Puerto Rico

8/20/04 – A Familiar Four Days. We arrived in Boqueron, Puerto Rico early this Thursday morning. Our intention was to stay in Boqueron long enough to take care of business, check in with U.S. Customs and Immigration, fill up our propane tanks, shop for provisions and do a few loads of laundry.

A trip to Mayaguez was required to check in with Customs. According to a few guidebooks we had read, as U.S. citizens we were only required to call into a toll-free number upon returning to U.S. waters. I dutifully called into the Mayaguez U.S. Customs office and was told we all needed to travel to the office to present ourselves, our passports and our vessel documentation to the Customs and Immigration officials for review. I was a little perplexed by this and made another call to the San Juan office to reconfirm the information I received from the Mayaguez office. Sure enough, this was the new policy and we would be required to make the 30 minute trip to Mayaquez by Publico.

Publicos or “public cars” are Puerto Rico’s car service and the only way to get between most metropolitan areas and towns. These are mostly eight passenger vans and are shared by up to eight people. The more people that share the van, the cheaper the ride. Ron hired Raul’s Publico to take us to Mayaguez Saturday to meet with the Immigration officials. We were a bit dubious that the office would be open on a Saturday, but Raul had assured us it would be, so we all took the ride to Mayaguez.

Like other Puerto Ricans we were to meet, Raul had spent 40 years living and working in the Bronx, at Columbia University. That explained why he gave me a funny look the first few times I thanked him in Spanish. But I guess I should have been tipped off by the Spanish-with-a-Bronx accent he had.

We shared our Publico ride with Bruce, another cruiser. Haley recognized Bruce from Luperon. She said she had seen him on the docks at the marina. It turns out Bruce was in Luperon and had arrived in Boqueron the same day we did. Bruce had sailed straight from Luperon in two and one-half days. A Canadian and former cruiser, he had taken a job in Santiago, DR, as a chiropractor where he lived for three years with his wife and three boys. They had returned to Canada while Bruce moved the boat farther south and east (his family doesn’t like the long hauls) and would join him in November to begin another year of cruising.

When Ron learned Bruce was a chiropractor, he asked about a shoulder problem he was having. Bruce deemed the problem as “easy to fix” and made a house call to Irie later in the day. Sure enough, after a few disturbing “cracks,” Ron was readjusted and his shoulder has been fine ever since.

Mayaguez is a large industrial city and the official port of entry for the western end of Puerto Rico. It is probably where our Cuban friends from Mona Island were taken to be processed by U.S. Immigration officials as illegal aliens. It is also has large canning plants where vast amounts of foods, especially fish and tomatoes, are canned and exported all over the world. Therefore, I suspect we will be filling our holds with tuna and tomatoes, along with other canned goods, before we leave Puerto Rico.

It was fairly easy to predict that the offices were closed and we had taken a long, hot ride in Raul’s van for nothing. To make up for it, he dropped us off at a large, modern supermarket where we shopped for American groceries to our hearts’ content. I bought steaks, and that night we had what I called our “Welcome Back to America” dinner of steak, mashed potatoes and salad.

Back in Boqueron, we spent most of our days unwinding and exploring the town. Boqueron was what I called “Bridgeport, CT – with a nicer beach.” The beach was actually quite nice, with a half mile, crescent-shaped, palm-tree lined, white sand beach. Bridgeport was home to many Puerto Ricans, at least when I was living there in the 1960s and 1970s. Ron and I walked the beach one morning to find Puerto Rican families having picnics with the men standing up to their waists in water with Medalla beers in their hands. It was probably more reminiscent of Sherwood Island State Park in Westport, CT, where I remember going as a child and seeing the Puerto Rican families gathering for huge weekend picnics at the shelters along the shore.

The town of Boqueron itself has narrow, winding streets lined with restaurants, bars and street vendors selling clams and oysters on the half shell and Medalla beers, of course. Medalla is Puerto Rico’s version of Miller Lite. It’s not that bad, and at a buck for a 10 ounce can, it’s a deal. Boqueron heats up quite a bit on a weekend night. Some call it a tropical hot spot, the Latin version of Key West or Fire Island. I’ve been to both and I would say it falls short of either, at least in the off season.

Haley and I spent one morning in the coin Laundromat where we were entertained and serenaded by an older Puerto Rican man doing his laundry. We didn’t get his name, but we did get his life story. He had immigrated to Puerto Rico from Spain in the mid-seventies and fell in love with San Juan because it looked so much like a European city. After finishing his university studies in San Juan, he went to the Bronx and worked there until his retirement several years ago. He said he left all of his friends and family behind in the Bronx when he came back to his beloved Puerto Rico, and when he misses everybody “too much,” he goes back for a visit. He loves America, he said, and then he sang us a few stanzas of “God Bless America” and remarked how he loved to sing this song anytime he was at Yankee Stadium. Our laundry was folded and it was time to go. He shook my hand warmly and told me to “have a good life, darling – you only get to live once.”

Which is a good point, and why we decided to take this trip in the first place. It’s easy to drift through the day-to-day routine without thinking much about the end game. And then wake up to find out life has zoomed by. So far, we have found the trip to provide us with a real adventure. And life has been slowed down and we have been given the chance to spend some quality time together. Life slows down rather naturally when you’re traveling on a sailboat, and only making six knots.

We arrived back at the boat right before it began raining. Rain. Not something we had seen, except for a few squalls while underway, for more than five minutes at a time. It looked like this time we were in for a few hours of steady rain. At least that’s what the NOAA weather channel on our VHF radio had told us. Another perk for being back in U.S. waters. We had actually started hearing these reports in Punta Cana, Dominican Republic. They were broadcasted continually in Spanish and English. We would still rely on the daily downloads of the Caribbean Offshore Marine Forecast from the National Weather Service in Miami, FL, for planning our passages.

The rain began to fall heavily and steadily. This was our big chance. I had read a lot about how it was possible to fill your tanks with rain water if you had a good rain catchment system. Rain catchment had become a bit of an obsession with me, and a bit of a joke with the rest of the family. A half inch of rainfall drops nearly 100 gallons of water on the deck of a 35-foot boat, one book said. But it had hardly rained in the two months we had been cruising. And you have to have an adequate way to catch all of this water, and we had none – except two very determined young girls. And that proved to be enough. Nina had been afraid of rainstorms, especially any that involved even a hint of thunder. But her excitement over the prospect of collecting gobs of fresh water helped her to overcome her fears. Before I knew it, there she was, donning her slicker and swim goggles and rushing to the topside of the boat. She and Haley held buckets under the flow of water from the top deck gutters to catch a whopping fifteen gallons of water. Hardly the one hundred we had dreamed of, but enough to suit our needs. We all frolicked in the rain and broke out the deck soap and brushes and gave Irie the topside cleaning she deserved after delivering all of us safely to Puerto Rico.

(We decided to put off checking in with U.S. Customs and Immigrations until our arrival in Ponce.)

8/24/04 – Oil Slick Calm. Our departure from Boqueron would be later in the afternoon. Another relief. I was not a big fan of the early morning departures. The malaise of the morning always turned into just plain queasy for me, and I would often find myself lying down before too long. I had tried everything; coffee, no coffee, full breakfast, light breakfast. Nothing seemed to work, except getting to the afternoon.

Haley and I returned to do one last load of laundry at the coin Laundromat in town. Our clothes had come out so squeaky clean, we decided to empty the boat and give nearly everything a good wash. The water was definitely better in Puerto Rico than it had been in the Dominican Republic. The Dominican Republic’s water was often brackish and anemic in its flow. We suspect that water will be scarce again on many of the smaller islands in the Eastern Caribbean. As we shared our mango smoothie, we took a moment to appreciate the bounty of water as it filled the washing machine tub.

We weighed anchor late that afternoon to our first stop, Cabo Rojo, or “Red Cape.” A short five-mile sail in oil slick calm conditions. This would be the first of many short hops along the southern coast of Puerto Rico. Except for this one, most of our short hops would occur in the early morning hours. Unlike the larger, more mountainous island of the Dominican Republic, Puerto Rico does not provide you with much of a night lee, or calming of winds during the nighttime hours. Therefore, to avoid taking the trade winds on the nose, you must travel mostly in the early morning hours, before the trade winds pipe up.

We anchored under the lighthouse at Cabo Rojo. Built in 1881, the Red Cape Lighthouse stood majestically above us on the red-hued limestone cliffs, like a monument to all of the mariners who have navigated the Mona Passage between the Dominican Republic and Puerto Rico.

We were disappointed to see dinner-plate-size jellyfish in the water. These were the first jellyfish we had seen on our trip and it foiled our chance to jump in and take a pre-dinner swim.

