That Sinking Feeling

The morning sun was just beginning to make a showing across the dark night sky, dusting the mooring field of Wallilabou Bay in purples and pinks. Headset on, engine warm, we whispered through pulling up the anchor in the pre-dawn light. The air was still.

Minerva anchored and tied stern-to-a-tree next to the mooring field in Wallilabou Bay, St. Vincent 

The boat boy that had agreed to come out at this ridiculous hour was quietly floating alongside Minerva on his busted up paddle board, his two small dogs sitting on the board with him, looking up curiously at Chloe. He had freed us from the shore and I had just stowed the really long stern line.

The air was still and eventually all of the anchor chain made it back onto the boat, the echoes of the chain through the gypsy the only noise in the bay. I secured the anchor. Lance put the boat in forward gear and then... KERTHACK WHAM THUD THUD THUD. Minerva shuddered. The birds took flight.

Lance slipped Minerva out of gear and popped open the engine compartment and reported over the headset "We're taking on water. Lots of it".

Sure enough. The shaft had somehow shifted away from its rightful place and water was spewing in.

Like a caped superhero, Lance leapt onto the warm engine and started to wrestle the shaft into its rightful place. There are normally 4 bolts holding it into place, now there was only one but he found the missing 3 in the bilge. I slipped past him and opened the tool compartments to produce the tools that we needed as he shouted his list. I was handing him the last socket wrench and a big rubber mallet when the wind popped up. It was sudden and strong, and blowing us down into the mooring field where the other boats slumbered. Of course, it would have been helpful if it had been blowing us out to sea, but what fun would that be?

In Wallilabou Bay, it's deep all the way up to shore. We had dropped our hook originally in 70 feet of water and then backed in, had a boat boy tie our stern line to a tree on shore that was about 50 ft away. Now we were at least 200 feet from shore and the water under the boat was at least 90 ft deep. I dropped the hook, pulled out all the dock lines and deployed the fenders on the downwind side. The boat boy was still hanging around on his paddle board, I handed him the longest line and while he paddled to shore with it I extended our stern line by tying one knot after another as fast as I could; 6 lines later we were tied to a new tree on shore and no longer a threat to the other boats.

Re-stowing the line locker post-disaster

By then Lance had 3 of the 4 bolts back on. The 4th just wouldn't go. We caught our breath while timing the slow leak, then tentatively fired up the engine and put her in gear. There was a small shimmy, and the pace of the small leak held steady. We put her in reverse. Smoother, no leak. We had an appointment to keep with the government vet for Chloe's clearance (hence the reason for starting the venture at such a ridiculous hour), the wind was good to sail us there and the leak had slowed to a trickle so we re-released the stern line, paid the boat boy a bonus, and made our way to St Lucia. We set an hourly alarm to count pumps with the manual bilge pump, and after 6 hours of checking agreed it was not leaking worse than before.

It was hours after we were underway before we really noticed the burns Lance had received from his engine hug. Open wounds. Not too serious and easily treatable but best to avoid contact with tropical seawater until healed. So no diving in St Lucia for us.

Pigeon Island near Deshais, Guadalupe is home to Jacques Cousteau's national park

Martinique, Guadalupe, and St. Martin followed. Eventually Lance was able to get the 4th bolt on but it fought him all the way and didn't feel like it was happy there. We monitored the situation regularly and while the leaking remained minimal and steady the new prop shimmy was unsetting. We decided to get professional help before heading across the open Caribbean sea or into the lonely Bahamas.  A damaged prop or propshaft could mean a haulout and a potentially lengthy or expensive repair and we started strategizing our options this close to hurricane season.

Our good friend Ton was in St Maarten and dropped by, and much to our relief pointed out that the part that was damaged is meant to be sacrificial, its job is to protect the engine from prop or shaft shenanigans, and the bolts were simply loose. So it did its job but gave its life. In a rare stroke of luck the replacement part was readily available at the local chandlery. The shaft was not damaged. One beer and an hour later, Minerva was back to 100%.

