Caribbean Christmas

White Bay
Originally uploaded by rosailither.

After arriving, we spent a few days chilling in Jost Van Dyke and doing odd jobs on board before heading around the south coast of Tortola to meet Hazel’s sister and nephew. The anchorage in Trellis Bay literally adjoins the airport, and since it only caters to smaller inter-island planes, isn’t too noisy. The airport is a 5-minute walk from the beach – no taxis necessary!

The British Virgin Isles consist of three main islands – the biggest, Tortola, in the middle with Jost Van Dyke and Virgin Gorda on either side, then there are a dozen or so smaller islands dotted around. All the islands are within a 30-mile area, so perfect for short day-sails without making the crew seasick.

We spent the first day in Trellis Bay, exploring a couple of nearby beaches by dinghy – both deserted – and in the evening went to a ‘new moon party’ on the beach. This turned out to be a bit of a disappointment, as there weren’t many people there, no sign of the moon in the sky and the advertised ‘jumbie walkers’ (on stilts) didn’t show up. However, the food was good (if overpriced), Michael got the chance to have a go at spinning a pot and the owner did put on a fire juggling display afterwards to make up for the lack of jumbies.

From there we went to Virgin Gorda, 7 miles away.
First stop The Baths, which turned out to be one of our favourite places – lovely white beaches dotted with enormous boulders, and one of the best snorkelling spots we’ve been to (saw squid for the first time). This was only slightly marred by Karen getting stung between her toes by an unidentified object (possibly fire coral) and Michael losing a tooth while snorkelling. We had fun following the trail under and over the boulders and through ankle-deep water to Devil’s Bay, at the tip of the island, where we had a picnic on top of the rocks.
We spent a rolly night anchored off Spanishtown, which turned out to be just a marina with a strip of shops alongside. Best bit there was watching the pelicans dive-bombing at great speed for fish.
Then to Gorda Sound, a big sheltered bay at the top of the island, with views to Richard Branson’s privately-owned Necker Island. Here we found exclusive but low-key resorts, gorgeous palm-lined beaches, delicious if expensive fresh pineapple, and an ideal spot for Karen’s first windsurfing lessons.

This was our most easterly point, and from here we had a great sail downwind (max speed 7.2 knots) past Tortola to Jost Van Dyke, where we spent Christmas.
On Xmas Eve, we had a few drinks in the world-famous Foxy’s Bar and looked around the adjoining expensive gift shop (Foxy’s bikinis just $70!!).
After opening presents on Xmas day, we walked over the hill to the gorgeous White Bay and The Stress Free Bar – both of which lived up to their names, and spent a relaxing day on the beach. Burgers and flying fish sandwiches were on the menu for lunch but we did cook the whole turkey and sprouts thing in the evening once it had cooled down a little.

Boxing Day saw us motor-sailing around Soper’s Hole at the west tip of Tortola, along the unspoilt coast of St John (one of the US Virgin Isles) and to Norman Island, named after an unlikely-sounding pirate. Here there really was buried treasure at one time, not all of which has apparently been recovered. Despite our best efforts, we couldn’t find any!
However, there were underwater pirate caves to explore by snorkel, full of amazing coloured fish and various types of coral. We climbed another hill in the evening, returning to the beach in time to watch the sun go down as we sipped drinks with the sea lapping under our sunloungers. It’s a hard life!

The next morning, Dave took Michael snorkelling off ‘The Indians’, a group of granite rocks just offshore, while Karen had another go at windsurfing – she nearly mastered it! Then just time for lunch ashore in ‘Billy Bones Beach Bar’ – with complimentary pirate tattoos, before we had to head back to Trellis Bay where we’d started. Our last supper was eaten at ‘The Last Resort’ restaurant on a tiny island in the middle of the bay with a singing chef for entertainment, not a bad way to end the holiday.

The next day, we waved our visitors off on their first of three flights home (via St Maarten and Paris) then returned to swinging in the hammocks to recover from an action-packed ten days. We are planning to stay here for New Year then head across to St Maarten, an overnight hop of about 100 nautical miles.
Happy New Year everybody!

the baths

the baths
Originally uploaded by rosailither.

Thought some more photos might be nice!

Norman Island

sunloungers on beach
Originally uploaded by rosailither.

Elusive trade winds

Originally uploaded by rosailither.

The distance from Beaufort to the British Virgin Isles (BVIs) is 1168 nautical miles as the crow flies (or 1343 statute miles). Our roundabout route by boat clocked up 1489 nautical miles (1782 statute miles) over 15 days.

We left Beaufort on Sunday afternoon, 26th November, along with another three boats also heading in the same direction. Our first mishap came within the first half hour of leaving port. We were hoisting the sails and noticed that the rope lashing the top corner of our mizzen sail to the end of the gaff had slipped. So down with the sail and Dave had to crawl out and re-lash it, hanging precariously above the water 6 feet out past the stern of the boat. Luckily we were still within shelter of land, this would have been an impossible job at sea. As it was, the boat was still rolling gently (not so gently at the end of the mizzen) and Dave came back with a bloody eyebrow where he’d got whacked by a swinging wire strop.