As the sun set, we noticed we were dragging on our anchor a little. We had a feeling the anchorage holding was questionable when we first tried to set our anchor and we hadn’t felt it stick. By nightfall, we had recognized we had dragged a lot and we decided we needed to up anchor and try it again. We struggled for an hour setting and resetting, until we felt we had it right. I became frustrated over the whole exercise. Ron’s said you should expect that from time to time you will drag on your anchor and will have to reset it. It is all a part of the challenge of being out here and nothing to get worked up over. We finished up our anchoring and found the girls fast asleep in the main salon. Now, that’s the relaxed attitude Ron was talking about!

I guess our anchor was really well set, because the next morning we had a hard time weighing it.

8/25/04 – Bioluminescence? Our next hop was to La Parguera, a funky little seaside town built inside the protection of extensive coral reefs and mangrove canals, bays and islands or cays (pronounced “keys”). Colorful clapboard cottages with big wraparound porches built on stilts in the water lined the canals where Puerto Rican families spend their weekends.

That evening, we decided to venture out in the dark to check out La Parguera’s biggest tourist attraction, Bahia Fosforescente or Bioluminescent Bay. Tour boats regularly make a nighttime trip in glass bottom boats through narrow canals to these bioluminescent bays to view the microorganism “light show.” We made the trip in our dinghy, and navigated there with the help of our hand-held GPS. Haley manned the flashlight at the bow and Nina assumed her usual role of “safety officer,” shouting out reminders such as “Dad, look out for the buoys” . . . ”Dad, any boats ahead?”. . . “Who’s got the dinghy painter?” The dinghy painter is the rope attached to the front of your dinghy that you use to tie it off to a dock or to your boat. Nina begins every dinghy ride by asking, “Who’s got the dinghy painter?” We’ve all come to expect it and if she forgets to say it (this is rare), I often find myself saying, “I have the painter,” anyway.

Two miles and several tour boat wakes later, we were in the bay, but the bioluminescent organisms were NOT. Although fruitless in terms of the lack of natural wonder at our destination, the journey, a long, fast, dark, bumpy dinghy ride had marked an important milestone in our adventure. How long we had come from our short, slow, day-lit, and smooth dinghy rides in George Town that were always “too fast,” “too bumpy” and “too splashy.” On our ride back from the bay, both Haley and Nina hung on with one hand and excitedly read our speed off the GPS – 12 knots.

The next morning, Ron took advantage of the windy conditions in the anchorage and wind surfed. He had rigged his sail in Boqueron, and it had traveled with us, lashed to the trampolines. I finally made contact with a contractor in Fajardo, PR. They were available to haul and bottom paint Irie, but not until September 27. During the course of my conversation with the contractor, she made mention of a new storm, Hurricane Frances. We had gotten away from listening to the longer range forecasts and hadn’t heard of yet another hurricane brewing in the Atlantic. That evening, we downloaded the Caribbean Offshore Marine Forecast from our online weather service. It did indeed talk about Hurricane Frances and showed a projected track east of Puerto Rico. Of course, it was still early and the projected track was close enough to Puerto Rico to warrant a serious discussion about where we would go in case the storm came our way.

La Parguera’s bioluminescent bays were also very good hurricane holes. But we had heard they get pretty chock full of the boats moved from the local marina during storms. We were also on our way to Puerto Rico’s best hurricane hole, Salinas. Salinas was about 50 miles east of our current location. If we had to, we could travel east into the trade winds and get to the Salinas hurricane holes in 10 or 12 hours. We made a decision to continue east to our next stop, Guanica and Gilligan’s Island, and turn around and come back to the bioluminescent bays of La Paguera if we found ourselves threatened by Hurricane Frances.

8/27/04 – Marianne or Ginger? A “three hour cruise” landed us at our next anchorage near a few small cays behind Punta Ballena (Whale Point). The largest of these was a mangrove and sand cay called “Gilligan’s Island.” It was named Gilligan’s Island back in the 1970s by locals who thought it resembled the island from the popular TV show of the same name. We dropped our hook in a well-protected spot near the entrance to the beach at Punta Ballena. A small cut that leads out to a coral break and the ocean allows us to hear, but not to feel, the breaking waves on the reef. This makes our already delightful anchorage even more enjoyable.

Gilligan’s Island is part of a United Nations Biosphere reserve in Guanica, PR. The rest of the dry scrub forest reserve lies on the hillsides above the mangrove cays and makes up more than 1,000 acres of public-use land. The forest is a microclimate of sorts which can be attributed to the Central Mountains. This mountain range exhausts most tropical systems before they are delivered to the area and thus rainfall is limited to less than 35 inches a year. The consequences of this arid climate could be seen in the large varieties of cactus and stunted, twisted trees growing on the hillsides above our anchorage.

Except for the mob scene of bathers on the weekend, we had the anchorage and all of the canals and lagoons around the mangrove cars to ourselves. There was a public beach on Gilligan’s Island and it was serviced by a ferry that ran only on the weekends. Sometimes, the small, colorful ferry would pass by Irie, just to have a look. We visited Gilligan’s on a weekend day and found it to be very crowded, but had fun snorkeling the mangrove canals to the ocean. All kinds of tropical fish darted in and out of the thick mangrove tree roots as we floated effortlessly under the canopy of the mangroves on a loop from the bay to the ocean.

The mangrove bays and canals of Guanica were ideal for ocean kayaking. All of us, including the girls, were out a few times a day, exploring the canals and islands around our anchorage. One afternoon, as I was practicing my paddling, a man and a woman in a motorboat came by and began circumnavigating Irie. After learning they were interested in purchasing a catamaran in the next year, we invited them aboard to take a look at Irie. And what a coincidence that Irie will be up for sale next year. Jacques liked her so much he asked us to take his email and phone number and contact us when we were ready to sell her.

As it turned out, Jacques lived in one of the 20 homes built on the hillside high above our anchorage in a house that we admired since our arrival in Guanica. His was a magnificent three-story gable roof house with wood shuttered windows and doors and wraparound decks. We visited him at his beautiful home a few days later and enjoyed wine and cheese on his coral tiled deck overlooking our anchorage. In keeping with our “Small World” theme, Jacques was an architect (it should be no surprise he designed his spectacular home) and had studied at Yale University in New Haven, CT. Not only that, after he graduated, he lived and worked in New Haven and worked with Speigel and Zamecnik, a structural engineering firm co-owned by Ron’s Uncle. We had a lovely, early evening with Jacques and his family, reminiscing about the New Haven area, especially the pizza. He preferred Pepe’s Pizza over Sally’s and, as we do, loves a good “white clam pie” (pizza topped with clams sauteed in olive oil, garlic and parsley), only available in New Haven, we think. We are sure to see Jacques again on our return to Puerto Rico next spring for we would not think of missing the chance to stay at Guanica a second time and visit with a man so pleasant and friendly.

The latest weather report showed Hurricane Frances moving more north and east of Puerto Rico and would not have a major impact on Puerto Rico. Frances was an enormous storm and could have gobbled up the little island of Puerto Rico. We would continue to study her progress just in case.

8/30/04 – School Daze. Today was the first day of school for the Oleynik girls aboard Irie. And they greeted it with MUCH enthusiasm, like any first day of school. But this would be like no other. No bus to catch, no new teachers to meet, no other student to greet. We sprinkled the beginnings with the familiar rituals of gathering books and supplies, packing up backpacks and taking the first day of school picture. Although instead of the standing in front of the bus, they sat on Irie’s stern for this year’s picture.
Ron and I decided we would alternate days teaching Haley and Nina. I would teach Haley Science and Math while Ron taught Nina Language Arts and Social Studies. On alternate days, I would teach Nina Science and Math and Ron would teach Haley English and History. We would have at least two hours of instruction, five days a week. Haley’s program was almost entirely self study, whereas Nina’s was more of a hands-on learning experience that required much more parental involvement. Therefore, they were good complements.

We had selected the Oak Meadow home schooling program for our studies this year. This program, based out of Putney, VT, provided us with the most flexibility for our floating classroom. Many programs require you to mail or e-mail work back to education counselors for evaluation. Oak Meadow did not have this requirement. It also allowed us to pick and choose Haley’s six grade course work to best match Arlington County’s six grade curriculum. Nina’s was a very standard third grade program, so I purchased it in its entirety.

School was immediately followed by lunch and recess to deserted Ballena beach. Ballena beach curves around a point to where the beach is no longer protected by coral breaks. Waves break, creating large surf and making it a popular body and board surfing spot most of the year. It also turns this unprotected section of the beach into what Haley and I referred to as the “world’s largest free shopping mall.”

Haley and I spent hours combing the beach for free treasures. I think Haley enjoyed scavenging the beach more than going to a shopping mall. We had a few things in mind, like a 5-gallon bucket, but were satisfied to pick up several items we found a use for on the boat: dishwashing liquid squirt containers we use as liquid soap dispensers, a center console cup holder we use in the cockpit for the same, a jug for water storage and a few sand toys. I cannot tell you how many plastic bottles and containers littered this beach, especially soda and liquid beach bottles. There were hundreds on this mile stretch of beach. Plastic containers float and thus are probably washing up on beaches all over the world. It was overwhelming. I was so disgusted, it made me want to swear off any product packaged in plastic (impossible). So we did our small part by recycling a few items and putting them to good use aboard Irie. So do your part and keep recycling your plastic, as I know you all do.

