This is a blog that I was not sure I would write. As I previously wrote about our passage south, the conditions were very challenging for the first few days and remained challenging for the entire trip. While those conditions increased my confidence in the boat, they eroded some of my personal confidence.
This loss of personal confidence was specific and narrow. I remained confident in my navigation skills, in my knowledge of the boat’s basic systems, and even in my ability to analyze the weather data we received. My confidence lagged about being outside the cockpit. After hearing so much about search and rescue, watching videos on marine safety equipment and being attuned to the substantial risks of being lost at sea, I became hesitant to leave the cockpit. I am sure the rolling seas and unsteady footing contributed significantly to this lack of confidence. In those heaving, confused seas, I could not stand confidently in the main cabin below, so of course I could not stand confidently on deck.
As the passage progressed, my sagging confidence nibbled elsewhere. In the past, whenever Steve was on our boat, he liked to trim the sails. He is an excellent sail trimmer, far better than me, so I never had the slightest issue about letting him take charge of the sails.
By the same token, I was never shy about adjusting a sail, as needed. But out in the Atlantic, as the days passed, I became more reluctant to trim sails. We were sailing in a new, challenging environment and while I know how to sail this boat just fine, I came to believe his greater skill level should pre-empt my sail trimming. After the first few days, I don’t remember trimming any sail. As far as I can recall, Steve did all of the sail work for the rest of the trip, or at least until we arrived in the BVI.
For most of the trip, then, I rarely left the cockpit and deferred to Steve on sail trimming. As I write this blog in the relative calm of White’s Bay off Guana Island in the BVI, it all seems rational and relatively easy to understand. Who wouldn’t react as I did?
When we did arrive in the BVI, Jae and I had no plan for what we would do next. We had not discussed how long we would stay in the Nanny Cay Marina or where we would go from there. Upon arrival, one thing was clear in my mind, though – I needed a break from sailing. I was happy to be puttering around on the boat, socializing with other crews in the marina and taking occasional field trips around Tortola. Only one thing was off the table for me -- I did not want to raise or trim a sail.
Slowly, a plan for the rest of our days emerged. We knew that none of our children could join us for Christmas and that my Annapolis dermatologist wanted me to return for surgery on two growths on my face. My father missed us as well. After a few days of recuperation, we therefore decided to return to Annapolis for 8 days so that I could have the surgery and so we could spend time with my father. From there, we would go to California and see all the kids and our granddaughter for Christmas before returning to the boat.
We first decided to spend one week in the marina, having a few repairs done and drying out. For that first week, as I watched boats come and go from the marina dock, I had no desire to leave the marina. I guess that is part of the recovery process.
We then extended our stay for a second week, partly because our mainsail was not yet repaired, but I was not pushing the sail loft to finish the job. Then my spider bite issue intervened, causing further delay. By that point, I started to become frustrated because I knew we had to get out and sail before we flew home.
After two weeks in the marina, I wanted to leave. I wanted to be one of the boats heading out into the Drake Channel and spending nights on anchor or on a mooring. I wanted to wander around the deck like I had always done, whatever the conditions.
So, we left the marina on a Thursday, 16 days after we arrived. Our goal for the day was very modest – motor across the Channel and pick up a mooring in Great Harbor, Peter Island. It was a sunny, beautiful day and we could have sailed the short distance, but we motored instead. In the harbor, we picked up a mooring. We saw a 1500 rally boat glide past and anchor at the head of the harbor. Pretty soon, the captain of Phantom dinghied by and we agreed to meet on board the William Thornton (“the Willy T” for those ladies who have jumped off it topless), a floating bar/restaurant moored in the harbor, for happy hour.
Shortly after his visit, we lowered our dinghy, fired up the engine and Jae took the controls for a harbor tour. I began to feel like a sailor again.
