Day four in the continuing saga of Adonis during our recent adventures in the BVI's . . .
Day 4: Goat Raisins
Following the exciting exploits of the previous evening, we woke to overcast skies and a desire to top-off our water. We motored to the Leverick Bay dock, filled-up with water and topped-off the fuel, grabbed a few bags of ice, and cast off for Saba Rock. Only a couple of scant miles away, Saba was well within our view and there were plenty of mooring balls to choose from. Captain Bart put us on a ball close to Prickly Pear Island, an interesting-looking piece of real estate that appealed to my sense of exploration.
The ladies made a batch of bay breezes for the morning sail, mmmmm tasty! Sure worked-up a thirst on that trek! Complete motoring time: 15 minutes—give or take a few. Captain Bart turned on the iPod to Crosby, Stills, and Nash’ “Southern Cross” as we settled in to Saba Rock finishing our breezes and massaging a few gin and tonics before lunch. As I sat basking in the overcast skies with my cooling beverage, I figured I would have to back-off the gin for a while because I could hear faint “bleating” in the background. Bleating?! Sheep? I looked around and spotted a good bunch of goats having lunch on Prickly Pear. Hmm. Goats. I recall previous TTOL posts regarding goats but had completely forgotten about them. Now, here they were off our stern. Worth looking into later. With overcast skies, we decided that we would return to the Fat Virgin for lunch. This time, the admiral would go with us.
We dinged the approximate mile to the Fat Virgin in a much smoother fashion than we had experienced the previous night. No one missed the bumpiness, wetness, or lightening. We docked and made our way to an already busy table, ordered a few painkillers and Red Stripes while we waited our turn to sit. The ladies went looking for the gift shop behind the Virgin but found it locked. Luckily, one of the ladies working at the Fat Virgin opened the doors for them and allowed them to contribute to the local economy.
I ordered another chicken roti and my first-mate ordered a, “Good Tuna Salad Sandwich.” That’s how it was printed in the menu: “Good Tuna Salad Sandwich,” and they weren’t kidding. That was a tasty tuna salad sandwich! First-mate only allowed me one, itty-bitty-tiny bite. The others plucked various items from the menu including conch fritters, French fries, and hamburgers. While dining, we sparked a conversation with the folks eating at the table next to us only to find that they were from our area! Shut the Front Door! Not just from our area, but just down the road a few miles from our homes! Small world! Captain Bart got their names for “professional” purposes. The conversation was good, the food, and camaraderie were excellent! We were fat and happy. We bid adieu to our new friends and pushed off for Adonis after lunch—we had to make way for others to dine at this two-picnic-table establishment.
The ding back was good as we putted past the Bitter End Yacht Club. One of these days, the first-mate and I will have to do some more intensive “investigation” into the BEYC; looks like a fun and romantic place to stay. We pushed on to Saba Rock, paid our mooring fee, and walked around the place –literally! . . .took about two minutes; 30 if you went REEEAAALLLYYY slowly.
Saba Rock is rather interesting. It’s a simple, one-acre plot of rock set in the North Sound between the Bitter End and Prickly Pear Island. It’s apparent they have managed to utilize every single square inch of the place for those who enjoy small and quaint. The dock is sufficient and modern, the restaurant/bar and shop dutifully stocked, neatly-decorated and well-prepared for boaters, and the rear of the place is laid out with a beautiful cover of the nicest golf course grass you could ever ask for. Easy to see why boaters would spend a night or two in the few rooms here to grab some A/C or embrace the restaurant/bar. It’s just a nice, pleasant chunk o’ rock between Eustatia Sound and Gorda Sound.
As we walked about Saba, I spied a very important message scrawled across a small chalkboard: “Happy Hour 4-6.” Going to make that. As we walked back to our dinghy, one of our crew told me they had seen a sign that read: “Tarpon Wrestling 5:00 p.m.” What? They’re kidding, right? REAL tarpon? REAL wrestling? As an avid fisherman, I have a whole lot of respect for the tarpon. It’s a big, thick, STRONG silver fish with a gaping mouth and long body. It’s a chore to land a two-footer on a rod and somebody’s going to wrestle these things? I gotta see that! WAIT! Hmmmm. Maybe they’ll let ME wrestle one for a beer or something? Sounds like a plan. At 5:00 p.m. I’ll be on that dock in my skivvies to launch myself onto the unwary back of one of those tarpon! Tarpon beware! Fat Daddy K will cast doom upon your slippery carcass! But first, we snorkel and goat-check.
I’ve always enjoyed snorkeling and scuba—you get to see things differently and on dissimilar terms. Matt, my co-deckhand, enjoyed snorkeling too but wasn’t as adventuresome as I was. We spent the next couple of hours snorkeling slowly along the shores of Prickly Pear Island finding conch after conch and barracuda after barracuda. Matt grew more comfortable in short order. We highlighted our snorkel when a massive school of baitfish suddenly appeared in our midst and balled-up tight in a dark, squirming school some 25 feet wide. I recognized this as a survival mechanism and knew these fish were under predation. I began to watch the edges of the school for the creature pursuing lunch. In short order, we spotted a small school of tarpon in about 15 feet of water beneath the school—only five or six fish. Nice 3 to 4 footers with one big 6 footer. What I wouldn’t give for a 9-0 fly rod! The baitfish were obviously tense as we slowly pushed through them and tried to get some better pictures of the tarpon. Beautiful and sleek, those tarpon glided around the school but never entered into a feeding frenzy. They were awesome to watch. One allowed me to get within six feet, but no closer. Matt enjoyed this as much as I did. Lesson learned: you don’t have to catch fish to enjoy them. Lesson learned: take your time and enjoy your surroundings.