I also picked up a solid mahogany table leg. Ron groaned and rolled his eyes as I loaded it into the dinghy. Back on Irie, I quickly stowed it in a cockpit locker. I’m not sure what I will do with it (any suggestions?), but I really like its shape and felt compelled to cart it away. There was also enough driftwood to build a house or the largest bonfire ever burned. We took a few small interesting pieces of driftwood, one of which was used to create a sailboat for one of Haley’s Social Studies projects.

9/1/04 – A Gift From Frances. The predictions showed Frances passing well north of Puerto Rico. She was a large and powerful storm, a Category 4 hurricane, as she skirted the island. The day before the skies had that “big storm’s a comin’” look about them – an eerie pale yellow – the air became thick with humidity and the winds died. Frances had knocked out the trades. The large storm sat in the trade wind’s path – those pesky, persistent easterly winds that had made our trip to east more of motor and less of a sail.

Six days after entering this lovely anchorage in Guanica, we weighed anchor and set sail for Ponce, PR. Ponce, 15 miles east of Guanica, had a large yachting center and was chock full of “Big Box” stores and chandleries (marine stores). We had talked about taking a slip once we arrived to simpify our re-provisioning.

But Frances had given us the gift of steady southerly winds, which powered us to Salinas, 30 miles away. We did make a brief stop a Caya de Muertes (Coffin Island) for lunch and a swim. Caya de Muertes gets its name because from the big island of Puerto Rico, it looks like a man lying in a coffin. And later, as we traveled along the shore by car, we saw the man in his coffin.

Salinas, Puerto Rico

A word on our family dynamics . . .

So many of you are wondering on how we are getting along, in such close quarters and under sometimes stressful conditions.

First, let me start by saying that the kids are doing remarkably well. They have pretty much been each other’s only playmates, and continue to play well together. Oh, they do get on each other’s nerves every once in a while. But no more than they did at home and if they didn’t, I’d be worried. They had a few playmates in Salinas, Puerto Rico and seemed to enjoy the interaction, but they really do miss their friends in Arlington. They also seem to become very attached to adults we have met along the way. This, I believe, is because they are used to having other adults in their lives, such as teachers, neighbors, relatives and friends. They miss these relationships and have been creating new relationships with other adult cruisers we meet. I think separating from these new cruiser friends can be tough on them, but they have adjusted well and are comforted knowing they may meet them again as we all sail “down island.” And so are we.

Ron and I were married 20 years on October 13 and I don’t know what he thinks, but I think we’re gonna make it. We have bickered more than usual, but we never spent as much time together as we do on this trip, (weekends are just not the same as 24/7 for months at a time), so I’d say our adjustment to being together has gone very well. Most of our arguments revolve around very elemental things, like “we’re out of water again – DO something about it!” But then again it’s easy to lose your cool when you run out of water, or the anchor isn’t set and the boat drags, or the diesel engine stalls out . . . again. Nothing is terribly predictable out here on the water – the weather, the wind, the anchorages, and Irie. But without all the unpredictability, we wouldn’t be enjoying the adventure of our lives.

9/1/04 – Hurricane Haven. Salinas, Puerto Rico is second only to Luperon, Dominican Republic in its ability to provide sailors with adequate hurricane protection. Salinas’ harbors are deep and narrow and, most important, mangrove-ringed. Mangroves are woody trees which grow along tropical tide waters. These trees grow and extend their root systems and branches right into the water’s edge, providing many young reef-fish and small crustaceans with food and protection. And mangroves provide what some believe is the ultimate storm protection for boaters. Their dense growth pattern, flexible and forgiving branches and amazing height (more than 15 feet on some shorelines) all contribute to their protective quality. It is believed global warming is diminishing the mangrove’s numbers worldwide, their destruction due in part to higher tides and flooding. Their ultimate demise will be catastrophic to affording boaters and seaside communities a natural barrier against the wind and sea. If you’d like to learn more about Mangroves and the threats to their survival, check out this informative Internet link: http://www.szgdocent.org/ff/f-mngrv3.htm.

As we entered Salinas harbor, we were relieved to see it was not nearly as crowded as our other favorite hurricane haven, Luperon. There had been nearly 100 boats in Luperon’s hurricane hole; this harbor had maybe one-third that number. The water did have the familiar complexion of most mangrove harbors – dark and murky. However, it did appear to be significantly cleaner than Luperon’s; and we found mostly that it was. This was probably due to a more adequate sewage system (we later learned it had been improved in the last few years), a larger flow of tidal waters, and the smaller population of boats.

After taking a brief swing through the harbor, we decided to anchor away from the center and the marina, and closer to the mangrove edge. Since our spot was nearer to the harbor entrance and clearer water, we decided we could safely make water here using our reverse osmosis water maker. Besides, according to the manufacturer, the process removed enough impurities and made it possible to produce water anywhere, even while lying in a slip at a marina. (Ron loved to remind me of that anytime I questioned the water’s quality for water making purposes).

On our tour through the harbor, Haley spied Bruce Van Sant’s boat, Tidak Apa. Bruce is the author of The Gentleman’s Guide to Passages South, a sailing manual for making the trip to windward “thornless.” This is the book we had read rather religiously since leaving George Town, Bahamas. We had heard he was headed for Salinas, so we were not completely surprised to see his boat anchored here. The girls became excited to have a “celebrity” in the harbor and talked a lot about meeting him. We told them we would surely run into him at one of the marina events and we could meet him then.

We set our anchor and dinghied ashore to briefly explore Salinas before setting out by car to Ponce and finally, after two weeks in Puerto Rico, present ourselves to the U.S. Customs and Immigration folks.

9/3/04 – On the Road Again. Since we decided to bypass Ponce by boat, we instead headed back there by car. The road to Ponce, called an “autopista,” resembled any four-lane limited-access road in the United States, minus all the traffic. We hit this open road running, with the girls complaining we were going “too fast.” After traveling at less than 8 mph on Irie, going 65 mph in a car seemed like lightning speed. And indeed it was, as we found ourselves in Ponce, a thirty-mile ride, in less than 45 minutes. We did slow down to stop at a McDonald’s to have some familiar fast food before continuing on to Ponce.

We spent the next three days traveling between Salinas and Ponce, practically running the tires off the rental car. When we weren’t driving, we were shopping and visiting the lovely southern city of Ponce. It is the second largest city in Puerto Rico and is called the “Pearl of the South.” Ponce is a classic Spanish colonial city and resembles the architectural style of New Orleans. It is filled with hundreds of historic buildings, including the Customs and Immigration house, which have all been recently renovated or restored. And by the way, we did finally make it to Customs and Immigration where we were summarily processed and warmly welcomed back into the United States.

We enjoyed visiting the Museo de la Historia de Ponce and spent a morning in the Museo del Arte. This dignified building was designed by Edward Durrell Stone, the architect of the Museum of Modern Art in New York and boasts the largest collection of art in the Caribbean. I thought it a funny juxtaposition to be roaming around in our flip flops and shorts admiring 500 hundred-year old Western European Art.

No visit to Ponce would be complete without strolling through the Plaza Las Delicias (Plaza of Delights) eating a homemade soft-serve ice cream cone. We did just that, but not before visiting the highlight of MY trip to Ponce, the red-and-black striped Parque de Bombas or fire station. Built in 1882, this large, rather gaudy two story structure was actually built for an agricultural fair and only later became the city’s fire station. It hasn’t been used as a fire station for many years, but the city’s firefighters still consider it “home.” It is now a firefighting museum and contains many antique firefighting tools and a neat old pumper or fire engine. Needless to say, I asked Ron to take a picture of me in front of the pumper.

Just to counteract all of this culture, we decided to take a stock-up trip to Walmart. We’re embarrassed to say it ended up being several trips, but our original supplies were running low and a crew’s gotta do what a crew’s gotta do to keep their boat sufficiently provisioned.

9/6/04 – Indecisive Ivan. We had the car for a week and to make the most of it (the tires hadn’t been run off completely), we decided to take a drive to the Central Mountains. Our original plan had been to stay in the mountains for a couple of nights, but Hurricane Ivan was putting a crimp in our plans, having started his move North. We heard of this as we watched the Weather Channel – a first in months – at Frank’s Place in Salinas the night before over our plates of burgers and fries. One of the projected paths showed Ivan threatening the south coast of Puerto Rico, where we were currently located. To play it safe, we decided to leave for the mountains in the morning and stay only one night, arriving back in plenty of time to prepare for Ivan, if need be. The scuttlebutt at Frank’s seemed to be mixed; some boaters already removing their canvas and heading for the mangroves and others deeming the early preparations as “nonsense.” We were uncertain as to which group to believe, but decided that it would be ok to leave the boat for one night. In the morning we headed out for the hour and a half drive to Utuado in the Central Mountains.

