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 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.