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For those of you who've been following our logs, here's a
question to see if you've been paying attention: If Caribbean
Soul is traveling southeast from the Dominican Republic
(DR) to Puerto Rico, from which direction will the wind blow?
If you answered "southeast" or "on the nose,"
then you qualify for a windward trip down the Thorny Path.
Bruce Van Sant in his cruising guide states: "Sailing
or motoring to windward on this coast during so-called moderate
trades (20-25 knots, 6-8 foot seas) rates as flat out suicidal."
So what is the southbound sailor to do? The answer is to play
the nightly island lee. During the night, an island gives
off the heat it absorbed during the day. This process creates
a night lee, an area near the coast where the wind and seas
are calmer than they are offshore. In fact, Columbus used
the night lee to move his ships around the coast of the DR.
Whereas Columbus had to use rowboats to move his ships, the
modern sailor uses the auxiliary engine to motor around the
coast during the nightly taming of the trade winds. Frontal
systems can also bring a temporary disruption of the trade
winds and provide a longer weather window for putting miles
under the keel. Such a front is in our forecast, providing
a rare opportunity to go straight to Puerto Rico.
March 16
A group of six boats prepare to depart Luperon on Friday
evening. Our weather router Chris Parker has given the thumbs
up. An approaching cold front will bring lighter winds and
calmer seas before reaching the DR and stalling on Sunday.
We'll need to arrive in Puerto Rico by Sunday evening before
the tradewinds rebuild on Monday. The biggest concern is the
possibility of squalls that will form Saturday afternoon as
the cold front approaches the northern coast of the DR.
At 7:00 P.M., we depart the harbor with MoonSail,
Sol y Mar, Perseverance, and two other boats.
Although the wind is dying, we know the night lee has not
yet set in and that whitecaps are still rolling offshore.
However, we want to leave with enough daylight to dodge the
fish buoys in the channel. Shian and Gypsy Dancer,
friends from the UK, decide to wait for the night lee and
use spotlights to dodge the buoys after dark.
Within a few minutes of leaving the harbor's shelter, we're
facing much worse conditions than we bargained for. The wind
is howling over 25 knots and the boat rises and falls in an
8-foot northeastly swell. Several boats discuss turning around,
although no one does because the return trip down wind would
probably be worse. If Van Sant, a Luperon resident, is listening
on his VHF radio, he's undoubtedly laughing at us.
The first 6 miles out of Luperon are considered difficult
even in optimum conditions. The boat rides comfortably enough
as it plows into head seas and wind, but our speed doesn't
exceed 4 knots for several hours. The night lee finally appears
around 11:00 P.M. and conditions vastly improve. For the remainder
of the night, we motor just a few miles off the coast in light
winds and a moderate swell.
March 17
We round Cabo Frances Veijo just after sunrise before the
wind picks up. We even manage to carry both the main and headsail
for awhile. As forecast, by afternoon the wind is too light
and on the nose for the headsail, but the main sail stays
up for the rest of the trip to stabilize the boat.
It's late in the afternoon when the tense voice of Dori on
Sol y Mar comes over the VHF radio. Their engine has
stopped running and they will have to sail into Samana instead
of continuing on to Puerto Rico. MoonSail offers to
alter course and meet them in a small anchorage outside Samana.
Along with Perseverance, we decide to follow suit.
However, after some discussion, it's decided that it will
be easier for Sol y Mar to drop anchor under sail at
night if there are fewer boats around. We continue to Puerto
Rico with Perseverance.
By sunset we're rounding Cabo Cabron and Cabo Samana. Here
we see the cape effect, where wind and waves intensify as
they're compressed along the cape. A few hours later, we look
astern to see thunderstorms building off these capes. We hope
our friends on Shian and Gypsy Dancer are ahead
of the storms. During the night, we use our radar to dodge
several rain squalls.
March 18
By sunrise on Sunday, we're entering the infamous Mona Passage.
This 61-mile body of water lies between the eastern coast
of Hispaniola and the western coast of Puerto Rico. Strong
headwinds, rough seas, and thunderstorms are common obstacles
to a safe passage. For the southbound sailor, the Mona Passage
is much anticipated and dreaded.
The first challenge is the Hourglass Shoal just off the Dominican
coast. Here the waters of the Equatorial Current cascade out
of the deep Puerto Rican trench and stack up on the shallow
bank. Thanks to careful weather planning and good luck, the
winds are light today and the swell is long and gentle. We
navigate well north of the shoal and notice slightly rougher
seas for a few hours. By midday, we're in the shipping lanes
in the middle of the Mona. Four ships pass within three miles
of us, and many others appear on our radar. I'm glad we're
passing these ships in daylight rather than in darkness when
they would seem closer and more intimidating.
Since leaving George Town, Nick has been optimistically trolling
fishing lines behind the boat without a single bite. Today
his luck changes and he snags a large wahoo on the hand line.
It's a gorgeous fish and will feed a crowd--something to look
forward to.
By late afternoon, Perseverance has determined that
they will run out of fuel before arriving in Mayaguez. We
arrange a rendezvous just off Isla Desecheo. Richard dinghies
over and picks up two jugs of fuel. Soon we are both back
on course passing Isla Desecheo on the north side. The Mona
Passage is known for violent thunderstorms that form off the
west coast of Puerto Rico in the afternoons and drift out
the sea to pound the hapless sailor. As we pass the towering
island about a mile off our starboard side, a non-convective
squall drifts offshore and cloaks the island making it invisible.
We pass within a few hundred feet of the squall's edge, but
it doesn't cause us any trouble.
By 5:00 P.M. we're entering the commercial harbor at Mayaguez
with Perseverance. We're thrilled to have had such
an uneventful trip across the Mona Passage and finally be
in Puerto Rico. Around sunset, we see Shian approaching
on the horizon. Gypsy Dancer arrives soon after dark.
We're all exhausted but elated. A major hurdle has been crossed
and we'll all sleep well tonight in boats that sway quietly
on anchor.
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