The road to Utuado and the Casa Grande Mountain Retreat, the Inn where we would be staying, was a fast and smooth highway that abruptly came to an end a 30 minutes into our trip. The remainder of the trip was on a winding, narrow and steep mountain roads but with breathtaking views of the lush forested hillsides and valleys below.

The Casa Grande Retreat had been described in one guidebook as a “summer camp for adults, with a lot better food.” And it was just that. The hotel property sits on 107 acres of land, originally part of a 5,000 acre sugar, coffee, tobacco and cattle farm. Five rustic cottage-like buildings perched on the side of a hill housed four units apiece. Each unit had a private balcony and hammock. Our unit overlooked the tropical forested hillsides and a cascading river below. A beautiful old plantation home was where we enjoyed a lovely dinner that evening and delicious breakfast the next day. The girls were a little disappointed there was no TV in our room, but the large tiled bathroom with a spring-fed shower more than made up for it. They also had complete run of the pool, given we were one of only three groups of guests checked in at the time.

We had plans to take a few hikes, but instead took the opportunity to enjoy the fresh, cool mountain air from the comfort of our deck and hammock. The air was decidedly different from the ocean air we had grown so accustomed to and we found it to be a nice change. We also enjoyed the natural sounds of the rushing water, birds, bugs and best of all, the Coqui frogs. The Coqui frog is said to be the mascot of Puerto Rico. A species of tiny tree frogs, they are said to exist nowhere else in the world. I remember them from the first time I visited Puerto Rico with my family, more than 30 years ago. The males have a distinctive chirp that sounds like they are saying their name, (Co-KEE). Their serenade made quite a racket that evening and for a time, I wished we could somehow turn down the volume.

The following day, after a few more swims in the pool and several more showers (these are things you grow to appreciate after living without an unlimited water supply for almost three months) we headed out for a drive and a short hike up to the highest peak in Puerto Rico.

Cerra de Punta (Point in the Clouds) rises up 4,389 in the center of the island. From the top, you can see both the Atlantic Ocean and Caribbean Sea. We drove to the bottom of a steep access road leading to the peak and began walking the quarter mile up. The road was steep and, although the air was a cool 76 degrees, the sun was hot.

It was clear Nina was not going to make it. Haley and Ron were completely pumped to summit the peak, so they continued on to the top and Nina and I headed back down to the car. As we descended to the parking lot, a car making its way down the steep road stopped to greet us and to let us know that Ron and Haley had made it to the top. They also said we shouldn’t miss it and the views of the island and the oceans were beautiful. Now realizing we could drive up, I coaxed Nina into joining me for an “easy” drive up the road. She was reticent; I was determined: we drove “Indiana Jones” style up the narrow road (“Look out, Indy!”) and we reached the radio tower spiked summit just in time to join Ron and Haley on the viewing platform. The transmission whining ride was well worth the view of the seas on the two shores. Ron and Haley scoffed at us for driving up, but ended up taking the ride (or should I say “free fall”) back down in our trusty little rental car.

9/8/04 – “Some things just work out for the best . . . ” Most insurance carriers will not insure a boat for damage to the hull during hurricane season above Latitude 12 North. Our insurer was no exception. Statistically speaking, very few tropical Atlantic storms ever make landfall in latitudes below 12 North and thus they are deemed “safe” for boats during the storm season, July 1 - December 1. And all this is why we had originally planned on staying down to the ABC islands (Aruba, Bonaire and Curacao) and the islands off the coast of Venezuela and finally Trinadad, Tobago and Grenada during the hurricane months. (All these islands are below Latitude 12 North).

It was estimated that this year there were upwards of 3,000 boats in Grenada and the same or more in Trinidad hiding out from the hurricanes. On land, anchored, and in marinas. Thousands of boats. However, they were there because of actuarial statistics as to frequency of hurricanes, not because of topographic superiority. In fact, there are no significant protective harbors. And no protection from all of those other boats in the harbor. And then came Ivan. A Category 4 hurricane, he made landfall on the island of Grenada and it was estimated that close to 50 percent of the boats were either lost, sunk or sustained significant damage. We may have not made it all the way to Grenada by the time Ivan came along, but we would have come very close. Some things just work out for the best.

A few days after Ivan hit Grenada, we learned of at least two boats that had been anchored in Salinas harbor and had spent many a hurricane season there were lost in Grenada. Reportedly, they had moved their boats to Grenada after their insurance companies refused to continue covering them in Puerto Rico. This was an all-too-familiar story; we had heard of many other boats, from several cruisers and acquaintances along the way, who knew of boats that had headed out in July for Grenada to wait out hurricane season. We had heard of a few boats with children aboard wanting to move their families to a safer place. At the time, we were a little envious they had made the trip and we didn’t. We hope they have escaped any harm.

It has been a terribly active hurricane season, especially for Florida, with strong storms one after the other. Some here refer to Florida as “the bowling alley for hurricanes.” Another boater I met while we were in Salinas said to me, “Any hurricane season is bad if YOU get hit.” My parents have a place on Hutchinson Island, a barrier island on the southeast coast of Florida. Their house was hit by that monster of a hurricane, Frances and then the smaller Jeanne.

9/10/04 – Furry and Feathered Friends. Salinas turned out to be quite a menagerie, and the girls couldn’t have been more excited about it. By far our favorite furry or feathered friend we met in Salinas was Zooey (pronounced like “Zoe”) an incredibly intelligent eight and a half year old salmon-crested Cockatoo. Zooey lived with Marianne and Frank. Marianne had a canvas shop right outside the marina gates where Zooey spent most of her weekdays entertaining the customers. We used any excuse to stop by the shop and watch Zooey swing and strut around her cage. She took a particular liking to Ron (Marianne said she favored men) and the girls and I got a big kick out of how she would flirt and show off for him when she saw him. She got to know all of us and would greet us with loud screeches (her “happy” sound) whenever we came into the shop. The girls and I even had the chance to hold her. She looked incredibly big against Nina with her large talons wrapped around her little forearm. She loved the attention and seemed to enjoy posing for pictures. The girls and I miss her very much and look forward to visiting her on our return to Salinas.

Across the street from Marianne’s canvas shop was a bar and restaurant called “Frank’s Place.” Frank, the owner, was a former cruiser and an Italian from East Haven, CT. (There’s that “Connecticut Connection” again.) Ron and I kind of guessed he had to be from the Northeastern U.S., especially given the sign outside said he served “Apizza.” As it turns out, a few years back Frank had actually worked for the famous Pepe’s Apizza in New Haven, CT. Although he did not have the recipe, he had the touch for making a great New Haven style pizza or “pie.” We liked it so much, we started taking most of our meals at Frank’s. But Frank’s was much more than just a place to eat. It was a friendly neighborhood bar frequented by pleasant regulars with a gregarious Italian owner who loved to cook. It was almost enough to make us spend the rest of our cruising year in Salinas, especially when Frank said he would try to get the ingredients to make a white clam pizza for us. In the end, he could not find the ingredients and we had a boat maintenance appointment to get to. Maybe on our next swing through Salinas, we’ll get that white clam pie at Frank’s Place.

Among the many canine friends we had met in Salinas, we had to say our favorite was Rat Dog. Rat, or Ratty as the girls and I began calling him was a portly (“well loved,” some would say) little black mutt with more than a splash of Chihuahua. Rat hung out in the marina parking lot and over the years had been adopted by the boaters at the marina. His tag said it all; it read simply, “Rat Dog - I Belong to: Everyone.” We actually met Rat the first night we ate at Frank’s. He followed us over to Frank’s from the marina parking lot. He spent half his time hanging out with the security guards at the marina (his evening “beat” – the guards dressed in black, too) and the other half at Frank’s. He took an immediate liking to Ron and gave us all a start and a good laugh when he jumped into Ron’s lap at the table. It was a trick he would repeat any time you commanded him to – and when he felt like it – and sometimes when you weren’t expecting it. But our favorite was his grin. Happily, I was able to get a picture of him grinning at the girls as we said our goodbyes on our last day in Salinas.

We could have picked up a mutt of our own, but declined much to Nina and Haley’s displeasure. Salinas, as is the case in many parts of Puerto Rico, was overrun with stray dogs and cats. Several locals, expatriates mostly, and cruisers were very active in rescuing these sad creatures. And thanks to these good people, a few lucky dogs were finding good homes within the local and cruising community of Salinas.

9/12/04 – Close Aquatic Encounter. The relatively calm harbor of Salinas made it a perfect place for a sea kayak. On this particularly glassy calm morning, I set out in ours to visit Reggie and John aboard Liberty. Liberty is a glorious 48 foot racing ketch. The interior has been beautifully restored by John, a retired college professor and cabinet maker. It has a dark blue hull, something I’ve always favored, and a large center cockpit. But best of all, at least in Nina’s estimation, it is home to not one, but THREE Chihuahuas. Nina has recently developed a bit of an obsession with Chihuahuas and we thought she would burst when she heard Reggie and John had so many. Sure enough, on my visit, there they were on deck yapping away at me. I reported back to Nina that she and Haley were cordially invited to visit the buggy-eyed bunch and she couldn’t have been more pleased.

