Ok, I'm finally getting around to posting a trip report from our May 18-28 BVI bareboat trip. Good thing we kept a log during the trip.<br><br>Following a successful bareboat trip to the Abacos last September which coincided with the wedding of two of our crew, we settled on the BVI for our nextsailing adventure. I sent out an "are ya fer us or agin' us" invitation to friends and got a whopping 8 committed responses.<br><br>Ok, so we’ve got 9 people. We don't need a party, we ARE the party. But we pretty much have to get a catamaran. Hmmm . . . we're experienced sailors, but I've never skippered a cat before. No problemo, everybody's willing to charter to us. As an experienced charterer told me, "fog a mirror and they’ll rent you a boat in the BVI.”<br><br>We check around and finally pull the trigger on a Norseman 430 from Voyage Charters, a small and very friendly outfit based in Soper’s Hole. They gave us a great deal on a great boat and were an absolute pleasure to deal with.<br><br>So after three pre-cruise organizational meetings, which were in reality thinly-veiled rum-fests, we had established a completely slipshod and haphazard vacation plan -- but had firmly perfected our painkiller recipe. We’re good to go.<br><br>Arne’s quick jug o’ painkillers:<br><br>First, get yourself a good plastic jug, at least a gallon, with a handle and a good screwtop lid. Pour in:<br>1 12-oz can frozen pineapple juice (3 cans water)<br>˝ 12-oz can frozen orange juice (1.5 cans water)<br>1 can Coco Lopez<br>1 bottle dark rum<br>Screw on the lid, shake well, pour. Don’t forget the fresh ground nutmeg to taste.<br><br><br>The Crew:<br><br>Steffen Saustrup (me) - Skipper, chief worrier, marine head plumber<br>Kelly Sommer - Purser and CFO, Cuba Libre revolutionary, coffee cake baker, Navy Seal<br>Jamie Austin - First Mate, dinghy captain, snorkel king, anchor boy<br>Sheri Gallo - Ms. Congeniality, snorkel queen, disperser of contented smiles<br>Rob Armstrong - Second Mate, jib-trimmer, deep-water snorkel salvage specialist<br>Arne Saustrup - Third Mate, master chef, Dr. Painkiller, windlass boy<br>Kathy Saustrup - Medical Officer, librarian, port side winch-tailer<br>Ann Evans - Galley hand, bottle washer, starboard winch-tailer, Navy Seal<br>Richard Thames - "Don't touch anything"<br><br>We’re all in our 30’s and 40’s and from Austin and San Antonio.<br><br>Day 1 - Friday<br><br>Travel day from hell, but with a happy ending. We're up at 5:00 in the morning for our roundabout Austin-St. Louis-San Juan-Tortola flight. Shortly after takeoff from St. Louis (TWA), there are three loud bangs from the port wing. From the right side of the plane all I can see are the big, round eyes and worried looks on the faces of passengers who have a port side view. An off-duty pilot sitting just behind the affected wing goes rushing up to the cockpit and closes the door behind him. A passenger with the best view of the wing starts freaking out and we are treated to the flight attendant loudly explaining to him how to use his air sickness bag. Hmmm . . . I don't see how this can be a good thing. There's a hasty announcement over the PA that one of our two (2) engines just blew and that, while everything is still A-ok, we’re going to do an immediate U-turn back to St. Louis just in case. 20 minutes later we land to a loud ovation.<br><br>To make a long story short, we eventually made it to San Juan that night but missed the last Cape Air connection to Tortola. A little bit of polite wrangling at the TWA desk gets us moved over to American Eagle.<br><br>We reach Tortola around 10:00 at night. I’m a little bit worried about customs and our large cooler full of fine cuts of meat, but I’m honest about it and am waved through with a smile and a “Have a nice time in the British Virgin Islands.” I think I’m going to like this place. (note: a certificate is now required to bring meat into the BVI)<br><br>Our shuttle all the way across the island is uneventful, except for twice talking our driver (Kessler?) into stopping for a round of cold ones. Hey, we’re on vacation. It’s a nice drive and we’re all talking and laughing excitedly.<br><br>The Voyage office is closed for the evening but we’ve been told our cat, Kinahu, will be waiting for us at the dock – with bells on. Richard and Ann had an earlier flight and should already be aboard. Kessler drops us off in front of a small stucco building, we walk through a small courtyard and smack into the darkened dock. “$&%# me!”, Arne exclaims, “It’s huge! . . . is this really our boat?!?” We scramble around her looking for confirmation. There it is, in big, blue-green letters, “Kinahu”. I’d been explaining to them that she is 43’ long and 25’ abeam, but some things must be seen to be fully grasped. Yep, she’s huge, spotless, sleek, new-looking. Our hand-slapping and cackling awaken our two sleeping friends, who climb out of their cabin for a couple of beers. We take a walking tour of slumbering Soper’s Hole and then hit the sack for a few hours of restless sleep.