Admiral felt the need to explain herself to the southern belles buying nautical attire while paying for diesel at the Jarrett Bay marina. Still, we pressed on until sunset.

While we were taking on diesel, we saw a familiar German aluminum boat. We’re pretty sure we saw it in the Caribbean. It must have been the boat that came in behind us. We overtook it after pulling out of the marina, and De Captain chatted in German with the captain. Too bad we were in a rush.

We made it through the ICW and into the Chesapeake Bay in a record three days and two nights. The long summer days were a big help. Only five days after leaving Florida, we were in the Chesapeake Bay. We were exhausted, but we had beat the storm and made our June 1 deadline.

May 31, 2016

The Chesapeake Bay. The culmination of an almost-two-year adventure

Solomons Island was the place we anchored our first night away from our home port when we left on our cruise to the Bahamas in 2012. (When we left on our cruise to the Caribbean in 2014, we did an overnighter out of the Bay.) We had never left the Bay nor done an overnight passage. Here we are again, our last night out, and so much has changed.

Many of you have asked—what are we doing? What next? Well, we have decided to sell our beloved Trance and take on additional workloads. We brought her back to the Bay because it’s the best place to sell her.

But not so fast, we’re not giving up cruising. The opposite. We want to go farther and bigger. We can handle Trance easily and feel we are ready for a bigger boat and bigger oceans. We are hooked on voyaging. We love sailing and passage making. We love the different cultures and the local people, especially since while cruising one gets to interact with them on a different level than while on holiday. So, we enjoy the cruising chores—provisioning, getting water and fuel, etc. because it’s in a new place. We also really enjoy meeting other cruisers (a big surprise to us—we know, we know we’re terrible) and, yes, even boat work. So, like most people, we need to take on additional work and increase revenues to realize our dream.

We love Trance and want to ensure she finds a good home, so if anyone out there has any leads, please drop us a line. Also, we love Trance so much that, for our new boat, we’re basically looking for another Trance, just about 8 feet longer. That way we’ll have room for a sail locker, more cockpit lockers, and a large shower compartment aft. To summarize Trance’s best features that are an absolute deal-breaker in addition to the above: an aluminum hull (we strongly prefer unpainted), a hard dodger, a keel that you won’t trip over when going downwind but most importantly with good upwind performance, and a safe and comfortable cockpit that is a “livable” space on passage. Well folks, we’ve scoured Yachtworld and the European sites, and they just don’t make boats like that in the 46-foot range anymore. We think we would just get ourselves in trouble in anything bigger (not to mention the price tag wouldn’t work). So if anyone has any leads on that, we sure would appreciate it. The one thing that scares us more than having two boats at once is having no boat at all.

Signing off on 31 May 2016, two hours before the official start of hurricane season,

Da Admiral, De Captain and Da Sailor Cat OUT

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