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The Americas

October 2016 - August 2017
A 302-day adventure by Richard Read more
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  • Richard EllisThe Americas
    Day 43

    Norman and Peter Islands, BVI

    November 29, 2016 in British Virgin Islands ⋅ ⛅ 28 °C

    Our first sail was to Norman Island. We picked up a mooring in the lee of the island and were swimming in the deepest blue before even cutting the engine. Glorious, warm, deep blue sea. The boys were ecstatic and spent the rest of the day exploring the area underwater. Turtles, sharks, stingrays, lobsters, fish, coral and underwater caves were amoungst the delights to be observed below the surface.

    Our first night on the boat was pleasant, disrupted only by banging of halyards and swinging of the boom - somewhat highlighting the amatuer cruisers we are.

    The next morning, our soon-to-be-routine pre-breakfast engine start proved difficult. So difficult, in fact, the engine never started. Our minds raced back to the charter briefing; battery switches, ignition switches, choke, throttle. No dice. For the life of us, we could not get the thing to start. We had been given a spare battery but no chords to connect it. Such is island life. We tore the boat apart and pooled our brains and came up with nothing. Our emergency phone to the charter company was used on the first day.

    To make matters worse, it was a Sunday and our mate Dave was at church with his family. Woops, sorry Dave. Dave took our apology and continued his morning at church and then lunch with his family, as any decent man would. He also took the family out on the boat for his afternoon rescue mission. Good on you Dave!

    Much to our surprise, Dave managed to start the engine with a new battery and a few hits of the terminals with the back end of a crescent. How embarrassing. Somewhat dumbfounded at the simplicity of the solution, we thanked him and putted off the mooring and onwards to Peter Island. Little did we know this would be the first of many situations with which we bonded with our power source.

    Peter offered shelter from the wind, but the swell was uncomfortable. Boys being boys we put up with it and enjoyed the teetering daylight with a swim and feed. Beautiful!

    Now I know you'll guess it. Morning two engine start was no better success. Furthermore, yesterday's blue skies had faded to dark clouds and persistent showers, and a swinging breeze had made our anchorage indesirable and rather risky. We spent the morning unconvinced that the batteries were flat and conjured several solutions to gain maximum power for an engine start. With no success and an impending rocky outcrop to leeward, we opted for emergency phone call number two. Now Dave had already told us he didn't have a tender, and his only way of rescue was to use whichever charter boat was available at the time. Given our distance from the marina, one would expect Dave to be rather ticked off having to spend a good part of the day just getting out to us. Oh no, au contraire. He was delighted to see us! Or so it seemed! Hindsight tells me it was a nervous front but I'll give him the benefit of the doubt.

    A fifth battery got the engine started. After a myriad of 'before and after' battery readings, engine starts and wiring scenarios we managed to convince Dave that it'd be best to have an electrician look at it. So we weighed anchor and motored into the sunset and impending darkness. The wind died off to nothing at dusk which made for a stunning return to a well lit Tortola.

    The next day started with the electrician banging on the cabin window at 7am, unannounced. Dazed and disoriented I welcomed him aboard and roused the crew. He, like all Tortolans, seemed cheery and confident. He explained to us the situation, offered the solution and promised to return at midday with the missing parts.

    Midday came and went and no sign of the electrician. Dave, who was already a little out of his depth, kindly offered us a car for the afternoon (to get us out of his hair). We obliged, and set off to explore Tortola and top up groceries. Upon return, our mate Dave was thrilled to see us. 'Look', he said, 'I'll show you. Everything is rrrrready to go.' He explained that the electrician had never returned and he'd dragged another yachtie from a nearby boat, who looked like he had some know-how, onto our boat to resolve the problem. The yachtie had disagreed with the electricians wiring and rewired the system for a third time and explained the issues to Dave. Unfortunately, after hearing Dave out, we were not convinced that we had resolved the fundamental problem being that the house batteries drained the starter batteries.

    So we agreed on a solution and wired it accordingly, and Dave got us a third, brand new, 1000USD battery. We also requested a voltmeter and a spare starter battery so Dave will (hopefully) never have to rescue us again. We're now three days in and haven't spoken to Dave. Watch this space.

    Jools has taken to the engineer's role like a duck to water, monitoring and recording our battery juice four hourly.

    You might question why we don't just man up and use the sails. A valid question. The only problem is a fifty foot ship, loaded to the gunnels, takes a while to respond to a sail. Not easy when your moorings leave you four feet clear of the bottom and 15 yards clear of your neighbour, and the marina requires you to dance with the bottom to get to your slip. No thanks.

