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Playtime is over. We pack up the dive gear and stow it away,
wistfully wondering when we might use it again. Then we make
a final trip to town for check-out with Customs and Immigration
and a cup of mocha almond. The next morning, we slip off the
mooring lines and bid farewell to Bonaire after two wonderful
months spent exploring her reefs.
Our next port is Curacao, the next island west in the Netherlands
Antilles chain. But first we'll stop in Klein Curacao (Small
Curacao), a small, uninhabited island 15 miles east of its
bigger namesake. A pretty white beach lines the lee shore
of the island, but, as our cruising guide warns, our anchor
slides right across the thin sand on the reef terrace.
Along the shore are a number of moorings made out of rusty
barrels. There's a metal loop on top but no pendant (line
to pick up). This means you must get close enough to the hard,
crusty barrel to put your own line through the loop. Whoever
came up with that idea certainly wasn't the owner of a fiberglass
boat with a new paint job. But what choice do we have at this
point?
Some friends who visited here recently told us they sent
the first mate overboard with a line to grab the mooring.
Their first mate is a better swimmer than ours, so we carefully
approach the barrel from the bow. Nick snags the metal loop
with the boat pole, but before he can thread a line through
it the boat pole bends in half. #@$%!! So we back off and
approach downwind from the port side with Nick hanging off
the ladder. Carefully, carefully I edge the boat closer. "A
little to port, now straight ahead," Nick instructs as
we attempt to reach the barrel without scratching the boat.
He grabs it; I hold my breath. Success! Nick shoves the barrel
away from the boat as we drift back.
With the boat secure we contemplate a walk on the beach.
We don't feel like dropping the dinghy and reattaching the
motor, which is now mounted on the stern rail for safety offshore.
Instead we jump off the boat with snorkels and fins and swim
the short distance to shore. Here we find some restaurants
that are reportedly open when the charter boats bring tourists
to the island. There's none of that today, fortunately. A
paved sidewalk leads to a lighthouse in the center of the
island. The building is rundown, so we're surprised later
that night to see the light flashing on and off.
An unpaved path continues to the windward side of the island,
which is a graveyard for numerous unlucky vessels. Laying
on her crushed port side is the beautiful 60-foot ketch Krisnic.
Her single-handed French captain lost her on this reefy shore
about two years ago. Sailors understand that a cruising boat
is more than just an expensive mode of transportation. It's
the vessel that contains the hopes and dreams of its crew.
Shattered on this hot and rocky shore are what's left of one
sailor's dream. We feel his loss and can't help but think,
"there but for the grace of God go I."
That evening, the swell curling around the southern tip of
the little island rolls the boat miserably from side to side.
Little sleep is had by the crew. The next morning, eager for
a calmer anchorage, we slip away from the rusty mooring and
point our bow toward Curacao. We'll spend the next few months
in the protected lagoon of Spanish Waters. Bonaire was all
about scuba diving and fun, but our time in Curacao will be
focused on preparing for our trip to Colombia in the fall.
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Lighthouse on Klein Curacao. Unlike many
lighthouses in
the Caribbean, this one was working during our visit.
The rusty remains of a freighter that came to grief on the
windward side.
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