Maine

We are slowly catching up with our blog posts.  We cruised Maine from July 27, 2017 to August 31, 2017.

We actually welcomed the bad weather that hit Gloucester as it forced us to take a respite from break-neck speed at which we’d been traveling, if there’s any way to construe five miles per hour as ‘break-neck’.  Our schedule had been rigorous (for us) with trying to press the most miles out of every day for what seemed like weeks on end.  As with many modern cruisers, we were looking for a ‘weather window’ with which to make our passage to Maine, even though it was only a short distance.  The winds were light but we were able to sail the entire way and made landfall at Rockland, Maine, after an easy overnight sail.

The Seven Seas Cruising Association was coincidentally holding one of their ‘gams’ in Rockland Bay that weekend and the bay was full of cruising sailboats.  I was answered almost immediately after I had released the key on the VHF’s mike, asking for a recommendation for anchoring.  Not only was the information helpful but the person who answered said they had been following our progress north and had been expecting us.  Were people talking about us?  Had we done something bad?  It wasn’t us!  It was a boat that looked like us!  Even though we weren’t members of the SSCA, they invited us to participate in their events, which we politely declined as we were eager to make it up to Castine.

Castine

Sailing north up Penobscot Bay was both uneventful and thrilling at the same time.  It seemed like years ago we promised Joe and Judith Sandven that we’d sail there.  Our guide book had cautioned that visiting yachts should pick up a mooring, which we did, but we later anchored out as there was nothing to be concerned about.  Our rendezvous with Joe and Judith was properly celebrated and Ruthie and I fell in love with the picture-perfect New England community immediately.  The farm just outside of town that Judith was raised on hasn’t been active agriculturally for many years and she allows the fields to be hayed at no charge and no shares.  The old barn remains mostly the same as it has been for almost 100 years but the house has been modernized and has all the creature comforts anyone could ask for, including a nearly idyllic setting and pastoral views.  Joe gave us the keys to his 2005 Ford Crown Victoria and I hadn’t driven a car that large in years but it was not just convenient but fun to be able to drive the back roads of Maine.

One of the errands we took in the Crown Vic was to find a very hard-to-find butcher shop as we were looking for something special to cook for Joe’s 88^th birthday.  Google maps directed us to this obscure area that might have been at one time a commercial district but all we could find was an abandoned warehouse.  We called the number and complained to the person that answered the phone that we couldn’t find the place.  “All we can find is an abandoned warehouse,” I whined.  “Come on in,” the person answered.  Inside the ‘abandoned’ warehouse was a huge walk-in refrigerator, complete with display cases and a cashier.  We selected fabulous steaks, appropriate for an 88^th birthday party.
  I nearly caused a wreck as I was trying to pull over to a roadside stand that had wild blueberries for sale.  Ruthie bought six quarts of berries, a case of Mason jars and canned 24 half-pints of blueberry jam on board.

Ellsworth American Article
 

Unbeknownst to us, Joe had contacted the Ellsworth American, the surprisingly-well written newspaper for the community of Ellsworth, Maine, telling them that his circumnavigating daughter and son-in-law were in Castine and it would make a worthwhile story.  Neither Ruthie nor I expected any follow up but we were delighted when Stephen Rappaport contacted us and asked if he could interview us.  After all, talking about us is our favorite thing to do!  Stephen, a recovering attorney, was taking a summer vacation from New York about 25 years ago in Ellsworth and never went back.  He spent almost two hours aboard, questioning us and listening intently, only giving information about himself after we prodded him.

If one was to merely give the navigational charts of Maine a cursory glance, it would be easy to deduce that sailing those waters could be complex and challenging.  There must be millions of rocks, ledges and other hazards that the wary sailor must be vigilant about.  However, the charted obstacles are only a small part of the difficulties one is faced with while sailing in Maine.  The first hazard one you won’t be able to spot from studying the charts happens to be the Maine Department of Marine Resources, which grants permits for lobster fishermen to place traps – and their associated floats – in the Maine waters.  Last year, the Department issued permits for over 2 million traps.  Granted, there are strict regulations regarding the size of lobster a fisherman can harvest and it has become a sustainable industry but trying to keep those 2 million traps from becoming fouled on your prop or keel takes constant attention.  It is unknown if we did foul our prop on one of the traps as Rutea’s prop shaft has a line-cutter attached but we zigged and zagged continuously in an effort to keep clear of them.

145' Rebecca Under Main and Mizzen

The other challenge we found sailing in Maine that we couldn’t have detected from the charts was the pea soup-thick fog that found us.  We could be sailing along on a bright, sunny day and it would seem like a wall of fog would suddenly descend and envelope us without warning.  Of course, we have radar that can pick up very small targets but maneuvering between the lobster floats, the lobster boats and the other hazards found in Maine waters was very intense at times.

As we made our way further ‘Down East’ – which describes the northeastern coast of Maine – another issue that we had to contend with was the increasing strength of the currents and the higher tidal ranges the further north we traveled.  Rutea draws almost 7 feet and, usually, if we find 15 feet of water, we think that it’s plenty deep to anchor but that isn’t so if you have a 9’ tidal range.  We would make every effort to time our passages through anywhere narrow to include a favorable current.

