February 27
Tuesday is the big day. Today we'll escape from "Chicken
Harbour." George Town earns this nickname because this
is where many cruisers abandon their plans to head down island
and instead turn around and go back to the States.
After much soul searching, we've decided to continue southbound
on what is commonly called the "Thorny Path." Twelve
hundred miles to windward is a punishing trip for a small
boat and its crew. By carefully selecting advantageous weather
windows per the advice of the cruising guide author Bruce
Van Sant, we hope to minimize the punishment.
At 6:30 A.M. we tune in to our weather router Chris Parker,
who is still operating in George Town in a limited capacity.
Chris advises that we'll have a 48 hour window to arrive in
the Turks and Caicos (T&C) before the wind builds to 20
knots out of the east. There's a weak cold front on the way
and the forecast is for mild seas and light winds. We should
cover the 235 miles and arrive in T&C early Thursday morning,
just before the wind picks up.
At 7:30 A.M. we depart the North Channel Rocks cut with Paul
and Jane on S/V Shian and bid adieu to George Town.
Soon the incessant George Town chatter fades on the VHF radio,
the water sparkles under the early morning sun, and the wind
blows gently from the south. We feel emancipated. We sail
northeast around Long Island and then take the southeast course
past Rum Cay. There's enough wind to sail until 4:00 P.M.
when the wind drops and an adverse current forces us to start
the iron genny (engine). As night falls, the weather is benign
and an almost-full moon lights the sky. A few freighters and
a cruise ship pass several miles away, but not too close for
comfort.
February 28
By dawn on Wednesday, we're passing Samana Cay heading for
Mayaguana. We talk to Chris Parker again, and he says the
wind will be northeast at 10 knots by sunset and then build
out of the east after midnight. The east wind should be 15-17
knots by dawn and stronger during the day on Thursday. Shian
downloads a more optimistic Moving Weather forecast, which
indicates the east wind will not build until later in the
day on Thursday. For the next several hours, we consider two
choices:
(1) We can tuck in at Mayaguana and probably be stuck there
for several days. The anchorages there are not particularly
desirable.
(2) We can continue sailing east across the north end of
Mayaguana and then head almost due south for T&C so the
east winds will be on the beam, not on the nose, as we make
our approach.
We ultimately decide to take option 2 and cross our fingers
that the east wind doesn't come early before we turn south
around the eastern point of Mayaguana. We also decide not
to slow down to make landfall at daybreak, but to continue
at our current speed and arrive at the Malcolm Roadstead anchorage
on the west side of Providenciales (Provo) around midnight,
hopefully before the wind builds. This will be our first time
to anchor in darkness.
In the afternoon, we notice that the pressure on our fuel
filter has shot up. Although the engine is running fine and
we a have secondary parallel filter, Nick decides to change
the filter now while conditions are calm. This turns out to
be a good decision.
Around 4:00 P.M. we're motoring across an inky blue slick.
I watch with fascination as a wind line slowly approaches,
overtaking the calm water in sharp contrast. Soon after, we're
sailing at over 7 knots. What a joy ride! We anticipate a
lovely beam reach all the way to T&C.
As we're eating dinner just before sunset, we comment on
the blue-gray line of clouds behind us to the north. We sure
hope the approaching cold front is a mild one, as predicted.
Within an hour, dark clouds flickering with lightning are
all around us. There aren't any cloud-to-ground strikes, just
static electricity. Even so, I move our computer and small
electronics into the oven just to be safe. Nick puts a double-reef
in the main sail and we exchange the full jib for the smaller
staysail.
As we round the eastern point of Mayaguana in darkness, the
winds are blowing up to 35 knots true from the northeast and
the seas are building behind us. The boat rolls miserably
and the contents of the lockers and refrigerator crash noisily
from side to side. This is the worst rolling we've ever experienced.
A locker door flies open dumping several plastic bins and
their contents into the floor. Two food crates in the v-berth
crash to the floor. The interior of the boat is trashed, but
surprisingly nothing breaks. Mother Nature has us in her jaws
and we're at her mercy.
March 1
Around 1:30 A.M. on Thursday, we're approaching the anchorage
on the west side of Provo. Neither of us has much hope of
being able to anchor in these extreme conditions, but we decide
to try. We have some difficulties making the approach, and
I beg Nick to abort the plan and head offshore. In just the
last month, we know of three boats lost on reefs when they
tried to enter a port at night. I don't want to be the next
sad story, just another wreck dive for tourists. We head out
to deeper water safely outside the reef and sail in the lee
of the island where the swell is smaller until daybreak. Meanwhile,
Shian, more experienced cruisers with two Atlantic
crossings under their belts, successfully anchor and get some
sleep. By 9:00 A.M., our anchor is set next to Shian
in a rolly swell. Exhausted on all levels, we take long naps.
