A Sunday in the Lagoon

Just like every Sunday morning, Mark and I lay in bed, being woken up by first light. Last night, we had dinner on a friend’s boat and today, we’d like to sleep in. The radar cable in the mast is rattling and the bed is rocking with the constant wake created by speeding power boats. A fisherman buzzes by to check his traps nearby Irie. A plane noisily takes off from the airport. It is not even 7am. We keep our eyes closed, try to ignore the persistent hum of mosquitoes, try to find a dry spot on the sheets that’s not soaked with our sweat. The sun penetrates the window and beams onto our faces. More sweat trickles down on the pillows. It is 7:30am and time to get up! Another day in “paradise”!

It would be nice to take the day off and go to the clear and pretty water “outside”. But, we took our sails and the boom down for our upcoming rigging job. Not that we would have been able to sail anyway. There is no wind. There hasn’t been any wind for weeks now and life has been very uncomfortable, what with the heat and the high humidity. Mark deals with some difficult and corroded cables that run up the mast (everything has to be disconnected, cleanly), I write a bit. Not too long, however. Because of the lack of wind and presence of clouds, Irie’s batteries are constantly depleted. I allow myself one hour on the computer, then move on to other things…

I do the dishes, fill the sun shower with fresh water out of one of our jerrycans, clean up a bit and help Mark measure and arrange a few things for the upcoming project. The sun is gone already and humidity hangs heavily in the air. When we look at the hills nearby, the tops are covered by a gray, hazy mess. On days like this, we barely know what to do with ourselves. Jump in the lagoon water, while all kinds of debris is just hovering on the surface? I see a dead pelican floating on its belly, beak facing up. The idea of a dead bird in the water doesn’t entice any swimming. I first thought he was still alive, trying to upright himself and felt totally awful. Mark didn’t want to touch a water bird not being able to get out of the water, in fear of some kind of disease. I wanted to save the animal and bring it to the little island in front of us. The ripples in the water make it look like it is still alive; Mark assures me it is not. When it floats closer and I point the poor thing out to Mark, he laughs out loud and says it is a stick. Yep, having a closer look, it is indeed a stick! Now, every time he sees a stick, he asks me what kind of bird it is…

Instead of hanging out in the cockpit all afternoon, we decide to take a long trip with the dinghy and check out Cupecoy Beach. The weather is not very nice, but a dip in the clear ocean will do us good. All the way on the west side of Simpson Bay Lagoon is Porto Cupecoy, a fancy marina and shopping center. I immediately wish we could stay here and use the pool in its tropical and lush surroundings. A short walk across the street brings us to Cupecoy, a beach we have never checked out in those three seasons we spent in St. Maarten. Surrounded by nudists, we find our own little spot of sand and go for a swim. Later we explore the area a bit. It is indeed a very nice and un-touristy coastline, with little beaches tucked away into the cliffs. Locals and westerners alike enjoy their Sunday afternoon in one or another sandy cove, with or without clothes.

When we have enough of it, Mark and I return home, watch the planes take off, yell at the speeding pleasure boats just missing ours, get annoyed by the huge wake created by multiple weekend ferries, frown upon all those loud jetskis resembling irritating mosquitoes, are engulfed by the humidity and wish it were Monday!

How to (Not) Claim Permanent Lagoon Residency

It was a very calm and sunny day in the St. Martin lagoon (where else) earlier this month. Irie was anchored close to her usual spot near Explorer Island (aka Grand Ilet on the charts). There was no wind and the green water was still and flat like glass. Contrary to what most people might think, the lagoon is pretty clean in our area and on days like this, we can see the grassy bottom. Only, this time, right off Irie’s stern, there was no grass to be seen. All I noticed was something white. Something large. Was it a sandy spot? Was it a block of concrete? A wreck? The next time a shower was needed, I stayed in the cold water a little bit longer and brought my snorkel mask…

It was shallower underneath me and two huge concrete slabs stared me in the face. One of them had steel loops coming out of it and the largest chain I’ve ever seen. The links were as big as my hands and I –for sure- had stumbled across a massive hurricane mooring, suitable for a barge! What a great place to install our own mooring equipment and “sit” on that instead of our precious anchor and falling apart chain. If that would work for the next few months, our own ground tackle would get a break from deterioration. The “our own mooring” plan was formed and all we needed to do was find the right ingredients. In the meantime, we marked “our spot” with a fender.