The furthest east we went was to Roque Island, a privately-owned island and one of the few in all of Maine to boast a sand beach.  The owners of the island allow cruisers to use the beach (but not venture inland).  It was delightfully remote and a few boats came and went while we were there but we loved the coniferous-covered land.

Ordering Lobster Rolls at a Lobster 'Pound' in Blue Hill

On our way back west, we anchored in the lovely Blue Hill Bay and took advantage of the dinghy dock at the Killegewidgwok Yacht Club as a place to leave the dink while we hiked up Blue Hill.  It was a pleasant climb and kind drivers would stop as we walked the sides of the road, offering us rides.  We also made a final rendezvous with Joe and Judith there but made promises to share Thanksgiving dinner together in San Diego.

Someone had told us of a special anchorage in between Harbor Island and Hall Island – they were absolutely right – unless the wind was out of the north and the wind was howling out of the north.  We dropped our anchor there anyway and stayed for about 10 minutes before we weighed anchored and bashed about 3 miles north to the lee of Friendship Long Island.  We had hoped to leave the following day but the wind hadn’t abated at all.  Small craft advisories had been posted by the Coast Guard for strong winds and rough conditions.  Ruthie and I ‘debated’ about what to do.  Throwing caution to the wind, we weighed anchor, tucked a double reef in the main and headed back to Gloucester.

Carolina to Cape Cod

May 2017

It’s really difficult for me to describe how much FUN we had cruising the east coast of the USA.  Up to this point we had done very little traveling on the east coast even by land, much less by water.  Each region of the U.S. is so distinct and the eastern U.S. has so much history that I feel I really have just learned my U.S. history and geography for the first time.  There is no better way to learn geography than by traveling (remember how hard it was to remember where all of those tiny New England states were?) and if you travel by boat you get to sleep in your own bed every night!  Sailing the North Atlantic and eastern bays, rivers and sounds presented new challenges for Rutea with shoals, ledges, canals, tidal ranges and currents.   As usual in our cruising life, we learned something new every day.

The other delightful part of sailing on the east coast is the number of actual sail boats out sailing!  There are thousands of sailboats on moorings in coves, bays and rivers - cruising boats, schooners, sloops, and many, many beautiful classic wooden boats!  It almost felt reverential to be among classic Alden- or Sparkman-Stephens-designed wooden boats kept in pristine condition much less the magnificent Hinkley’s and Morris’s.  Beautiful craftsmanship and seaworthiness exude from these ships.

After spending a month doing much needed boat projects, exploring the civil war sites and beaches around Southport, N.C. and eating plenty of shrimp and crab cakes we were ready to head north around Cape Hatteras to Chesapeake Bay.  Cape Hatteras is similar in reputation to Point Conception in California, a point of land to be respected, notorious for storms and ships lost at sea and a demarcation point for weather patterns on the coast.  Needless to say, we chose our weather window carefully and sailed north with the current of the Gulf  Stream although from time to time strange little Gulf Stream eddys would be against us!  It felt like another landmark milestone to anchor off of Fort Monroe at Comfort Point in Chesapeake Bay where we spent an old fashioned, USA fourth of July.

One could spend a lifetime just exploring the Chesapeake!  In 1607 Captain John Smith charted over 3,000 miles in the bay alone mapping all of the nooks, crannies, coves and rivers.  We followed much of this waterway trail as we day hopped from Norfolk to Annapolis and Annapolis to the northern end of the bay where we transited the C&D Canal over to Delaware Bay.  Summer homes and small villages dot the shoreline. Old screw-top lighthouses mark shoals and shallows.  Ospreys give us the eagle eye as we pass their nests and circle in the sky waiting to swoop and grab an unsuspecting perch.

This is not to say, however, that all sailing in the Chesapeake is smooth!  The Bay is full of crab pots to dodge and freighters to avoid.  Summer squalls with lightning and thunder can crop up in the afternoons and strike with sudden intensity. The wind can drop to nothing for days or of course, be on the nose. And then there are those man-eating-black-flies.  As always, one must be prepared and it is particularly important to prepare with fly swatters on board in this part of the world!

The Delaware Bay is a whole ‘nother story!  Very shallow, except for the shipping channel, it has a constant parade of huge freighters and tugs towing barges throwing off surfable wakes towards the shallows.  The current races with the tides and if your transit is mistimed with the tide (as part of it will be because the transit is longer than six hours) the going can be very, very slow.  The banks are lined with industry like nuclear power plants and oil refineries and the only protected anchorage is up a winding, narrow, shallow river- the Salem River- where once you arrive you are greeting by more barges, loading docks and a very teeny turning basin!

If you have a shallow draft boat- like 4ft.- and a short mast, say under 35 feet, you can take the inland waterway up the New Jersey coast all of the way to Sandy Hook.  If you don’t, then you must sail up the Atlantic off shore of the New Jersey coast.  Now this is interesting because even if you are five miles off of the coast, you are still only in 65 feet of water!  We were surprised at the amount of traffic on our overnight passage from Cape May, New Jersey up to Sandy Hook.  We passed freighters, barges and tugs, a large fleet of small sloops from the Naval Academy returning from a regatta, fishing boats and several fish farms.  The lights of Atlantic City were bright for miles and there were miles and miles of white sand beaches.  It never really seemed to get dark.  Sandy Hook is a big, wide bay, known for several tragedies, but it does afford some protection for anchoring, a haven for clamming and a staging point for New York City!

