Continued....

After a week up in Bequia, the Palms sailed “Altair” back to the southern Grenadines, and joined us in the windward anchorage in Mayreau. It’s pretty isolated, with only a couple of fishing shacks on the long white sand beach. The clear water is only 15 feet deep, so we can see all the underwater life. There’s a pretty good population of sea urchins, starfish and conch on the bottom.

There’s a really good book about a Canadian couple’s cruising experience in the Caribbean, “An Embarrassment of Mangoes.” One of the entertaining incidents in the book is the author’s husband’s attempt to extract conch from the shell and clean it. Armed with that description, Rick and Hudson decided to give it a try. The first part was easy. In no time they had dived and come up with four large conchs on which to practice the art of removing the live animal from the shell. We load up the appropriate tools—hammer, metal punch, long skinny filet knife, pliers and cutting board—and the four of us dinghy over to the nearby beach. You really don’t want to do this on your boat! Now the book explained what to do, but it also warned that it wasn’t that easy to do. After much consultation, the two guys decide where to use the hammer and metal punch to knock a hole in the shell. If you get the hole in just the right place, you can insert the filet knife and cut the conch’s attachment to the shell, making it easy to pull it out. Hudson starts hammering. Getting a hole is not that easy. Those shells are tough. Then Rick starts trying to find the conch with the filet knife. He meets with no success. A second hole is punched, but still no success. Hudson begins punching the second conch. After much poking around with the knife, he finally extracts the conch. What a weird looking creature. Julie is documenting the whole undertaking with her digital camera. I have come to the conclusion that what is needed is a sledge hammer to smash the shell into smithereens.

Rick is still working on the first conch, when a very tall young local man walks up on his way to do some fishing. He’s wearing a Bob Marley tee shirt and sports long dreadlocks. His first words are, “What you doin’ wit my conch?” Oh-Oh! Hudson and Rick smooze him up, and he quickly warms up, offering to show us how it’s done. His name is Rufus Alexander, and he’s a native of Mayreau. He picks up a conch and with two strikes of the hammer at the strategic point, a round hole appears. He slides in the knife and out pops the conch. Simple and fast. He demonstrates the process on the other two conchs. Then realizing that we are totally helpless (we had to ask him which part of the conch you cooked and which part you threw away), he then shows us how to clean the conch and pound it with the hammer to tenderize it, and even threw in a conch recipe while he was at it. We could have been bashing those conchs for another two hours had Rufus not showed up. We thanked him profusely, and he knocked knuckles with each of us in the Caribbean style, saying, “One love”, and then walked off to catch some fish.

We had the conch last night for dinner, simply marinated in lime juice, dipped in egg and cracker crumbs and lightly fried in oil. A little Crystal hot sauce added some spice. Absolutely delicious!

Tobago Cays-February 5th

We’re back in the Tobago Cays for a second visit. They’re absolutely beautiful—four small rocky islands surrounded by a horseshoe reef on the windward side. We’re anchored in 10’ of the prettiest, crystal clear turquoise water we’ve ever seen. There’s an even smaller, palm-covered island east of the reef, but otherwise nothing but open ocean all the way to Africa. The snorkeling is incredible, with coral heads set in the white sand bottom like jewels. They’re covered with interesting corals and sponges, and the abundance and variety of the reef fish is outstanding. Lynne says it’s like being in the middle of the most elaborate aquarium ever created. It’s a popular spot—I counted 60 boats the first time we were here, not so many this time. But it’s a large anchorage, so we don’t feel crowded. Hiking the short trails on three of the islands, we were treated to spectacular views of the anchorage, reefs and boats below.

Provisioning

It really is “third world” down here. Planning ahead on provisioning issues is important. Our boat has a huge amount of dry storage space, so we packed away large quantities of canned and packaged foods before leaving White Stone. We still have a good supply left. We try to use as many locally grown fresh vegetables and fruit as possible, in order to save the canned goods for future necessity, plus they taste better. Packaged goods and some frozen foods are bought in the grocery stores, and fresh produce is bought from open air stands. Typically, we need to go to several sources before filling our list, but we’ve come to enjoy the “hide-and-seek” process. We’ve become quite fond of fried plantains, both green and ripe (recipe to follow), christophenes (chayote back home) peeled and diced raw in salads or boiled as a vegetable, sweet potatoes and the local white yams-both very different in appearance from the ones back home. Of course, there is abundance of bananas (three or four different kinds), citrus fruits, onions, avocados, and coconuts.

The freezer on the boat is quite large, and we were able to stock up on meats in St. Lucia, just as our frozen supply from home was almost depleted. We probably laid in a two month supply. We can also buy fresh fish and rock lobster from the local boat boys, but the prices are very high.

We don’t use much diesel fuel. Most of it has been used to run the engine when recharging the batteries, about two hours a day. I’ve probably used 20 gallons in the last month, and the tank holds 85. To buy fuel in the smaller islands, you pay a boat boy to come to your boat with a 40 gallon drum. He transfers it to your tank with a hand-operated pump. About a week ago, I decided to dump the 30 gallons of diesel that had been in my six jerry jugs lashed on deck since the Caribbean 1500 into the fuel tank. There must have been some algae growing in them, because the next day the engine quit while charging batteries at anchor. The Racor fuel filter had clogged, so I replaced it and put an extra shot of biocide in the fuel tank. But now I’m nervous—will it happen again? Will it happen just when I’m negotiating a narrow pass through coral heads? I find myself constantly thinking of a contingency plan if it cuts out while motoring. So far so good, with one exception (below).

Water is constantly on our minds, but is not a great worry. We have a 165 gallon tank, plus a 6-1/2 gallon jerry jug for emergencies. We seem to be using about 15-18 gallons per day, a rather high rate for cruisers. We’ve never run out, but we’ve taken it down to the dregs a couple of times, but that makes Lynne nervous, so now I fill up before it gets below Ľ. The guide book identifies water sources, which makes planning easy. In Bequia, we call Daffodil on the VHF radio, and a water barge comes alongside. Water is pumped into our tank, and I get to chat with the driver, a young kid who is trying to learn French. They get the water from a tanker ship that comes over from St. Vincent. I can also buy diesel from Daffodil’s barge. Water is also available in Clifton on Union Island, at the opposite (southern) end of the Grenadines. Here I have to haul up the anchor and motor over to one of two docks where water is sold. Casmus at Bourgainvillea and Herman from Lambi’s vie for customers. If the T-head is open at Bourgainvillea, it’s easy to pull up, step on dock and secure the lines. If not, I have to drop the anchor and back upwind to the dock, Mediterranean style. Good practice—I’ve figured out how to do it single-handed. If I go to Lambi’s, I just slide up to the dock and tie up; very easy. I was at Lambi’s getting water a couple of days ago. There was a French catamaran filling up. We waited about an hour for them to finish. The water flow rate is very low. I had put about 30 gallons in our tank when the electricity in town went off. No problem, mon, just sip a beer and relax. The power came back on after about an hour, and I finished up. Total time, three hours for water.