A very friendly chap Charlie provided us with a ten foot ½" chain in great condition, our single handed girlfriend Patti gave us an enormous shackle she didn’t have any use for on her small sailboat and we dove into our own anchor locker to claim a ¾” line for mooring purposes. We gathered these parts over the last couple of weeks and Mark got to work and spliced the line onto itself in a loop with a piece of hose and onto the chain. With all the preparations taken care of, it was time for our good friend Angie to offer her assistance…

Mark, Angie and I braved the water to assess the situation. Massive shackle in hand, Angie dove down 8 feet, only to come up with the news that it didn’t fit any of the even more massive chain links on the bottom, nor the thick loops! After a few more tries, she found one spot to fit the shackle a certain way. Mark redid some of the attachments on our mooring assembly and Angie retrieved her dive bottle. Now, the serious work could start. Our friend went down again, with plenty of air this time, and managed to attach the shackle to one of the big loops, screwed the finger thick pin in it and secured the contraption with seizing wire. Job well done!

So, that’s how we happened to inherit our own serious mooring in Simpson Bay Lagoon. Irie is now safely (we hope) sitting on her home base, pretty fish eating off the barnacle covered concrete block underneath us. We are a bit apprehensive about the fact that nothing (like an anchor) will slow us down if we drag or get loose. We also have to check the underwater scene once in a while to make sure all is sound. But, that’s a small price to pay to “own” a private piece of property in the glorious Simpson Bay Lagoon. And, for the record, no!, this new mooring development is NOT an act of (semi-) permanency!

Mirabella V Enters St. Maarten’s Bowels

Every day, except Sunday, a Cruiser’s Net takes place in St. Maarten/St. Martin on VHF channel 14. It starts at 7:30 in the morning and covers a whole bunch of topics like “weather predictions”, “safety and security”, “announcements”, “new arrivals and departures”, “buy, sell and swap” and a “general” section at the end. Many cruisers participate, information is gathered and knowledge is shared.

A few days ago, someone mentioned on the Net that the largest sloop (single-masted yacht) in the world, the Mirabella V, would attempt to enter Simpson Bay Lagoon through the Dutch bridge, which is the biggest one of the two. With a beam of 48’ 6”, she would only have a few inches to spare. Mark and I found out at what time she would give it a try and decided to interrupt work and go watch the spectacle. It would be a shame to miss out on events like that.

Around 9:30 am, we parked our dinghy at the Yacht Club and walked across the road to see Mirabella V get ready for her approach. For the longest time, no fenders were to be seen and we had a hard time believing that the captain would really take the chance of scratching, if not permanently damaging the perfectly shaped and polished hull. Once the mega yacht started moving towards the bridge, the many members of the crew hauled out the massive fenders and laboriously swung them over the side, keeping a close eye on their location. All our eyes were fixed on the giant approaching the “relatively” narrow bridge. Mark and I moved to the Yacht Club’s viewing platform for a better look.

After some effort and the use of bow thrusters, the skilled captain managed to get Mirabella square with the bridge opening and carefully, she inched her way through the concrete pilings. Once in a while she came to a total stop, making us wonder whether she got stuck. With every forward movement, as small as it was, the crew members attended to the fenders and rolled them with the vessel along the edges of Simpson Bay Bridge. While hanging “in the middle” of the bridge, the steel nerved captain from New Zealand nonchalantly snapped a picture down the side with his compact camera. When Mirabella’s stern finally cleared the structure, a big applause and cheerful noise rose from the spectator’s “bench”.