The sacrificial part. It's clearly visible why the bolts didn't want to happily go back in place.

We are once again free to roam. And it's time to high-tail it out of the hurricane zone. We are still undecided in which direction we will go, but are definitely feeling the need to get moving to somewhere safe for the season.

Bequia, Fit for Thieves and Scoundrels

We flew around the point under full sail. The ten-foot waves that had been battering us from the main island of St Vincent had relinquished their grip, leaving us with a comfortably surfable 4-foot wave pushing us around the corner. We tucked in against a giant mega yacht, rolled in the headsail and surveyed our destination: Admiralty Bay, Bequia, one of the most protected anchorages in the whole Caribbean. The perfect place to hide out the coming windstorm, reconnect with sailor friends from Trinidad, and prepare the boat for a couple weeks of self-sufficient lonely island hopping.

The Starship II rests alongside us between squalls in Admiralty Bay

The village on the hill above Admiralty Bay looks like a set from Wes Anderson - the homes cling to the mountainside wearing every color of the rainbow. The cars rushing to and fro seem to climb vertically. The buses and taxis and locals zipping around honk frequently, especially when making blind corners on sharp inclines to warn one another they are on the way, and very likely in the way. There are plentiful markets, restaurants, a chandlery, and lots of dinghy docks to choose from. In general, the tourist doesn't have to worry much about crime, just mischievous children. A friend had to swim after his sailing dinghy and sail the children back, despite the fact that he had told them to keep it on the sand they had overloaded it with young boys and were unwittingly drifting out to sea. From that moment on we all got more vigilant about locking our dinghies, the winds are strong and not all of us can swim as quickly as Tommy.

French maps from the early explorers charted this as a good place for boat repairs. Otherwise, they noted it as only fit for thieves and scoundrels. This actually tracks historically; Blackbeard seized La Concorde at the neighboring island and right here in Admiralty Bay is where she received her full compliment of stolen cannons, a pirate crew, and her name was changed to Queen Anne's Revenge.

Typical taxi on Bequia - Toyota or Nissan pickups with a bench down each side of the pickup bed above the wheel well. The tax driver puts out a stool and drops the tailgate to let customers in and out. The canvas sides are rolled down when rain threatens.

The island has no fresh water of its own, and is therefore horribly unsuited for agriculture of any sort and the ruling class recognized this. But the government wanted the land populated so they granted land to "poor people of good character" who wanted to make a go of growing sugar, the popular commodity at the time. It was really only economically feasible with significant slave labor effort and cheap trade with the American colonies. But after 1776 the young country of America felt disinclined to continue the cheap trade and the prices for tools and raw materials increased significantly. Not long after that slavery was abolished. Sugar quickly became a losing proposition for the plantations of the island. Other crops were tried but in the end the people of the island were starving, plantation owners and freed slaves alike.

On the south end of the island in Friendship Bay is a shallow reef with a small island. American whalers recognized its value as a place to process their kills. Enterprising locals noticed an opportunity forming. One particular islander sailed to the Northeast USA to learn the craft of whaling, and even managed to bring a whale boat back to the island as a prototype and a new industry was born. Boat builders, whalers, all kinds of boat support popped up and the island's people once again had a purpose and a path to profitability. The industrial revolution was lubricated by whale oil, the night was illuminated by whale oil and everybody on the island developed a taste for whale meat. In no time at all whaling became a permanent part of Bequia culture and acts of bravery bestowed a source of pride, the story-telling shared from elder to child.

Friendship Bay, as seen from the boat museum.

To this day, Bequia is one of only four countries that holds special dispensation for whale hunting, up to four per year although last year they killed only one and some years none at all. The locals view whale hunting as integral to their culture, the anchor that keeps them from getting swept away by tourism, which is now by far the more prevalent commodity of the island. 