As I paddled the kayak back toward Irie, I noticed my family was on deck quietly observing something in the water. When I asked what they were up to, they shushed me and pointed to a gray mound in the water. That gray mound turned out to be the biggest manatee I had ever seen. I was within 25 feet of it, so I decided to slowly paddle up to it and see what would happen. Just as I was about to reach him, he lumbered back under water. (I refer to it as a him, but I have no way of knowing if it was a he or a she.) I floated patiently in the kayak to see if he would resurface. In a few minutes, he came back up right alongside me. He startled me as he resurfaced and blew air out of his big round nostrils. He floated for a while on his side next to me, chewing on some sea grass and descended again. I paddled back to the boat and asked Nina to join me in the kayak. We paddled back to the same spot and waited. He resurfaced again, this time nudging up against the kayak and flipping onto his back, with his head partially out of the water to get a good look at us. He looked sleepily at us with his big brown eyes and long eyelashes. Then he twisted and waved his flippers as if to say goodbye before he descended for the last time that morning.

Vieques, Puerto Rico

(Warning: If you suffer from heart disease or high blood pressure or you are, in general, anxious, please reconsider reading this next log entry.)

10/21/04 – Storming Green Beach. We spent two lovely days anchored off Green Beach, Vieques, swimming and snorkeling in the clear blue waters. Green Beach is one of the most popular beaches on the island (for boaters and landlubbers alike). It is a stretch of sand on the west coast of Vieques that offers more than a mile of coral reef snorkeling in gin-clear water. A favorite with the local boaters, the beach can get crowded on the weekends. We had the place to ourselves during our midweek visit.

Green beach, along with two thirds of Vieques, was under U.S. Naval control from the Spanish American War in 1899 until 2001. (Of course, we all remember The Maine and Teddy Roosevelt storming San Juan Hill.) Because of the high profile political protests of the late 1990s, Vieques is no longer used for naval training exercises and target practice. While under Naval control, the majority of the time it remained closed to the public. It was said that Green Beach was the primary beach used by the Navy to practice the invasion of Grenada. Therefore, except for a few unexploded ordinances at the south end of the beach, it is a pristine beach, virtually untouched by development for over a century.

We had planned to leave after spending two lovely days anchored in relative tranquility. Our anchor was dug in and set for the prevailing easterly winds, and the light offshore breeze begged us to linger. It was Wednesday afternoon, and the forecast was not calling for stormy weather until midday Thursday. As we basked in the afternoon sun on the trampolines, Ron and I decided to stay overnight and leave in the morning. It wasn’t that far to our next anchorage, and besides, Ron was still a little under the weather and could use the rest of another night at anchor.

About 3:30 in the morning, rainwater dripping from the hatch above our forward V-berth awakened me. The rain was coming down heavily and the wind seemed to be picking up. In the distance, I could hear claps of thunder. I figured the hatch was left partially opened, so I got up to check it. From the inside, it looked securely closed, so I concluded that the blowing rain was finding its way through the lip of the hatch and into the cabin. I went back to bed and drifted off.

By 4 a.m., the wind was really howling and the rain was coming down in sheets. I got up a second time, and, peering out into the cockpit all I could make out was a deluge of rain. There was no visibility in the pitch blackness of the early morning. I returned to my bed and began counting the seconds between lightning flashes and thunder. I never got more than a 3-second interval, with most being two or less. The storm was directly over us, and I had never heard thunder, nor seen as bright or sustained lightening as this. The flashes were brilliant and the sound was truly awesome.

Suddenly, the boat’s motion changed, taking on a strange sideways roll. I woke up Ron and asked what he thought of the boat’s motion. He was awake, but seemed unconcerned, and said that he had felt the same motion the previous night, but when he checked last night, the motion was due to a passing boat. He assumed the same was happening again. I continued to lie there for a few more minutes, but felt something was not right. I rose for a third time and went back up to the main salon.

By this time, Ron was up too. I decided to break out the high illumination spotlight to better access the situation. As I aimed the spotlight to shore, I was horrified to see how close we had gotten to the beach. The illumination revealed rock ledges sticking up through the heavy breaking surf. I recognized these flat rock ledges. Nina and I had walked the beach that day and I had commented on their expanse and proximity to shore. It looked as though we were very close to the beach. Before I could get the words out, we heard the crunch of fiberglass bottom against coral and rocks. We were sideways to the shore and grinding against coral, rocks and sand. Ron quickly jumped into the helm seat and fired up both engines in an attempt to motor Irie away from shore.

The sickening sound of bottom against tops of rocks is unforgettable. The high-pitched rapid beeping of the warning signal from the depth sounder, preceded scraping sounds then a thunderous thud of keels against rock. Irie shuddered and lurched with every bump against the bottom. A few times, an engine propeller stopped dead and the engine stalled as we hit bottom. If this were to happen to both engines at the same time, the boat might have been dashed onto shore. These hits were by far the most harrowing. In addition to being pushed ashore, a strong hit to the sail drives could cause an unstoppable breach to the hull.

Fear momentarily paralyzed me as I watched Ron, doggedly attempting to maneuver the boat away from the rocks. I suddenly felt completely helpless and out of control until Ron said something to me. I don’t remember what he said, but it snapped me from my near panic state. In fire fighting you are taught that the calls you respond to are “not your emergency.” This may seem callous, like you are expected to lack empathy for the victims, but its main purpose is to keep you focused on helping the victim, whose emergency it is, and to keep you and your crew safe by not becoming part of the emergency. Unfortunately, this time, it was my emergency. I had to use all that I had learned in my training to regain control and aid my husband in saving our boat from this awful situation.

The rain was relentless in its intensity. The wind blew the rain through the cockpit and into the open door of the main salon. At the helm, Ron was drenched to the bone in a matter of seconds. I ran below to retrieve the foul weather gear. It was difficult to keep my balance in the pitch and roll of the grounded boat. I assisted Ron with his rain gear as he desperately tried to keep the boat off the rocks. The sound of the hull grinding against the bottom seemed deafening --my stomach churned. We struggled to maintain our collective cool. It was every boater’s worst nightmare, but this was far worse than a bad dream.

In the midst of this pandemonium, Haley came into the main salon, hysterical, thinking the violent noises she was hearing was the mast collapsing. Her bunk sat right over the port keel, propeller and engine. In the calmest voice I could muster, I told her we were just scraping bottom and Dad and I would take care of it. I then asked her to go and bunk in with her sister until we told her it was safe to come out. Nina’s bunk was a forward berth and was, thus, somewhat shielded from the frightening sounds of our grounding. (Later, Haley told us that my calm words reassured her, and she was actually able to rest while Ron and I continued to wrestle with the elements. I was happy to hear I had been reassuring, although, looking back, I can’t imagine how that was possible.)

Thunder and lightning enveloped us. The din produced by the thunder, crashing waves, wind and rain was deafening. A few bolts of lightning hit very close to Irie. The only benefit of the lightning was that with every flash, we were able to see our unchanging proximity to shore. Ron tried motoring up the shore, down the shore, and away from shore, but every attempt at escape led only to more ear-splitting bottom grinding.

It was now 4:45 a.m., and it was still pitch black. Even with a four hundred thousand candle-watt spot light, all we could see on shore were a few palm fronds hanging over a white reflective sign about 20 feet from the boat. I braced myself in the cockpit and held the light on the sign to help Ron keep his bearings. He used it as a guide to motor straight out from shore. As long as he pointed the boat directly away from the beach, he was able to keep the boat from hitting the rocks. However, it was as though we were in a hole, hemmed in by the coral and rock, unable to make any seaway. Ron kept the engines steady at 2200 rpm, close to full power. Our lack of forward progress completely baffled us, but we were off the rocks and that would have to be good enough until there was enough light to fully assess the situation.

We desperately needed daylight — without it, finding our way free was impossible. I asked Ron when the sun would rise. He read 6:17 a.m. from the GPS. That meant we would get some dim light by 5:45 a.m. at the earliest.

Ron spent the next hour motoring us straight from shore while I kept the search light aimed at the sign on the beach. It was by far the most grueling hour of our trip thus far, and one we don’t ever care to repeat. In the face of disaster, Ron and I remained level headed. We did not panic, nor did we ever give up. It was clear that all those hours of fire training had really paid off for me. And Ron? I credit his lack of panic to his steely Czech disposition.

Despite the chaos of that dark hour of motoring, we seemed to settle into a routine, and I suddenly felt a pot of hot tea was in order. We were both soaked to the skin, even with our foul weather gear on, and Ron was shivering at the helm. My arms and legs ached from holding a rigid stance while I held the spotlight on shore. Ron had gotten his bearings and was completely focused on the compass heading he was using to continue to motor away from shore. This relieved me from my spotlight duty and I went into the salon and made tea.