The next day, we dropped the mooring and motored back across the Channel, this time to Road Town, where we picked up a mooring so that I could make one last doctor’s visit. All went smoothly. Back on the boat after lunch, we motored across the Channel yet again, this time to Cooper Island, hoping to pick up one of the last moorings. We stayed for an overpriced, disappointing lobster dinner. The next day we headed for the North Sound of Virgin Gorda. The wind was in our face and we decided to motor, rather than spend hours tacking all the way there.
I was reluctant to sail in part because we still needed to fine-tune the boom angle for our mainsail to furl and unfurl properly. If the angle is wrong, the sail can tear or become stuck in the track. On the passage down, we had damaged the sail because of the wrong boom angle. And last summer, improper boom angle caused the sail to jam in the track. With our heavy-duty electric winches that can create a powerful jam, that is a difficult problem to fix. And it must be fixed to maintain control of the boat. In other words, if you cannot furl the sail, you can only sail, like a shark constantly in motion, with no port to enter. With a furled sail, you can anchor, moor, or tie up at a marina. As you can see, it is a big deal – at least to me.
We had hoped to calibrate the boom angle in the marina before leaving, but the wind was too strong, and from the wrong direction, to allow us to raise the sail in the marina.
So, with the wind in our face and a need to calibrate the boom angle, we motored north to Virgin Gorda’s beautiful North Sound. Once there, we dropped the anchor in a protected, but windy spot. The anchor bit immediately and we were set. All good.
A couple from a neighboring cruising boat came over in their dinghy to chat. It turned out that they were from Annapolis also. We got along very well and ended up having dinner together and sharing stories about our respective passages south (they were part of the Salty Dawg rally).
The next day Jae and I took a long dinghy ride across the Sound to Leverick Bay to explore the resort and so Jae could use the wifi to read our mail online. We met a young woman at the bar who crews on a gorgeous 85 foot sloop with her boyfriend. She invited us back to the boat for a drink and a tour. Her boyfriend, the captain, was South African and very friendly. The tour was impressive, to say the least. We rode our dinghy back as the last light faded out of the sky.
Still happy in the North Sound, we decided to stay another day and dinghy to a deserted beach. We found all our snorkel equipment, our beach umbrella and chairs and launched off. Another successful outing.
We planned to leave the following day and take a slip at the Virgin Gorda Yacht Harbor in Spanish Town, which is very close to the Baths – where we want to take Amanda and Nick when they visit. But, after reading about the marina and the general condition of Spanish Town, I proposed that we dinghy back to Leverick Bay and take a taxi down to the Baths. The Yacht Harbor wanted an obscene amount of money for a slip in a marina that I understood remained largely a wasteland. So we went ashore and found Norwell, a local taxi driver, to take us down and back for much less than a slip would have cost.
The taxi ride was breathtaking. The roads are very steep, and Norwell’s taxi is very old. Jae took several pictures along the way.
In Spanish Town, the evidence of Hurricane Irma’s destructive force is everywhere. Spanish Town, a town of at least a few thousand people, might have 3 viable businesses now. It is devastated.
I must confess now that we spent money at the only place that did not seem to need help, a touristy restaurant right above the Baths that was crawling with passengers from a Disney cruise liner. Jitneys full of passengers wearing various Mickey Mouse branded clothing shuttled back and forth to the harbor.
Despite this rude quasi-return to America, we enjoyed our lunch. The view is truly spectacular, and we had quite a good time before Norwell returned us to Leverick Bay.
The crew of Aria awaited us at the Leverick Bay bar. We first met this couple when their boat sat in a slip next to ours in Annapolis this fall. Like us, they then sailed down the Bay to join a rally, albeit a different rally than we joined. We sat at the bar, swapped stories, and stayed ashore for dinner. It was fun.
The next morning, Jae and I raised and lowered the mainsail while still on anchor, to ensure the boom angle was proper. Once satisfied that the angle was proper, we hoisted the anchor, raised a reefed mainsail (it was blowing pretty hard outside the Sound) and left the Sound. We turned west, unfurled the jib and sailed toward Trellis Bay. It was a very pleasant downwind sail that checked the final confidence box.