Whale boat, seats 6. Freeboard clearance, mere inches. Bravery required, much.

The school children developed a song to announce when a whale spout is seen, and the island joins together in the energy of the hunt. The whales are processed on the same reef they were hundreds of years ago, and the meat is shared among the locals. Beautiful crafts made from the whale bones can be bought at the outdoor market.

Locally made bone jewelry

It's moments like this that I remember that I am merely a visitor. My opinions on the matter of whale hunting matter not one bit, as it's not my culture and it's not my life; it wasn't my people that were saved from starvation by the hunt. I am a guest - my job here is only to learn. Whether or not to buy beautiful jewelry made from whale bones? That's a question still being debated.

https://www.noforeignland.com/boat/-1

Trinidad, land of surprises

We came to Trinidad with no expectations. The insurance company wanted us South for hurricane season and from a latitude standpoint, Trinidad appeased them.

Moko Jumbies at the Independence Day Parade

Other than the antiquated bureaucracy other cruisers warned us about, we came with no preconceived notions and welcomed at face value what the locals wanted to share with us. What we found is this: the people of Trinidad are genuine. They are making money elsewhere so they don't really rely on tourism, there is none of that "please-get-out-of-my-pocket" feeling that is so tiresome elsewhere. Aside from the usual grumbling about politics and crime, they are one and all proud to be Trinidadian and happily introduce us to their food, inventions, dancing and music.

Trinidad was once inhabited by Carib and Arawak natives referred to as the First People. Over the years Dutch, Africans, East Indians and eventually British mingled into the population, and the result is a mixing pot of amazing food, costumes, and a style of music that is completely unique. Many different religions exist peacefully together, some even share the buildings they worship in and everyone embraces the assorted religious holidays as their own; any excuse for a party is a good one in Trinidad, and rarely a month goes by without some sort of national holiday being observed.

Saheena, my favorite breakfast treat

Trinidad grows a lot of food, most of the standard dishes are curry or vegetable-based. My favorite dish is a taco of sorts called saheena - the shell is made of pan fried caloo (similar to spinach) and filled with chick peas, a sweet hot chutney and as much spice as you want. Be careful what you ask for because they do love their spices and if you ask for "as hot as you can make it" they will dish it up with some mischievous side-eye and giggle while you burn. This and many other delicious hand-held dishes are generally served at roadside stands and cost the equivalent of a buck or two in US dollars. A lot of food is obtained this way, by veering off the road, peeling off a handful of TT (Trini dollars), laughing with the vendors for a moment before speeding away to consume your tasty finds in the car or at home. Locals tend to keep plasticware and paper towels in the car, because you never know when you will come across your favorite roadside vendor, they seem to open up whenever they feel like it and some are more difficult to catch open than others.

The marina we chose, Power Boats, is exactly what we wanted in a home base for hurricane season. There are a handful of roadside stands out front, a grocery store, two restaurants onsite, a chandlery, welcoming staff, and a whole host of friendly and skilled workers or you can do the work yourself - they even have a workshop just for cruiser use. The safety and security is such that you can set down your project and come back later and not worry about anybody messing with it in the meantime. There is an internet room, which is a quiet air conditioned place to retreat to when the boat yard noise gets a bit too overwhelming.

Minerva's ladder being stripped down, we rebuilt the passerelle so it can once again be used as a gangplank when Med-moored

The cruiser community is not as tight as some other places yet, but all the right ingredients are there for a robust community. It is likely that the recent hurricane activity will result in more insurance companies insisting their vessels go to Trinidad instead of Grenada, so the cruiser community is likely to grow quickly, and soon. At the heart of this community is Jesse James, a tireless advocate for cruisers who also runs a taxi and tour service. When cruisers fled hurricane Beryl, Jesse was at the center of efforts to smooth the sudden influx of 150 or so boats through the daunting immigration process, and made sure the boats making a quick turnaround back to Carriacou and the other devastated islands were loaded with donated recovery supplies. Cruisers on both ends under his direction pulled it all together and volunteering was an experience I will always remember with pride.