    In case I made it sound like getting stranded in the BVIs was a bad thing, let me set the record straight with a few images...    Read more

  • Richard EllisThe Americas
    Day 44

    More Peter and Salt Island, BVI

    November 30, 2016 in British Virgin Islands ⋅ ⛅ 28 °C

    Anxious to cross the Sir Francis Drake Channel by dusk, we cast the lines and motored off at ferocious pace, pumping precious volts into our brand new power supply. Our planned anchorage was Great Harbour on Peter Island. Calm and enclosed, and packed full of boats, we nestled up close to the beach and dropped anchor. There were plenty of available moorings but at $30 per night we were happy to place our bets on the sandy bottom. The only disturbance that night was a school of 70cm fish who appeared to be so fascinated with the stern of the boat they forgot which way up to swim. No rods. Too bad.

    The next morning we took the dinghy to a nearby dive site. We'd managed to secure an excellent deal on dive gear for the full charter - a good swindle on Scotts behalf. Diving in warm water is effortless. No wetsuits, gloves or boots. No catch bags nooses or torches. Just shorts and mask. Okay, and maybe some fins and a dash of air, but you get my gist. It was diving without admin, just the way it should be.

    The ocean floor beheld one of many shipwrecks in the area. Fearless, the name of the old mine sweeping ship, was largely intact and brimming with wildlife. Notably out of place was a toilet mounted adjacent the cannon on the foredeck which provided great entertainment giving a whole new meaning to the phrase 'bombs away'. Who thought men couldn't multitask?

    With the wind swinging south during the day we meandered eastward in search of an afternoon and hopefully overnight anchorage. Lunch took place during a spot of sailing but a calm and sandy anchorage was becoming more and more elusive. Eventually we gave in and moored up almost on the beach in Machioneers Bay, Salt Island. The rest of the afternoon played out just like any other day: plenty of swimming and snorkeling, a windsurf, a spot of exercise on the beach all washed down with a cold beer and a hot fajita. Bellisimo!

    The boys are starting to settle into a cruisers routine. Here's what a typical day is beginning to look like:
    7-8am wake up, followed eagerly by a bowl of cereal and a book read. A quick dip (read: shower) and some house admin before firing the engine and setting off to a new destination.
    The rest of the day plays out with all kinds of marine based activities, with a quick break for lunch and maybe a lazy afternoon read. The days' activities usually culminate with Scott free diving the anchor to check it's set for the night.
    Evenings are lazy deck time as the sun sets quickly and early. Cold beverages a must.
    A wee planning session is usually thrown in the mix and the occasion is seized to voice our desired activities or destinations.
    Dinner comes when the hungriest person succumbs to cooking. This is usually chased with a game or two, a read, an episode of Limitless and a boat pack down. Tough life. Absolutely loving it!    Read more

  • Richard EllisThe Americas
    Day 47

    Virgin Gorda, BVI

    December 3, 2016 in British Virgin Islands ⋅ ☀️ 27 °C

    Once close to becoming the capital of the BVIs, Virgin Gorda is both idyllic and functional. Creeping up to the western end in some form of motor/sail (light winds for a change!), we were welcomed by golden sandy beaches, seperated intermittently by giant broken boulders. Boats dotted the waterline and littered snorkelers all the way to shore. 'The Caves' is one of the BVIs must-dos, and it's apparent popularity proved so. Further exploration came in the form of snorkeling, wading, and climbing as we worked our way along the shoreline, over, under and around the granite monstrosities. Boys being boys, we had to climb the biggest boulder. Not an easy feat given the size and smoothness of the boulders. Perseverance paid off and we topped out on our fourth attempt to witness a spectacular view! Motivated only by the impending fall of the hot day's sun, we splashed back into the sea and swam back to the boat. Our next night's anchorage was just off Spanishtown, where we learnt our lesson on anchoring next to a busy channel.

    After a rocky night's sleep (lesson learned), Spanishtown fulfilled our food, compressed air and wifi needs. But only just in the nick of time as we raced back to the mothership to beat the approaching onslaught of tropical rain.

    Our next destination was just around the point. Savanna Bay is a beautiful series of golden bays tucked inside a subtle and dangerously shallow outer reef. Navigating with caution under a gloomy sky, we found the unmarked channel  (read: missed the reef) and dropped anchor on a sandy sea floor in the rain.

    The kindles came out in force as the boys prepared to hunker down for the afternoon. Little did we know what was brewing. The boys have stopped growing and haven't stopped eating. So the energy surplus on offer after a day couped up could be measured in Megawatts. Jools offered a proposal to balance the situation which sounded candid. Sprint endurance training on the beach. Once an avid decathlete, now a dwindling twenty-something has-been, Jools has a lot to offer on the subject of keeping fit. Naively, we headed ashore.

    An extensive warm up should have raised warning flags for what was to come. Before we knew it, we were hurtling down the beach at a competitive pace, set after set. The short breaks felt shorter and shorter as our bodies screamed for oxygen and rammed lactic acid down our fast twich fibres. What a scene. Rolling about in the shallows, moving only for relief from mosquitos and biting ants, the recovery wouldn't come fast enough. When the dust settled, there wasn't a man standing. Lolling about in the shallows, gasping for air I was struggling to remember the last time the body hurt so much. Jools' work outs are not for the feint hearted. Lesson learned. The man himself could hardly get back to the boat so I don't feel that bad.

