Day 3 – Monday November 5<br><br>If we are going to get to Anegada AND then have any actual hope to get to Jost Van Dyke as well, we need to get to Gorda Sound today, so off we go. Snorkel at the Pelicans and, you guessed it, the Jubilee crew are there as well. Also spied a 505 with a friendly skipper, Leroy, who was our friendly skipper for a couple of days in 1998. We’ve been bumping into him, being friendly and polite, and he is friendly back but is confounded since he can’t quite place us (I should know who these people are…). We are not about to give up the jig, because we don’t want him to remember us, for reasons I won’t get into here.<br><br>I’m feeling much better, almost completely cured by now. We have a great sail to Virgin Gorda, and I seem to have misplaced some articles of clothing for part of the trip. Try to anchor at Mountain Point for lunch, but the wind is piping up and we can’t get a good enough set for even a short visit. So we eat underway and get to Gorda Sound, where I try to snag a mooring opposite Saba Rock. The chafe protection on the loop at the end of the pennant makes it impossible for me to hook it on the cleat. Grab another mooring and we are settled. <br><br>Take the dinghy over to the beaches on Prickly Pear. The first beach is populated by two adults and a child, so we go over to the next one, which is empty. Curiously misplace our clothing again, but find it quickly as the family from the first beach dinks past (don’t want to scandalize young eyes with our constant misplacements). The water and sand are delicious. This is paradise. Rick loses a contact lens but finds a glass fish float. Luckily, we have lots of spare lenses between the two of us. Thank god for disposables. Spend some time at the other, now vacated, beach as well.<br><br>Later, go over to Saba Rock to pay for the mooring and have some bushwhackers. Last time we were here, it was Pirate’s Pub and the bushwhackers whacked some of us up pretty good. The new establishment here is very classy, so there will be no whacking here tonight. Sundowners and dinner onboard Cocoon (red snapper filet with veggies), and then we decide to go to Bitter End for some drinks. I spy some coveted Mt. Gay caps behind the bar, knowing well that you can’t buy one; they are BESTOWED on sailors of some achievement. I ask the bartender what it would take for me to earn one, and he specifies an amount of Mt. Gay rum to be consumed, and smacks a cap in front of my glass as an incentive. The gauntlet is thrown, and my brain cells are sacrificed in the quest. But damn it, I WANT the cap and I get it.<br><br>Meet the couple on Johnny J who say they want to sail with us to Anegada tomorrow. Fine with us. The blind leading the blind (especially since those waypoints that Walker has posted may not be quite as good as they used to be, as the US has once again scrambled the GPS signals…). We also meet Britt and Sandy, whom we recognized as the family who inspired us to quickly “find” our clothing at Prickly Pear. Luckily, no one was scandalized; in fact, they were pretty amused. We head back to the boat pretty early for an early start tomorrow. I’m a bit wobbly and the wind roars all night, but I GOT THE CAP!<br><br>Day 4 – Tuesday November 6<br><br>By 8 a.m. we are ready to roll. Can’t get the weather on the radio, so we call the Moorings base for an update. They tell us that conditions will be rough for the rest of the week, and this is the only real window for an Anegada trip, with only one night there a possibility. We radio-ed Johnny J, but they started even earlier. We just want to beat the Moorings flotilla, because we will definitely want a mooring tonight.<br><br>It is sunny but the sailing is rough, with big seas. As we get closer to Anegada, the water color turns that other-worldly blue I associate with the Out Islands of the Bahamas. Indeed, the landmass of Anegada, low and scrubby, makes me feel like we are approaching Great Guana Cay instead. We sight the markers for the entrance and grab one of the remaining moorings. The swell is big and the winds roar from the southeast; the forecast is calling for it to clock around to the north later today, courtesy of Michelle. The water is iridescent blue, but murky from the weather. I would sure love to see this in settled conditions.<br><br>We go ashore at the Anegada Reef Hotel and reserve a lobster dinner for tonight. Catch a jitney to Loblolly Bay. Endless beach with gorgeous clear blue water, but its churned up too, with impressive surf breaking on the reef offshore. Spend a few hours here, and then have a round of Carib at the Big Bamboo. When we get back to Cocoon a little later, Rick gently encourages the skipper of the boat which anchored 30 feet away from us that they might want to anchor a little further away, especially with the anticipated wind shift. The skipper is grateful for the gently-given suggestion, and moves to a safer spot.<br><br>Dinner was a dream. I generally don’t order lobster because most places ruin it by overcooking, and as a Marylander, I prefer crab most days anyway. But the Anegada Reef Hotel does it right. Mosquitos feast on me as I feast on lobster. Poetic justice: I eat a big bug while the little bugs eat me.<br><br>We start noticing that no matter how long we run the engine, the batteries don’t seem to be keeping a charge. Our groceries are freezing and thawing as we cycle the engine.<br><br>Day 5 – Wednesday November 7<br><br>A bad night for sleeping. Very early in the morning, we notice the air smells different and that we are being bitten by mosquitos. Sure enough, the wind has shifted to the north and the offshore breeze is now pushing the skeeters into the anchorage. We sail off early, heading for Tortola. The seas are huge – 8 to 12 feet – but for at least part of the way they are the glowing blue of Anegadian waters so they don’t seem as ominous.