This post reflects the continuing adventures of the captain and crew of Adonis while in the BVI's June 3rd through 12th (See previous post: "Trip Report: Day 1- Where's the Damn Box"). This was one of the most memorable days we experienced . . .


Day 3- At Least Nobody Died

We rose from our berths semi-rested and decided that Spanishtown, below Cow Hill at Colison Point, is probably not the best location for the night if you want a non-rolling and quiet mooring. Spanishtown dock is BUSY! If I had done better homework I would have understood what an important dockage this was for passengers and cargo to Virgin Gorda. Only slowed down late in the evening, but anytime a vessel moved toward the dock or Spanishtown harbor, it provided the gentle wake necessary to roll us around a bit. Oh, there was heavy equipment operating off the dock too . . . helped to drown out that pesky silence. It rained a bit too and the skies remained cloudy, but cracks in the clouds were showing. Good weather coming? Lesson learned: don’t moor for the night off Spanishtown if you plan on rising the next day well rested.

Captain Bart cracked the whip and got his crew jumping for a trip to the Baths. I had read a lot about the Baths and viewed innumerable pictures so my first-mate and I were eager to experience them first-hand. The sun began to show itself as we picked up a mooring ball, made the boat secure, and packed ourselves into the dinghy for the short ride to the beach. My co-deckhand, Matt, was the designated dinghy captain. This was only his second stint as dinghy captain. We dropped off Captain Bart and the remaining crew and Matt and I turned for the dinghy line—I rode the bow and was in charge of securing us to the line. With that simple task completed, we dropped off the side of the dinghy and swam the 50-yards to shore. That’s when things got interesting.

The look on the faces of our captain and crew forced the two of us—now tired from the swim—to turn and see our precious dinghy floating away from the dinghy line (insert multiple expletives here) <img src="http://www.traveltalkonline.com/forums/images/graemlins/duh.gif" alt="" />. We promptly turned and began swimming HARD to catch our lonely, grey balloon-hulled taxi before it floated off down the Drake. I hailed a passing dinghy captain and asked if he would give us a hand after dropping his passengers at the beach (all done while trying not to sound too tired, winded, or otherwise more stupid than I already felt). Matt, being the young buck that he is, actually caught up to our loose, grey porpoise before anyone could assist us. Good catch, Matt, and thanks to the gentleman who was coming to our aid. Lesson learned: be nice to people and they may help you one day when you really need it.

Upon review of my dinghy-line cable job (the ONLY task I was responsible for), we discovered that I had missed the dinghy line altogether and upon clicking the lock, only prevented the dinghy from stealing itself. Nice work, Fat Daddy K. After resting (and heaving heavily) in the now properly-locked dinghy for a few minutes with Matt, we set off once again on the 50-yard swim to the beach. Geez! That makes 150 yards of swimming and we hadn’t even gotten to touch the shore yet! Misadventure number one: complete. Lesson learned: check, then double-check the dinghy cable or you’re going to get very tired.

Once we had side-stroked, back-stroked, and choke-stroked our way to the beach to join-up with the captain and crew, I took full responsibility for the mishap and accepted the 30 (tongue) lashes. Once done, it was onward to the Baths! The Baths were something to behold: large, obtuse boulders along the shore propped up in various configurations creating caverns, walkways, and curious pools. A magnificent natural exhibition! We shot a lot of photos here, had some folks take a few of us, and helped others to “get the shot” as well. Onward through the Baths to Devils Bay for snorkeling.

We got through the Baths and to Devils Bay to find two dinghies on the beach and a crowd of locals partying. Hmm. I thought we couldn’t have dinghies on the beach? Okay, we can roll with this; they’re just local folks letting off steam. Into the water we went to explore the beautiful water, coral heads, and rocks. My first-mate and I had a nice time. Got real close to a pretty, brown ray, a nice barracuda, and enough fish to open my own fish market! We took lots of good underwater photos taking advantage of the bright sun we had so fortuitously received. Once we had soaked up as much snorkeling as we could take, we headed back toward the dinghy. But alas! What is this before my eyes on the dinghy beach?! A bar! YEAH! The Poor Man’s Bar! I hadn’t noticed it before (recall lashings and extreme levels of lactic acid in muscle tissues from initial “swim”). Solace! Before my very being, sweet solace! Bring forth the painkillers! The entire crew sat and enjoyed a few painkillers. Without any further dinghy troubles, we all motored back to Adonis and prepped for the trek to our next destination: Leverick Bay. Avast! What is this vessel moored off our starboard? Alas, it is Jeannius! With no one aboard to hail, I sit half-hearted and gawk at her sleek hull. She’s nice. Ahoy and adieu Jeannius! There is work to be done, so we dropped the ball and motored toward Leverick as the skies clouded and the rain began to fall once again. Glad we took advantage of the sun when we could.

