A continuing saga of bareboating (or not) in SXM….
We awoke to our second day in SXM to more cloudy skies and drizzle. Although Andy and I had a decent night sleep in our clean economical room at Captain Oliver’s, we found that crew who had slept aboard KuDu had a sleepless night due to the relentless humidity. Immediately following coffee and pastries the crew became restless. They looked at the gray leaden skies and proclaimed it a perfect day to sail to St. Barts. Being a good sport, I gathered up our gear, checked out and boarded Kudu. I downed two Scopace tablets (oral scopolamine) and prepared for the worst. When we cleared the channel at the marina I was in disbelief. Nothing could have prepared me for the size of the swells and the bucking, heaving motion of the catamaran. Fortunately I had taken the good drugs while everyone else had packed nothing stronger than Dramamine. In fact, after I got over my initial terror, I went into the galley and prepared lunch for the crew as everyone else was too queasy. Meanwhile St. Barts was growing no closer, although we could see it through the misty rain. Finally we dropped the sails and cranked up the engines – this I must say has been my typical experience on any sailing venture. The sails eventually prove to be simply a nuisance.
By the time we reached Baie Columbier ¾ of our crew was comatose with seasickness. The pretty bay looked sheltered and inviting. We eagerly attempted to grab a mooring ball. And repeated the attempt again and again and yet again. We finally snagged one of the *&%# things, but our relief was short lived. We noticed that the balls appeared to be color-coded. Yep, checking the cruising guide confirmed our fears. Our desperately snagged white mooring ball was for craft 24 ft and under. Unfortunately much smaller vessels who should have been on those white balls had already appropriated all the yellow mooring balls (24 foot + craft) leaving us no choice but to release our undersized mooring and chug through a blinding rain towards Gustavia harbor.
Once anchored in Gustavia’s unprotected outer harbor the real nightmare began. Not even the powerful drugs I was taking could compensate for the snake-like undulating of the anchored boat. A few of us gulped down handfuls of dry cereal, the rest took to their bunks in misery. Mesmerized by the lights of a hotel in the harbor, crewmember Carolyn begged pitifully to be dinghied ashore. Unfortunately the high winds and seas made the prospect venture too dangerous. Eventually we all fell into a nauseated stupor to wait for dawn.
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