<br><br>We decide to go to Trellis Bay for a number of reasons. We are hoping for a relatively calm anchorage to actually get some sleep, and we are also hoping for a service call from Moorings to see about our electrical problems. We arrive by 12:30, and have lunch at De Loose Mongoose and ice cream from the grocery store (this is a tradition). We call the Moorings, and they promise to send a service guy later on. <br><br>We take the dinghy over to Beef Island’s Long Bay, one of the best beaches in the BVI. Only a half dozen people to share it with, and its un-sullied by commercial development of any sort. We spend a lovely afternoon here, but the weather starts to turn nasty. In fact, by the time Rick is dinking over to the dock at Trellis Bay to pick up the Moorings guy, its POURING rain; at least an inch falls. He gives us a new battery (or, as they say in the Bahamas, a new “bottry”). I make a dinner of jerk pork and red beans and rice. It blows about 30 knots all night, with gusts that felt like 45. For the first time all week, we have the 2 a.m. Hatch Drill. Another sleep deprived night.<br><br>The new battery doesn’t fix the problem, but we decide to deal with it.<br><br>Day 6 – Thursday November 8<br><br>The winds continue to howl and it’s a grey day. We haven’t decided what to do, but have a faint idea of going to Jost Van Dyke. After several visits, we still haven’t paid homage to the great Foxy. But, first things first: we need to get dinghy fuel. We scoot across to the Marina Cay anchorage and grab a mooring so we can take the dink in for gas. Ashore, Rick talks to people and they report that sea conditions are expected to continue being rough, and that the Little Camanoe Passage is impassible because of the surge (a 55 footer having tried and turned back).<br><br>Sleep deprivation has convinced us that we needn’t go any further: Marina Cay will be home for the day and night. We won’t make it to Foxy’s this time, but have a reason to return. We nap and read intermittently throughout the day, have lunch at Pusser’s, and then explore Little Camanoe by dinghy in the afternoon. At 5, we head for the sunset bar for Happy Hour, but there is no sunset (too cloudy) and no bar (newly varnished), so we grab a few painkillers at Pusser’s and then return to Cocoon for a dinner of spaghetti bolognese. Though interrupted by gusts of wind from time to time, this is our first decent night of sleep all week.<br><br>Day 7 – Friday, November 8<br><br>Today, we need to get closer to Roadtown for our eventual return, so we head for Peter Island. We have a rollicking sail and the seas are still impressive (though they are smaller in the Drake Channel than on the outside). We are in the anchorage at Sprat Bay by late morning. I’m a little rattled, after an ugly (but intentional) jibe with me at the helm, and after a mishap snagging the mooring pennant (again, with the swirling wind and the chafe protection), so I’m more than happy to ease my pain at Deadman’s Bar and Grill before lunch aboard.<br><br>After lunch, we hit the beach at Little Deadman’s Bay, which is designated as the beach for “yachtsmen” on Peter Island. I guess when you pay that $35 mooring fee, you are no longer just a “sailor.” I say the yachtsmen get the better deal here – none of the “crowds” of the big beach, with all of the beauty. We stay here for a few hours, lolling away our last full day in the BVI.<br><br>Cocktails and a steak dinner aboard the boat. I run out of olive oil for sautéing the potatos, because we’ve been using it to lubricate the squeaky head pump, but make do with all-purpose Caesar dressing. A great dinner to cap off our last night.<br><br>Day 8 – Saturday November 10<br><br>We get an early start because we need to make the 10:30 ferry at West End. We make it across the Channel in one tack, and arrive at the base at 8 a.m., but have trouble raising anyone on the radio. I call on the cell phone, and soon we are easing into a slip. But our de-briefer takes some time to arrive and we are now in a hurry, late even (I didn’t even have time for a shower, but I’m not too bad off because we took long warm ones last night – we are so instinctively frugal with our water than in an entire week we hadn’t even used up one of our 2 40-gallon tanks, letting us splurge on the long showers).<br><br>After some miscues and miscommunications, we pay for the horseshoe buoy the wind took from us and jump into a taxi. Climbing in, I rap my head so soundly on the roof of the van that I’m in tears. I guess I shouldn’t complain; this is the only injury I’ve suffered all week, when I usually end up bruised and scarred after just a weekend on our own boat on the Chesapeake. We get to West End in time, and who should Rick scare up (along with two Tings) but our friends from Jubilee, with whom we chat all the way to Charlotte Amalie. <br><br>Clear U.S. customs and immigration at the ferry dock and grab a taxi to make the 3-hour check-in time for American. Again, we go through customs and immigration at the airport. Although twice is a pain, it still beats the drill at SJU. We grab a horrible overpriced lunch at the airport (no food service on the flight again). They should be ashamed – food service at STT is worse than SJU used to be before they renovated that airport. Our flight to JFK is way late, and we land at about the time our flight to IAD should be taking off. Miraculously, they hold that flight (or it is late), and we actually make it on the plane and home.<br><br>While I’m not thrilled vacation is over, I am thankful for many things. Warm water for bathing. Terra firma. Mattress firma. Calm winds. The Abacos were affected by Hurricane Michelle, so we made the right choice in going to the BVI, even though my head was spinning with the speed at which we changed direction. Thankfully, damage in the Abacos is minimal and we look forward to our return there in June. We’ve learned that, as much as we love our friends and families, we are our own best crew. So, when we sail again in paradise, we won’t be looking for anyone to fill the second cabin on our PDQ 32 cat…<br><br>Back to 16.<br><br><br><br><P ID="edit"><FONT SIZE=-1><EM>Edited by Administrator on 12/10/01 02:53 PM.</EM></FONT></P>