March 2
We need to go through customs and we can't do it here, so
with Shian we move to the Turtle Cove marina on the
north side of Provo. The winds are blowing 25 knots out of
the southeast, making the trip a hard beat into wind and waves.
To enter the marina, one must follow an intricate channel
through a shallow reef. Fortunately, the marina provides a
pilot to guide in its customers.
As we enter the marina basin, we expect the wind to be diminished
so docking will be easier. Much to our dismay, the wind howls
unabated across the slips. As we pull into our slip, the wind
immediately slams us down onto the finger pier. "You
need to get a line on that pile," advises the dock hand
as he points to a pile about 20 feet behind the boat on the
port side. "Yeah right," I scoff. Just because I
was born in Texas doesn't make me a cowboy and there's no
way I can lasso that pile. The captain of Horizons
comes down to help. We're pinned down hard and cannot move
the boat. A Haitian boy, who is washing a boat from a raft,
paddles over and puts our line around the pile. We put a spring
line around a winch and finally get the boat pulled off the
dock. Mark that one as our worst docking experience. No damage
though, except for some varnish rubbed off the starboard caprail.
The customs officials arrive and process us quickly for just
$15, compared to $300 in the Bahamas. Dakota is visible on
deck, but they don't ask for his papers.
With the legalities behind us, we head over to the Tiki Grill
with Paul and Jane for a relaxing lunch. In the afternoon,
Nick jerry cans fuel to top off our tanks. Jane and I take
off on foot for the grocery store. As we begin our trek, a
small car pulls beside us. "Are you going to the grocery
store?" inquires the captain and mate of Horizons.
"Yes," we reply. "Well, you're going the wrong
way. Hop in." The couple drops us off at the IGA supermarket,
which is the best we've seen since Florida. I'm thrilled to
find our favorite spicy hummus and fresh milk at a reasonable
price. Nick will have milk and chocolate chip cookies at bedtime
tonight. Score two points for the first mate.
March 3
The wind is still howling on Saturday, so we decide to spend
another day at the marina and relax. That evening, we dine
with Paul and Jane at the Shark Bite restaurant where we have
a great view of the lunar eclipse.
March 4
On Sunday we'll go all the way to Sapodilla Bay, which is
on the south side of Provo about half way across the Caicos
Banks. The marina opens at 7:00 A.M., and we hope to pay and
be on our way before the wind builds. Apparently the marina
employee had a great Saturday night because he doesn't show
up until 7:45. It's 8:20 before we pull out of the slip, and
the wind is already quite strong. Fortunately our departure
goes more smoothly than our entry, and we follow the pilot
back out to reef-free water. The wind is blowing southeast
around 25 knots and up to 30 knots as we round the point.
The ride is bit rolly, but we're sailing.
We arrive at Sandbore Channel, the entrance to the Caicos
Banks, at around 1:00 P.M. According to our Wavey Line chart,
"The tide funnels out through the Sandbore at 1-2 knots
and with a strong easterly head wind and ebb tide, your progress
will be very slow and uncomfortable, although large motorsailers
and power yachts can handle it." Well, that pretty much
sums up our experience in a nutshell. We arrive in the rolly
and murky Sapodilla Bay around 3:15, set the hook, and enjoy
spicy hummus with our Kalik beers.
March 5
The wind is still blowing over 20 knots on Monday as we head,
upwind of course, across the Caicos banks. As we motor across
the banks, we're fascinated by the Emerald Cloud phenomenon
that occurs when the green water of the banks is reflected
onto the clouds. The water is about 12 feet deep, but coral
heads abound and some may be shallow. The cruising guides
recommend steering around the dark spots just be to be safe.
I spend most of the day on the bow looking ahead for dark
patches in the white sand bottom. The idea is that I'll spot
a coral head in time to direct Nick to steer around it, or
at least I'll have the satisfaction of being the first to
say "Oh shit!" right before we hit it.
By midafternoon, we make our way around Long Cay into the
Atlantic and turn into Cockburn Harbour in South Caicos. The
water is shallow and there are a number of rusty hulls washed
ashore. A little disconcerting.
March 6
We decide to go ahead and check out of T&C on Tuesday
and stage for Luperon at Big Sand Cay. Mr. Cox, owner of the
Sea View Marina, hails our boats on the VHF in the early morning
and asks if we need fuel, water, or lobster. The Sea View
Marina is basically a concrete bulkhead, a poor excuse for
a marina even by Louisiana standards.
