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Richard, Tom, and Laura are all British with strong accents. Although I had a bit of difficulty understanding them, I loved their accents! The engineer/mechanic of the crew was Don, a 45ish local guy who is a wonderfully warm and enthusiastic sailor/beer drinker. I had an impossible time understanding his heavy Caribbean accent. June did a great job of translating when I asked her, which I will find out later I didn't ask her often enough.
Notice the closeness of the boats to one another? Me too!
The first thing I noted to Richard was that I was NOT comfortable piloting this beast out of the marina. He reassured me that very few people are comfortable with it, and there is a 'valet service' just for that. Call the harbor master and they will send someone down to drive it out when you are ready. YIPPEE!
The on-board meeting was held afterward by a local young woman who really knew her stuff. Unfortunately, she also had a very heavy local accent and I could not understand half of it. In the end, we did OK but a couple of important items got by us all. More about that later. One thing I did catch was to top off the fresh water holding tanks, even though the gauges showed them to be full. She vaguely pointed to the filler caps on the bow and stern. So I dragged out the water hose, open one cap on the stern, and proceed to top it off with about a pint of water. I reluctantly drag the hose on deck, up to the bow, remove the filler cap, and proceed to fill...ten seconds, 20 seconds, 30 seconds...something is wrong! I pick up the filler cap, it is labeled "WASTE" (instead of WATER). Oh crap!
The young lady utters the Caribbean mantra, "No worries mon! When you get out to sea, just open the valve (like you should do everyday), and release the waste and water. And don't put toilet paper in the toilet!" We are not even out of port and I have already made my first mistake. But they made one too by delivering the provisions to the wrong boat, so we are even. No worries mon!
Around noon we are ready to go. I call the harbor master on VHF radio, ch 12 and ask them to send a valet. Five minutes later Kenron, a young local, shows up. He points me to the bow and tells me, when the time comes, to flick off the bow lines that are draped loosely over the piers on either side. Aye Captain!
A few minutes later, I am stationed on the bow, and I hear the call 'Bow lines off!'. With a couple of quick flips, off they come and we slowly creep forward. A very sharp and immediate left turn is needed to avoid the yachts across the narrow channel. Then I hear some loud shouting behind me. I turn and see, in horror, that Steve is at the helm and Kenron is on the dock. Apparently he must have considered Steve's demeanor and assessed him to be a competent helmsman. Steve may have driven a small boat once or twice in his life, but this was a daunting task, even for the most experienced sailor. Nevertheless, we are underway and Kenron is yelling, "Trust, Trust Captain!!, Trust! Reverse, Captain".
We manage to make the left turn into the narrow channel, but a bit too late, as we are now bumping sideways into the piers on the other side of the channel, dangerously close to the other boats. We move forward as the rear of our boat skids along the pier. The only things hanging over the side of our boat is our brand new barbeque that is bolted to the rear starboard railing. Off it comes like it was held on with glue and into the water it drops, sinking like an anchor.
We are still moving slowly forward as everyone in the marina is watching the drama unfold. We spot Don standing on the dock as he is saying to us, "No worries, mon. Keep going. It is OK." Yes, that is reassuring, but Steve is still at the helm and we didn't even bother to ask for directions OUT of this parking lot and into the open sea. We make another left turn, without the pinball action, then slowly drift forward as huge yachts are coming and going on all sides. I didn't bother to look, but I am pretty sure that June is balled up in the fetal position below deck. Finally, we spot another left turn, then a small cruise ship making its way out the harbor. We fall in behind it and we all sigh in collective relief.
We later figured out when we returned to Road Town and watched the guys parking the boat that 'Trust (thrust) meant use the bow thrusters, small motors mounted on each side of the boat that pushes the boat sideways. Steve realized he was saying thrust, but when retelling this story, says he had visions of thrusting his hips in some sort of gyrating motion, but had no idea how this would help the situation. Richard, the lead captain, assures us it was not our fault, and we won't be responsible for the barbeque.
So, for those of you keeping score at home, that is 2 mistakes for Sunsail, and 1 mistake (my errant waste water fill) for the crew of Hull 908.
We are now heading south toward Peter Island, we raise the sails, and it is a wonderful sail across Francis Drake channel. See the daily map
We decide to check out Sprat Bay just East of Great Harbor. We lower the sails and motor in alongside several other boats that are anchored. Being a well-protected and calm anchorage, I suggest that we drop anchor and snorkel. June protests vehemently! "Not after what we have just been through."
And I, the skipper, quickly retort, "A simple anchor drop is no big deal. See, there is a windlass (motor) that pays out anchor chain and then retrieves it. And plus we will have to anchor eventually. This is a perfect scenario for it. What can go wrong?"
Steve sides with me, and Sherlyn abstains. So, with Steve at the helm, and me on the bow with a remote control for the windlass, we choose the perfect position away from shore and other boats, Steve engages the motor, and I untie the anchor and begin to pay out chain. It works perfectly. We all jump off the transom (rear gate) and enjoy our first snorkel in the beautiful, warm, clear Caribbean waters. I inspect the 50 ft of chain laying on the sandy sea floor. All is well with the world. We lower the transom ladder and climb back on the boat headed a short distance to the adjacent Great Harbor bay of Peter Island for the evening.