Once inside, the yacht had a hard time turning towards her moorings in the small open area. Crew of the docked mega yachts came on deck to make sure no collisions occurred. While the colossal sloop maneuvered, a motor yacht crept up her butt, not being able to slow down. This mega yacht looked tiny, compared to the Mirabella V and Mark couldn’t help but yell “Are you guys the tender?” The owner was probably not very pleased with his comment, but the audience and crew got a good laugh out of it! All went fine and Mirabella V managed to attach her 246 feet to the two huge mooring buoys, while the motor yacht found a place in one of the marinas. One question still remains: why would such a grand, unwieldy ship want to enter the relatively shallow and tight-quartered lagoon?

Taking Sunday Off

When Mark and I first started sailing and cruising, every day was alike. We actually got annoyed on weekends, because beaches we walked on, bays we anchored in and places we visited were more crowded than other days. We avoided weekends and hoped for the work week to start again, to get some peace. Since we created our own business two years ago and since I got serious about making some money writing, we established the “normal week” again, hoping to take it easy on Saturday and Sunday. Or, at least, take it easier, since there’s always a lot to do, organize and fix on a boat.

Simpson Bay Lagoon, here in St. Martin, is a safe haven for hundreds of boats. When anchored, you are well protected from wind and swell and most marine stores, happy hour bars and supermarkets are within dinghy reach. As a matter of fact, staying in “the lagoon” is so easy and convenient, that many people get stuck. They come for a week and stay for a month or longer. Add to this that you are “land locked” with two bridges (only opening three times a day) and one starts to see that leaving for the day or the week turns into somewhat of a hassle. Most visiting cruising boats come in and, when they finally leave, move on to the next island. Besides our (failed) plan to take weekends off, we decided to leave the lagoon every other week for Irie and our sakes. This plan is working so far, because we are determined to see some clean and clear water once in a while. Isn’t that why we are in the Caribbean?

Last weekend, the famous and grand Heineken Regatta was taking place in St. Maarten/St. Martin. When Sunday, the last day of the races, came around, Mark and I decided to invite a few friends to Irie for the day and take them race watching and vacationing. We left our homely and homey lagoon through the 8:15 French bridge and hung around Marigot Bay for over two hours. The hundreds of regatta boats were gathering and taking trial runs. Far and fast they didn’t go, because there was practically no wind. The Heineken Regatta is known for this particular phenomenon that is unexplainable. The little wind allowed us to turn the engines off (we didn’t need to get anywhere, let alone a starting line) and leisurely sail Irie back and forth while waiting for the start of the races, postponed by the committee over and over again. A squall was approaching.

Around 11 am, we assumed most of the monohulls and multihulls had taken off, since there was movement around the bay. The many (sometimes high performance) sails were quite the sight. Instead of following the boring race around the west side of the island, we turned east and slowly made our way to Friar’s Bay, escaping the rain. Our guests lounged around in the sun and enjoyed the ride. We all started to have this rare “vacation feeling” of “let’s go sailing and relax at anchor”. Which is exactly what we did after dropping the hook with a nice beach as a backdrop. All the lunch items appeared (our new German friend Axel brought heaps of pasta salad) and ice cold beers went around. This was our equivalent to the landlubber’s “day at the beach” or “road trip to see friends, family or an event”. It felt great to be “away from it all”, just for the day.

Later in the afternoon, we split up and picked the activity most attractive to each one of us. Axel stayed aboard Irie to take a nap (after dropping the rest of us off at the beach), Sabine relaxed in Friar’s Bay and Addie, Mark, the two dogs we were watching for our (other new) friend Patti and I walked the trail to beautiful and quiet Happy Bay. The swell had grown bigger by the time Axel picked us back up, so we waded waist deep out in the sea and carried Marai and Sula into the dinghy. After some more relaxing aboard Irie, we returned to the French bridge and in turn to our spot in the lagoon. By evening, we were settled again, for another two weeks! Even though we were tired of the day’s “events”, our Sunday turned into a long one, attending the regatta concerts and party until 1 am. We did leave early, because... Monday is a work day!