I begin to back out of Lambi’s. It’s a dead end, with docks to the right and left and a bulkhead at my bow. A boat is Med-moored to starboard and there’s a shoal to port. Just as I clear the dock, but before I’m clear of the boat and the shoal, the engine quits. The wind is off the starboard quarter—I can’t roll out the main and sail to safety, it would just drive me onto the shoal or the dock to port. Drop the anchor? By the time it set, I’d be on the shoal or desperately fending off the leeward dock. “Herman!”, I shout. Don’t see him. “Herman!” He comes out of Lambi’s. “Herman, my engine died. Come tow me in!” Herman and Limbert, the water man, jump into Hermans skiff and roar over. I toss a bow line, and they pull me back in toward the dock. The stern begins to swing downwind, threatening to put me crosswise in the dead end space. There’s a lot of advice being shouted from the dock. I toss a stern line to Limbert, who has deftly leapt to the dock and raced out on the moored boat. It looks too short to span the distance. Limbert leans far out over the lifelines and is just barely able to grab the end of it. He hauls in mightily (we weigh about 12 tons), and the stern comes around. Safe!

Herman, Limbert and I confer on the dock. “I think the fuel filter is plugged”, say I. “Call a mechanic”, says Herman. “I can pump out the fuel and put it back in through a filter funnel”, says Limbert. The two of them argue loudly and vigorously in Creole patois over what should be done. “Let’s look at the fuel filter”, I tell them. Down below, the filter looks OK and the fuel in the filter bowl looks clean. I wonder if the pickup tube in the tank is clogged. Opening the access hatch, the problem is solved. I had turned off the fuel line petcock to keep fuel from running out of the filter bowl when checking the filter just before motoring over to Lambi’s that morning, and had forgotten to re-open it. The engine had run about 20-25 minutes on the fuel that was in the supply line! “Stupid, stupid, stupid!”, I say aloud. I give $20 EC to Herman and $20 EC to Limbert for effecting the rescue. They’re happy. Lynne says, “You’re a good man, Herman”, as he steps out of the cockpit. Herman grins.

Fried Ripe Plantains  The Caribbean version of Bananas Flambe, this recipe makes a nice dessert for two.

2 ripe plantains, yellow like ripe bananas, soft, with some black spots

2-3 Tbs butter

2 Tbs brown sugar, or to taste (Demerara sugar from Guyana is best)

dark rum, about 1/4 cup, or more, to taste

freshly grated nutmeg

Plantains are hard to peel. Martin on Dominica taught us the trick. Draw the tip of a paring knife down the angular “seams” of the skin, just deeply enough to cut through the skin, taking care not to score the flesh of the plantain. Peel off the skin, section by section. Cut each plantain in half, crosswise, then slice lengthwise into four slices. Heat the butter in a skillet. When the butter stops foaming, add the plantains and sauté, turning once when slightly brown. Sprinkle with the brown sugar after you turn them, allowing some to fall in the butter. Continue sautéing until the sugar begins to caramelize. Add the rum, being careful of a flareup. Serve up, and sprinkle with nutmeg.

Belle of Virginia entering Bequia

The Friendship Rose

Sailing into the Past:  The Friendship Rose-2/16/05

Until the recent advent of the new ferries, all provisions, the mail, and passengers were brought to Bequia from St. Vincent by sailing vessel, specifically the 88' Caribbean schooner, The Friendship Rose. The boat was built by hand by Captain Calvin Lewis in the mid-60s, and is, I'm told, the last boat to be hand built on Bequia. After it was retired from service as the mail/freight boat, Captain Lewis continued sailing her as a day-sailer, offering tourists trips to nearby islands. Last year, falling on hard times, she was to be sold off to a company who intended to convert her into a party boat for the mass tourist market on another island.

Luckily, a young British couple, Alan and Meg Whittaker, were looking for just such a boat. They had been offering crewed charters on their own boat, but the birth of their first child put and end to that. After looking at every available boat of similar construction and rig, they purchased The Friendship Rose last summer, did some long-needed maintenance, and began running day sails on her this winter season. We were lucky enough to experience one…

Lynne, Claudia and I dinghy in to Elizabeth Town at 8 am. We're met at the dock by The Rose's tender, where we and only 12 others are ferried out to the boat on its mooring. We're greeted by Alan and served fresh orange juice while we watch the crew of three, plus Alan and the ship's chef, slip the mooring, raise the sails, and get underway. It takes four to haul up the two huge gaff-rigged sails. Two crew can handle the two foresails. As we motor-sail out of the bay, we're offered stems of a really nice champagne. A charming British couple tell us that they have been vacationing on Bequia for 16 years and remember taking The Friendship Rose to Bequia after flying in to St. Vincent. The scenery is fascinating as we pass close to Bequia's western tip, viewing the rugged cliffs, and watching boobies dive for fish from their guano covered roosts. We wonder about the strange, Druid-like stone habitations of the "Moon Hole" settlement. Another couple on our cruise is staying there, and tells us all about it. Built beginning in 1961 by an eccentric architect, the structures are carved into the living rock. They have no electricity, no doors nor windows, and the rooms have only three walls. Lizards and birds have free access. Water is caught in cisterns and warmed by solar heaters. All the furniture is made of rock or concrete, dressed with cushions and rattan mats. Lynne says, "Not my cup of tea!"

Rounding West Cay, we head up the southern coast of the island until we reach Semplers Cay, at the mouth of Friendship Bay, where the boat was built 40 years ago. There was much excitement in town the day before-everyone was talking about the whale that had been caught. Bequia was originally a whaling community, and still tries to carry on that tradition. The IWC allows the island to take up to four whales a year, but in many years they catch none. They whale the old way, in 26' engineless, open, hand-built sailboats, throwing their harpoons by hand, a very hazardous practice. We could see them working on the remains of the whale as we sailed past. We were not happy to see it, but can nonetheless respect their long-held traditions.