    Savanna bay proved to be out calmest anchorage yet. Given the privacy of the whole beach to ourselves and a splendid nights sleep, we have our sights set on returning - when the wind blows us that way.

    Waking to blue skies and 15 knot easterlies, the day was there to be seized. Conveniently our boat is equipped with numerous guides for the surrounding areas, including a dive guide which contains more dives than you could poke a stick at! Scott has been maticulously selecting dives based on proximity, and has yet to miss a mark. Although, we came close. Leaving Savanna bay for the Dog Islands, I made a slight navigational error. As we sailed to, and around the Seal Dog Islands, under a cloud of confusion, we failed to get our bearings. A correction from the crew and mile or two later we found our spot between the Dogs. Another spectacular dive teeming with life and the ever elusive lobster!

    This dive however, we discovered the down side of diving sans wetsuit. Getting down and dirty with the ocean floor, and tucking into cracks and swim-throughs, we enevitably had some contact with our surroundings. New to coral reefs and unseasoned in the naked dive, we surfaced in a little pain. Stained fingers, cuts, grazes and burns were discovered post dive and treated appropriately (thanks Pauline!). Amazing that after all the diving I have done I never considered the protective qualities of the wetsuit and booties.

    The afternoon held time for a few more activities. Another fantasic sandwich (baking our own bread now!), a read, another long snorkel and a mosy past Richard Branson's Island into the tranquil beauty of the Gorda Sound. Spoilt for choice on anchorages, we hooked in just east of Saba rock for the night. Jools dropped anchor and Scott descended to a hefty 60 feet for his regular anchor check. I sat relaxed at the helm. All important jobs.

    Saba rock is about as big as the the property at 51 Windmill. At low tide. It occupies a narrow gap between Prickly Pear Island and The Bitter End creating two shallow channels, through which the brave mariner can exit Gorda Sound into a shallow and coral-head studded Eustatia Sound. As any good rock should, Saba hosts a waterside bar, primed for dinghy entry, a boutique hotel and a few slips for the well-off shallow draft boat owner. Now I've never had much faith in my body clock, but the day's thirst had us pull up at that bar at the strike of happy hour. The cocktails flowed, the sun set, the fish were fed and then like flicking a switch we scrambled off the island to evade a relentless mosquito assault. Hopefully no Zika!!    Read more

  • Richard EllisThe Americas
    Day 50

    Anagada, BVI

    December 6, 2016 in British Virgin Islands ⋅ ⛅ 28 °C

    End of the chain.

    11 days ago we anchored in the south western most anchorage in the BVI. Today we are safely anchored in 10 feet of water at the north eastern most edge of the island chain. The coral island of Anagada. To say we've seen it all would be a lie. We've dabbled in and out of anchorages along the south of Sir Francis Drake Channel and plan to set sail tomorrow to dabble in what the northern coast of Tortola (and associated islands) has to offer.

    Anagada is isolated. The feeling comes not from the distance from the mainland (It's a mere 10nm or so), but rather the exposure to the elements. Maxing out at a mere 20 feet above sea level, Anagada provides protection from only the swell, as the trades rip over the desolate island and straight through a leeward anchorage. Furthermore, the shallow grade of the island extends into the seaward front at a similar angle, creating treacherous shallows, and nerve racking coral breaks. Our first confrontation with such shallows occurred in the 'channel' where the sounder pinged 6.2 feet. 0.2 feet more than our draft. The nights anchorage peaked at 10 feet as we watched the boat swing over coral heads inches below the keel. Lucky for a low tidal range.

    Perfecting our anchorage to ensure a sound nights sleep became somewhat of an activity. Snorkelling the perifery of the anchorage allowed us to find the deepest water. After agreeing the boat was 15 or so yards off centre, the boys set to moving the anchor to the ideal spot. The weight belts went on and with anchor and chain in hand, and a deep breath in body, we were running the anchor along the sea floor. Fair to say this won't be the first time, I reckon.

    Update: we hit that coral head on the second night. Twice. Shhhh don't tell. It was a gentle bang just as we were drifting off to sleep. Then another an hour later. Still confused as to how it happened, but at one point our sounder read 3 feet so we must have been swinging over something gnarly! Maybe next time we'll find a bit more depth...

    Our exploration of Anagada was waylayed by the oncoming of holiday syndrome. Nearly two weeks in, our bodies have begun to adapt (or react?) to boat life. I'm casually sleeping back to back 10 hour nights, with plenty of daily activity but very little intensity. My walking legs, trained (solely) in two years of carless Sydney streets already feel weak at the sight of a decent length footpath. Not even a strong cup of Joe can get the fibres buzzing. So when the first touch of land was proposed as a jog, motivation dwindled. After some persuasion, a short dinghy trip and a touchdown onto the softest sand the world has to offer, I was not ready to endure 7-8km of endless white sand running. If only I'd adventured with less active people.