Around 9:00 A.M., Shian picks us up in their dinghy
and we head to shore. Mr. Cox is waiting on the dock with
a cell phone at his ear. He takes our trash and Shian's
water jugs. He offers to call customs to come check us out
and reports they're on their way. We think he's being quite
nice.
So we wait and wait and wait in the hot sun. We had hoped
to find a nice little cafe or bakery, but there are no such
establishments to be found in this dusty town. Finally, Paul
talks to the young Dominican police officer who is cruising
around in a late-model SUV. The officer gives us a ride to
the customs office, where the two employees don't seem to
have prior knowledge of our need to check out. When we're
done, the nice police officer gives us a ride back to the
marina. Mr. Cox is nowhere to be seen. Later, Paul tells us
that Mr. Cox hit him up for $20 for a few gallons of water,
tying up the dinghy, and calling customs for us. Paul gave
him $10.
Anchors are up before noon and we head southeast--upwind
in 20 knots, of course--toward Big Sand Cay. Furthermore,
there is an adverse northerly current running through the
Columbus channel. So far, the Thorny Path is living up to
its name. By sunset, we're settled into yet another rolly
anchorage. As night falls, I tell Nick that it's a bit creepy
being so far out in the middle of nowhere at an uninhabited
island. To add to the creepiness, we can hear a flock of birds
cackling somewhere behind us over the water.
At bedtime, we determine our aft berth is uninhabitable.
The bed is athwartship (crossways) so as the boat rolls to
one side, the blood rushes to your head and as it rolls to
the other side, it rushes to your feet. We make out the bed
in the salon, set the anchor drag alarm, and try to sleep.
March 7
Wednesday's weather forecast is unfavorable for making the
run to Luperon. The wind is blowing between 25-30 knots out
of the east. We do some chores and some relaxing while the
boat rolls in the swell. To cook, I must gimbal the stove.
This feature allows the stove to swing freely and remain level
while the boat rolls from side to side. I had always imagined
this feature to be for offshore use, little did I know it
might be needed at anchor. Quick reflexes are needed at dinner
to catch a dish before it flies off the table. The first mate
is not having fun and makes her feelings known to the captain.
We watch a movie and sleep in the salon for the second night.
Somewhere in the darkness, a flock of unseen birds cackle
noisily.
March 8
The east wind continues to howl, a north swell is building,
and squalls are forecast, so we'll have to stay here at least
another day. The north swell causes the boats to ride forward
on their anchors, which is a bit unnerving.
When nightfall brings the familiar cackling, Nick shines
a spotlight over the water. Hovering just above the surface
are hundreds of white birds. They quickly retreat from the
light. We think they might be tropic birds.
By bedtime, the wind is down to 12 knots and the swell has
lessened. We reclaim our aft cabin and go to bed with high
hopes of a departure tomorrow.
March 9
Around 4:00 A.M., we're awakened by the familiar rolling
of the boat and a howling south wind of 25 knots. Damn, we
can't leave in these conditions! The course to Luperon is
almost due south.
Around 1:00 P.M., the wind and swell has settled down some
and Nick swims to shore to do some beachcombing. On the windward
side of the island he discovers some disturbing objects: a
man-overboard pole, a life ring, and a boat portlight.
As Nick is swimming back to the boat around 2:00, Shian
calls to say their latest Moving Weather report indicates
southeast winds at 15 knots tonight. They're eager to leave,
so we hose off the captain and quickly ready the boat for
departure. By 2:45, we're motoring straight into a south wind
headed for Luperon, Dominican Republic. Our voyage down the
Thorny Path resumes.
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Nick sends a broken dinghy davit to Davy
Jones' Locker.
Dakota finds the cruising lifestyle to be
quite stressful.
Jane and Paul on S/V Shian, our buddy
boat.
Sun sets over a tranquil sea on our first night, a stark
contrast to our second night.
Following Shian through a hairbend
turn to Turtle Cove marina.
Looking back, leaving deep water as we enter
the shallow Caicos Banks.
Caicos Banks: Emerald Clouds above and dark
coral patches below.
Deanna on watch for the dark patches.
Shian anchored in Cockburn Harbour.
Waiting in the heat for customs.
Deanna getting into the police vehicle. Although
encounters with local
law enforcement are not usually a good thing, this time it
was a free
taxi ride.
Nick at the customs office in South Caicos.
Steep waves roll up the vertical beach at
Big Sand Cay, not a good dinghy landing.
Shian anchored at Big Sand Cay, almost
disappears behind a swell.
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