We had a good start, sailing with NE winds on the beam and reached the Gulf Stream late that night. It was choppy as expected, with wind against the current, and we were glad we hadn’t left two days earlier as some boats had in much stronger winds. With all the rolling motion, the gaff was swinging around quite wildly and at some point in the night, the 1” thick bolt attaching it to the mast ‘saddle’ sheared. I realized we weren’t sailing quite so well but it took a while to work out exactly what had happened. So with Dave barely awake, we had to drag down the mainsail, which didn’t want to come down, and motor-sail for the rest of the night. In the calm light of the morning, Dave replaced the bolt and, for extra security, he welded the swiveling part of the gaff jaws, which may have helped cause the breakage.

One thing that crossing the Gulf Stream achieved was a change of climate. Immediately the other side of it, the temperature warmed up and although we were only 100 miles from Beaufort (and no further south) we no longer needed to turn the heater on at all and could discard our thermals at night.

Despite the balmy weather, it still took us a good three days to get into the rhythm (and motion) of life at sea. Your body takes a while to adjust to the constant motion of the boat and especially the broken sleep regime – having to get out of bed not once but twice in the night and be alert for the next 3 hours does not come naturally! The morning sunrise was always a welcome sight, filling us with renewed energy for the day. Several mornings we were treated to visits from pods of dolphins coming to play in the bow wave, a sight guaranteed to put you in a good mood.

One of the boats that left at the same time was in radio contact with Herb, a dedicated ex-cruiser who spends all his free time studying the weather and giving daily routing advice to cruising boats all over the Atlantic. His advice was to take advantage of the light conditions at this latitude and make as much easting as possible, motoring if necessary, rather than beating into the stronger trade winds further south. We followed this advice and zigzagged our way towards Bermuda. The winds were very light (Force 2-3) and varied from NE to E to ESE. We sailed whenever we could but most of the time ended up motoring or motor-sailing. The wind was so light and we simply couldn’t point hard enough, ending up sailing almost due north or south at a measly 2-3 knots, so back on with the engine.

We finally managed to get our weatherfax system working on this trip, which meant that we could receive daily printouts of the current sea conditions, surface pressure and forecast winds for the following three days. This was immensely useful and helped us to understand Herb’s sometimes confusing advice.

On about our fifth day out, Dave woke me after his first night watch with the news that there was a strange flashing blue/white/red light ahead. It had been there for an hour or more and he figured it might be a police helicopter - we were within 200 miles of Bermuda by this stage.
A close look through binoculars clearly showed this wierd light pulsing red white and blue and revealed two similar lights a bit further ahead. After reading too many books on the Bermuda Triangle and alien abductions, my mind started racing. I couldn’t see any other signs of weird activity but altered course ten degrees to avoid them, just in case…
It just so happened that a ship was passing within a mile or two of us (the first we’d seen that day) and I toyed with the idea of calling him on VHF to ask his opinion, or at least let somebody know the situation in case we mysteriously vanished in the night.
Thank goodness I didn’t. After forcing myself to think rationally, I noticed the lights didn’t seem to be moving at all in relation to the surrounding stars. I got out a chart of the night sky and – guess what? The main flashing light was ‘Sirius’, one of the brightest stars in the sky, and the other two were part of a neighbouring constellation!

Towards Bermuda, the winds swung more SSE and we were able to sail finally, but only at speeds of 3-4 knots in an easterly direction. The opposite tack would have taken us SW and lost us all our easting. Still, it felt good to turn the engine off for a while. Once near the right longitude for the BVIs, we turned south, motoring into the light winds, leaving Bermuda behind us and heading in the right direction at last.

The theory is that as you head south, you slowly come into the trade wind belt, with steady winds out of the east, enabling you to sail due south until you hit the BVIs….

For the first three days, we had very light winds from the SE so in practice, we did a lot of motor-sailing. This allows you to head almost into the wind, the sails acting not only to steady your rolling motion but giving you extra drive from the generated wind. With a speed of 6 knots and the boat heeling over nicely, it was tempting to think there was enough wind to sail, but nine times out of ten, the minute we switched off the engine, hoisted the staysail and bore away a little, we would discover that there really wasn’t much wind at all and we were heading way too far west at snail’s pace. So, back on with the engine, down with the staysail, sheet everything in tight again and carry on as before until the next attempt!

Just when the wind came almost easterly and we were finally able to sail, a front from a big storm system further north began bearing down on us and Herb’s advice was to keep our speed up and stay ahead of it to avoid contrary winds. In other words, keep motoring to stay in good sailing winds. Hmm, something ironic there…

Finally, at 25° N, we reached the trade winds. The day before, the wind was from the right direction (NE), but each time we got sailing, the Force 3 breeze – our bare minimum to sail – dwindled to a Force 2 or less. After two fitful attempts to sail, we ended up rolling in the swell with the sails slapping from side to side, so we took them all down for some peace and motored through the night. After an early morning downpour, the sky cleared, the sun came out and the wind picked up from the east – perfect sailing conditions! But Dave was catching up on sleep and I had to wait two frustrating hours before I could wake him and get the sails up. Then we were off!