Manhattan Island

We are probably the only boat that has ever sailed through New York City and not stopped for a sandwich!  The thing was, it was already July 20^th and my Dad was turning 88 on August 1^st.  We had promised him that we would would sail into Penobscot Bay to Castine, Maine, for his birthday and that only gave us another ten days to go another 350 (or so) miles!  We also had to time the current at Hell Gate in the East River so we would pass there right at slack tide as the current can rage where the Harlem River enters the East River.  We upped anchor in Sandy Hook in time to sail into New York Harbor and anchor for lunch just off of the Statue of Liberty and Ellis Island.  It was a thrill (and very emotional) to sail by Lady Liberty and in spite of everything, she still looks proud and determined!  We took a thousand photos as we tried to imagine Neal’s mother arriving in New York Harbor in 1936, sailing the same route as did we but ending her journey at Ellis Island where her name would be changed and she would emerge from the immigrant inspection station to learn a new language and begin a new life under the guiding light of Lady Liberty.

We celebrated our 39th wedding anniversary by attending a Mets game at Citi Field

The East River is not really a river at all but a 14 mile long tidal strait that begins in New York Harbor and ends just past Throg’s Neck at Long Island Sound.  Beginning at the Island of Manhattan there are eight bridges, numerous islands and many, many fascinating landmarks.  Traffic on the river is intense with ferries and helicopters crisscrossing commuters back and forth to the unending office space in Manhattan.  The shore is lined with marinas and maritime museums, private yachts and small live aboard boats.  The United Nations Headquarters fronts the river and whenever it is in session, all traffic on the river is suspended!  We could see the Empire State Building and the Chrysler Tower, Citi Field, La Guardia Airport and the Billie Jean Tennis complex where the U.S. Open is held!  It was hard not to stop but the East River spit us out into Long Island Sound where we carried on, knowing we would be back in September when we could spend some time.

Long Island Sound introduced us to a whole new world.  Referred to by some as the Gold Coast we passed mansion after mansion, huge estate after estate (including the Gugenheim Estate complete with three castles) with opulent homes and manicured grounds.  I don’t think I have ever seen such a concentration of money, old money- money from early American industry like steel and railroads and cars and mining and oil spread out over such a huge area.  It was really astounding and a bit overwhelming.  Of course we had learned about it in school but I had never SEEN it.

At the east end of Long Island Sound it narrows and is dotted with islands.  To get into Block Island Sound you need to time the tide and current, once again, as on the ebb tide all of Long Island Sound is trying to get out to sea through these passes and on the flood tide, the entire Atlantic Ocean is trying to enter!  Our last anchorage in L.I. Sound was off of Fisher’s Island so we could time our departure through ‘the race’ for the fair tide in the morning.  We exited the Sound through the Watch Hill Pass (the foggiest place in L.I. Sound) and headed through Block Island Sound towards Cape Cod.  I think we’re in Connecticut now . . .

Surrounding Cape Cod is another huge shoal and sailors used to have to sail about a hundred extra miles out to sea, in the Northern Atlantic, to get around it.  After many ships were lost in nasty winter storms the idea of a canal was conceived but it took almost 300 years to complete it!  Fortunately for us, the canal is now 17 miles long, 480 feet wide and 30 feet deep.  It cuts off many sea miles and provides a protected place to transit from Buzzard’s Bay into Cape Cod Bay.  We knew of course, that we would again have to time the current but what we didn’t anticipate having to dodge were the fishing lures cast off from the banks by shoulder to shoulder fishermen competing in some kind of fishing tournament!  Across Cape Cod Bay, past Boston we sailed in to Gloucester.  It’s now July 24 and we only have 150 miles to go to Castine but the weather is calling for northerlies.

Gloucester is one of the few remaining real fishing ports in Massachusetts.  Gorton’s of Gloucester (now Japanese owned) has  processed seafood since 1849 and fishing boats offload at its docks both day and night.  The harbor bustles with commercial traffic as well as pleasure craft.  Craft breweries line the streets and there are many artists and galleries.  We are captivated by the charm and energy of the town.  Quaint houses with beautiful gardens hang on the hillsides, people are friendly and casual but also serious in their understanding of  how difficult it is to make a living from the Sea.  The Man At The Wheel Memorial honors fishermen everywhere and The Fisherman’s Wives Memorial honors the wives of fishermen everywhere.  The north wind blows for three more days.

Pirates of the Caribbean

Scarlet Ibis

It was April 10, 2017 that we left Trinidad and I know this because it was the day after Haley’s (our niece) birthday.  For her birthday I had taken her to Caroni Swamp to witness the sunset roosting of the Trinidad Scarlet Ibis.  It was magnificent and she loved it!  Really!  No, really! Nothing like a swamp trip on your birthday!  Ahhh, the cruising life! Haley was its’ newest convert.

We departed Boca del Dragon in very rough seas with the wind on the nose under power and a main sail and immediately began taking on water.  Hmmm…how am I going to explain this to my sister….I took her one and only daughter out to sea in a boat taking on water…….so we turned around (in very rough seas) and the bilge pump stopped cycling.  Maybe the problem fixed itself!  We turned around again (in very rough seas) and headed out once again.  The bilge pumped kicked back on and once again we were taking on water.  We turned around again (in very rough seas) and headed back thru the Boca into Scotland Bay where we dropped the anchor, let the engine cool down, made dinner and while Haley and I had a pretty good sleep, Neal worked on the packing gland.  Next morning we tried it again (in moderate seas) and with no leaks, carried on northerly through the Windward Islands of the Caribbean. 