A round of hurricane recovery supplies waiting to be loaded onto the SV Dawdle, heading to Union Island

We had one big project in mind for Minerva this hurricane season: topside paint. We found a pro we liked, handed over the keys, and retreated to a cozy air conditioned apartment from which we ventured out for smaller projects in the cruiser workshop when the heat was manageable. We jumped in on Jesse's coveted sight-seeing adventures whenever possible, including a foodie tour, bird-watching, rum tasting, witnessed some steel pan drums being built, and dancing with giant puppets to the sounds of the rolling steel pan bands of the independence day celebration.

A steel pan drum being built from scratch by a highly skilled Tuner

Trinidad invented the steel pan and the joyful sound can be heard most anywhere. The US had a significant presence here during World War II (when Trinidad still had ties to our British allies), which is how Calypso style music escaped into the rest of the world. Although there are factories that can turn out steel pan drums, the handmade ones are more prized. A skilled "tuner" can make a steel pan drum by hand with a handful of antique tools and an amazing ear for perfect pitch. True afficionados can pick out the maker by the instruments' sound and drummers are known to return to their favorite tuner year after year for tweaks to their drums.

Cruiser potluck

Every week there are cruiser get togethers ranging from a potluck BBQ to organized shopping trips. Once again, WhatsApp is a mandatory app we use to pool resources, trade boat parts, share information and organize events.

Cruisers on the foodie tour. We snacked our way across the country and back.

Come to find out, Trinidad is host to a wide array of birds and the ASA Wright Bird Sanctuary tour got us quite close and personal with toucans and hummingbirds. Had we opted to stay the night we could have met the island's famous bat population. The foodie tour was like no other we have been on - so much of the best local food is roadside so our 12-hour tour of the island involved a lot of swooping to pick up this and that, and sharing it in the van as we bounced down the road and Jesse regaled us with stories of the region, history, and culture.

Toucan at the ASA Wright Center

Trinidad has been a welcome surprise, and it turned out to be the perfect spot to hang out for hurricane season.

Juicy watermelons are grown on the East side of the island, and standing on the roadside with sticky faces and spitting seeds was definitely on the summer checklist 

Wet 'n' wild landing in Grenada

Our dreams were finally coming true. The last three passages had been mostly sailing, mostly beam reach. So this is that champagne sailing we keep hearing about?

Between Carriacou and Grenada we glided past Kick 'Em Jenny, an underwater volcano being closely monitored for activity. One day she may become an island, but not that day. We did see some bizarre bubbles but easily convinced ourselves they were the result of wave action not geothermal activity.

We sailed down the West coast of Grenada smoothly, all the while monitoring the storm clouds along the highest ridges of the island, peeking over the mountaintop to our left. There was another storm off to our right side, but in between the two of them the skies were blue and our little world was perfect.

Our destination was the anchorage at Prickly Bay Harbor, on the South side of the island of Grenada. There's a small island closeby and a shallow shelf between them. As we turned left around the bottom corner of Grenada and into the shallow shelf, it became clear that the storm that had been on the ridgeline would eventually make its way to us. We weren't sure what the one behind us was doing. We scurried quickly across the shallow shelf and into Prickly Bay Harbor.

Our first med moor experience was in Guadaloupe

We picked that spot weeks ago because it is close to the veterinarian university that processes Trinidad pet checkouts; there are restaurants and grocery stores nearby and everything that we would need while we worked our way through bureaucratic approval. So, imagine our disappointment when we could not find a place to drop the hook on our first or second lap through. The boats already there were anchored quite closely to one another, and we have indelibly learned our lesson about short rode (see the Chesapeake City story). When we agreed that couldn't find a safe spot we left for the next bay over, True Blue. The storm on the ridgeline was advancing and the storm that followed us in waited in the shallow channel behind us, not a safe place to be in high winds and chop; we needed to find a spot to land and fast.