Leaving Semplers Cay behind, The Friendship Rose's sails fill as we bear off on a close reach toward Mustique, an exclusive, privately-owned island that is "home to the rich and famous", as the saying goes. On the way, we're served a breakfast of crepes with cane syrup, bananas and coffee. We drop anchor in turquoise water off the communal dock, and are offered the option of going ashore to take a one hour tour of the island ending up at the boutiques, taking the tender to a nearby beach for snorkeling, or simply lounging on board in the shade in hammocks or pillows on the deck. Naturally, the ladies opted for the tour, hoping to get an Oprah or Mick sighting. I go along for the ride…and to carry the credit cards.

Well, we saw Tommy Hilfiger's house, or should I say compound, but Mick Jagger's was almost hidden by vegetation. Princess Margaret's former home looks down from one of the tallest hills. No Oprah. Shopping is over relatively quickly, mercifully, and we catch the tender back to The Friendship Rose.

The small complement of guests reassembles on board, and lunch is served. The ship's chef (not cook, chef) has prepared a fabulous meal of kingfish (wahoo) with a delicious sauce, christophene casserole, and yellow rice, served on china with linen napkins. A very nice French white wine accompanies the meal. Talking with the chef, I learn that he as cheffed at a number of top end resorts on various Caribbean islands. Suitably stuffed, many of our fellow sailors stretch out in hammocks for a snooze. Lynne and Claudia stretch out in the shade, chatting with each other and smoozing with some of the other guests.

For me, Mustique was not the main attraction. My intent all along was to get a firsthand look at a traditionally-built Caribbean schooner. Alan is more than willing to offer me a tour of the boat, along with explanations of construction details, etc. Down below in the former main cargo hold (now nicely painted lounge), Alan points out the 2-1/2" planking of the hull-greenheart from Guyana above the waterline and Canadian pitch pine below. The massive frame is local white cedar, double-planked on the inside with a hard wood to withstand the ravages of the cargoes the boat once carried. The boards were rough sawn and the frames shaped with adzes. Up under the deck, where the deck stringers meet the hull, Captain Lewis has used "knees" from trees that had been blown sideways by the tradewinds to form right-angle braces to keep the frame from "working" in a seaway. He tells me that he searched the tops of Bequia's tallest hills to find trees with the right shape. He says, "This boat was built strong. If a boat not built strong, the frame will work, and she talk to you, 'eeeek, eeeek, eeeek; take me home, take me home.'"

I get to see the engine room, with its 130 hp Caterpillar diesel. Back on deck, Alan opens a small hatch on the aft deck. "This is the aft cargo hold. We haven't done anything to it yet, so you'll see what the rest of the boat looked like before we prettied her up. By the way, you're the first guest to go down there." I climb down a vertical ladder with missing rungs. Its dark, but I can see most of the space. It's rough, dirty, and frankly looks neglected. I can appreciate what Alan has done to the parts the guests see.

As we get underway on our return trip, I get to help raise the sails. I roam around the deck, taking photos of sails, rigging, the bow wave, everything. Out come the rum punches. The friendly group gets even more chatty. As we near Bequia, we're served the final course, spice cake and tea. The Whittakers know how to put together a first class offering!

Captain Lewis sits cross-legged on the sun deck, his left arm draped over the spoked mahogany wheel. The easy way he moves the wheel to keep The Rose on course shows his intimate connection to his boat. He chats with guests, and occasionally calls out orders to crew members. It's a good feeling to see the boat's creator still at the helm. The Whittakers have saved a piece of Bequia's history. It was a pleasure, and something of an honor, to experience it.

3/9/05-Heading Back North

We’re anchored off St. Francois, Guadeloupe today. A couple of weeks ago, we saw our friend Claudia off at the airport on Canouan, after a pleasant visit. It was a very early flight, so we were able to sail up to Bequia. We spent a couple of days there getting stuff done and buying some provisions. It’s time to start working our way back north. We need to be in St. Thomas by the end of April. Lynne and Suki fly home on April 28th.

Our anchor windlass had quit working (again)—the motor would run, but the chain gypsy and capstan wouldn’t turn to bring up the anchor. I took it apart and found the gear box full of mud!!! Now, the Caribbean doesn’t have much mud, at least I haven’t seen any. It was black mud, obviously of Chesapeake Bay provenance. Two years ago the darn thing had broken for the first time. The motor fell off and self-destructed. I got it fixed under warranty. My guess is that the seals around the main shaft were compromised in that incident and allowed fine, silty mud to drip down into the gear box. I took it into Elizabeth Town, looking for the Norwegian mechanic mentioned in the Doyle sailing guide. I couldn’t raise him on the VHF, so I asked some taxi drivers. After much discussion amongst themselves, they concluded that he had left the island. They suggested I track down an Englishman over at the old dry dock. The guys at the dry dock. Said he wasn’t around, but I was able to get his phone number. Dialed him up, and he answered his phone! My luck is improving. "Sorry", he says after hearing my problem. "I don’t have a shop any more. Try the mechanic around behind the New York Sports Bar. He’s the best in town." Ahah, the "treasure hunt" begins, but for a mechanic this time, not grocery items.

Behind the New York Sports Bar is a giant mango tree, under which numerous boats, outboard motors and various other mechanical equipment is strewn. Five or six guys are working away. I go up to the one who looks like the boss. "Yes, I can look at it. Maybe later this afternoon. Come back at 4:30." I’m there at 4:30. "Didn’t have time to get to it. Come back tomorrow." Tomorrow is Saturday. I check in with him at 11 am, and, lo and behold, it’s fixed. A set screw holding the pinion gear to the motor shaft had sheared off. Great design (Simpson Lawrence Sprint 1500 windlass). I ask him how much? $5O EC is his answer, about $19 US. I happily give him $60 EC. We’re back in business in the anchor department! Hauling it up by hand is hard work!

We left Bequia at dawn on the 28th, bound for Rodney Bay, St. Lucia. It was a 72 NM passage. We were able to sail in the open passages, but motorsailed in the lee of the islands, arriving at about 5 pm. The next day, we took a slip in the marina so we could do some major re-provisioning. This time we took the local "dollar busses" instead of taxis. The busses are just like the taxis—11 passenger vans—but the drivers find ways to cram up to 15 people into them. A round trip to our favorite grocery and meat stores in Castries costs us $4 EC for the bus, but would cost about $40 EC for a taxi. In two days of shopping, we managed to get most of what we were looking for. I also got another haircut at Ziggie’s. She gave me a "two month" haircut just before Christmas, so I got another one this time. That done, we set out for Dominica on March 4th.