Local knowledge says that you either sail at night without lights from Trini to Grenada or sail way east (into the wind) around the Venezuelan/Trinidadian oil fields because there are “pirates” from Venezuela that hang out around the oil platforms and rob cruising boats transiting in this area.  Now, there are documented accounts of this, and any act of aggression from one boat to another is considered piracy, but truth be told these guys are desperate and very poor as Venezuela is in a state of dire crisis and they are just trying to feed families and make a little money.  No one gets hurt….as long as you don’t pull out a gun…..

Tyrell Bay, Carriacou Island

We decided to skip Grenada and head to Carriacou as we had heard that Tyrell Bay was beautiful and there was a good reef to snorkel.  Skirting Kick’em Jenny, an active underwater volcano area just north of Grenada we reached Carriacou and anchored in turquoise water and explored our first real Caribbean Island- you know- palm tree lined, white sand beaches, steel pan music and conche in spicy sauce for dinner!

Rather than belaboring each Windward and Leeward Island that we visited up the Caribbean chain, let it suffice to say that each was beautiful, we met wonderful people, shopped in fresh fruit and veggie markets, took tours from local tour guides (with American prices….piracy?.....) and snorkeled beautiful reefs in clean, clear water.  Haley decided to design hikes for us wherever possible and presented the difficulty level to us in very clever ways, such as ‘this will be an easy hike’ which then turned out to be straight up (bushwacking) and straight down (rockslides).  I do admit we had some spectacular views of the ocean.  One of her more rewarding hikes was to the Depaz Rum Distillery in Martinique, which was supposed to be two miles (uphill) but turned out to be about SIX miles…uphill.  We did finally arrive and toured the beautiful grounds of the oldest steam powered distillery in the Caribbean, slave quarters and all and after which sampled rum in the tasting room.  While talking with the staff, we learned that if we bought ENOUGH rum, they would provide a taxi for us back to the harbor…….hmmm…..pirates?........

Rum Distillery

Used on the set of Pirates of the Caribbean

We were greeted in Dominica by Lawrence of Arabia, in a small skiff, who introduced himself as being an ambassador of Portsmith Town and promised to take care of all of our local needs.  He arranged a rain forest river tour for us then passed us off to one of his assistants who loaded us in a wooden, flat bottomed skiff and poled us  way up a jungle river, past the house of The Witch in Pirates of the Caribbean (yes, it was filmed here) all the while pontificating about American Politics and espousing amazement at how such an incredible country such as the USA could elect such a person as….well…. Donald Trump (his words exactly) to be President.  We were in awe.  The rainforest, a tour guide with a sixth grade education who knew more about American politics than most Americans, and he got to hang out with Johnny Depp (the REAL Pirate of the Caribbean).

However, for Neal and me, most islands felt like tourist destinations and we could feel the local pressure for tourists, people like us, to shop and spend money and help support the local economy where there was very little else to support it.  It was a far cry from visiting a foreign country where people were interested in more than your American dollar.  That being said, Haley kept our perspective fresh as this was her first island experience and she loved the tours, the snorkeling, the rainforests, the towns and we were happy to view our destinations through her eyes.  What was particularly cool for me was to learn where all of these islands were- exotic names of places that I had heard for years but had no idea of their locations!  Union Island, Mayreau, Tobago Cays, Bequia, Martinique, Dominica, Isle de Saints, St. Kitts, St. Maartin, Virgin Islands.  And now that Hurricane Maria and Jose followed the same path that we did, it means even more, particularly since we met people on these islands, know where they lived and shopped and worked and we shared a bit of their lives.

Haley jumped ship in St. Maartens as Rutea had a major repair to undergo that was going to take some time. This was the second time we had taken someone to the airport via dinghy but an absolute first for Haley! She jumped out of the dinghy, walked across the highway and voila!  Bon Voyage!

 A chainplate had separated on the way up and there are major ship refitting outfits on the Dutch side of the island. St. Maartens lagoon is entered via a bascule bridge that opens several times a day.  Once you are inside, you are captive until the bridge opens again for your departure.  The lagoon is huge and divided into the Dutch side and the French side.  Local wisdom says to go to the French side for dining and the Dutch side for boat repairs.  The craftsmanship of the repair work was excellent and the price was fair but the prices in the chandleries were outrageous!  We always expect anything designated for marine use to be more than regular use, but these prices for oil, wax, cleaners, nuts, bolts, were off the charts!  Pirates!

At least we were now in the Leeward Islands and could sail the rest of the way through St. Thomas in the Virgin Islands, through Turks and Caicos, Bahamas and make our way back towards the U.S.  After spending one night in Cat Island in the Bahamas, we were heading to Hope Town in Great Abaco, Bahamas, when Chris Parker, the Caribbean weather guru told us we had a weather window to get to the Chesapeake Bay and we needed to leave Right Now!  Who else do you know who sails through the Bahamas and only spends one night?  Well that’s what we did and five days later, after a night of incredible lightning, we pulled into Southport, North Carolina.  This was Rutea’s first time back in the USA in seven years!  Wonder what kind of pirates we will find here!