On our first pass through True Blue we noticed the few boats there were really rolling around from the wrap-around swell that comes in off the open ocean. Some of the mast swaying looked quite unpleasant. We took a lap trying to find a quiet place to land, and were eyeballing the brand new large mooring balls when the storm hit.

Conch shell pile in Carriacou

A recent purchase for us is a pair of headsets that allow us to speak quietly to one another instead of the usual shouting to be heard over the engine noise. We also traditionally use a lot of hand signals so that Lance knows where to direct the boat while I try to land her safely at anchor, on mooring balls, and in a slip. It's good we already had them on our heads when the storm hit because Lance could not see my hand signals on the bow of the boat and I could not see the mooring ball in the suddenly frothy water. We took a second pass at it and I had no better luck at catching it the second time in the high wind.

The rain came on with such ferocity it felt like BBs hitting my face. I knew I would not be able to see the mooring ball pennant to hook it a third time around either and made the snap decision to drop the hook right in the middle of the empty mooring field. As I was dropping it Lance was suggesting the same thing. It's bizarre how we are so often in sync.

The anchor hit the sand hard and I paused the chain payout for a moment to be sure I didn't pile the chain on top of it (another lesson learned in the heat of the moment), and then let it run free while the wind hurled Minerva backwards and sideways. Lance was watching behind us for any potential obstacles and I was counting out the chain to him over the headset as it went out. When we agreed we had enough chain out I stopped paying it out and Minerva's bow snapped right around. The mighty Mantus rocks again! We had hooked well.

After setting the drag alarm, we took turns wringing out our clothes and keeping watch until the high winds passed by, made a nice dinner and relaxed into the rolly swell and rain on the deck for the night. First thing the next morning we made our way into a swanky nearby marina where we tied up and enjoyed some air conditioning for the week.

Chloe waiting patiently for the Grenada vet

Of course getting the dog approved for Trinidad meant we had to rent a car to go right back over the hill to the area of Prickly Bay. Come to find out there are pretty good restaurants over there too, so we made several trips back to the neighborhood, but always gratefully returned to our air conditioned boat in the peaceful waters of the marina.

Trinidad is next. That's where we will protect Minerva from hurricane season, and her crew will relax and explore a whole new country for a few months.

Minnerversary #4: Sweet Surrender in Sint Maarten

May 5th marks 4 years we've been with Minerva. Sometimes it feels like a hundred years ago that we were responsible homeowning adults commuting to work every day. Sometimes it feels like yesterday.

We've met many amazing people on the water. Some we run into again and again in our travels, some don't stay on the water for long. Not everyone is cut out for this lifestyle. I've noticed that those that stick with it for the long term have perfected the art of bending without breaking. The folks that must control their environment quickly learn that this is not the life for them or learn to surrender some control and work within the limitations of the day.

The volcano at St. Eustatius (pronounced Stay-Sha) holds court over the anchorage

Our friends Janet and Joe in Oriental NC introduced us to the concept of the No Plan Plan at a time when we were coming completely undone by our first year of Minerva maintenance failures. I still struggle with the No Plan Plan. I am a control freak. I make plans and expect to stick to them.

But sailing doesn't work that way. The wind won't cooperate. The parts are unobtainable. The professional you hired doesn't show up on time and won't return your phone calls. The skies won't cooperate -  it will surely dump rain the day you booked the welding work. Medical situations pop up at the most inconvenient moments. Boat insurance policies place seemingly arbitrary limitations on your travel plans. Bureaucracy and politics in general often place obstacles in your way. The mail won't work where you are, or it's prohibitively expensive. You can't get the groceries you want. You can't find the type of food you want at the local restaurants or they aren't open today despite their printed hours. The internet and phone connection is sometimes a challenge. You can't use all the fresh water you wish. You can't always get to an airport, a rental car, sometimes even getting to shore is impossible. You can't access the friends and the family that you want. The basic freaking high-count thread cotton sheets that you want don't exist in any of the islands you've approached - and you've  looked in every home goods store you found for the last 6 months.