    The next day we hit the roads as wreckless hoons on scooters. Probably not dissimilar to a scooter you would hire in any developing country, these deathtraps were astoundingly unsafe. Flat bald tyres, a permanent left steer bias, no electronics and questionable brakes; I've never felt so grateful for a helmet prior having a crash. Pot holes, cattle and goat were also amoungst the safety hazards on our radar. The island felt largely abandoned aside from a small tourist industry which was fed by a respectively large lobster industry. Just one of the half dozen restaurants on the island would feed 65 people lobster that night. At $40-60 per main we'll wait to catch our own thanks. However, it would've been rude to say no to a few beers at the bars on the water. So we squeezed that in to our hectic days schedule and watched the sun go down. Then we remembered that we needed light to see the reefs on the way back to the boat, so that made for an interesting trip.    Read more

  • Richard EllisThe Americas
    Day 52

    Jost van Dyke, BVI

    December 8, 2016 in British Virgin Islands ⋅ ⛅ 26 °C

    Jost, yost, joast, yoast, host...whatever. Can we just call it JVD?

    With this destination barely visible on the horizon, newly self-appointed Captain Scott took control of the ship as we departed Anagada. To prove to us and himself, that he deserved his title, he would be making all of today's decisions on the boat.

    With a four to five hour sail up our sleeve, Jools and I were happy to sit back and let Scott do the work. But Scott had other ideas. Happily sitting at the helm, with the helm on auto pilot, and reading a novel, Scott had capitalised on his position. Jools and I were put to work, fulfilling all of Scotts 'commands' including baking him some bread. Now he knows the power of the Captain title, I suspect we'll be seeing him there more regulary. Unless of course, there's a mutiny.

    We spent the afternoon messing around on a tiny island off JVD. This include me getting buried in sand before being assaulted by an unusually large incoming wave, much to the hilarity of everybody around. Free diving practice took place followed by an early morning explore the next day.

    JVD was short lived by another battery failure in Great Harbour. We were very unhappy boys, considering we made a real effort to get them charged the previous day. Our spare battery was put to use, twice, and the second was warning enough to send her home and call an(other) electrician.

    Writing now from base camp, the fourth electrician has come and gone. Another comical character. After tearing the wiring apart, with an aura of confidence and a touch of blasphemy, he took to the altenator. A factor previously overlooked by his counterparts. Finding and fixing faults at every turn, he insisted he explained himself in every step, which left us confident in his works. Until he hailed good bye with a 'should be ok'...continue watching this space.    Read more

  • Richard EllisThe Americas
    Day 55

    St John, USVI

    December 11, 2016 on the U.S. Virgin Islands ⋅ 🌬 27 °C

    New boat, new country, soon to be new crew...

    We awoke the next morning with a feeling of confidence in our new electronics. However, Dave had slept on it (and likely consulted his boss) and arrived bright and early in good spirits. After explaining the electricians doings from the night before, Dave wholly overlooked all factors and announced his predetermined decision: we're getting a new (read: different) boat.

    Mixed feelings welled in as we gratefully accepted. Anne's Turn is a 2005 Hunter 40, newer and 10 feet shoter than our previous ship, Windseeker. We were happy to leave any potential unresolved problems behind, but had a sneaking suspicion that we would miss the luxury of space, lots of space. Especially with the impending arrival of her highness, Felicity.

    Further inspection reinforced this. Anne is well equipped for blue water sailing and live-aboard cruising. Perfect for us. So well equipped in fact, there is almost no room for anything else. She's now well packed, with a bathroom full of travel bags and windsurf gear, and we've yet to put her highness aboard and do the food shop. Hmmm. The good news is that so far, Anne's batteries have offered little concern. She's a huge step up in manoeuvrability, handling, speed and ease of sail. Truely a delight in the water. A good result to date, fingers crossed.

    Yesterday we, all three of us, experienced our first migration by 'private vessel'. Customs in JVD, BVI was just as expected. A man in uniform sat behind a well used desk in a quaint two storey police building. No computers, no phones, just paper and stamps. Conversation was nil, as I handed over our papers and got more grunting than Grant himself on a day of DOMS. After paying our dollar (literally), and 40 cents for paperwork, receiving no passport stamps or formal emmigration documents, I left a nervous man. USVI here we come.

    A short sail later and a salute to no man's land we arrived to a heavily congested Cruz Bay at St John's island. Now we're getting used to anchoring in some tight spots, but this was something else. The bay was divided in three sections by two well marked channels. The northern most anchorage was well above our draft, and the northern channel left us under a foot clear, so we were already playing with fire. The other two anchorages had back to back private moorings which covered almost all of the available anchorage. Oh, and the whole bay was enclosed by a reef which plummeted to 60+ feet behind. After intially being booted off a spare (private) mooring we snagged, we squeezed into a narrow gap on the edge (read: in) the channel. What a polava.