The passage between the two islands was an absolutely perfect beam reach in 20 kts to begin with, dropping off to 15 kts as we reached Dominica. The motorsail up the leeward side was about 25 NM. We saw a couple of dive boats roaring around in circles. As we got closer, we saw that they were amusing their passengers by harassing a pod of dolphins. Don’t use "Dive Dominica" if you go SCUBA there.

Once anchored in Prince Rupert Bay, we called our friend, Martin Carriere, on the VHF, and he came over for a beer and some conversation. We and the Palms had spent four days with Martin in December, touring the island. We arranged for Martin to pick us up in his skiff the next morning to take us to Customs and then to the Saturday market in Portsmouth. The market was as we remembered it, bustling with people buying produce, eggs, bread and fish from the tables of the numerous vendors. We were able to get just about everything we needed, including some delicious bread that had been baked that morning in a charcoal fired oven. Lynne observed that it had only taken us three islands to get everything but one item on our grocery list.

When we were here in December, Martin had shown me a rough draft of a brochure he had put together. He wanted something to take to the Antigua Charter Boat Show as a marketing tool for his guide services. He said that there was no one on Dominica who could design and layout a good brochure. I had had some exposure to that sort of thing in my working life, so I volunteered to help him out. Before getting back to Dominica the second time, I put together a tri-fold brochure for him, using digital photos that I had taken on our tours there. He was very happy with it, and I was happy to be able to help him out. He’s about our son’s age, with a wife and two daughters, and works very hard at what he does. Making a living on Dominica isn’t easy. Getting to know Martin and his family has been a high point of our cruise.

We set out for Guadeloupe on Sunday, March 6th. About an hour into our sail, we spotted a pod of whales blowing spray in the air as they headed south. After about five minutes, a big fluke rose in the air and they were gone, sounding to the depths. The trip to Pointe-a-Pitre was a pleasant and easy six hours. We dropped anchor near a small island across the ship channel from the town. The next day, we dinghied over and walked around the marina area. It’s big, with a lot of restaurants and shops. Then we dinghied up to the old town, and enjoyed a walk around. The market was colorful and lively, and the fishermen’s boats lined the bulkhead at the waterfront, their fish on display for the shoppers. No one seems to speak English here, so we had to rely on my fractured French. Luckily, the folks on Guadeloupe are a bit more laid back and friendly than we found the Martiniquoise to be. They tolerated my feeble attempts at communication with a smile. That evening we had an absolutely delicious dinner at Coté Jardin, a very charming restaurant near the marina. The manager came over to chat, and with his smattering of English and my miniscule French, we got along just fine. Charming fellow. Based on our exposure here, Lynne has declared, "Maybe the French islands aren’t so bad after all."

We cleared out of Guadeloupe on March 8th, but the official said it would be no problem to stop on our way to Antigua. We are anchored inside the reef at St. Francois, which looks to be a charming little town. We’re off to explore it this morning.

Betty's Hope - Antigua

Barbuda Turquoise

3/18/05-Lynne’s Journal-Antigua and Barbuda

Antigua is a different sort of island—low, rolling, fairly open hills that are sprinkled with banana and palm trees. The English Harbour/Falmouth Harbour area has lots of upscale boutiques catering to the visitors on HUGE mega-yachts. The two harbours are crammed with boats. It is a short walk from the dinghy dock in Falmouth harbour to the wonderfully restored Nelson’s Dockyard in English Harbour. The museum there is a wealth of information about the history of the dockyard.

Our next stop was Jolly Harbour on Antigua’s west coast, where we spent a night in the marina to re-provision and get water and fuel. We were able to shop at what turned out the be the best grocery store we’ve found so far. Hudson was thrilled to find the cheapest Mount Gay rum so far--$7.00 US for a liter. We hired a taxi for five hours to tour the island and get a sense of the place. You don’t get the dramatic views, as the land is fairly low, but we had an interesting visit at a sugar plantation that was producing from the 1700s up until about 20 years ago. We saw some interesting coastline scenery and stopped for lunch in the Capitol, St. John, which was not very impressive.

We moved on to the north side of Antigua, in the coral strewn waters of North Sound, finding an anchorage at Great Bird Island. The water is turquoise and the small islands all around us reminded us of the Tobago Cays, but with no boat boys. There were only two other boats in the anchorage. I was joined each day for my afternoon swim by schools of small neon fish.

Yesterday we had a perfect sail to Barbuda. Picking our way out through the Antigua reefs and in to the Barbuda reefs to get to our anchorage was a major challenge, but definitely worth the effort.

Once inside the reef at Spanish Point on Barbuda’s south coast, the water is flat and calm and the most crystal clear we have ever experienced. The brilliant turquoise water seems to extend forever in all directions, highlighted by white froth where the waves are breaking on the reefs. The island is totally flat, and a short walk ashore was enough to satisfy our curiosity. The landscape is low, scrubby vegetation growing in sand and hard limestone, populated by wild donkeys. We were totally alone in the anchorage until about 9:30 that night when a lobsterman came in through the reef pass and anchored near shore. This is definitely a place to come if you want to get away from it all.

This morning we saw two dolphins playing in the anchorage at sunrise, while we drank our coffee. Mid-morning, we sailed around to the western side. We had hoped to visit the frigate bird colony by local skiff and guide, but huge swells are coming in, creating too much surf on the 11 mile long pink sand beach to make a dinghy landing possible. It is amazing to see such a length of pristine beach with absolutely no development on it.

An observation: The contrast between being at the bottom of the stairs and being at the top of the stairs is extraordinary. Down below it’s dark, confining, cluttered, and somewhat claustrophobic. Up top it is brilliant, immense, colorful, open, ever changing. At times, especially in the brightest part of the middle of the day, it’s almost too much, and I retreat below, but mostly it’s the other way around—the scene from the cockpit makes the reality of the cabin worth it.

3/21/05-Sint Maarten, Netherland Antilles

We're now international criminals.