<br><br>Quote of the day: “If that 2nd engine had blown, we’d have been up there all night.” -Steffen, after our safe landing<br><br>Day 2 – Saturday<br><br>I wake up at 5:45 to take a whiz and can’t sleep. I head topsides to take in the sights of Soper’s Hole at first light. Rob spies me and pops up through his hatch. Pretty soon we’re talking and laughing and decide we might as well put on a pot of coffee. That rousts the rest of the crew and shortly we’re all laughing and sipping cups o’ joe in the cockpit. Arne locates his miniature stove-top espresso maker, might as well be civilized about this. A brief ceremony as we raise the Texas flag (I lost count of how many of these we saw during the trip). We have breakfast of home-baked coffee cake and watch as Soper’s Hole slowly awakens. Robert and Carol, the Voyage folks, show up and immediately get us started with the remaining paperwork, snorkel gear, and other sundries. We split up, half of us go through the boat check-out as the other half head to Ample Hamper to provision. We’re stowed and ready and leave the dock at 10:30, earlier than any other charter I’ve done. Robert is still aboard, he leads us past Little Thatch and out into the SFD Channel. We execute 3 or 4 tacks, I look at Robert and say “I think we’re good.” He says “Right!”, and before I know it he’s away on his dinghy and we’ve been left to our own devices. Wow, this boat sails like a dream. We quickly hit 8.5 knots in 18 knots of apparent wind, cutting smoothly throught the chop. Tacking the big cat turns out to be no problem. We do a few reaches back and forth and then take a mooring at the Indians for some great snorkelling. Ann is a novice snorkeller and is a touch reluctant, but later swims back to the boat a changed woman – she loves it! After our swim, Arne christens the new painkiller jug with our first batch. We drop our mooring and sail past the Caves and poke our noses out into Flanagan Passage before the swell sends us back. Wonderful sandwiches later, Richard hooks a 4-foot barracuda just as we’re passing The Bight. While he’s fighting the fish we’re hailed over the VHF by a passing South African gentleman who recognizes our boat from the Capetown to Rio race a couple of years ago. We sail some more and then head to Benures Bay to anchor for the night, but there are already several boats there and they all give us the stink-eye as we tool through. Not wanting to crowd anybody, we head back over and drop the hook at Privateer Bay, an idyllic little spot with shifty winds. We have it all to ourselves. Kayaking, snorkelling, fishing, shell-hunting, and then dinner of grilled inch-and-a-half-thick t-bone steaks with a nice cabernet. We all pile onto one of the tramps for cocktails, stargazing, and contemplation of the beauty surrounding us. Arne and I take the kayak for a starlight paddle over to the huge and well-lit cutter-schooner-trimaran moored a quarter mile to the southwest of us. All go to bed before 10:00, contented and tired. My log entry closes “a very full and perfect day”.<br><br>Quote of the day: “I get it! I totally get it!” -Ann, discovering snorkelling<br><br>Day 3 – Sunday<br><br>We wake up facing bass-ackwards, good thing we dropped that 2nd anchor. Coffee cake, latte, and then we bop over to The Caves to beat the crowds. Great snorkelling, lots of fish, huge schools of yellowtails. We raise sail and head up the SFD quicker than greased lightning, hitting 9.1 kts at a close haul. We pass Salt Island and then head about and back downhill to Dead Man’s Bay for lunch. We all disperse for swimming, snorkelling, naps, or a beer ashore at the resort. A very nice steel pan band sends tunes wafting out to those of us napping under a tarp on the trampoline. Sail back to The Bight and take one of the last available moorings. 7 in the dinghy to Billy Bones for happy hour and then dinner – grilled mahimahi, snapper, chicken curry roti, jerk fish bites, conch fritters, all delicious. Rob becomes anamored of our waitress, who promises to call him in 3 weeks. Yeah, uh-huh. We head back to the boat and hit the painkiller jug hard. The thumping music and lights from Billy Bones are frankly a bit annoying, but they are soon surpassed by the absolute nuts in a Moorings 4500 who dance, blare music, sing, and shine spotlights until the wee hours. Most of us crash for the night, but the skipper musters a navy seal team (Kelly and Ann) to mount an assault on the Willy T. We have some drinks, some good dancing, talk with lots of characters, and witness a truly amazing and comprehensive body shot.