By 5:55 a.m., the dim early morning light allowed us to actually see more than just the cockpit and what fell within the searchlight beam. As Ron continued at the helm, I went forward to assess the situation. I was startled to see that the anchor rode was trailing backwards under the boat. With a flashlight I followed the rode astern and saw that it was wrapped over and through the rock ledges within a boat-length from shore. I attempted to dislodge the anchor chain using the boat hook, but failed because it was wound too tightly around the rocks, and because Ron’s motoring kept the chain taut. It was now clear that our anchor was keeping us on shore. Our own anchor had betrayed us and had held us a mere twenty feet from shore. The only way out was to cast the anchor and rode overboard so that we could motor safely away from the rocks and coral.

Casting off the anchor presented a number of difficulties. First, the chain was hooked to a bridle. This connection was now under the boat and strained backward as we motored away. To get at the bridle hook would require shifting to neutral and the possibility of drifting back onto the rocks. Second, the entire anchor rode would have to be carefully threaded out without fouling. This was no easy task in the bucking sea. Third, once completely free, we might be unable to retrieve the anchor, rode and chain –losing these would be expensive to replace and leave us vulnerable in the short-term (of course, compared to losing the boat, loss of only the ground tackle would be minor).

Despite these obstacles, it was our best course of action. Ron shifted to neutral just long enough for me to unclip the bridle. To our extreme surprise, I was able to unclip without any further bottom grinding. I then carefully heaved all the rode from the anchor locker and fed it out as Ron continued motoring away from shore. We began to move ahead away from the beach. Several times, the rode did tangle, but each time I was able to set it free.

Once the bitter end of the rode was reached, I released it, but Ron held onto a section of the rode at the boat’s stern so that he could tie a bumper to it so that he could attempt to retrieve it later.

I broke down and cried as I watched the bumper fade into the now distant shore. Tears of relief that our struggle was over.

It was now 6:15 a.m. The storm had passed and left us with drizzle and light wind. While Irie drifted safely offshore, Ron took the dinghy and went to retrieve the anchor. I waited on Irie and readied another anchor in case we couldn’t retrieve the first.

Ron found that the anchor was entangled around the rock ledges at the shore line. The pop-up squall had caused the wind to clock around to the northwest, pulling out our anchor and dragging Irie straight into shore. Ron managed, with a struggle, to untangle the anchor, chain and rode from the rocks, drag it aboard the dinghy, and motor it back to Irie, where we put it back in its proper place.

The rain had nearly stopped and it was now calm. We were drifting quietly a half-mile off shore in deep water. The first calm we had experienced since we were rudely awakened into our nightmare.

Emotional and physically exhausted from this experience, I made oatmeal and coffee and we regrouped to determine our next steps. We needed to access the damage caused by our beaching, and the suspense was killing us. We knew there would be damage, but how much? We were heartsick over the thought of any damage, since we had just spent many dollars repairing and reconditioning the bottom and propellers at the boatyard in Fajardo.

Ron dove each side to assess the damage while the girls and I awaited word on deck. The keel damage was not bad, but the props looked very dinged up and would need work, he said. After Ron climbed back aboard, we talked about it and made a decision to return to Fajardo and have the boat hauled for a complete assessment and repair.

AFTERMATH

We were unprepared for the arrival of this unpredicted and unannounced storm. (We are still not sure how one should be prepared for the unpredicted.) It felt as though we had been sucker punched. Or maybe it was a "cosmic dope slap" for being too content. Our anchor was set for the prevailing winds (out of the southeast), and had been blown out in the gusts of these ghastly northwest winds. We later learned that the storm had dumped over three inches of rain in one hour. The same hour we struggled to keep Irie off the beach.

We had successfully dodged several major storms this busy season, but it was this brief unnamed, unpredicted one that had gotten us. Cruel irony.

Later that morning, Nina asked, “Daddy, were you ever scared?” Ron replied, “No, I was not afraid for me, but I was scared for Irie.” Ron and I agreed that our family was never in any immediate personal danger. The fact that shore was only a few steps away would have made it possible for us to escape to land easily. The girls surprised us by saying the thing they worried about the most was if Irie was too badly damaged, we would have to cut short our trip. We were pleased to hear their reaction was not solely one of fear, but instead of concern for missing out on the rest of the experience. I guess the kids put it best: we were all afraid of a premature ending to our fantastic Caribbean adventure.

During this trip, we have experienced what we believe to be the extreme of human emotion and feeling. This early morning experience had been no exception. We have never felt so unsure, uncomfortable, overwhelmed, exhausted and stressed. On the other hand, we have never felt so competent, comfortable, relaxed, rested and satisfied. Ron is always rattling off a quote from Thoreau that he was forced to learn in high school. Perhaps he recites it for more reason than simply because he had to memorize it. Thoreau wrote that he “went to the woods to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life, and not when he came to die, discover that he had not lived.” Last night’s experience certainly provided an experience in living life to the fullest.

Funny thing is, when we first bought Irie, I had vowed never to become attached to her. I had been attached to Haley’s Comet, our first sailboat, because she was our first. We had made many memories sailing her on the Chesapeake Bay with our family and friends. We had purchased her when Haley was only two years old and I was pregnant with Nina. Since the boat was named for her, Haley often referred to it as “MY Comet.” I like to think that a little piece of Haley’s Comet is with us, sailing along in the form of the proceeds from her sale to finance this trip. But I still miss her and I cried the day we sold her.

I had decided my connection to Irie would be different. She was a boat we would own for a year or two; we would sell her at the end of our sailing trip. I viewed her only as a vehicle on which to explore the Eastern Caribbean. That night on Green Beach had changed everything. As we fought to save her from being wrecked on the rocks, Irie had become my boat, “MY Irie.” I will likely cry the day we sell her.


10/22/04 – Healing Time.

We had planned to continue our exploration of Vieques and then move on to Culebra for at least a week before heading to the Virgin Islands. Our Green Beach incident certainly changed this, but we weren’t going to let it get in the way of our trip. I put in a call to Island Marine, the contractors whom we had just left, to see if they could fit us in for a second round.

I called and got Jennifer at Island Marine right away. She was very sympathetic to our situation and even remarked how the storm we had experienced was unpredicted and how it was unfortunate that we had been caught in it. She said they were very busy (we had waited a month for our first appointment) but she would see what they could do. After all, we were “repeat” customers. I wondered aloud if they gave “frequent hauler” miles. I said it felt like we had driven a new car off the lot and had immediately gotten into an accident.

She called us back in about fifteen minutes, and put us on the schedule for the next Monday. We were very grateful and relieved to be able to get the work done before moving on down island. We had toyed with the idea of finding another boatyard and contractor farther east, but rejected that idea in favor of having the boat hauled sooner and having a complete evaluation done. Since it was still only Thursday morning, we decided to continue East along the Vieques coast to the town of Esperanza. We would spend the weekend there and then return to Fajardo for our second round of bottom work.

By 11:00 a.m. we weighed anchor and headed East. The storm had worked up the wind and seas, and of course, whipped back around to the South East. We experienced a familiar sail into the trade winds, once again taking 20 knots on the nose. I spent most of the time sitting on the coach deck reflecting on the events of the early morning while Ron sat at the helm silently piloting Irie to the seaside town of Esperanza. The girls used the time to catch up on their sleep and dozed in the cockpit. The familiar rhythm of the sea gave us all comfort and allowed the healing to begin.

The anchorage in front of the town of Esperanza on the island of Vieques had several Department of Natural Resources moorings. They were available for use first-come, first-serve basis, at no charge. We decided after our experience at Green Beach, we would be most comfortable tying onto one of these moorings. We had heard these moorings were mostly reliable, but should be dived on to check out, just in case.

Ron dove down to the mooring anchors. Most moorings in the Caribbean are fixed to the bottom with either a steel auger or sand screw twisted into the sand, or a stainless steel eyebolt that is cemented directly into the coral pavement. This one was a sand screw and appeared to be sound. We attached the floating mooring line or painter to a short bowline and onto Irie. Ron found the mooring to be sound, and we settled in for an evening aboard Irie.

This was our first experience with a public mooring and given that the wind decided, as if on queue, to kick up for the night, Ron elected to sleep in the main salon to monitor our mooring, just in case. I slept in the forward berth and found my sleep to be fitful, to say the least. Let’s just say after the Green Beach grounding, we were all feeling a little bit edgy.

The next morning, our visit onshore to Esperanza began with a trip to the bakery for what had become somewhat of a comfort food for us - ham, egg and cheese sandwiches. The owner was a former Bostonian and was in a full lather over the Red Sox’s victory over the Yankees. She said she had a feeling the “Curse of the Bambino” would be broken this year and the Red Sox would win the series. (And as it turned out, she was right.)