    US customs, as expected, was the complete opposite of BVI customs. Four enclosed booths, with computers, camera's, fingerprint scanning and of course wonderful, wonderful AC. The only thing different to mainland US customs were the staff. Apparently local, they toned down the intimidation of a mainland official and for a moment I almost felt welcome. We passed in with our existing US visas like a cool breeze through the open hatch. Let's hope clearing out is just as simple.

    USVI and BVI are geographically intertwined. The water border weaves around islands like spaghetti on a plate, and it's not unusual to be checking a chart to determine an island's nationality. Despite this, the cultures differ dramatically. America is alive and well in the USVIs, with fast food chains, obnoxious stereotypical american tourists, tipping, sales tax and of course - the american flag. On every building. Just in case you forgot you where you were. The harbours a more developed, more congested and almost entirely private, we soon found out. Fortunately we found a less congested anchorage for the night and were able to witness an incredible sunset!

    Red Rock is supposed to be one of the main harbours in the area. We approached in the mid morning, after a nights sleep beside the pizza boat (fantastic idea). An 18kt tail wind ensured a swift entry into the harbour (even without sails), and the rising chop ensured Jools recieved his daily beating (Jools versus boat is an ongoing saga). His back is looking like a battlefield after being tossed across the kitchen into an immovable stove. One hand for the boat, lesson learned. Oh and if he tries to blame me for it he's having a laugh. I digress - we couldn't find a mooring or a slip even remotely accessible by land. We had no choice but to moor in the wind and chop, until we found all the moorings were private. So we anchored, and it dragged. And we narrowly got out of a sticky situation before taking a risk on a mooring again. Fortunately whilst enquiring about moorings, a lovely lady offered is her friend's, which we enthusiastically accepted, and remoored. Meanwhile, Scotts knot tying had let him down. Heading aft to get in the dinghy proved problematic when the dinghy wasn't there. In a strike of good fortune, it had washed up onto the beach amd was retrievable with a short swim of shame. Bowlines only from now I'm guessing. Oh and all that was just to get ashore so we could get some food.    Read more

  • Richard EllisThe Americas
    Day 56

    St Thomas, USVI

    December 12, 2016 on the U.S. Virgin Islands ⋅ 🌙 26 °C

    Wind. Blustery breeze.

    Hunkering down under the aeroplanes in the flattest, most protected water available. Coincidently a very nice spot! We're playing it safe until with winds drop back down below 20kts, at least for now.

    We've picked up the princess, she's alive and buzzing at the warm weather and clear blue water. To top it off, our anchorage happened to be host to numerous families of turtles, who popped up all over the bay, and forced us into countless impulsive swims. We also got the windsurfer up and running over these two days. Believe it or not, everyone our boat can windsurf - how's that??!

    It was great to be waiting on the weather. In a nice location we just had time to burn. Everyone set their own clocks and did their activities as they pleased. Not that we were ever on a hectic schedule, but I'm sure you know what I mean.

    I'm going to take the liberty here to offer a little insight to the weather. Jump to the two paragraphs if you don't like weather. So I bet you're thinking we get sun all day and moon all night, right? Wrong. We're riddled with showers, all the time. Although the sun is shining for most of the day, it doesn't take good eyes to spot a darkening cloud on the horizon. Contrary to weather at home, these clouds arrive quickly and leave quickly, torrenting with rain. Squalls would be the best way to describe them, as the reliably bring wind, lot's of wind, and heavy downpours. Often, in less than a minute, they're gone. With five or six of these per day or per night, it's infuriating. Hatches open, washing out; hatches closed, washing in. And by washing I mean electronics. Close the hatches and the bot roasts. First world problems, I know.

    We're also sitting in the trades, so we reliably get easterly wind and swell. It makes for easy route planning. It also makes for easy guidebook writing, as authors need only provide guidance for one wind direction. And in the charting world, a western anchorage is a safe bet. With regard to the temperature. I've seen only 26 and 27 degrees since we got here. More consistency than Fraser's presence in class during his study in Otago (never).

    Yesterday we motored up to Great St James Island to get a better angle to attack St Croix in an Easterly breeze. During his evening anchor dive, Scott meandered over to a nearby rocky outcrop. With Felicity and I in tow, we stumbled across a massive crayfish in around 1m of water. The rest is history. Scott's appetite for hunting cray is enormous. No crack goes unsearched and no craycray goes unattacked (size pending of course). After wrestling this sucker out of it's (particularly small) hole, we realised that there was no other way back to the boat than swim. Furthermore, the shallow water was surging with the swell, and sea urchins littered the alcove. With both hands tied up with said fish, swimming was tough. Witnessing Scott get smashed on rocks, urchins and pricked by a fiesty crustacean was undoubtedly the highlight of my day. Felicity took her sweet time getting the dinghy as Scott's shallow injuries mounted. After an eternity she (the cray) was safe in the yacht and fed us four for dinner...with leftovers. A fantastic end to an otherwise uneventful day.