We were joined at the shores of Prickly Pear by Captain Bart, the admiral, my first-mate, and Matt’s first-mate, Ashley. The men—plunderers that we were—wandered about exploring the island a bit while the ladies chilled upon the beach and watched for other boarding parties. Full of scrub brush, the island is a haven for goats; bet we saw 50 on the few acres we explored. These beasts were depositing a boat load of “goat raisins” everywhere we walked; not the typical shriveled –up grape raisins many of us might fancy to snack-on, but the dull-green, slippery type that evacuates from the south-end of a north-bound goat. We primarily stayed near shore finding some beautiful shells, coral, and interesting limestone rocks as we trekked around to the north shore. Neckar Island stood nearby. Ahoy! Sir Richard! Cast upon me a lemur, good sir! For I am but simple man with simple tastes! Cast a lemur upon my dinghy! A lemur, good sir! Please a lemur!
Captain Bart enjoyed our outing and snapped a few photos while we examined the browse line created by the goats. Hmmmm. Browse lines are not good for plants or the ecosystem. Browse lines are created when herbivores eat all of the vegetation up to a certain height on a plant. In this case, it appears the goats had eaten everything up to about four or five feet—as high as they could reach. That’s why the plants look dead and “sticky” on the bottom and green and lush on the top. I wondered whether anyone had tried to control the goat populations here at all. I would be willing to volunteer my services in a “Goat Relocation Program” . . . only they would most likely be relocated to my freezer. I hope these critters don’t do too much damage to the foliage before it begins to affect the topography through erosion, soil loss, and stymied plant growth. Oh, well, maybe I can save the world some other way. Lesson learned: keep goats penned or outside my paradise.
While exploring Prickly Pear, we noted much trash and debris washed upon the shore, understanding that some is likely due to careless boaters. Doing our part, we picked up some trash and took it with us aboard Adonis for our next trash dump since Saba Rock does not take-on trash from boaters. Settling into a more serious and somber mood and thinking of how trash can ruin a paradise like this, we came up with project “Beautify the BVI’s.” A program offering incentives to boaters, tourists, and locals for locating, securing, and disposing of trash and refuse found on/in the islands and waters. Since we were having a drink during our epiphany, naturally we thought of drink incentives first: “Pick up some trash and get a free drink.” Then we realized there could be a series of “rewards” escalating on a scale according to refuse amounts, high-value locations, and types of refuse. Anyone know of such a program already in the BVI’s? Lesson learned: clean-up your s!@# so others don’t have to. Lesson learned: don’t spoil the beauty before others can enjoy it. Lesson learned: do something to make things nicer for others.
We ended our snorkel-fest and beach-combing on Prickly Pear and returned to Adonis before Happy Hour on “The Rock.” Saba Rock moorings were going fast and the place looked like it was filling up. “Catatonic” moored next to us. Nice vessel. Judging from the music and laughter we heard, everyone appeared to be in a good mood on the North Sound. We were visited by a nice woman in a dinghy selling homemade jewelry. What a life! She was nice and seemed to be enjoying herself—didn’t catch her name. And boy! Can she manage a dinghy! It was apparent she had been doing this for a number of years; her dinghy skills were impressive and second-nature. She did pretty work and we helped her by contributing to her art and taking a few samples home. Lesson learned: men are not the only ones who should handle a dinghy.
We enjoyed Painkillers, French fries, and conch fritters at Happy Hour. At 5:00 p.m., I, in my spandex Speedo, was ready to do battle with the silver-sided behemoths of the deep! Tarpon beware! As we moved toward the dock and I began to do my Rocky Balboa warm-up, I spotted a sign: “Tarpon Feeding 5:00 p.m.” What? Drat! Apparently there would be no wrestling for me. The tarpon “wrestling” was actually tarpon FEEDING. Hmmmm. It appears my crew members have played a trick on me to see if I would don my Speedo and pursue the salty challenge. The feeding involves the tarpon fighting over scrap fish skins tossed to them from the dock by restaurant employees. Impressive to see these big fish fight for those scraps. My Speedo fish-wrestling days would be over before they began! Hmm, maybe Sea World . . .?
Following an evening squall, we dined on grilled hotdogs and a few more drinks; seems the French fries and conch fritters went farther than planned. We even got a fairly decent sunset, but while taking a few photos to document our day, Matt managed to lay his hands (for camera support) across the hot grill lid getting himself a nasty little burn. Not to worry, the burn was a low, second-degree and he was taken care of in short order. Thank goodness skin grows back. Other boats were taking advantage of a cease-fire in the rain and it looked like there was quite a lot of visiting and partying going on around us. Saw LOTS of folks zipping around in their dinghies without lights—a recipe for bad juju. Lesson learned: keep a flashlight in the dinghy for low-light operation. Lesson learned: in a dinghy, DO NOT zip around moorings and between boats in the dark.
Later that evening, the clouds built-up again and we got lots of rain, wind, and lightening. The boat did a lot of swinging on the mooring line. Dinghy did a lot of bumping against the hull as we swung. Weather report doesn’t sound promising for tomorrow either. Is there always a 30% chance of rain in the BVI’s? No dinghy outings tonight; tomorrow we push toward Marina Cay!