When it came time last Friday to clear out through customs and immigration on Barbuda, the northerly swells were running so high that I couldn't beach the dinghy to walk over to the lagoon, where I had arranged for a water taxi to meet me and take me across the lagoon to Codrington to clear out. I called him on the VHF and cancelled out. Once the swells start, it can be days until they settle down, so I just decide to leave. We headed out at 0530 Saturday morning for Philipsburg, St. Maarten, Dutch West Indies, arriving at 1700.

I went to clear in the next morning. Had to walk a mile down a dusty road to the shipping port. I explained to the immigration lady why I didn't have a clearance form out of Barbuda. Well, you would have thought I had told her that Lynne and I were planning to blow up the port! She ranted for 20 minutes. "You should have waited until you could clear out! There are fines for this! You have to follow the procedures! How do I know you arrived with the same people you said you had on board in Antigua? Yakity, yakity, yakity!!!" She was incensed and made sure I knew it. The body language was even more expressive, with eyeballs rolling up, pruney lips, and head shaking. She called over to the port authority lady in another glass-enclosed office across the vestibule to tell her what a crime I had committed. She finally calmed down a little and stamped my entrance form, with more puffs of disgust.

I went over to the port authority lady. She was very nice and a little embarrassed by the immigration lady’s performance. When I learned that they would be closed from Good Friday through Easter, and I would have to come back to Philipsburg from Simpson Bay, which is at the other end of the island, I decided to clear out then and there, and go over to the French side earlier than we had planned.

Well, when the immigration lady heard me talking about a change in plans, she went ballistic again. "First you tell me you want to leave Friday, now you say tomorrow. Yakity, Yak!" I explained that it would be a lot more convenient for me to do that then sail all the way back to Philipsburg to clear out on Thursday. "Convenient! What do you mean, convenient?", she exclaims. "You must follow the procedures! What do mean, convenient!?" Took her another 10 minutes to get over it. I paid the port authority lady and got my form. She tells me to go back to the immigration lady to get the form stamped. Argh! She's on the phone and makes me wait, but then only 2 or 3 minutes of ranting this time. I get my form stamped, and tell her I'm sorry for causing trouble. She says, incredibly, "No problem, I am happy to have served you." Honest to God! The whole thing took about an hour, not counting the 30 minutes walking there and back. The strange thing about it is that once you've cleared in to either the Dutch or the French side, you can dinghy, walk or taxi freely between the two countries with no restrictions. Only if you move your boat from one side to the other do you have to clear out, then in again.

Boy, did that leave a sour taste in my mouth. The only reason we stopped in Philipsburg in the first place was because Lynne wanted to buy another Irish linen tablecloth, thus greatly supporting the local economy. The problem is that these bureaucrats have enormous power over you and can create no end of grief for you if they want to, such as having a customs officer tear the boat apart looking for "contraband". I had to bight my tongue.

3/30/05-St. Martin, French West Indies

We sailed from Philipsburg up to Simpson Bay on Sunday afternoon, and anchored for the night. Monday, we came into the lagoon at the 0930 bridge opening and anchored on the French side. I dinghied into Marigot to clear in. Filled out the form and was out of there in 10 minutes. They only said two words to me, and didn't even want to see my outward clearance papers from the Dutch side. Very civilized, the French. Bought a couple of baguettes on the way back to the dinghy--0,85 Euros apiece. The price always amazes me—must be a government subsidy or something. We're looking forward to having a couple of nice meals in the French restaurants here before we move on to the Virgin Islands. I'll be sure to clear out before we leave.

There’s a Cruisers’ Net on the VHF radio each morning. The net controller asks for any new arrivals, so we piped up. So did Mike and Merrie on "Adagio". We connected by radio and joined them and Barbara and Winston Sparks of "My Island Girl" on "Adagio" for drinks the next evening. Both were Caribbean 1500 participants, so it was good catching up on what they had been doing. We all went for dinner at Hot Tomatoes, a very good pizza joint on the Dutch side. We also heard Dinette from "Felicity" announcing that cruisers would gather for drinks and snacks on the beach of an island in the Lagoon the next evening. We went over and met a number of folks from quite a few far flung places. We had met Dinette and her husband Bill in January at Hog Island in Grenada, just before they departed for Trinidad and its Carnival celebrations. Bill gave me a blow by blow account of the festivities, which were considerable.

On Maundy Thursday, we went to get diesel and water since the Marinas would be closed for the holidays. There are only two marinas in the Lagoon that deign to accommodate boats of our diminutive size. One said their fuel dock was tied up for three or four hours. The other was occupied and had no radio, so we circled around to wait. A Dutch catamaran approached with the same thing in mind, moving in on the dock. I had to pull up beside them to tell them we were waiting for fuel, and he nodded agreement. After about 30 minutes of maneuvering in the narrow, shallow approach channels, the Brit at the dock left and we pulled in. Fueling was quick, but the water pressure was low and pumping 175 gallons took 30 minutes. Finally we pulled out, and as the Dutchman headed for the dock, a large French power boat zoomed in ahead of him. We shouted to the power boat driver that the cat was next, and he just shrugged. As we passed the cat, we told them that we had tried to fend him off. The woman on the Dutch boat smiled wryly and said, simply, "French!" Luckily, as we pulled away we saw that the fuel dock attendant had refused to serve the power boat, and the cat was able to take their turn. We’ve found that getting fuel and water, is usually a two or three hour exercise, and usually has some sort of odd twist to it.

We motored up to the drawbridge on the French side to wait for the 2:30 pm opening, anchoring nearby. Out we went at the appointed hour, motoring through the anchorage in Marigot Bay and on north to Grand Case. A resort town that seems to be all restaurants and hotels lining a very pretty beach. Anchoring in 15’, we were glad to be able to see the bottom and swim off the boat again. Simpson Lagoon is very poorly flushed by the tide, and is extremely murky.

We enjoyed Marigot, for a few days. Had a great lunch of "local" food at a little restaurant on the bay (Lynne had stewed goat and loved it), a wonderful dinner at La Tropicana in the marina, and stopped in a little cigar shop who’s owner looks just like Santa Claus. After three days in the Lagoon we sailed up to Grande Anse where we spent a couple of nights. Had some great barbecued ribs at a little spot on the bay there. Those French take their food seriously.

I noticed the bottom at Grande Anse was covered in eel grass, the favored habitat of the wily conch, so I did some snorkeling and caught four good sized specimens. I began whacking the first one with my hammer to create a little hole to insert my filleting knife, when I saw two large claws come out. Conchs don't have claws. It was a very big, extremely pissed off hermit crab! I dropped him back in the water, and managed to extract the other three conchs, using the technique we learned from Rufus the Rasta on Mayreau. We had a delicious meal of cracked conch that night.