<br><br>Quote of the day: “Why does it surprise us that the trip turns out like the planning meetings” - Arne, commenting on our alcohol intake.<br><br>Day 4 – Monday<br><br>Up early, as usual, we have breakfast and set sail for Peter Island. We drop the hook at Key Cay for a morning swim. Then it’s off to Roadtown to pick up the last two members of our crew, Jamie and Sheri, who have (hopefully) arrived the night before. I had left an FRS radio with Jamie before leaving Austin, and as we round the Peter Island and are abeam of Little Harbour, Rob raises Jamie in Roadtown, some 3 ˝ miles away. Weak, but readable, we’re impressed by the radios. By 11:00 we’ve docked at Village Cay and we’re taking on crew, water, provisions, ice, and grabbing hot showers. At 1:15 we’re off the dock and Kinahu is on her way back to Norman Island for the night. We have a close (perhaps too close) view of the tall-masted Flying Cloud as she departs Road Harbour. “Put up some sail, you big wimps!”, Jamie hollers, but I don’t think they hear him. We take a few tacks back and forth across the channel, topping 9 knots several times, and then downhill to Benures Bay and we’re anchored by 3:30. Another good spot for a Bahamian moor, as the wind is shifty. Dinner is marinated pork tenderloin, rice pilaf, and a tasty merlot. Cigars and drinks on the trampoline are only disturbed the the 3-foot fish that grabbs the small chunk of marinated pork tenderloin from my hook. Then a deep sleep. We have a couple of late-night showers with hatch drills and we swing ‘round on the hooks all night, but we hold tight.<br><br>Quote of the day: “The red buoy is in the water.” - Arne, stating the obvious while pointing out the entrance to Road Harbour.<br><br>Day 5 – Tuesday<br><br>Rob’s entry in our logbook describes the beginning of this day: “Thump, Bump, Bang, ‘$#%@!’, Splash!! 6:00 a.m. and we were awakened by a familiar sound; Jamie falling overboard. Unfortunately, the internal components to our coffee pot went overboard with him. A mere 30’ of water blow us, so Jamie did the only sensible thing: he had the author of this entry dive down for him to retrieve the missing pieces. 15 minutes later we were drinking coffee.”<br><br>After breakfast, we sail up to Salt Island and grab a mooring by 8:30. I’ve pre-arranged to meet up with the Baskin in the Sun dive boat for a 2-tank dive on the wreck of the Rhone; the rest of the crew will snorkel the shallow part of the wreck. It’s a spectacular dive and I also enjoy hearing more of the ship’s story from the dive master. I get back to Kinahu just after noon, and happy hour is in full swing. We drop the mooring and tack up the Drake. Rob is trolling and lands a mackerel, which he immediately turns into a very tasty ceviche. Past Beef Island, and we take the most outboard mooring at Marina Cay – great wind and less noise from the yachting riff-raff. A guy in a skiff immediately hands us a flyer for a new bar over on Scrub Island and promises a free bottle of rum for parties of 4 or more. After a quick head count, all 9 of us pile into our tiny dinghy and we tender over, only to be turned away at the dock. Seems somebody has the audacity to be getting married there on this day and the bar is closed. I ask if we can still have our two free bottles of rum to go, but apparently the guy doesn’t hear so well. <br><br>After dropping off most of the crew at the dock, I decide to take the big boat to the dock to top off the water tank. As I’m motoring through the anchorage a Frenchman on a nearby boat hollers something that sounds like “Aparon!” (?) and motions sternly for me to slow down. Strange, as we’re barely making way. We head back to the mooring and then rejoin the gang for a traditional Pusser’s painkiller. It’s good, but we all agree it doesn’t hold a candle to Arne’s magic jug. And then it’s up the hill for a lightning-fast round of 2-for-1 painkillers at the happy hour bar. We’re impressed by the spectacular view and beautifully landscaped flora, but not as impressed by the music as the rest of the rowdy crowd. We retire to Kinahu (much finger-pointing and laughing from other boats as 9 of us tool past in the tiny dinghy). More cocktails and then Rob’s fresh ceviche as an appetizer, Jamie’s excellent seasoned burgers for dinner, and Sheri’s home-baked cookies for dessert. An after-dinner cigar, and we settle in for a pleasant and breezy night’s sleep.