Passages

 We know that we haven't kept our blog up to date.  Sorry.   This post is about what took place almost two years ago.  We'll try to do better going forward.

Approaching the Anchorage at Fernando de Noronha

March 2016

After leaving Ascension we really wanted a taste of Brazil! The northeast Brazilian coast is not considered a safe place to transit so we decided to visit the Brazilian island paradise of Fernando de Noronha, an easy 1,100 mile passage from Ascension, about 350 miles due east of Fortaleza (on the mainland) and 3° south of the equator.  This tropical paradise is really a string of very large rocks out in the middle of the S. Atlantic with no protected anchorage for mooring. We anchored in 30 feet of water about a half of a mile off shore and along with our amigos (Helga and Rene) on S/V Amigo we set out to look for some good Brazilian food and music! 

The island reeked of happiness!   We took local buses from one end of the island to the other just to tour the island and all local passengers were smiling, chatting, swaying to their ipods and giving us suggestions on where to eat!  If this is Brazil, bring it on!  The air smelled sweet, the sun shone bright, birds were singing, the food melted in your mouth, the energy was vibrant and we were very happy.

Nothing lasts forever, even paradise, and a huge Atlantic swell moved in on our unprotected side of the island.  After spending a morning watching Amigo completely disappear from our sight in between the swells (we could not even see the top of their mast and they reported that Rutea disappeared just as completely) we decided we better head out and continue along our equatorial route towards Tobago. Ciao Brazil!

This next passage was a 1900 mile run through the inter-tropical convergence zone from south of the equator to ten degrees north.  Our twelve foot swell accompanied us for days as did squalls, lightning and one water spout.  It was not an easy or particularly enjoyable passage, but it was interesting knowing we were sailing off of the northern coast of Brazil past the Amazon River and basin.  We made good time with wind and current in our favor and knew that the reward  at the end of the passage  would be to anchor in the turquoise waters of Tobago where we could lime to our hearts content, snorkel the Buccoo Reef, attend Sunday School (a weekly food and music beach party beginning about 11:00 p.m.) and rest up before heading to Trinidad where we would end our season.  Total days at sea-12.

Blue-Crowned Mot-Mot

Unless you are an avid bird watcher you probably would not go to Trinidad to vacation.  There are fifteen different species of hummingbirds on the island and the Asa Wright Nature Center is world renown for Hummers as well as Honeycreepers, Tanagers, Mot Mots, Toucans, Woodpeckers and a host of other species.  If you spend the night you might share your room with an agouti or a well known specie of tarantula!  But that is about all that lures the tourist.  There are no beautiful beaches, reefs to snorkel or charming coves to in which to anchor.  Trini is twelve miles off of the coast of Venezuela in some places and is surrounded by oil platforms.  Oil tankers abound in the main port, Port of Spain and kids swim in the bay next to the Alcoa Aluminum plant.

Trinidad does have, however, a reputation for being a very good boat repair and haul-out destination as it is south of the hurricane belt and although it has a VERY wet season, it has not been hit by a hurricane in many years.  Thus, every year hundreds of cruisers head to Trinidad, haul their boats out of the water into the boat yard and skedaddle! That being said, local knowledge and instructions to the infiltrating cruiser are that during the day you are free to wander the area around Charguaramas, between marinas and chandleries- even go in to Port of Spain to the public market.  But by dark, you had best be inside the marina gates and off of the street and if you go any where around the bay, go by dinghy- do not walk on the highway. 

Trinidad seems to be one of those slow-to-change countries that is not particularly egalitarian in its integration.  There is a mix of white people- descendants of the colonialists, black people- descendants of the slaves and East Indian people- descendants of indentured servants also brought in to work in the plantation fields. After WWI the oil industry boomed and people of all races were hired to work the oil fields.  Oil jobs were preferred and better paying than plantation work, so much of the agriculture went by the wayside.  When the oil marked collapsed in the 80s many people were out of work with no agricultural industry to fall back on. Even though the country’s economy has stabilized there are still people living in board shacks without running water or electricity next to fancy shopping malls.  The murder rate in Trinidad is high, it is a major corridor for cocaine from South America and government corruption is deep.

Nevertheless, Neal and I found Trinidad HOT and fascinating.  We jumped into our boat projects, bought our lunches from the curry stand on the highway right outside of the marina gates, attended the ex-pat  Sunday Mexican Train marathons, went to Shark and Bake at the Wheelhouse Pub (by dinghy), attended the Tuesday cruiser’s pot luck and went to Wednesday BBQ night also at the Wheelhouse, where they would haul a six foot swordfish fresh off a boat, down the dock in a dock cart, and cut it up right in front of us throwing huge steaks on the grill for all who ordered it.

David Underwood 1963-2016

We had just signed up with Jesse James to go on a Taste of Trini Tour  with a stop by the Asa Wright Nature Center when we received the phone call that no one ever wants to receive.  Our nephew was missing in a diving accident off of the Turks and Caicos and it was not looking good for his recovery.  We dropped everything and 48 hours later we were home in San Diego making the most difficult passage our collective family has ever made.  No one ever expects to lose a family member.  But in the natural order of things we know that grandparents and parents pass before kids.  The loss of a child (no matter what age and David was 50) is just about as rough, dark and stormy of a passage as there can be.  Life as we knew it ended today.  Everything, all plans, were put on hold until enough healing time could pass so that we could return to life and begin the next passage anew. 