Cannon at Brimstone Hill Fortress in St Kitts

The sailors that can move past these things and laugh anyways have become the true masters of flexibility. We're not there yet but we're learning.

Can't talk to your best friend? Wave the bag of ice you just bought at the strangers you just met and invite them over for a sundowner. You can't consume all that ice before it melts anyways so share the wealth. They dinghied past you to check in with the customs agent, they look tired and their boat probably doesn't have an ice maker either, they also probably just came in from a long sail. Make the crew a cocktail. Listen to their sailing stories. It might be not the sister or the best friend whose company you are missing; new friends are cool too.

The Grand Parade at Carnival St Maarten

Can't go where you want? Go where the wind takes you. Or stay where you are. Or fire up the engine and bash into it. Whatever plans you concocted yesterday don't have to be written in stone, you can change your mind to follow today's weather whims. An experienced sailor told us "when it's time to go, I just go, and I can be really quite rude about it". This conversation happened just a couple of days before he failed to show up for the dinner we cooked for him in Annapolis, and we found out days later he had caught a weather window to Maine.

Mural facing Marigot Bay, on the French Side of St. Martin

Lance had some foot medical drama to deal with, best done in California by the specialists that already know him. Somebody needed to stay with the dog and the boat. So we sailed Minerva back to St. Maarten where friends and resources are plentiful, access to boat supplies is easy and the technicians are top-notch. I worked through some big projects we were going to hire done in Trinidad anyways. Lance is getting back on two feet, Minerva got some big projects done a little earlier than planned and we (hopefully) play more/work less this hurricane season. We'll have to high-tail it to Trinidad so it's not the lovely slow tour of the Caribbean we had planned, but that's OK, we'll catch the things we missed on the way back up. I'm learning to surrender the plan and work within the day's limitations. There is peace in surrender.

Chloe loves to frolic on the beach at every opportunity

We had the most amazing sail back from St. Kitts to St. Maarten, and we both hold that memory close until we can share the next perfect sailing day together. That's the other side of this coin. Good preparations often make for smooth sailing, and now and then the most perfect moments are gifted to the persistent sailor. There are days when the wind is cooperative, the waves are minimal, the breeze is cool and the clouds or stars mirror the water so you and your vessel seem to float together in a magic bubble, outside of the rest of the world. Sometimes there are dolphins. Sometimes there are jaw-dropping views to sail past. Sometimes the water explodes with bioluminescence, trailing fireworks behind the boat's wake.

Those moments reward the struggle.

Shiny new standing rigging - done!

Boat Insurance! What is it good for? (hopefully... nothing)

With January drawing near, it was time to get serious about renewing Minerva's insurance policy.

When we started out in 2020 in the USA with Minerva we had Geico. It was about $1,000 a year and included a generous tow package.

St. Martin as seen from the canopy tour

In December 2022 when we started preparing to leave the USA, we called Geico to order the additional Bahamas rider. That's when we found out that not only would they not issue approval for leaving the USA, they also intended to cancel us when our policy renewed in May on Minerva's 40th birthday year. So it was time to shop for a new policy that would carry us to the Bahamas and beyond into the Caribbean.

We found two companies that would insure Minerva. Both of them were priced ridiculously, but only one of which was requiring an out-of-water survey before signing us on. Having just spent 8 months on the hard enduring a Maine winter and significant boat repairs, we picked the insurance company that didn't require the survey because we wanted to finally go sailing instead of suffering additional delays. We paid more, but we didn't have to stop and deal with any surveyors in Florida, negating any possible savings. With our wallet $6000 lighter we pushed off the shores of the USA and into turquoise tropical waters.