The Saturday before Easter, we did the 100 NM overnight passage from Marigot Bay, St. Martin to Caneel Bay, St. John. We left at 6:30 Saturday evening and arrived at 9:00 am Easter morning. The wind was fairly light and on our stern, so I motor-sailed the whole way. There were lots of boats of various sizes out there, so the radar came in handy. We cleared in at Cruz Bay, which was a zoo--Puerto Rican boats rafted three deep at the Customs dock. Then we sailed over to Christmas Cove on Great St. James Island, just off the eastern tip of St. Thomas. Caneel Bay is exposed to the considerable ferry and large power boat traffic between the USVI and the BVI, so the multiple boat wakes make it a miserable anchorage, and even dangerous for getting on and off the dinghy. We didn't spend a minute more than we had to there.

Christmas Cove is a very pleasant, uncrowded anchorage. We've been here for a couple of days, working on a couple of boat projects that I bought parts for in St. Maarten. Later today we'll top off the water and diesel tanks in Red Hook and head for the island of Culebra in the Spanish Virgins. We'll meet Julie and Rick there and probably spend a week and a half or so exploring the various anchorages on Culebra and Vieques (the island that the Navy used to bomb for target practice).

4/8/05-Culebra

Well, we finally made it to the Spanish Virgins. Sailed down from Red Hook on Thursday through a dense rain squall that washed all the salt and cigar ashes off the boat. On the way we closed the loop on our cruise, passing our starting point at Crown Bay Marina on St. Thomas. In the passage between St. Thomas and Culebra, we saw a pod of humpback whales, one breaching spectacularly for us. Then another raised his head pretty high out of the water to look us over. Didn't like what he saw, I guess, because they sounded and were gone.

We anchored in Ensenada Honda off the little town of Dewey, next to Isla Pirata (Pirate Island). Julie and Rick pulled in about 4 pm, and we had cocktails on The Belle and dinner ashore at a seedy little waterfront bar. I tried to clear in yesterday afternoon, walking a mile out to the airport, only to be told that the immigration guy had left at 2 pm and would be back at 11 am this morning. Such hours! It's always been a mystery to me why we have to clear in anyhow. Puerto Rico is a part of the U.S. after all. There’s not a lot to Dewey, but we were able to get laundry done and pick up a few provisions.

Anticipating the weekend onslaught of the "Puerto Rican Navy", we headed out to Ensenada Dakity, near the mouth of Ensenada Honda, and picked up a free mooring there. A typical weekend sees hoards of large motor yachts from Puerto Rico crowding the anchorages on Culebra, but it wasn’t too bad this weekend. We enjoyed cocktails and a nice dinner on Altair with Julie and Rick Saturday night. I was able to finish installing a blower in the engine compartment to exhaust the hot air. Otherwise, we did a little snorkeling and just lazed around and read books.

Monday morning we and the Palms sailed up to Puerto del Manglar and made our way through a narrow pass between small cays into Bahia de Almodovar, an absolutely beautiful little cove on the eastern side of Culebra. We picked up moorings behind the reef in clear, calm water, facing an unrestricted breeze. The next day, Ann and Miles Poor on Karina, a Tayana 55, sailed in from Puerto Rico. Miles was the fleet surgeon, presented a "Saltwater Medicine" seminar, and did boat safety inspections in Hampton for the Caribbean 1500. I had met Miles when he inspected The Belle, and we were happy to meet Ann, a lively, cheerful person. That Wednesday, we all headed over to Culebrita, just five miles away. There was a strong northerly ground swell running, so we just spent the day there, walking the beautiful white sand beach and snorkeling, before going back to Bahia Almodovar.

There’s no place to get dockside water in the Spanish Virgins, and we were down to half a tank. Miles was kind enough to give us about 50 gallons of water, and along with the water that Rick had given us, we have enough to stay here another week or so. That evening, we all gathered on The Belle for cocktails and a fajita dinner, along with some lively conversation. Karina left for Puerto del Rey the next day.

Rick and I went fishing up in the mangroves. He’s been trying to catch a tarpon on his fly rod, and working pretty hard at it, though unsuccessfully so far. I was using his spinning rod, and caught a pretty good size mutton snapper, then a smaller one that I released. Pelicans were roosting up in the mangroves, watching us, and we could hear herons croaking just feet away in the dense stands of trees.

4/14/05-Vieques

We decided we needed a change of scenery, so we set out for Vieques, and had a great two hour sail in 20 kts, close reaching with reefed main and genoa. The entrance to Bahia Icacos on the northeastern shore is very narrow, but we eased our way in with only a few missed heartbeats. Yet another beautiful anchorage with turquoise water, a protective reef and a mile long crescent of white sand beach. Except this time, instead of being fringed with palm trees, it has signs saying in Spanish and English, "No Trespassing, Dangerous Explosives", with a drawing of a bomb exploding. Up on the hillsides are bombed out tanks and other pieces of scrap metal. It's OK to walk on the beach though. When we got in, there was one sailboat, a couple from Sarasota, and two motor yachts. Two more boatloads of Puerto Ricans pulled in later. The noise level increased a few decibels, but we are far enough away that it's not a bother.

The next day we sailed around the eastern tip of the island and headed west along the southern shore. We sailed in and out of Bahia Salinas del Sur, another target area with bomb craters and rusty tank bodies. We kept going until we reached Ensenada Honda. It’s a very large bay with reefs and peninsulas of land that protect it from any direction. It’s ringed with mangrove trees, and the water is a deep jade green. We had the whole place to ourselves, and enjoyed a quiet evening, listening to the Caribbean surf on the other side of the narrow peninsula. The Palms are leaving for the Bahamas on Tuesday, so Monday morning we sailed back to Bahia Almodovar in a light southerly breeze to have a farewell dinner with them.

4/12/05-Back to the Virgin Islands

Everyone, including the cruising guides, warned us to expect the worst when returning to St. Thomas from Culebra. The eastward passage is directly upwind and into the current, and the Virgin Passage is notorious for viscious waves. But we had it easy—very little wind and low, smooth swells to motor into. Clean living does it every time! Ha! We didn’t see any whales on the trip back, but we did catch some fish—a 3 foot barracuda, at 24 inch little tunny, and a 30 inch dolphin. Released the barracuda; kept the dolphin and little tunny. We got some wind near St. Thomas, so we sailed up the north shore to get a view of it. Lots more development than any of the other islands, but still room for more.