Captain Bart guided us into Leverick Bay without incident. I can honestly say no lemurs were injured during our mooring. Once moored in the rain, Captain Bart wrestled Matt and me into the dinghy for a shore excursion and some needed galley supplies. We tied the dinghy to the dock in front of Jumbies beachfront bar. Not wanting to snub the local business, we secured ourselves a few cold, refreshing beverages at Jumbies and moved toward a decent crowd of folks outside of Pusser’s. Turns out there had been a North Sound Swim earlier and they were conducting the awards ceremony. Someone swam the entire length of the North Sound. They are kidding, right? No, true story, and from what we saw, the overall winner did it in exactly one hour! I failed to note the winner’s names—as there were several categories—but our hats were off to these athletes. Wow, what a task! Nice job to ALL participants! As we made our way past, we noticed the vast BBQ set-up nearby and a bunch of folks beating their tee-shirts on the sides of the stone-covered swimming pool. Huh? Was it wash day? Were the sides of the pool covered by some cluster of evil bugs? Was the pool being spanked for being bad? As we learned, it was a contest to see who could undo the knots tied in their wet tee-shirts by beating them against the hard edge of the pool. Fun to watch kids (and adults) beat the snot out of their shirts. Not sure who won, but I did see a 40-ish woman celebrating something. I bet everyone there had to buy a new tee-shirt after “the beatings.” Hmm. Good marketing move, Leverick Bay. Onward we trekked.

A stones throw from the dinghy dock—just above Pusser’s and the swim ceremony—we entered the “Chef’s Pantry,” a local grocery with a healthy supply of provisions—including wine and some fresh veggies. When we opened the door, we all saw something that reminded us of home: bags of chocolate chunk cookies called “Chesapeakes.” Ah! An omen! Things will be good! We took stock of the wares within the Pantry and purchased the essentials—and the cookies! We walked back toward Jumbies’ dock, but my beer-magnet went off and we found ourselves attached to the bar. It took some lubrication, but we finally managed to slip lose of Jumbies and ding back to Adonis with the provisions—short a few cookies. We were forced to return to Jumbies a short-time later so the female crew members could investigate the shores (stores) as well. Adventuresome crew.

While we all sat beneath the cloudiness and downed a few beverages at Jumbies, we spoke to some folks about locating some good conch fritters. “Dee Fat Virgin, mon.” The Fat Virgin? Good conch fritters? “Dee bess on dee ilon, mon.” Where is the Fat Virgin? “Jus around dee mountain, mon.” Over there? “Yah, mon.” Sounds like the crew was developing a plan for some good fritters! We dinged back to Adonis to ask the admiral if she wanted to go with us “around the mountain” to the Fat Virgin. She declined, so off we went.

The skies were cloudy on the lee side of Leverick and looked dark. We set off for the Fat Virgin anyway; couldn’t be THAT far; after all, the mountain is only a few hundred yards away and we just have to get around it, right? From our mooring, the point of the mountain near, Clark Rock and Gnat Point, was only about 600 yards or so. An easy ding. But as we putted past the point on a mild chop, we saw an unwelcome site and heard an evil sound: a wall of heavy rain and a harsh clap of thunder accompanied by strong winds. This was not just a passing shower, but a curtain of zero-visibility torrents. Crap. The thunder wasn’t a soft, distant rumble, but the sharp crack that makes you pucker or expel something unpleasant into your britches. Too close for comfort and wanting to cry, “Mommy!” we tried to appear gathered and calm. Matt had all but wrung off the dinghy throttle for speed. Captain Bart and I suggested we head for cover . . . NOW! Good thing, because the bottom fell out as the rain caught us and Mighty Thor demonstrated his prowess at making lightening and BIG noises for us. I have to admit, we were all pretty concerned with our situation. The dinghy was filling with rain and we were out in the open in a sloooooow, bouncy boat. When Captain Bart told Matt to, “go ahead and open’er up all the way,” time just sort of paused and we all turned and looked at him as if he had just made a joke. Really? The crew KNEW the tiny 9.8 horse was open all the way, but just couldn’t get it going under the circumstances. Loaded down with five bodies and 500 pounds of water, we were not making good headway. The wind was blowing so hard we had trouble hearing ourselves and the rain pelted us like being shot in the face with a scattergun. This was not good.