Typical bounty from a morning shore run to the French side of St Martin

We followed their guidelines about where to spend hurricane season. We chose Curacao and watched the storms pass by well North of us while we sweated out the season in superheated tropical safety. We also gained some epic experience crossing the Caribbean Sea, and at the end of the season did it again in reverse to end back up in St Croix USVI.  We knew they would insist on a survey the next time around.

Then they sent us a bill for $7000. Same coverage. No claims. Survey required. I think it was the automated way the broker sent it to me without preamble, along with a $700 broker fee without even trying to shop it at all that really kicked my rage machine into motion. Time to shop it around again. Now that a survey was mandatory all the competitors were on equal footing. 

Let's talk about the survey. When you buy a boat, it's a good idea to hire a reputable, independent surveyor. They go over every system carefully, thump every inch of the hull and deck, flip every switch, examine the color of the engine exhaust and the stitching on the sails. A pre-purchase survey is an excellent way to be sure you are getting what you are paying for.

An insurance survey is different. The surveyor looks to make sure that you're maintaining the vessel, that it is seaworthy, and it is vaguely worth what the insurance company thinks it is worth. It's sort of a reality check between the boat owner and the insurance company. They generally don't go turning on the engine or thumping every inch of the hull and most boat yards offer a quick-haul option so the surveyor can quickly look over the bottom.

Grocery run to provision for a week of expected high winds

We've been with Minerva for a few years now and take pride in her care. We don't feel the survey is necessary because we know every inch of our vessel. We have our own perpetual list of repairs and improvements and are always working on some project to better our boat, but they don't know us and how fastidious we are about her maintenance or improvements.

As soon as we landed in St. Croix, we started shopping for a surveyor. We unanimously rejected the first surveyor the moment he swindled us on some boat parts at the local chandlery and set an appointment with one in St. Martin.

Chloe the super sailor dog in Philipsburg

On his way out to view Minerva in the lagoon the surveyor informed Lance he was condemning the rigging, sight unseen, because it is 9 years old. He said as a matter of practice all rigging should be replaced every 10 years. Our friends with French, German, Dutch and Canadian flagged vessels were horrified that this is a normal way of doing business for American vessels. "What, they don't think that you would maintain her on your own? Don't they think that you want the best for your vessel too?"

Yeah... Sigh.

The quick haul took about an hour, while the surveyor was doing his thing we scraped some sea life off the bottom, and Minerva was back in the water in no time. That's $1000 for the survey and $500 for the haul out, and $5000 for the insurance policy, and we're good to go for another year.

Now for those of you who are quick with math, that's $6500 that in no way actually improves our vessel. That same $6500 would be a solid start on new rigging, or one whole new sail maybe two, or a new dinghy, dinghy motor AND a new life raft. In other words, things that actually matter to Minerva.

Quick Haul - it's always unnerving to see your boat mid-air but the guys at Bobby's Mega Yard made it look easy

Boat insurance companies also include a territorial clause. It goes by different names but the basic gist of it is that they don't want you in a hurricane zone during hurricane season, and ignoring this map and schedule makes it possible for them to deny claims. Different companies have different maps and slightly different calendars. For our first international policy, anything South of Latitude 12'40" was acceptable. That opened up Grenada and the ABC Islands and they excluded most of the East coast of the USA. A different policy says anything North of Florida is acceptable but you have to get way South, like Trinidad, for hurricane season. Having lived through a couple of storm seasons on the East coast of the USA, ducking and dodging hurricanes, some well outside of their anticipated date range, this all seems rather arbitrary to me.

It's for these reasons many boaters choose to self-insure. Prudent mariners maintain their vessels and keep a constant weather eye. One day we may choose to skip buying insurance too. Because, more than anything, I hate being told where to go, when I can't be there, and which repairs should be prioritized.

Sidewalk crepes on the main drag in Marigot

On the other hand, floating in the lagoon of St. Martin we are surrounded by evidence of storm damage; half-floating boats, destroyed buildings left behind in the wake of Irma/Marie more than 6 years ago - a sobering daily reminder of the worst of the worst and the tedious claw back to the life "before".