    As a little aside, who's reading my blog?? I literally have no idea who's reading this. A teacher, some time during my numerous years of education, told me I should tailor my words to my audience. Send us a like or a comment if you're reading and let me know what you want to read more about!!    Read more

  • Richard EllisThe Americas
    Day 58

    St Croix, USVI

    December 14, 2016 on the U.S. Virgin Islands ⋅ ⛅ 26 °C

    Biggest sail to date: 35nm.

    Perhaps the most hectic few days on the trip, St Croix has been a real roller coaster ride!

    The island itself pops up from the sea bed like a white man in Tokyo Square. The coastline is home to several stretches of underwater sheer cliffs, some over 2000 feet tall. The ocean floor is said to plummet to over 25,000 feet, making it the second deepest body of water in the world. A diving spectacle not to be missed. Unfortunately for us, it was not to be. Here's why:

    The sail itself was rather entertaining. Apparently our crew is not overly accustomed to a rolling sea. Whist making breakfast, Jools decided to embrace the force of the ocean and tackle myself, his cereal bowl and a box of cornflakes from the galley into the head. Not anticipating the force of a grown man's tackle resulted in the both of us dangling off the bathroom door covered in a pool of cornflakes, at the concerned hilarity of the others. Another loss for Jools in Jools vs Boat.

    Scott also provided further entertainment with the inevitable onset of seasickness. Forcing his cereal down over the space of around two hours, at a peak pace of three cheerios and two oats per spoonful, Scott couldn't help himself. The fire bucket quickly became the vomit bucket as Scott emptied the contents of his stomach repeatedly for the remainder of the voyage. These actions were cause for concern for the crew as we searched for a cool breeze and a steady horizon. Too late for the seasickness drugs...

    Christiansted Harbour is tucked in behind a reef providing a safe haven for boats. Shallow draft boats only it would seem. After scraping through the channels and narrowly avoiding unmarked shipwrecks, we finally found a spot to anchor. Flirting with the bottom seems to be a national passtime here - so many charted anchorages leave you less than three feet clear.

    Upon anchoring we discovered a major problem. A weld in our forestay bracket had sheared in the trip over. This had caused the deck of the boat to begin to tear from the hull, and effectively turn the front of the boat into a crocodile's mouth. Major problem. In fact, we were lucky to still have mast!

    As the sun set and we mulled our problem over with beer and sunset on the waterfront, our fate sunk in. Prior to even getting an inspection we could tell this was a major. We also began a fruitless search of alternative transport off the island. Literally, the only commercial transport off the island was by seaplane, which only allowed one carry on bag per person. I needn't remind you how much gear we have. We were screwed.

    The next morning the admin began. After a myriad of phone calls and internet searches we finally found someone to take a look at the boat. A bloke named George at a nearby marina was our saving grace. Now George had just been shot after an altercation over an outstanding bill, and was currently operating on just three hours sleep, as he had us know. He seemed short fused so we trod carefully, we couldn't blow our only opportunity. Eventually, Jools found some common ground, literally, in Scotland and got George on our side.

    He made room for us on the fuel dock and inspected the boat immediately. He deemed it unsailable almost instantly (as we had expected). Great. We immediately consulted with the charter company and it was agreed the boat would be taken out and fixed in St Croix and it would not be ready until the new year...not good.

    We still had the option of resuming our charter on Windseeker - we were assured she was fixed - but she was in Tortola and we were about as far from Tortola as you can get...not even the same country!

    We spent the whole day trying to resolve this problem. Everyone on the island was friendly but nobody had a clue what they were talking about. Ferries do exist, ferries don't exist. Planes leave all the time, planes never leave. Try this place, this place has closed. How confusing and frustrating...could this be the end of our trip?

    Just before dark we had all had our wits end. We were seriously stumped and had resorted to beginning to consume our beer supply - we had to lighten the load somehow! Our only option was to fly two people back to St Thomas. Clear customs, check into BVI by ferry, taxi to the boat, stock her up, wait three days for the wind to settle down, sail six hours to St Croix, reclear US customs, pick up the other two with all the gear, check out and sail back to BVI. It was at five days worth of travel and transport the two of us would do alone. the other two would be twiddling their thumbs in the Caribbean heat...

    As we sat there and prepared for the worst, a bloke walked down our dock, notably lost. We sparked a conversation and after some typical boaties chat we discovered he was sailing his boat to Tortola at 8.30am the next day. We all exchanged shooting looks. After probing as to his crew carrying capacity (and explaining our conundrum) he insisted we join him and his crew for the journey and that all of our stuff (ALL our stuff!) wouldn't be a problem. Utterly dumbfounded at the perfect convenience of the opportunity, we gratefully accepted. What a stroke of luck (at last)!

    Craig and his boat Cheeky Monkey would be our ticket out. Funnily enough, Cheeky Monkey is also the name of Lou's old boat in Oconomowoc. Coincidence?