<br><br>Quote of the day: “It wasn’t ‘aparon’ in ’44!” - Arne’s retort to the fist-shaking Frenchman.<br><br>Day 6 – Wednesday<br><br>We awake snug in our mooring and are the 2nd boat out, straight into 30-knot winds. Our first attempt at reefing the main is a rousing success and soon we’re doing almost 10 knots while still towing the dinghy. A few tacks and we reach the Baths well before the unwashed masses. We split up for some great snorkelling and to explore the boulder trail on through to Devil’s Bay. After a long swim, Jamie and Sheri are discovered to have high-tailed it like rats to the nearest bar. While the rest of us on the boat commence to drink in earnest, Arne and Kathy begin to prepare split-pea-with hamhock soup and “curried fresh-fish-and-vegetable-rice-medley a la painkiller”. It’s surprisingly tasty. Jamie and Sheri return to the boat to report that the Top of the Baths is well worth visiting, which 5 of us promptly decide to do. We promise a lightning-fast round but we take an FRS radio just in case. Several rounds later, we have moved next door to the Something (?) Dog bar – it doesn’t have the view of the Top of the Baths but it’s really cozy and friendly. And they have a free book exchange as well, just the ticket. We meet some folks from Austin and a young bareboating couple who have never raised their jib and have never heard of the Rhone -- go figure. By this time our radio is ringing off the hook and they’re not buying our excuses anymore. Arne and Kathy, still on the boat, give up and decide to climb the hill to join us for another round and a quick game of darts. We all flow downhill and back to the boat for lunch.<br><br>After a nap, we drop our mooring and raise the sails. We fairly fly upwind, passing a couple of 4500’s along the way. Aaah, the simple pleasure of just sailing. We enter Gorda Sound and head for Leverick Bay for some ice and sundries, and then it’s over to Drake’s anchorage to drop the hook for the night. Dinner is jerk pork chops with camp potatoes, garlic bread, and red wine. Mmmmmm. Richard catches and tosses back a horse eye jack, and then we watch and admire as the sunset and stars put on a show. It’s so peaceful, only one other boat in the anchorage and the nearby resort is deserted. A Cuban cigar, and then to bed.<br><br>Quote of the day: “I’m busy freeing Cuba!” Kelly, on her 4th cuba libre.<br><br>Day 7 – Thursday<br><br>Breakfast, as swim, and we set sail for Anegada. We’re trolling lures but moving to fast to fish effectively, so we shorten sail. Even so, we raise the trees on the island after barely more than a half hour. It’s a peaceful run, certainly uninterrupted by fish. The channel entrance is easy to spot, as several boats are departing. By 10:30 we’re on a mooring and have raised the Cow Wreck on the VHF for dinner reservations. We dinghy ashore for fresh, hot blueberry muffins and banana bread at Pam’s Kitchen and a short snooze in some hammocks near the beach. Back on the boat, we’re lazing around in the cockpit when a big cat comes in and attempts to take the mooring just astern of us. They’re flying a big French flag and I’m relieved to see it’s not the same guy who hollered at me earlier. I see that one of the guys is pulling on the ball (not the pennant) with his boat hook and trying to keep the boat from drifting alee. I nudge my bro and say “watch this guy lose his boathook”. No sooner are the words out of my mouth than the boat hook is in the water and guys are scrambling all over and talking rapidly in French. They’re pointing and maneuvering the boat all over the place trying to follow the floating hook, and one thin guy in particular is leaning waaaay over the side trying grab it. Finally, just before he falls in, two of his bigger buddies each grab an ankle and they’re repeatedly dunking this guy headlong into the water as he reaches for the boathook. They run up and down the rail, dunking this guy, until they’re right beside the (spinning) prop, and he’s reaching wildly for the hook. The skipper’s not paying attention to the boats around them, and they’ve drifted downwind to within maybe 3 feet of the neighboring boat before the two big guys yank up the thin guy, hook in hand, to a smattering of applause from neighboring boats. They gun the engines and just miss the adjacent boat. Quite a show.