Namibia

 

Oryx

 While we were in Chagos, a very large sailboat with a crew of about 8 people pulled into the lagoon one day, eventually launched a large RIB and came ashore at Île Boudin, where a group of cruisers had congregated at the 'yacht club'. The people from the mega-yacht were friendly enough, a collection of crew from all over the world, including one woman from Namibia. She was the first Namibian I had ever met and not what I had expected a native Namibian to look like. Not only was she tall and attractive, but fair-skinned with blond hair and blue eyes. Many cruisers who sail around South Africa stop in Namibia and I peppered her mercilessly with questions as it always sounded so remote and wild to me. She said that it was a beautiful country but the weather was frequently bad. The part about the bad weather stuck in my mind as being the epitome of a 'fair-weather' sailor, I prefer to avoid any place with a poor weather reputation.

However, as we were preparing for our departure from Cape Town, we knew of many boats in our 'fleet' that were intending to stop in Namibia so we decided to do the same. After a harrowing departure from the Royal Cape Yacht Club in 30 knots of wind (there was a lull when we cast off the dock lines – it had been as high as 50), we made our way to Robben Island, a UNESCO World Heritage site, where Nelson Mandela had been imprisoned for many years. The sail there was delightful as it was a downwind run and the winds had abated to a moderate level. On the north end of the island is an anchorage which is popular with fishing boats although much of the bottom was foul with rocks. After spending so much time at dock, it felt good to be on the hook again in a protected anchorage, but we were prohibited from landing a dinghy on shore.

The following morning we began the 3-day passage to Luderitz, Namibia, in light winds. It was a combination of sailing, motoring and motor-sailing but we arrived in Luderitz in the morning and our friends on Amigo, who were already there, helped us tie up to a mooring. The clearing in process was simple enough though we did have to pay a small fee for arriving on a weekend. The South African rand is accepted everywhere and is the exact same exchange rate as the Namibian dollar. Together with Helga and René, we explored the area, including a trip out to Kolmanskop, a 'ghost' town from the diamond mining heyday.

One of the 'must see' places in Namibia is the dunes of Sossusvlei which is a solid day's drive from Luderitz. Helga, René, Ruthie and I piled in to a rented 4-door, four-wheel drive pickup and made our way over the mostly dirt roads, arriving at the Lodge at Sossusvlei just as it was getting dark. We had no reservation but the lodge has an excellent reputation for very high quality – along with a reputation for very high prices. One thing I have learned about the hospitality industry is that there is nothing as perishable as an unrented hotel room. If it goes unrented for a night, there is no way you can recoup that loss of income for that night. Many hotel managers are compensated on the Average Daily Rate and this motivates them to keep as many rooms occupied as possible, even if it means discounting the room heavily. Towards evening, when most people have already made their choices of where to spend the night, many front desk managers are willing to make extraordinary deals. We lucked out this time as they offered us a 50% discount for the night that included a fantastic dinner buffet, breakfast and private cottages for each couple. Even though we only stayed there one night, we quickly got used to the luxury.

We were up well before dawn as the conventional wisdom is that you start your hikes up the dunes just as the sun is rising. The dune we wanted to climb was in a remote part of the national park and having four-wheel drive was no guarantee that you wouldn't get stuck. I know a little about driving in rough terrain and I groaned loudly when the truck in front of us slowed to a crawl and then stopped completely in a particularly rough section. Keeping the engine RPM high and shifting into low range, I was able to swerve around them and keep moving – in the rear view mirror, I could tell that the cautious driver was going to spend a good deal of the morning trying to get his truck unstuck. Climbing the dunes was fun although coming down was more fun that hiking up.

That night we stayed at a farm that has rooms available for travelers, which is common in Namibia, right next to Duwisb Castle. As we toured the castle, we learned that it was built in 1908 from materials wholly imported from Germany. Helga and René, who are from Austria, were having a delightful time in Namibia as German is an unofficial language that almost everyone speaks. Our host that night kept us entranced with story after story, including one that captured my imagination about the interment of thousands of men of German ancestry from Namibia (then called German South West Africa) into camps in South Africa at the beginning of World War I. This left hundreds of women to manage the huge cattle stations that their now-interned husbands used to operate – almost overnight. With the harsh climate, the rationing of fuel and the enormous size of these ranches, it was amazing that tough men could survive. That the women where able to succeed and even take many of the ranches from being heavily in debt to being profitable is nothing short of a terrific basis for a remarkable book.

Someone had told us that the Fish River Canyon was second in size only to the Grand Canyon of the southwest United States and worthy of a visit. It was on the border of South Africa and took us most of the day to drive there, the flat tire we had on the way only slowed us down a little (many people advise that when you're renting a car in Namibia, insist that it comes with two spare tires – we hadn't). We paid our fee to enter the national park but we came to a place where the road forded the river, which is usually shallow and slow moving, however, that day, due to some extraordinary rains to the north, the brown river was raging, with high waves and much white water. This meant that we had to turn around, drive to where there was a bridge that went across the river and then make our way into the canyon, a detour of about 300 kilometers.