The waterfront of Esperanza was well-developed, with several guesthouses, a number of restaurants and small boutiques lining the narrow street that ran along the concrete boardwalk (or Malecon). The bright blue Malecon was built on the high rocks above the shore and extended along the entire length of the downtown area. We visited several of the shops and picked up a few Christmas gifts.

At Kim’s Cabin we chatted with the owner, Jim, an older gentleman and a seasoned sailor. He had spent many decades sailing the waters of the Caribbean and had settled on Vieques as his permanent home. We guessed he opened the habadashery shortly after becoming a landlubber again. He was quite a salesman and a real character and employed the “hard sell” technique in an attempt to get Ron to buy one of his 50 dollar batik print shirts. It didn’t work.

When we mentioned our peril on Green Beach, he became extremely interested in our story, as any old salt would, and peppered Ron with questions on the circumstances of our experience. He said he had also nearly lost a boat in a storm on Green Beach. He remarked that the holding was notoriously bad there, especially in storms. Boy, did we know that.

Jim had retired from full time cruising quite some time ago. His last sailboat was sold to someone one month before Hurricane Hugo hit Puerto Rico. The boat was sunk in the storm. Ron chuckled and called him a “genius.” He had seen the Caribbean in some of its shadier days, when criminal activities were purported to be more commonplace. He admitted it’s a different world today and the sea is a safer place because of it. He could do without all the crowds, though. He said we would hate the Virgin Islands for the crowds. Crowds were something we could hardly imagine, given that our anchorage here in Esparanza was once again occupied by only one boat, ours.

After our window shopping was complete, we headed over to the Vieques Conservation and Historical Trust. It took us two tries to actually make it through the doors of this little yellow building, only to find out the outdoor marine life exhibits were closed because they had been damaged by Tropical Storm Jeanne. We browsed the indoor exhibits of Taino Indian artifacts and were headed out but were stopped by the resident marine life researcher. An engaging young man, he offered to show us what remained of the outdoor exhibits.

Upon learning of Haley and Nina’s interest in sea turtles, he immediately turned their attention to several turtle shells he had in a small classroom out behind the main building. He educated us on how to recognize one type of turtle from another by counting the number of scales on their shells. He was also excited to hear we had seen several turtles, probably hawksbills (in case you were wondering, they have four scales lengthwise across their shells) around our mooring. He later ran to catch up with us as we continued our tour of the town to give us a U.S. Fish and Wildlife pamphlet on Turtles of the Carribean.

We were happy to learn from him that most of the land formally occupied by the U.S. Navy was put into a trust and would eventually be turned over to the U.S. Department of Interior and probably become a national park. Good news, although there is the small matter of removing all of those unexploded ordinances.

Our stroll through town was cut short by threatening skies. Before the heavens opened up, we decided to duck into the nearest watering hole and chose La Sirena, an open-air bar and restaurant. We followed in behind a group of fresh-faced female tourists also looking for shelter and a cool beverage.

A woman behind the bar immediately began waving off the group of girls explaining that the restaurant was not open, she was not the bartender and the few patrons at the bar were her “friends.” She said they would have to return at 5:00 p.m. when the restaurant opened. When I heard this, I figured we would have to find another place to wait out the rainstorm. But Ron forged ahead and once the tourists were out of earshot, he used his keen negotiating skills to get us all a seat at the bar.

Carol, the wizened woman behind the bar, (you see, I can’t call her the “bartender,” because she insisted she was NOT), succumbed to Ron’s artful persuasion and agreed to give us a drink as long as it was something requiring little or no preparation. That would include no ice and no mixing. Since it was a beer we were after, we were allowed in and took a seat along with her friends at the bar. Later, Carol admitted she allowed us in because, unlike the female tourists, we didn’t look like we would be ordering any “blended drinks.” We took that as a compliment.

The friends sitting at the bar were Joyce and Jeff, a newlywed couple from Key West, FL. They had recently relocated to Vieques and were in the process of building a small Inn on the north side of the island. Joyce had worked as a financial consultant in Rosslyn, Virginia and grew up in Falls Church, Virginia. Jeff, her husband, had grown up in McLean, Virginia and had spent the last 15 years as a charter fishing boat captain in Key West, FL. Joyce took an immediate interest in the girls (she said she missed being an Auntie to her nieces and nephews back in Virginia) and spent time playing checkers and chess with them.

Shortly after we took our seats at the bar, the heavens did indeed open up and a violent rainstorm ensured. Carol rushed to shudder the bar from the rain, cursing the shudders as they refused to close properly. In the middle of the torrent of rain, Francois, the owner of the restaurant, arrived with liquor to restock the bar and supplies for the restaurant. He was assisted by Dave, a regular and local dive operator, with lugging the supplies from the car. We had seen Dave a few times earlier that day, helping other shopkeepers with their chores so we weren’t too surprised to see him passing by and pitching in to help Francois.

Dave lived in Vieques for the past 22 years and was working as a local guide for snorkel and dive operators. For the price of buying Dave a drink, Ron got the skinny on the best snorkeling spots in Vieques. Unfortunately, the weather never cooperated – the seas were too rough – and we never made it to the spots. But we were happy to buy Dave a drink. Later he sat with Haley for over an hour, tutoring her in chess. He also offered to lend us a hand if we needed him while we were here at anchor. He remarked he was called “the Dolphin” by locals because of his uncanny ability to stay afloat for hours and to free dive (dive without oxygen) to depths of 40 feet. Remarkable claims and after meeting him, completely believable.

A few beers into it, the conversation turned to the previous night’s storm. When they all heard we were on a boat, they asked where we were anchored and if we were safe. They were horrified to hear of our encounter on Green Beach but were not surprised given the violent nature of the storm. Painful to recount, but we were certainly given a much needed boost by this convivial group of Viequens.

After Carol was relieved of her “bartending” duties she joined us at the bar for drinks, dinner and more conversation. Even Francois acted more like a patron than an owner, sitting at the bar sipping his red wine and eating asparagus. Doing both, he said, in an attempt to be more “El-thy.” Francois, a reserved, pleasant faced Frenchman, had owned several restaurants in New York City before leaving it all behind to live the quiet life in Vieques. He shared the business and an apartment upstairs with his three brown Labrador retrievers.

Carol washed up on the shores of Vieques after having spent time living in California and then in Key West, FL where she lived on a houseboat. When she heard we were “blue water sailors” (the “real deal,” as she had put it) and live-a-boards, she remarked how much she missed living on the water. She was another old salt, and with an impish gleam in her eye she recounted her days of living on the water in Key West and piloting her beloved 17 foot Carolina skiff through rough seas from her houseboat to shore to get a loaf of bread.

She had moved to Vieques because she had grown tired of living in Key West. Key West, in her opinion, had become too sanitized in an attempt to appeal to the masses. She liked Vieques because of its eclectic qualities. And she liked working with Francois at La Sirena and watching the sunset from the bar over the Malecon. Every time she saw it set, she would say to herself “this is why I am here.” By the way, she WAS the bartender, when she wanted to be.

The night had grown too late and we needed to get back to Irie. We would leave the next day to make it back to our scheduled haul out. Dave and the others told us we should reconsider and stay in Vieques a few more days. Maybe we could come back after our repairs were completed? We would be back, we said, but not until Spring. We bid our friends farewell and headed out to our dinghy in the dark.

It had begun to rain again and the wind had picked up. As we approached the dinghy dock, we could see the surge had built and the dinghies were being dashed against the wooden dock. In the darkness, we had trouble making out our dinghy. In fact, our dinghy was no longer tied to the dock. Our hearts sank. Where was our dinghy?

In the torrential rain and blowing wind, the dinghy somehow had broken loose and had blown onshore and swamped. (Hey, is this beginning to sound familiar?) Luckily, a couple of Puerto Rican fisherman had seen her drift in and swamp. They bailed her enough to get her on the beach and then tied her to a tree. They were still nearby when we found her. They explained what had happened and then helped drag her back out into the water. Ron jumped in and started her in the heavy shore surge.

Fearing we would be swamped again if we all boarded it on the beach with the heavy break, Ron motored out past the shore break alone. We walked down the beach to where there was more protection from the surge. I motioned for Ron to make a landing. Ron held the boat back as the girls and I plunged into the surge. I still get an adrenaline rush thinking about it.

Nina and Haley did their best to fight against the strong shore break and wade out to the dinghy. As I hoisted Nina up into the dinghy, I could see the panic on her face. Later, when she burst into tears over the experience, Ron and I could only imagine what it must have been like for her, a tiny eight-year-old, to wade out into a four-foot shore break and toward a surging dinghy. Scary is what is was.

We managed to pilot the dinghy safely back to Irie, but not without snagging a small mooring line on the way out. Something Nina has always cautioned us against and definitely on her “Worst Case Scenario” list. (Seems like we are making considerable progress on that list.) Let me explain that Nina has always fancied herself the caretaker of our dinghy and continues to assume this role whenever we venture out in it. So the possibility of losing or damaging our dinghy is something she is deeply concerned over. And that is why she took that evening’s events particularly hard.