<br><br>Alex from Cow Wreck picks us up on the beach at 3:00 and we pile into the back of his pickup. In addition to driver, Alex ends up being waiter, DJ, lobster chef, bartender, and handyman. Cow Wreck beach is beautiful and secluded, we have the long, white stretch of sand all to ourselves. We snorkel, sit, talk, laugh. Couples drift off two by two for strolls on the empty beach. Jamie catches a couple of huge conch, and they are destined for Rob’s ceviche until Alex informs us that we can’t keep them. Bummer. We start a volleyball game but are interrupted by the call to dinner. We still have the whole place to ourselves when our ridiculously large lobster dinners are paraded to the table. We stuff ourselves with lobster as the sun sets, and then we eat some more. Finally a few more dinner guests arrive as we get after-dinner rum punches at the bar. We bag our leftovers and pile back into the truck – full to bursting, tired, contented, looped - for the ride back to Setting Point. Richard sits in the front seat and holds a sleeping two-year old boy for our new driver, the young boy’s mother. I believe she’s Alex’s sister but I’ve forgotten her name.<br><br>Quote of the day: “Whaddaya say we head back to the boat, mix up a coupla jugs of painkillers, and call it a night.” Rob, three sheets to the wind at the Cow Wreck Bar.<br><br>Quote of the day: “High degree of difficulty, but he got reamed by the Belgian judge” Jamie, talking about the Olympic boathook team.<br><br>Day 8 - Friday<br><br>Everyone is still full from dinner, so breakfast is mostly a formality. Coffee and Sheri’s daily spiced fruit plate. The plan for the day is to do a long and meandering sail to Jost Van Dyke and Foxy’s Wooden Boat race, fishing as much as possible along the way. But as we’re leaving the channel we see a 4500 cat ahead of us raise sail and head south for Virgin Gorda – it’s too much to resist. She’s got a head start, but we raise sail and tear off after her. The skipper sees us coming and trims sail, but he can’t stop us from catching and passing him before we break off to the west. We clear the end of the reef and then head north for the deep water, hoping to catch a mahimahi or something for dinner. We catch a couple more barracuda, some more horse eye jack, and miss a couple of strikes, but no good eating fish. Oh well, stick the fajitas on a marinade. We lazily sail all day, gradually making our way around the west end of Jost Van Dyke and back to Great Harbour. It’s packed for the Wooden Boat Race, anchored boats are spilling well outside the harbour, ourselves included. We drop the hook just to windward of a gorgeous wooden schooner (Vixen II) and tender in to Foxy’s. It’s packed, nearly impossible to get a drink unless you’re showing some cleavage, which I’m not. We realize the service is much better back on the boat and head back for dinner. Fajitas with pico de gallo, red beans and rice, and a nice pinot grigio that all combine to put everyone to sleep. I want to make another attempt on Foxy’s but everybody’s passed out cold. Rob’s asleep in the cockpit, I elbow him in the ribs and say "Hey, get up, we’re dinghying in to a bar!”. Without a word, he dutifully bends at the waist and sits up, laces on his shoes, and goes to stand by the dinghy. Foxy’s is still untenable, so we walk down the beach to a great little beach bar with happy acoustic music. A guy with a voice almost like Ted Hawkins on an island beat, accompanied by a half-dozen grinning percussionists. We have a few beers, disinterestedly watch the Spurs getting pounded on the tube, and head home.<br><br>Quote of the day: “Quick, somebody get on the swim platform and pretend to be taking a shower!” Rob, as we’re overtaking a 4500 but pretending not to race.<br><br>Day 9 – Saturday<br><br>Kelly and I are awakened at first light by a persistent tapping on our door. “Steffen, I think our anchor’s dragging, and both heads are broken.” Ugh. Sometimes being skipper is no fun. It turns out that we’ve swung a bit closer to Vixen II but we’re not moving, and the heads just need a good pumping. I eyeball our position for awhile to make sure we’re not dragging, then fall back into a deep sleep even as a shore party of 5 jumps in the dinghy. Jamie, Sheri, Richard, Ann, and Rob head in to walk the beach, shop, and climb hill over to White Bay. Surprisingly, I’m still able to reach them by FRS from Great Harbour to White Bay. They return by 11:00 and we head out to catch the start of the singlehanded boat race, which is dominated by a big, wooden trimaran who easily outdistances the other boats.