Oil Nut Bay

We spent a few days enjoying the BVI. There's a little bay on the easternmost tip of Virgin Gorda called Oil Nut Bay. We crossed Eustatia Sound and threaded through a field of coral heads to reach it, but it was worth it—we had the whole place to ourselves. Idyllic! Then back to St. John's Waterlemon Bay and Coral Bay for a few days before checking into Crown Bay Marina to reprovision and clean up the boat while we waited for my return delivery crew to arrive.

5/7/05-St Thomas to the Bahamas

We're on our long journey home. Lynne and Suki, the sailor cat, flew out on Thursday, April 28th. My three crewmates for the passage home arrived on St. Thomas Friday and Saturday--Tim Smith, a long-time friend and former coworker with whom I've sailed for years, Ron Mihills, a fellow Rappahannock River Yacht Club member and Irvington resident, and Carey Colwell, owner of Catspaw, an Island Packet 380 just like ours. All are excellent sailors with offshore passage experience.

We got our final provisioning done by Sunday morning, so we checked out of the marina, fueled up and headed out at about 11 am, a day earlier than planned. The weather was beautiful--sunny skies, puffy white clouds and temperatures in the low 80s. This morning (Tuesday) we're about 150 NM north of Hispaniola and about 65 NM northeast of the islands of the Turks and Caicos. After seeing a few commercial vessels and 3 or 4 cruise ships north of Puerto Rico, we haven't seen anything but three Bermuda Longtails (a pretty white seabird), who seem to have been following us for the last two days. We're using a watch schedule with two hours on, six hours off at night and four hours on, 12 hours off during the day.

We're sailing northwest toward Great Abaco Island in the Bahamas, where we intend to clear in at Marsh Harbour, and then spend a few days exploring the cays and coves of the Abacos before moving on. The tradewinds have been a little light, 9-12 kts, sometimes getting up to 15 or 16, sometimes dropping to 5 or 6 (then the engine is turned on). It's blowing from astern, about 30 degrees off our starboard quarter, which can pose some challenges. When the windspeed drops a bit, the swells on our beam rock the boat and knock the wind out of our sails, causing thrashing and loss of speed.

We're keeping track of our noon-to-noon distance sailed, among other things. Noon Monday to noon Tuesday we turned in a 148 NM day, pretty good sailing in these winds for a boat our size. The wind picked up into the 15 kt range Tuesday morning, and we raised the asymmetric spinnaker at 8:30 am. We took 30 minute watches instead of the usual 4 hour daytime watches, since driving with a spinnaker when the apparent wind is at 150 degrees takes a great deal of concentration and constant adjustment at the wheel to keep the sail from collapsing or "pumping". When it collapses and re-fills with wind, it sounds like a cannon going off! Our boatspeed jumped from around 5 kts to 6.5 and even 7+ kts, and we could feel the power of the wind on the big sail as it drove us forward. The crew was pumped! We reluctantly took it down at 3:30 pm, as the breeze began to fall off and the beam swells began to worry the sail.

After a clear, starry night, today (Wednesday) dawned with a lot more clouds, some rather black. We're getting weather forecasts from the Internet and voice transmissions using our shortwave radio. A low is predicted to move off the north Florida coast in a couple of days, just as we near the Bahamas. The fronts trailing it will sweep across our track, so we're going to be following developments closely. It sounds like we'll get some challenging weather beginning on Friday.

Thursday through Sunday:

We were sailing downwind in 15 kts, somewhere SE of San Salvador, when my reel started to pay out line like crazy. I had a 6" green squid lure on it. I maxed out the drag and line was still stripping off. Had to put on a pair of heavy gloves and press down on the bale to slow it down. Finally, it quit running out, but I couldn't turn the handle to reel it in. Twenty minutes later, I finally was able to heave up on the rod and get a few inches in on the downstroke--all this while hanging out over the stern rail. To make a long story short, it took me almost an hour to tire the fish and get him up to the boat. I was almost as exhausted as he was. It was a huge bull dolphin. We gaffed him aboard and he took up the whole space between the companionway bulkhead and the steering pulpit. We guessed he was about 4-1/2' long and at least 25 lbs. I was able to fillet 12 meals, and could have gotten a couple more if the boat hadn't been pitching around so much. What a fish!

The last few days of the passage were pretty good sailing, but the wind got behind us and light a few times, causing the engine to come on. The predicted low pressure system came out of north Florida and headed up the Gulf Stream right on schedule. We tracked it every day with downloaded GRIB weather forecasts looking three days out. As it turned out, we were south and east of the trailing front, so it's primary effect on us was to cause the winds to clock around from ENE to S to SW to N and back to ENE again Friday night through Saturday morning. The winds built up to the low twenties. Friday night we passed through a squall with lightning and gusts of 30-35, but it was over in 20 minutes. We took advantage of the clocking winds, with reefed main and genoa and full staysail, and made our best noon to noon distance on this leg--151 miles. We made it to the pass at Man-O-War Cay at about 3:30 pm on Saturday. A pretty good NE groundswell was running--huge breakers on each side of us as we came in.

We were tied up to the fuel dock at the only surviving marina in Marsh Harbour by 4:35 pm. The dockmaster had left at five minutes earlier, and didn't get back until 11:15 Sunday morning, so we spent the night tied up to the dock. We ate supper at the restaurant at the marina--Steak Night! Pretty good New York Strip steaks. Then the band tuned up. I got to play the hand saw. You hold the handle, put the end of the blade on your thigh and bend it while stroking the teeth with a screwdriver shaft. Funky rythyms, Mon, we be groovin'.

5/12/05-The Abacos to the Chesapeake

On Sunday, we picked up some groceries in Marsh Harbour and headed out for Great Guana Cay. Saw IP 380 "Surprise" in the anchorage on the way out and chatted with them. We sailed over to Settlement Harbour on Great Guana. We dinghied in and walked across the island to Nippers for supper--beautiful view of the Atlantic side beach and reefs, with huge swells rolling in. Hayden, everyone behaved, for the most part. Monday we headed out for Green Turtle Cay. There had been a "rage" in the Whale Channel, the big groundswells from that low pressure system up north breaking as they came across the shallow waters of the channel. On Sunday, a sailboat had a swell break over its stern, ripping off the dinghy davits and carrying away the dinghy. The husband was thrown overboard, leaving the wife alone to stear the boat. Another sailboat managed to pick up the swimmer with a Lifesling, but the wife tried to maneuver close to get her husband back onboard and managed to tear the dinghy off the second boat. What a fiasco! By the time we went through on Monday, the swells had settled down considerably, but we did get one 10 footer that broke all around us. It took some effort to keep her from broaching.