    Panic mode ensued as we frantically tried to pack up the boat, all the gear, all the food, reload Cheeky Monkey, clear customs and make arrangements for Anne's turn...it was 5pm and we were leaving first thing the next day!

    We ferried our gear to Cheeky Monkey that night (many dinghy trips...thanks guys) and got to know the crew over a beer or two (okay, three). They were in the process of rigging brand new sails, and were headed to Tortola for a yacht race on the Saturday. To make this incredible situation even more ridiculous, they were short of crew, I had recent experience in racing 40 footers and all of us happened to be willing to race. Furthermore, they were headed first to customs (where we needed to go) and then planned on spending the next night in Nanny Cay, a short dinghy ride from where Windseeker was currently berthed. So the deal was sealed and we were all very excited for what the next few days would bring. I am still struggling to find words to describe the astoundingly bittersweet contrast of this situation, and how luckily it came about.

    Up at the crack the next morning, we devoured the remainder of our refridgerated goods; ham, egg, avo, cheese and onion wraps. After faffing around at customs (seriously, those guys are on a different planet) and dropping off Anne's Turn, we headed out to Cheeky Monkey and began our voyage home - very grateful to be leaving our problems behind and reinforcing the wise decision to charter and not buy. The voyage was fantastic! A motley crew from all walks - a pilot, a mechanic, and two nurses - all ending up in St Croix for the island lifestyle. The beers and rum flowed and the tales of diving, fishing and sailing escalated as the boat ploughed onward. We even got a visit from the local dolphins. Later in the afternoon, Jason caught a fairly decent sized Mahi mahi on the troll and painted the cockpit red with blood whilst filleting it. He was the happiest man I've seen in a while! I should mention we were carrying a full rig in around 20 kts breeze (a hefty heel) and the bloke was half cut and filleting a fish. What a legend. As we arrived in calmer waters, the boat was heading for disarray: seasickness had painted the stern, rum and ginger lined the cabin and cockpit and a few of the boys were heading downhill at the mercy of the dreaded 'boat pour'.

    Tortola brought another ordeal with customs, eventually resolved with nothing but a smile and some warm words.

    An invitation was extended our way for dinner (said fish) and a race brief, so we hurriedly dinghied our gear from boat to boat. Unable to get a cab to the restaurant, the right thumb scored us a ride in another mariner's car - another stroke of luck. Jason had found us a restaurant and traded half his fish if they would serve us the other half. It was well and truely up there with the most delicious fish I've ever had. It was even good enough to stop us arguing the exorbitant price we paid for our own fish.

    Race day morning and our motley crew looked just that. Sifting around for bacon and gatorade, it was clear that having fun was going to be the priority on the water. The wind was, again blowing a solid 20+ with squalls getting up over 25 kts on a regular basis. Craig, backing up the tales of the previous day, again carried a full rig - and a full glass.

    It quickly be came evident that only four people on the boat knew how to race (myself and Felicity included). We also discovered, post start, that no one knew the course or the rules. Reassuringly, they also didn't know how to worry, and with that, we were set.

    The race weaved around the 'Drakes' - islands adjacent the Sir Francis Drake Channel - and threw hell at us. Squalls came and went like a horse on a carousel bringing stinging rain, powerful breeze and almost zero visibility. Testing conditions. On our approach to the final mark, a small tear in the headsail exploded, ripping leech to luff along the seam of a brand new sail. We couldn't believe it. With no spare headsails aboard we were finished. A really gutting finish to such a fun race. Dwelling in our misery was not an acceptable approach. We pick up our heads, cracked a beer and headed back to port.

    The afternoon was spend getting Windseeker ship shape. This didn't take long and we were soon on our way back to Norman Island for the night. We wined and dined aboard like old times sake before rejoining Cheeky Monkey at Willy T's - a floating bar in the anchorage. It got rowdy at a rate of knots and before we knew it we were bombing off the top deck. The next bright idea involved putting eight people in a dinghy and going to explore the nearby caves under the moonlit sky. Phosphlouresence glowed in the wake of the dinghy, before plunging into darkness inside the caves. Moving inward with our hands on the walls was cause for hilarity - coordination was impossible. It was a fantastic night with some fantastic new friends and we waved their sorry souls goodbye the next morning from a distance. They'd breathed life into our adventure with so much enthusiasm, we couldn't wait to continue the journey!    Read more

  • Richard EllisThe Americas
    Day 65

    Cooper Island, BVI

    December 21, 2016 in British Virgin Islands ⋅ 🌙 26 °C

    Christmas is coming and so are the crowds.

    Felicity has been safely dropped at the ferry and begins her five day voyage home. Glad that's not me! It's been great having her aboard despite the numerous cups of tea required throughout the day.

    We had a fantastic days diving the RMS Rhone, wreck on the western shore of Salt Island. It was a spectacle to behold. The ship has broken into four or five parts and contains numerous swim throughs. It is home to all kinds of coral and fish including the green sea turtle and many large lobster - luckily protected from their greatest predator (Scott) by national park regulations. To give you and idea of the size - the propellor is 18 feet in diameter! I'll get some go pro footage up when I can.