<br><br>A course is set for Cane Garden Bay, where we anchor and tender in to catch some of the Music Festival. The place is hopping, (very loud) live music, people swimming and dancing, scads of boats, food and drink vendors all along the beach. We grab a tasty lunch of steamed snapper, curried goat, barbecue ribs, and soup at Myett’s and soak up the sights and sounds of the festival. We’re then ready for some peace and quiet so we sail across to Green Cay, a delightfully secluded anchorage with its own little Gilligan’s Island (Sandy Spit). It’s a welcome spot after the crowds at Foxy’s and Cane Garden. We walk and snorkel all over the island, catch a marvelous sunset, and dine on Arne and Kathy’s sausage jambalaya with pea-and-corn medley and the remains of the leftover lobster. I’m amazed that I can hear the soft pumping of Maxi Priest’s music on the wind all the way from Cane Garden Bay. This is one of our nicest anchorages.<br><br>Day 10 – Sunday<br><br>Up early, of course, and a half-hearted attempt to eat all of our remaining breakfast foods. We can’t believe it’s our last day on Kinahu. Dispensing with the slow start, Jamie is sipping straight rum by 8:00 a.m. All are soon in the water for a morning snorkel, and then we split up to explore Sandy Spit and Green Cay or just to sit on the beach and stare vacantly at the beautiful nothingness of it all. We’re firmly on island time by now, it’s hard to comprehend that we have to be anywhere by any certain time. Work? What's that?<br><br>Pretty soon boats start to head in and anchor near us, the beach fills up, it’s not quite so quiet. We weigh anchor and sail to nearby Sandy Cay to get a good view of this morning's Wooden Boat race. We’re back at anchor by 10:00, with a great view of the boats as they round Sandy Cay. We make up names for the mis-matched boats as they pass, “Canoe Boy”, “Moldy Sail”, “Trimaran Boy”, “The Vikings”, “Red White and Blue”. They are fine sights to see, each in their own way, and the vision is only marred by a few clueless charter boats heading the wrong way up the race course, winding through the oncoming racers. They all seem to carry the logo of a certain very large charter company. I swear one of the smaller race boats looks to be helmed by the guy we saw singing Jimmy Buffet songs back at Marina Cay. Another of the racing boats, near the back of the pack, sails close enough to holler at us to toss them some beers – they’ve gotten beer-limited only a half hour into the race. After all the boats have passed we swim ashore to take in the trail that winds around and over Sandy Cay, it's a nice little walk but not recommended with bare feet.<br><br>We manage to recover our scattered crew with enough time for one last excursion, a last beer at the honor bar at Smuggler’s Cove. It’s a nice sail, and we’re the only boat in the Cove. We all grab a few bucks and dive in to swim ashore. I’m not sure how to describe this falling-down, hotel/movie set with a cannon, the Queen’s convertible, faux rum kegs, debris on the roof, and a rusty old fridge in the back stocked with beer and cold drinks. After a short time the proprietor, Bob, shows up and spins tales about his years on the islands. It’s obvious that he’s told these stories many, many times, but he’s a delight and clearly enjoys our company. We have a few cold ones, swap some yarns with Bob, exchange ham radio call signs, take some last photos, and then drop some money in the cigar box and sadly head back to the boat to motor around the corner and back to Soper’s Hole. More sad moments as we pack and say goodbye to Kinahu, our home for the past 10 days. How did the time pass so quickly?<br><br>We’d already booked rooms as 3 different groups at different points on Tortola, so we say so long and split up and head to Cane Garden Bay, Road Town, or Beef Island. My group are at the Ole Works Inn, we catch the tail end of the Music Festival and have a good meal at Ole Works. Rob, of course, is once again anamored of our waitress.<br><br>Flying out of Tortola early the next morning on the tiny Cape Air plane, we laugh and point at all the places we’ve visited, resolving to return someday and see all the things we missed. Perhaps next year?<br><br><br>Thumbs Up to:<br><br>- Our crew. We had 9 people on an 8-person boat for 10 days, with only 2 heads and 160 gallons of fresh water. Everybody pitched in willingly, everybody got along, everybody laughed, and there were no problems at all. What a great bunch. I’d travel with all of you again – anytime.<br><br>- Voyage Charters and our Norseman 430. I can’t think of a single complaint. Very personal service and a very fast and spacious boat.<br><br>- Traveltalkonline. The good folks on this board gave me lots of great advice, enthusiasm, and inside information. Thanks.<br><br>- The British Virgin Islands. Great place, warm and friendly people. I can’t wait to go back.<br><br><br>Cheers all,<br>Steffen<br><br><br><br><P ID="edit"><FONT SIZE=-1><EM>Edited by Administrator on 7/16/01 03:50 PM.</EM></FONT></P>