Maybe when we have more miles under the hull I will feel confident to take the path of the self-insured. As annoyed as I am, for now though, I'll write the check and start making plans for hurricane season hideouts.

Imposter Syndrome

We sailed out of Curacao under a stiff wind, almost exactly on the nose. Somehow, impossibly, just like we came in.

The first rays of sunrise illuminate a wet deck and safety equipment at the ready. Jacklines lead from the cockpit to the bow and tethers keep our life vests connected to the jacklines in such a way that if we do fall, we fall ONTO the boat instead of off of it.

The first night we lost track of our boat buddy Bliss in a squall. Sometime later in the night we noticed the mainsail was shaped weirdly because the foot of the sail was working its way out of the boom track, before we had a chance to fix it the outhaul shredded and snapped loose. The big winds and steep waves made it just too much to attempt to solve any of it safely in the dark and so we decided the best course of action was to take down and secure the mainsail until we could get some sunshine on it and make a plan. The beauty of a ketch is that in high winds she often performs better with just the headsail and mizzen sail, ketch sailors call this "running jib & jigger" and Minerva is quite comfortable this way. I clipped to the jacklines, crab-walked/crawled out to the mainmast, pulled the sail down and secured it while Lance watched from the wheel, calling out warnings for the bigger waves so I could pause long enough to cling to the mast or boom until it was safe to take one hand off again and resume sail wrestling. Sail secured, I crawled back to the safety of the cockpit, unclipped and passed out until time for my watch. The morning light revealed a half dozen problems with the mainsail and boom, all of which would have to wait for a calm day at anchor before being addressed.

The rivets that keep the metal plate on the end of the boom end perished, and the metal plate came off. We found it on the deck before it went overboard, fortunately. Without the plate in place, the lines were able to escape the little troughs they should live in, chafed and shredded.

Then the autopilot died. We tried some basic troubleshooting but in the end resigned ourselves to hand-steering and shorter watches for the duration of the passage. Good thing we meal-planned for one-handed eating on this passage.

On the third day the wind shifted a bit behind us, we flattened out the boat and flew into Christiansted like a rocket, our Curacao flag still flying because it seemed too unimportant to hassle with in the rough conditions, short-handed as we were with the manual steering. It was somewhat shredded from the season and the long ride in. We didn't take it down until Minerva was resting on her anchor alongside our buddy boat. Our American flag at the stern was every bit as shredded.

 

There were already a couple of other sailboats anchored with Bliss. One of them was a beautiful charter boat named Kai. Shortly after we had settled the bureaucracy, removed our tattered Curacao flag and hoisted the USVI flag, the crew of Kai came over and gifted us with some fish from their freezer. Rather than let it thaw while getting some work done they shared the bounty. This is the cruiser way.

The happiest view - finding your long-lost buddy boat at your destination

They told us they had been scrabbling to figure out our Curacao flag, wondering what far away lands we had sailed in from, and how they were hoping we would anchor our "real sailboat" out by them so Kai and her crew could share the anchorage with the other "real sailors".

When they said those words I looked around and it took me a moment. "Oh... you mean us? Real sailors?

Our hair and skin is salty. Our mainsail is secured tightly, obviously done on the fly but done properly nonetheless (not to mention one-handed while often airborne). The dog is still wearing her life jacket and anxiously eyeing the frozen fish - she recognizes the way they zip-seal her favorite meats in the Caribbean. We are yawning but nonetheless going about our business settling Minerva after a long passage; tidying lines, securing sails, checking the chafe guards on the anchor bridle.

They're talking about us. I scratched my salty eyebrow and blinked the resulting salt from my eye. I suppose we are real sailors.

Huh. Wonder when that happened.

Goin' to shore for the first time after a long passage - this is the face of a very happy sailor dog