The Esperanza anchorage did have a persistant roll, but we were able to overlook this and enjoyed our last morning watching a dozen wild horses frolick on the beach in front of our anchorage.

Sad to leave the welcoming ex-Pat community of Esperanza but anxious to get Irie repaired, we left later that morning and had a fantastic three-hour sail to our anchorage at Isla Pineros.

10/25/04 – Hauling Irie . . . Again. We received a call early in the morning from Jennifer of Island Marine to say that the boatyard could haul us earlier than our 11:00 a.m. appointment. We said we’d be there as soon as possible and began to make preparations to depart from our anchorage at Isla Pineros. We were familiar enough with the hauling slip at the Puerto Del Rey Marina boatyard to remember we had to hang several fenders on each side of the boat. Irie’s beam or width was 22 feet and the slip was 26 feet. Not a huge margin of error. After we hung the fenders over the sides of the boat and secured everything in the cockpit and on deck, we were ready to weigh anchor. Ron and I had carefully set the anchor the day before. Ron had donned his mask and snorkel and swam down to ensure the anchor was properly set. This is often referred to as “diving the anchor.” It took some extra effort to pull up the anchor that morning, proving the time we spent setting it the night before had paid off.

The hauling went as smoothly as it did the first time. The travel lift crew recognized us and asked why we were hauling Irie again. The painful retelling of the story had begun. It would continue as we made our way through the boatyard and people recognized us and the boat.

As Irie was slowly lifted from the water, I had the urge to close my eyes. Instead, I stood at the edge of the slip, holding Nina and Haley’s hands and watching for the first glimpse of the damage. I gasped as I saw the scars across the edge and bottom of both keels. But what really caught my attention was the damaged propellers. I immediately began worrying about the sail drives. The propellers are attached to the end of the sail drives which connect the propellers to the engine. Damage to these would be an expensive and major undertaking to repair.

The travel lift crew moved Irie carefully back to the boatyard. Ron chatted with Benny, the lift operator as he walked alongside the lift and used a gigantic remote control to steer the lift to the Island Marine yard. I walked ahead with the girls and ran into a few of the Island Marine contractors. Each met us with an appropriate long face and expressed their sympathies over what had happened to us. The general consensus was, “Hey, it could have happened to anyone” and “At least nobody was hurt.”

I felt a certain sense of relief as I watched the lift crew block Irie and bring her to rest in the Island Marine yard. She was in good hands and we would quickly learn what we needed to do to get her back in the water.

The girls and I went over to the Thrifty Rental Car office to rent a car while Ron checked in with the Island Marine crew. I came back to find they had already pulled off the propellers and were examining the sail drives. Ron had given them all the painful details of the grounding. I was greeted by Rick, the lead contractor. I said I’d like to say I was happy to see him again, but I really wasn’t. He said that was understandable, given the circumstances. Rick said he would review any damage carefully and would call with his assessment. We took off in our rental car, a Deja Vu experience since it was the same car we had rented the last time we were in Fajardo.

We laughed that we had a second chance in Fajardo and would “do it right” this time. We had made a list of must-haves and found ourselves shopping at, where else, West Marine. We had eyed a pair of deck chairs in the catalog after we had departed Puerto Rico and the last West Marine. We found them in the store and best of all they were on sale, marked at 2-for-1. Maybe our luck was turning? Happily, we got out of there before we had a chance to scan the entire sale flyer. We would be spending plenty on the boat in the yard. We needed to economize.

I decided to start my economizing by getting a cheaper deal on a hotel room. We had stayed at the lovely Fajardo Inn the last time the boat was in the yard. At 90 bucks a night it seemed like a good deal the first time, but too much to spend on an unplanned return trip. I had heard they had a smaller building on the same grounds called the Scenic Inn. It was not well advertised but I decided to inquire over the phone. I found they had a room available for a family and quoted me a price of 80 dollars. Not a huge savings, but at least it was something. I asked what the difference was in the two properties. It seemed the main difference was that the television had no remote-control. Ok, we could make do with no remote.

We arrived later in the day at the Fajardo Inn. I again inquired about the rooms at the Scenic Inn. She again reminded me there was “no TV remote.” I told her I was Ok with that. But I did see that the posted rate was 60 dollars-a-night. She said, yes it was, but each additional person was 10 dollars. I reminded her that the two extras were children under 12. I also threw in the sad my-boat-is-damaged story. I guess that plus the fact that we were repeat customers did it and she gave me the room for 60 dollars-a-night.

The Scenic Inn was down the hill from the Fajardo Inn, so it required a walk to the main building complex or “The Big House” as I liked to call it to take a swim or fetch ice. A small price to pay for a 30 dollar-a-day savings. The room was very pleasant and clean, just as our room had been in the main building. The girls noted that it was actually bigger, just a little older. Oh, and the lack of remote for the TV? We adjusted nicely. Ron had his chair positioned next to the TV and we shouted “click” whenever we wanted to change the channel.

10/28/04 – Two Types of Captains. They say there are two types of Captains: those that have run their boat aground and those that haven’t –yet. In our case, at least this time, our grounding was not due to a navigational error. We weren’t underway at the time. Our anchor had dragged. So what was our error? We needed to learn from our experience. Ron and I grappled with this for weeks after the accident. We discussed it with ever sailor and yachtsman we came into contact with, hoping to find a clue to help prevent an accident such as this one in the future. There were many shrugged shoulders and a wide range of advice all the way from “I never sleep on the hook” and “I always throw out two or three anchors, just in case”; to “I just set my anchor and cross my fingers.”
Most thought it was just a matter of bad luck and there was probably little we could have done to prevent it from happening. Winds shift. Anchors drag. In the end, we knew we were simply victims of an unfortunate accident.

We have become fastidious in setting our anchor and use our GPS to alert us to any movement from our original anchoring point. So we aren’t as relaxed as we used to be about setting our anchor. And we shouldn’t be.

Rick called with his assessment while we were enjoying a return visit to the El Yunque rainforest. There was damage to both the starboard and port keels, but the damage was relatively minor. Nothing that some West Systems epoxy wouldn’t fix. The props needed to be reconditioned, but did not need to be replaced. The good news was that the saildrives were undamaged. All in all, the damage could have been far worse.

We made the best of it and continued to take in as much of El Yunque as we could. We returned for a third day, hiking once more to La Mina Falls – this time via the Big Tree Trail – for another swim under the waterfall. El Yunque is truly an enchanted place and was well worth visiting over again. Here’s a favorite quote from one of the films on conservation we watched at the El Yunque visitor’s center: “We didn’t inherit the earth from our parents. We are borrowing it from our children.”

As the week turned into the weekend, we were told our room at the Scenic Inn had been reserved by another guest and we would have to leave or take a room at the adjacent Fajardo Inn. We had debated leaving Fajardo and staying in San Juan for the weekend.

Our eviction made the decision for us and we took a room for two nights in Isla Verde, a well-developed beach community in the style of Miami Beach minutes from San Juan. We found a modest motel nestled in between the likes of the Intercontinental and other mega-resort hotels and steps to a beautiful stretch of white sand beach. A day of reexploring Old San Juan and a thorough combing of the beautiful and historic El Morro fort capped off our Puerto Rican experience.

After spending a week economizing on meals, we decided to splurge and spent our last evening at the upper end of the food chain. We were serenaded by Coqui frogs as we ate our Tapas on a porch of a restaurant housed in a beautifully restored mansion on Condado beach. And we toasted to Irie’s safe passage on the next leg of our adventure – the Virgin Islands.

Post Script. 12/4/04

Dear Family and Friends - I thought you’d like to know where the crew of Irie currently lies. We are in St. Maarten, having made the passage from the British Virgin Islands to here on December 2. Once Irie was relaunched on 11/2/04, we donned our “sailing shoes” and had a fantastic and busy month exploring the beautiful waters of the Spanish, US and British Virgin Islands. Our sail here across the fabled Anegada Passage was the last of the longest passages we’ll need to make to continue our trip down island. We are now officially in the Eastern Caribbean and are looking forward to exploring as many islands as we can down the chain to Grenada.

We had a few visitors during our time in the Virgin Islands. My parents joined us for a week in St. Thomas and St. John and Ron’s brother Dave and his family joined us for Thanksgiving in the British Virgin Islands. We enjoyed sharing our experience with them and they have both written guest logs that will be posted on the website shortly.

In the next few days we will be traveling to St. Barth’s and then on to Guadeloupe and finally Dominica for Christmas and New Years. Ron’s family will be joining us in Dominica to ring in the New Year.

Thanks to all of you for your continued love and support. We wish you all could be sailing with us – “what a perfect world that would be” – but until we see you again, here’s wishing you “Fair Winds.”

Ron, Nancie, Haley and Nina aboard Irie