    Planning is now in full swing, as we nut out how to play Christmas, new year, guests and the remainder of our charter.

    In the undernews, the boys are diving 45 feet on a single breath. Scotty probably a little more. Soon we will be fish and never need land again...except for the wifi. Everybody loves a wifi party.    Read more

  • Richard EllisThe Americas
    Day 67

    Culebra Island, SVI

    December 23, 2016 in Puerto Rico ⋅ ⛅ 26 °C

    Super excited for what this country has to offer!

    Technically part of Puerto Rico and therefore US soil and US water, but not good enough to be mainland USA, but not far enough not to be, but still far enough not to be USVI which would require a new permit, but not a new passport stamp and new customs by phone and then not by phone and a registration number that isn't right but if you remove numbers it is... No wonder nobody could tell us the deal, because nobody knows. Customs won't even reboot their computer to complete the immigration process. I guess we'll wait and see how this plays out.

    Culebra is one of two Spanish Virgin Islands, located just east of Puerto Rico. The other being Vieques. The islands themselves have stuggled (figuratively) to ever be put on the map. Having little significance to Puerto Rico or anywhere else, perhaps their biggest blip in history is that they have been host to US bomb testing over recent years.

    As with all isolated islands unable to sustain any kind of industry, tourism has begun to take hold. And rightly so. Claimed to be the second best beach in the Caribbean, Playa Flemenco was a deilght! Anchoring on the opposite side of the headland (in an extremely calm anchorage) left us a short walk through an ex miltary explosive zone, and a hop through a chain link fence, short of the beach. We were greeted with a horrific tourist scene which we immediately avoided and found our spot on an endless expanse of white sand and tuquoise blue. Worth the walk and some.

    Culebra also played host to Jools' first cray. Questionably qualified at diving and diving in questionably marine reserve waters, Jools had an announcement. He was not to leave this trip without his first crayfish. So it was to be. Mere hours later, at the bottom of the decent, tucked under a rock no bigger than a doormat, sat two delectable treats. Hesistant at first, then slow off the mark, dinner looked a distant dream. However, with Wallace in his veins, the scot delivered on his ambition and treated the boys to two tasty treats. In fact he completed the dive with a third which, selflessly was discarded for take at a later date. Mark my words. Muy bien. Feliz navidad!

    Christmas eve was spent on the wifi at the Dinghy Dock, a restaurant on the waters edge, providing beers and dinner to the the local mariners. As we soon discovered, many locals live on their boats and use this as their local watering hole.

    Christmas day brought strong wind. Holed up in a womderfully calm anchorage in Esenada Honda, we were reluctant to leave. However, our sense of adventure got the better of us. We battened the hatches and weighed anchor, confronting the onslaught that lay ahead. Culebrita was our destination, a short hop from Culebra itself, but said to host the second most beautiful beach in the Greater Antilles. A must do.

    The waves were powerful, steepening up as they shoaled on the shallow water around us. We eventually made safe haven in paradise! Selflessly sharing the beach with only one other boat (who left a short time later) we basked in its beauty; rich white sand, foreshore lined with palm trees, and turquoise water! I whipped up a quick foccacia bread and Christmas lunch followed shortly after - a top ten sandwich in Jools' books. Not bad from boat rations!

    The afternoon flashed by. We went swimming, explored ashore, got coconuts, made cocktails, climbed the mast, consumed some frosty beers and played a few games. A shame we couldn't be with the families but it was undoubtedly the next best thing!

    We cruised back to Esenada Honda in the setting sun. A shallower, downwind route was much less rough and much faster getting us back to anchor in no time. With no fresh catch and no fresh meat, canned chicken was hardly going cut the mustard for a Chrissy dinner. Not being too happy about the situation, especially given my morning efforts to find a tasty bird, I absconded and turned my efforts to what we did have in good supply - beer and cocktails. Meanwhile, the boy's got creative. They made pastry and turned it into a pie, a massive chicken pie. It was definitely the first time I've had canned chicken pie for Christmas dinner but I tell you now - if I get any say in future Christmas dinners, it won't be the last!

    Boxing day brought the gift that Christmas day couldn't. During our excursions on Christmas, we sailed past a reef that looked too good to be true. The reef protruded from a headland on the mainland, curling around between shallow rocky outcrops and clusters of mangroves. Behind the reef was a shallow anchorage, accessible (just) by an equally shallow channel. All of this was exposed to 20+ kts of prevailing wind. If you haven't yet caught my drift, let me give you a hint with a math problem: lots of wind + very flat water + windsurfing gear + windsurfer(s) = ? Unlike a regular math problem there was more than one answer to this one: a heap of fun, fantastic windsurf session, tired arms, torn sail, happy boys...I could go on. Extremely glad we made use of the opportunity nature provided us with!!    Read more

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