At Green Turtle Cay, we decided to do a little sight-seeing from the boat and motored into Black Sound. The water was a little thin at the end of the entrance channel. Sure enough, coming back out I got a few feet too far to the left and went hard aground in weed and soft sand. The tide was running out, and our attempts to kedge off were fruitless. Then a local boater came by and took our spare halyard, and tipped us over to about 25 degrees of heel, allowing me to power off. I found the bottom again, backed off and got the heck out of there! We anchored in the Sea of Abaco off New Plymouth. Supper at the Bluff House was a real treat. Everything was superb, and the views were terrific from the hilltop. Robin Phillips, a lovely young lady who is the owner/manager, gave us a tour of some of their rooms and talked about running a resort complex in the Bahamas. Tonight we'll have dinner on the boat (mahi mahi of course), and dinghy in to the Jolly Roger to see the Gully Roosters band.

We spent five days enjoying the Abacos. Green Turtle Cay was our favorite spot--the restaurant at the Bluff House was world class, and the Jolly Roger pub on While Sound was fun. We enjoyed listening to the Gully Roosters, self-proclaimed "Top Band in the Nation" (it's a very small nation). Anchored at Green Turtle, we heard Lady Lex on the VHF and called her, connecting with Cliff Kisby. Cliff said that he and his wife are bringing her back to New Jersey via the ICW. From Green Turtle, we worked northward to Manjack Cay, then to Allans-Pensacola Cay for our last night in the Bahamas. Then on Thursday, May 12th we raised anchor at 2 pm and sailed out into the Atlantic through Moraine Cay Channel.

I had arranged for a weather routing forecast from Commanders Weather, and we seemed to have a good chance of favorable weather all the way up to Cape Hatteras. Sailing NW to pick up the Gulf Stream off Cape Canaveral, we were close reaching in 15 kts, although with a knot of foul current that stayed with us all the way to the Stream. As we entered the Gulf Stream about 2300 hrs on Friday, the foul current was replaced with a fair current starting at about a half knot and building to 2 kts and more. Now we were moving, and in the right direction! All day Saturday and Sunday we trucked along with 2-3 kts helping us along. Our only encounter with threatening weather was a 30 minute squall with lightning on Saturday afternoon. Our strategy was to hold our course about 10 miles inside the western wall of the Stream so that we could duck out to the west if the weather turned bad. Commanders Weather had warned us of a front approaching Hatteras just about the time we were scheduled to arrive. In a final update, they suggested bailing out to Beaufort, NC to wait it out if it got too rough. The crew voted to keep on trucking. On Sunday night we ran through a few light showers, and saw lightning to the east over the main axis of the Stream, but the winds remained moderate, so we kept going, seeing up to 9.5 kts SOG.

Then at 0300 Monday morning, we exited the Stream. The water temperature quickly began dropping, going from 80 to 68 in an hour. At 0500 we had Diamond Shoals light abeam and turned north to parallel the North Carolina coast. The forecasted front turned out to be a fizzle, so we were glad we had pressed on. By 0800, the water temperature was down to 60, and I had pulled out my fleece and foul weather jacket. Bye-bye warm weather! Our noon-to-noon distance that day was 189 NM, or an average of 7.8 knots! The previous noon-to-noon was 175 NM.

A school of dolphins appeared at our bow, and two of them stayed with us for 15 minutes or so, dodging and weaving back and forth across the bow wave, missing each other by inches as they crossed paths over and under time and time again, coming to the surface in unison side by side to take a breath, then back down to resume the criss-crossing, like a correographed dance. The larger one gave a high pitched signal and they peeled off in unison, vanishing in an instant.

The trip up the NC shore was in light breezes from the east, so we mostly motor-sailed. By 0200 on Tuesday morning, we were east of Cape Henry. The Virginia Pilots control tower called us on VHF as we approached the Hampton Roads shipping channels, advising us of a freighter coming down the Chesapeake Channel to the pilot boarding area. We contacted the ship's captain and agreed to pass green to green, turning north through the Bridge Tunnel after he passed by.

The breeze freshened as the sun came up and we were able to sail for an hour or so, until the wind picked up to 20+ kts from the NE, thrashing up some nasty, square waves that had just the right wavelength to make The Belle hobbyhorse like a maniac. Our bow was lifting 20' into the air, before burying the foredeck in green water, so we ended up tacking up-wave instead of up-wind. Ironically, I'd say that they were, if not the largest, certainly the most uncomfortable seas we'd experienced on the whole trip, right here in our home waters of the Chesapeake. At 1100, Windmill Point light was on our port beam and we bore off, easing the sheets, The Belle sailing easily now, not far from home. We were in through the narrow entrance to Tabbs Creek and tied up to the dock by noontime, 195 days after we had left. My bed ashore felt strange that night, but it was good to be home, nontheless.

This trip was year three & four of our Five Year Plan, born out of the belief that we should live our dreams while we're able to do so. Too many people we know have waited too long, and health problems have trumped their dreams. We bought this boat in May, 2002, (our previous boat was an O'Day 222 with a 6 hp Johnson). Year one was sailing the Chesapeake. Year two was a trip to Bermuda and back, done in the Summer of 2003. Year three & four was the Eastern Caribbean from the Virgins to Grenada and back. Year five was to have been New England, maybe as far as Maine (my plan), or back to the Caribbean (Lynne's plan--and I could live with that!). The future is a bit up in the air, however. Lynne's back is acting up again. She had a spinal fusion operation in November 2003, and it looks like another may be looming.

We hope you've enjoyed the chronicles of our adventure. We hope those who have been dreaming of making the passage south will take heart from the fact that two relative neophytes were able to log close to 4,000 nautical miles and enjoy 99 % of them, with never a minute of fear or regret, enjoying each new island experience to the utmost. Our boat treated us well, and stood every challenge flawlessly. We couldn't have been more pleased with her performance. And our memories of the people we met and the sights we saw will stay with us forever.

Hudson and Lynne Hoen
s/v The Belle of Virginia