‘Any port in a storm’ as we turned into the cove and Gum Creek toward a dock with a building at its far end. It looked closer than it was and actually turned out to be about a half-mile from our current position near the point. Too far to try and get back to Adonis; had to make a run for it. The winds picked up, the water became white-capped, and our 9.8 outboard was working overtime to get our five carcasses to the dock in one piece. This was one scary ride. Lightening flashed, thunder roared, water splashed, and we all held on for dear life. Visibility was less than 100 meters. As we approached the dock, we spotted an opening between some boats and took it, scrambling ashore to get out of the weather.

Ironically, we had landed at the Virgin Gorda Welcome Center. What a welcome. Drenched, we tied-up and dashed under the Center’s roof to ride out the storm. While wringing the water out of our clothes, we spoke to a worker who was waiting for his ride home and nonchalantly mentioned the Fat Virgin. And yes, we got ‘the look’. He was probably thinking, “What are dees crazy tourists do’in in dees storm?” He politely told us the Fat Virgin was only a mile or so further up the Sound. What?! What happened to “around the mountain?!” Hmmmm.

We waited until the worst of the storm had passed and we discussed returning to Adonis. No way! We came this far, survived the nasty tempest, and, by God, we’re getting some conch fritters! We were already soaked and our reward was waiting for us . . . juuuust a little bit further up the Sound. The adventure continued.

Feeling like we had cheated death, we set out once more for the famed Fat Virgin. We left the dock and putted toward Biras Creek—the home of the Fat Virgin—a mere mile or so up the Sound. It continued to rain on us, though not nearly as heavily as it had. We were wet, chilled, hungry, and DETERMINED to find this “Chubby Chastate” (this word comes from the Fat Daddy K Dictionary of Seemingly Appropriate Terms). Onward we motored until we passed a new yacht dock and shortly thereafter spotted some pastel-colored structures on shore, clouded by the misty rain. All of the buildings were dark except for a single strand of rope-lighting strung around a doorframe. We motored closer to look for signs of life. Movement! I see a figure behind those rope lights. A sign! Look! The Fat Virgin! We made it! High-fives all around! <img src="http://www.traveltalkonline.com/forums/images/graemlins/Joy.gif" alt="" /> Lesson learned: get a map or KNOW where you are going . . . and have life jackets.

We called out to the figure and asked (prayed) if they were open for business. “Yes!” Great! We’re in business! Once docked, we were the sole customers. Who else is going to come out on a night like this? Our hostess greeted us and turned on a light. Conch fritters, painkillers, and Red Stripe all around! We looked bad: clothes dripping wet, hair matted and disheveled. we looked like drowned rats. Everyone was excited to be alive—maybe even giddy! We tossed back a few drinks and I tried a hand at my first chicken roti. As huge fans of curry and Indian cuisine, my first-mate and I were excited to finally get to try this authentic dish we had heard so much about. That roti did well to warm my gullet; if the dinghy ride back was bad, at least I would die happy.

Darkness began to creep upon us and we knew we had a 2+ mile trek BACK to Adonis—in the dark. Damn. We loaded our grey, human aquarium after dinghy captain Matt scooped what seemed like 500 gallons out of it. Getting darker and still raining. I brought along a couple of waterproof, 400-hour LED flashlights, just for this type of occasion, and it served us well. I became the human bow light (I wonder if this is how The Green Lantern got started?). The ladies kept busy by clinging to each other and scooping water out of the dinghy. Captain Bart remained stoic and focused. Dinghy captain Matt held the throttle open and kept us pretty-much on course. We trekked west across the Sound from Biras Creek toward Adonis without incident. Once secure and safely aboard, we dried off, got fresh clothes, poured a few more drinks to celebrate life, and settled-in to watch Kurt Russell in “Captain Ron”—how appropriate, at least it wasn’t “Titanic.” We slept well.