We sailed for two days and two nights without any lull in the wind – it blew a steady Force 3 to 4, slowly coming round from E to ESE. This meant we were hard on the wind to keep a southerly course but on this tack once the sails are set, the boat steers itself. Without any need for manual steering or starting the generator for the power-hungry autopilot, night watches were a doddle.

And then came the squalls…
The nightly routine began with a heavy rain shower just after sundown followed by several more throughout the night. Each squall brought stronger winds but from a more southerly direction, so although we sailed faster, we were forced to head in a SW direction. Then the wind would die away completely after each one, slowly picking up again and coming back to the normal ESE direction. So a lot of opening and closing of wheelhouse windows and doors during the downpours and constant changes of course with each wind shift.

By early morning, the squalls seemed to have exhausted themselves, but so did the wind, and we usually started the day with a few hours of motor-sailing while we waited for the winds to settle back in.

We were keeping up an average speed of 3.5 to 4 knots, which was rather disappointing as we thought we were going faster than that. The answer came via Herb’s weather net one afternoon – we were slap bang in the middle of a 1- 1 ½ knot northgoing counter-current. We couldn’t sail any harder to the wind to escape it to the east and if we headed west, we would have trouble getting back our easting so we simply had to put up with it.

By this stage, the boat that left Beaufort at the same time as us was 2 days ahead, able to sail much faster than us in light winds. Two more boats were catching up from behind so we listened in to their weather forecasts instead! Generally ESE winds, 10-15 knots.

As our plotted course crept down the chart towards the BVIs, the first signs of land started to appear. First, a beautiful white long-tailed tropicbird circled the boat, then a small (unidentified – sorry John!) garden bird came for a brief visit. He flew within two feet of me, chirping cheerfully as he looked me in the eye, then skipped to the top of the mizzen and clung on to the peak halyard ropes for a few hours rest before disappearing again. Also, ships started to reappear in the distance, the first one taking us by surprise after so many days of empty horizons.

When the distance to go fell under 200 miles, we started trying to work out our time of arrival. At speeds of 4 to 5 knots, it seemed destined to be at night. This is not recommended by the pilot books, due to numerous unmarked reefs and small islands, so we had a choice – either speed up or slow down for a daytime entry. Speeding up would mean using the engine, which seemed a shame since we were at last sailing nicely. Also, it would mean arriving on a Sunday and being liable for ‘overtime fees’ when checking in. So we made the obvious choice to slow down and arrive on Monday morning.

Obvious under normal conditions, that is, but during our first night of enforced 3 ½ knot speed limit, the winds then decided to pick up to Force 4-5. We had already forgone the topsail and jib, but were still hammering along at 5, 6 even 7 knots. It was so exhilarating at first that we went along with it, but soon realized that unless we could keep it up for the whole way, we would be arriving just after sunset, with six hours before the moon came up to light the way. Not a wise move on entering a new and unlit reef-strewn anchorage.

So having spent the whole time trying to sail faster, we found ourselves with a nice bit of wind and trying to slow down. This was probably the most frustrating part of the whole trip, making constant adjustments to the sails to spill wind but keep enough in them to do 3.5 knots and no more. With the wind constantly picking up and shifting slightly, this was a never-ending task and we ended up with the sails flogging a lot. The boat was itching to go faster and at the enforced slow speed wallowed horribly in the 8-10 foot swells. The crew were disheartened as we were wasting our only day of ‘proper’ trade winds and the chance to sail at 7+ knots. Particularly when the winds didn’t drop off early morning as usual…

Anyway, it was too late to change our plan so we took the main down and spent the following day and night sailing at around 3 knots under staysail alone. The wind was erratic, one minute a Force 3 and the next minute gusting Force 5 or more, making for an uncomfortable motion on board. We were somewhat heartened by the appearance of five dolphins around the bows in late afternoon. They didn’t stay and play for long, we reckon even they were disgusted by our poor speed!
However, we timed our landfall perfectly, just over ten miles off land as the sun came up. It was great to see the morning clouds uncover to reveal the Virgin Islands dead ahead. The wind had eased off by this stage and with speed no longer an issue, we covered the last stretch at 4-5 knots under jib, staysail and mizzen. We got hit by one last big squall as we approached Jost van Dyke. The boat heeled right over and accelerated to 7 knots (with no mainsail) as the island almost disappeared behind the heavy rain.

Then the sun came back out and we motored the last mile up-wind to the anchorage. It was bliss to drop the hook, and just to sit in peace without having to compensate the movements of the boat. We haven’t had a bad trip all in all, the lack of wind was frustrating but much preferable to boats further north who we heard via Herb were battling storm-force conditions. Even in the light winds, we managed to sail about half of the time.

So here we are in Paradise again. Before the day was out, we were all checked in with Customs, the suncovers were up, the hammock was strung up and we were soaking up the tropical atmosphere, the last 15 days almost forgotten.