Our next challenge: picking up a mooring ball.
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Sidebar: The mooring ball in an inexpensive way for boaters to tie up for the night (or longer) with confidence that the boat won't drift into other boats or out to sea while the crew sleeps. It is cheaper than a slip in a marina and more fool-proof than anchoring. The main element of interest to the sailor is the line that attaches to the bottom of the ball and the 'floater' which is visible on the water. At the 'bitter end' of that 10 ft. line is an eyelet, to which the bowlines from the boat are tied. The boat pulls up next to the ball, and a person standing on the bow, reaches over the railing and picks the line out of the water using a boat hook, a 6 ft pole with a hook on the end. Got it? Simple, right?
Before our trip Steve and I tried this once with Suzanne in Ayala Cove in SF Bay. It didn't go well, but that was because the mooring balls (or bouys) in Ayala cove do NOT have the floating lines. You have to slip your bowline through a small ring on the top of the big floating ball and retrieve it on the other side with a bow hook. MUCH harder! |
When we pulled into Great Harbor, Richard, our lead boat captain, was in his dingy at a mooring ball holding the lead eyelet. We pulled in slowly with Steve at the helm, grabbed it from him, and he helped me secure it to our boat. Kinda like cheating.
Laura, the hostess on the lead crew, had prepared complimentary painkillers and appetizers for all. Steve and I attended the skipper's meeting while June and Sherlyn met a few of our fellow Flotilla members.
At the meeting we learned our next port, Saba Rock, on Virgin Gorda, some 15 miles Northeast. And we would be sailing into the wind which would take longer. June assured us that we would enjoy The Baths, a very popular stop along the way. It is so popular in fact, that to get a mooring ball (parking spot) we would have to rise with the sun to get there early. We decided to try, with a contingency plan to instead visit The Dogs if it is full when we get there.
We awoke early to a dark, windy morning. Steve and I went on deck as June prepared coffee. We briefly talked about the mooring ball release procedure, which is normally easy except for the yacht that is parked about 10 yds behind us, directly downwind. Basically, I would untie the bowlines and the boat would begin drifting toward the other boat.
Steve starts the engine and idles as I go up on the bow and untie the mooring ball. I give him the thumbs up and we begin to drift downwind as planned. He shifts into forward and we run directly passed the mooring ball. When it gets about half way down the side of the hull, we suddenly stop. I yell, "Shut off the motor!" I go flush with fear. We have probably wrapped the lead line of the mooring ball around our boat's propeller. We didn't talk about this possibility. June, ever vigilant, was on hand with a camera just minutes after this happened.
I put on snorkel gear and dive in to confirm our fears. Indeed, it is true. The 'floater' is wedged into the prop and I cannot budge it. Time to make a call to Gambus, moored just 50 yds from us. At 6:15 am, after a late night, Richard picks up on the third ring with a groggy, "Richard 'ere". I briefly explain the situation, and within 5 minutes he is on his way joined by his mate, Tom. He gives us the "No worries, mate" (the British version). Tom dives under the boat and confirms, then makes several unsuccessful dives to try to free the floater and line. Meanwhile, Richard explains that, if they can't free us from the ball, then divers will be called from base which will be expensive and could take the whole day. In addition, we will probably have to pay to repair the mooring ball. And there could be issues with the boat motor...just preparing us for worst case.
After another hour of diving, cutting, and creative winching from on-deck, the two of them managed to free us and get the line unwrapped. YEAH! They would check into the mooring ball expense, and Don would have to check out the motor. But for now, we were free to go get into more trouble!
BTW: June later tells us that her morning coffee had kicked in, while the me were diving below our boat, she badly had to use the head. But she wasn't sure if her valve to release the waste into the sea was open or closed. She figured that releasing turd depth charges while they were under the boat might just chase them off, so she decided to hold it in. However, we did reward them later with cold beers and a hand full of cash each, along with our profound thanks.
So after less than one full day, the score is all tied up: Sunsail 2 - Hull 908 2. And at 8:30 am, we headed out for The Baths and eventually Saba Rock.
Oops, almost I forgot about one more small mishap. Technically, this was a follow-up result of an earlier mishap committed by me. By 9 am or so, Steve had retreated to his bathroom to relieve himself, #2 style. June and I on deck were surprised when we heard him desperately shout, "HELP!" from below deck. I gave the helm to June and quickly dropped below to his cabin. I could actually smell the problem before I saw it. He explained that the flush did nothing but back up the toilet and cause overflow throughout the bathroom floor. In fact, the plunger likewise did nothing. I retreated, thinking Richard is going to LOVE this one (NOT). Then I heard June yell from the helm, "Is the valve open?" Great question! I relayed her question to Steve, and within seconds, the solution was confirmed. Remember the day before I had inadvertently filled his waste tank? Apparently, they had not opened the valve and released the full waste tank of fresh water. Steve spent the next hour literally cleaning up my mistake. Sorry buddy!
Next: The Baths and Saba Rock.