Once back in Luderitz, we cast off the mooring and made our way to Walvis Bay, about 150 miles to the north. This was an important stop for us as we would need to provision for our passage to St. Helena, the small island in the South Atlantic, about 1,200 miles away. Rendezvousing with Helga and René again, we rented a car and drove to Swakopmund, a very German town about 30 miles from Walvis Bay. Everything about the small city was quaint and charming, with fabulous restaurants and great places for coffee. We were able to buy good German sausages, cheeses and breads, promising passage meals that would be unique and delicious.

Flamingos of Walvis Bay

In retrospect, I am worried that we almost missed Namibia based on the woman we met in Chagos, who said the weather was bad. Not only was the weather we had very good but we loved the country and really enjoyed ourselves there. The spectacular beauty – often rough and rugged – and the over-the-top friendliness of the people will be memories that we'll never forget..

Fwd: Ascension

----- Original Message -----

Subject: Ascension
Date: 06 Mar 2016 18:39:23 -0000
From: WCW8438


There is something wondrous about seeing an island appear after sailing for days, nights and nautical miles over liquid blue. You scan the horizon for signs of anything but nothing is to be seen but blue ocean and white caps and then- an island! Nothing was there...and then something appears, ever so faintly, and you wonder if it is a cloud, fog or your imagination. It's as if out of thin air an island emerges and slowly, slowly it becomes more real, defined and then color appears, contour develops and lo and behold, it is right where the chart says it will be! Of course we have the latest chart plotting equipment and charts of the world, but we still go on acts of faith that nothing has gone awry, we are where the chart says we are and that the land will be where we are headed. The more I think about this, the more respect I have for the sailors of old that just struck out to DISCOVER! They had no idea what was out there and probably passed by many places, like Ascension, simply because they passed by on a day that was overcast, foggy or they were one too many miles away to see the faint outline of a tiny land mass.

Ascension was bypassed for many years. That is probably because it is in a very remote part of the S. Atlantic, 1600 km from Africa and 2300 km from Brazil. It's not really on the way to or from anywhere which turned out to be great for the Green Turtles, Frigate Birds, Terns, Tropic Birds and Masked Booby! Now a British protectorate with an active air base shared with a USA air base Ascension is one of the largest marine reserves in the S. Atlantic. Isn't that two opposite ends of a spectrum! Darwin studied here (after going to St. Helena) as did NASA and while Darwin helped establish a national park, NASA built the second largest runway in the world as a back-up runway for landing the space shuttle. The BBC studied here too and first established a radio transmission center for broadcasting to Africa but now strange and futuristic antennae broadcast the BBC to all over the world via short wave radio.

The island is starkly volcanic. Tall red cinder cones contrast with white sand beaches but the surrounding rocks are sharp obsidian and the moonscape is quite barren. Trails across lava fields are marked by cairns or white spray paint and there is NO water. Of course, this is in marked contrast to the one high island mountain, Green Mountain, which captures moisture from the air, creates its' own weather and is constantly shrouded in clouds and has a tropical rain forest at its' crown. The British originally built their barracks up there but it was too cold and rainy for them (must have been a lot like the UK), and was also logistically impractical so the camp was moved to lower, dryer elevations. They did however leave behind introduced banana, guava and raspberries so on our hike the other day, Neal cut down a huge stalk of bananas which are now hanging from the mizzen mast! Green Mountain does not capture enough water for drinking for the 800 island inhabitants or the military, so there is a reverse osmosis system and ALL fruits and vegetables are flown in on that very long runway. The only fresh ones you will find are potatoes, onions, apples and squash!

We have spent a wonderful week here exploring, snorkeling, turtle watching, hiking and mingling as much as possible with the locals. We ended up at the Volcano Club on the American Air Force base one evening for happy hour. We were told that there was good, traditional American food there like Big Macs and corn dogs! Oh what a reputation for cuisine we have! It was so great! Felt just like a bar at home with lots of young people ordering trays of Budweiser for beer pong. There are five other boats anchored here in George Town- our Austrian friends on Amigo, one American boat, an Italian and two British. From here everyone seems to head some place different, but on Tuesday we will head with Amigo to Fernando de Noronja- an island off the coast of Brazil, just about 1000 miles west at 3° South and 35° West. It looks beautiful in the photographs and should be a great resting point before heading on to Tobago.

So one more time, we will be looking for that tiny land mass to appear out of the clouds. Until then it should be a nice downwind run and we are confident that we will end up at the right crossroads of latitude and longitude in about a week and be ready to explore yet another island full of samba and exotic cuisine.


----- End of Original Message -----
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At 3/7/2016 7:17 PM (utc) Rutea's position was 07°55.24'S 014°24.67'W
----- End of Original Message -----
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At 3/8/2016 7:34 AM (utc) Rutea's position was 07°55.24'S 014°24.67'W

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St. Helena, South Atlantic Ocean

I know that chronologically I should be posting about the time we spent in Namibia but there are too many spectacular photographs to post and the bandwidth here sucks. So, for now, I'll tell you a little about the very remote island of St. Helena and why it's captivating us.

Our 1225-mile passage from Namibia to here was very easy with no big seas and fairly constant winds - our time of 7 days, 23 hours was no speed record but wasn't all that bad, either. Since St. Helena gets up to 300 yachts per year, they have wisely invested in a robust mooring field for visiting boats and it makes for an easy, if at times rolly, stay. The town of Jamestown is the business end of the island and even if the stores lack a wide selection of products and produce, for the most part it isn't too hard to find what you're looking for, as long as it falls within simplistic guidelines.

What was remarkable to us was the check-in process, which can often be a humbling, hat-in-hand experience of dealing with bureaucrats who are required to give you permission to enter their country but for whatever reason seem to be reluctant to do so. Here it was just the opposite. Customs, Port Control and Immigration seemed to be actually pleased to have us here - even to the extent where they said, "Of course you don't have British pounds to pay your fees! You just arrived, the banks are closed and we have no ATMs. Pop on by tomorrow and pay us then." It's altogether likely that no American Immigration officer has ever said those lines.

We took a hired tour of the island and albeit interesting, didn't live up to the hype given us by cruisers of the previous year. This morning we decided to do a trek with our friends, Helga and René, and based on the information on a book loaned to us by fellow cruisers and information from the Tourist Information Office, we plotted an easy but beautiful walk. The beginning turned out to be a little inauspicious as we were looking for the trail head, we asked the woman at the laundry service for directions. "The trail to Rupert's Bay is this way, yes?" we inquired. "It's too dangerous to go that way. The trail is badly sloped and much too loose. You should take the road there," she said. "But the woman from the Tourist Office said to go that way," Helga protested. The woman from the laundry service paused, her eyes narrowed and she said as both a question and a statement, "She did?" We thanked her for her time, found the trail head and marveled at the view of Jamestown Bay from high up on the side of the cliff as we walked along. True, some of the trail was very narrow - in some areas it was not much more than the width of a human hand and the cliffs dropped precipitously away far below us but we weren't too concerned. We traversed Rupert's Bay's shores and followed the trail along more steep cliffs, finally finding an ideal spot to stop for lunch at the old abandoned battery just below Sugar Loaf Peak. Lunch was relaxed as we watched the sea pound against the rugged rocks below us. There was some discussion about which way to head as the map we had wasn't too clear and the book was even less specific. Fortunately, the route we took was the right one - or the wrong one - depending on your point of view.

We climbed up from Bank's Valley but it didn't feel right, all of us thinking we should be heading more northerly than westerly. Still, we hiked up through enormous fields of prickly pear cactus (called 'tungy' in St. Helena) and though the trail was no wider than on the cliffs above the ocean, at least if one fell here you wouldn't wind up in the sea. It seemed as though we walked for a very long time when we finally came to the junction we had seen on our map. One direction went to the summit of Sugar Loaf Peak and the other headed north. René asked Ruthie if she'd like to hike to the summit and though Ruthie didn't reply specifically, the snort that came from her was a definitive dismissal of the idea. René turned to me and looked me in the eye for a moment. "Neal?" he said. I paused for a few seconds and said, "Okay." I shed my rucksack, leaving it on the trail to pick up on our return. Helga and Ruthie took the fork that headed north that was, thankfully, level, which was a relief, and René and I were to catch up with the two women once we hand successfully scaled the peak. As it turned out, the path up to the summit wasn't too much more difficult than what we had already been on but it did reveal to us what was ahead of us. In the distance I could see a tall ridge that we'd have to cross one way or another and it looked very steep. "I bet that ridge is 6 kilometers away," I told René, "and it's very steep and it's already past three o'clock." We climbed back down and walked quickly up ahead to catch up with Ruthie and Helga. "We have to go back the way we came," I said, "There's a steep ridge ahead and I have no idea how long it will take us to get to a road." No one was interested in hiking back down the steep Bank's Valley or walking the narrow path along the cliffs back to Jamestown so we all studied the map and book carefully to see if we could find holes in my suggestion. The book said it was nine kilometers from Dead Pan to Sugar Loaf and we were mostly passed all that so, we figured, we should have, at most, four kilometers to go. I was uneasy to say, "Easy" but we loaded up and started to finish up our hike. At first the trail was level and comfortable but we soon came to a nasty set of switchbacks that slowed our forward progress to a crawl. From there we had to hike straight up a ridge that had a shear drop to the ocean on one side and thick groves of cactus on the other. It was windy and warm and we were getting low on water. Once we were on higher ground we had a better view of the ridge that we faced and it was terribly demoralizing. I briefly thought about suggesting that we turn around from there and return via the way we came but thought better about it. René was doing fine but then he was raised hiking the Austrian Alps - he's extremely sure-footed and incredibly strong - while Helga, Ruthie and I were struggling to keep up with his pace. It seemed like every precipice we climbed were then followed by more, steeper ones. By now our water was gone and I was having occasional cramps in the area of my kidneys - my t-shirt was completely soaked with sweat. It was quite late in the day when we topped the last ridge and found the road that headed back to civilization. Miraculously, my cell phone found service and we were able to call a taxi to take us back to the ferry that would get us home. Larry, the taxi driver who came to pick us up, asked us what we were doing up in the Dead Pan area. "We hiked up from Jamestown, past Rupert's Bay, up to Sugar Loaf and then to here," I said. Larry, who was born on St. Helena almost seventy-five years ago, stopped for a moment, then started to say something and then stopped again. He mused, "I don't think I've ever heard of anyone hiking that route." It was a small consolation to us but a least a vindication that we had taken a route less traveled. The roads on St. Helena are narrow and steep (often one car has to pull over and wait for oncoming traffic to pass by) but I was still mildly surprised at how long it took to drive back to Jamestown.

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