Coping without Darwin

Mark and I once owned a 36 foot monohull sailboat, back in California, back in 2005. The plan was to fix her up and set sail for Mexico with our dogs Kali and Darwin. After many months of hard work and a few short trips in San Francisco Bay, the four of us set off… only to put the boat up for sale three days later. Why? Our precious dogs did not like the heeling of the boat. They were restless, uncomfortable and unhappy. And, when they were miserable, we were as well. We continued our adventure overland (all the way to Panama) and everybody was happy again.

Our next boat had to be a catamaran and even though none of us - humans or dogs - had set foot on one before, it was the right choice for all of us to live and sail indefinitely. Darwin and Kali liked to be on Irie. We installed life netting and had an easy time loading the dogs on and off the boat. They were comfortable at anchor and underway and with their two or three daily shore visits, things could be worse. First, Kali passed away in Puerto Rico, being 10.5 years old. Darwin followed her less than two years later and all of a sudden Irie was dog-less. Mark and I had not lived on a boat without dogs, so the adjustment was huge and sad.

When a loved one passes away, you think you will never function or be happy again and you simply can not imagine living without him or her. Nothing seems to be worth it anymore. It is incredibly painful. But, life goes on and the pain decreases, very very very slowly. Our memories stay alive with pictures, movies, conversations and daily thoughts of Darwin. We still lit a candle once in a while and can’t get used to his absence. We miss him enormously, even after three months have gone by.

When we first went ashore in St. Maarten or saw old cruising friends again, everybody felt sorry about our loss and sad about not having Darwin around anymore. It took me a month to write a poem about “my boy” and another one to be able to read it out loud at an Open Mic session in Lagoonies. It was published in the February 2011 issue of Caribbean Compass (page 30, http://issuu.com/caribbean-compass/docs/compass_online_february11/31?mode=embed ). Each time Mark and I see dogs ashore we need our fix and pet, cuddle and love the fortunate four-footers. When we’re lucky, we get loaded with kisses or whacked by happy tails.

On Irie, the routine has changed. We used to start the day with a dog walk on the beach, break up the early afternoon with another trip ashore and finish a day’s work with a relaxing and mind clearing stroll on the beach again. Friendly encounters spontaneously took place because of Darwin’s presence, drawing attention to his good manners, pretty face or soft fur. Now, the dinghy stays up, sometimes even for days at a time. Nobody stands guard when boats pass by, nobody warns us when somebody approaches, nobody greets our visitors with a friendly bark, and nobody is anxiously waiting and anticipating our return with a welcoming expression and wagging tail.

Irie is empty without Darwin. The trip to shore is incomplete without him. Something is missing in the dinghy and - especially in the beginning - we kept looking around for him or expecting a comfy stretched out boy at our feet. Now, we just wish he could be with us when we go out, when we meet other doggies or when we go to bed. After three years of owning the boat, I finally learned how to lock our door from the inside. And, we are generally more apprehensive about being at anchor alone. Things have changed, that’s for sure, and not for the best. But, we cope and move on and live our ever busy life, which forms the best distraction. One of the questions on everybody’s lips when they see us is: “Are you going to get another dog?” Our answer depends on what the future brings: a homeless puppy that crosses our path or the decision to go to the South Pacific…

St. Martin: Comings and Goings

Simpson Bay Lagoon in St. Martin feels to us a little bit like being home (as far as that’s possible thousands of miles away from our respective home countries), since this is the third time in as many years we have dropped our anchor in the familiar weedy bottom. Over the last two years, we have spent a total of nine months in the protected waters of this massive lagoon and coming up are another three or four. Not much has changed. There is a new road around the airport extension, our friend and net controller Mike opened his new business “Shrimpy’s Laundry” and the Wednesday Cruiser’s Meeting is moving from Turtle Pier to the friendly and conveniently located Barnacles.

Other than these changes, the distances in the lagoon are still huge with a variable degree of wetness depending on the amount of wind and a considerable usage of fuel based on the destination, prices have been stagnant (bus to Philipsburg: $2, beer during Happy Hour: $1), the bridge openings are still the same and most of the locally known “boat residents” are still here. Unfortunately, one thing that doesn’t stay the same - in contrary to our “old homes” - is our circle of friends…

Life on a boat means “change of plans”, “new horizons” and “other challenges”. While it always feels good to see old friends again, that feeling gets intensified when you haven’t seen them for a while or when you have anticipated the reunion for months. But, as big as that feeling of joy is, the moment you hug “hello”, easily as big is the feeling of sadness when you say “goodbye” once again, maybe even for the last time. “When will we see him or her or them again?” is a recurring thought that crosses our minds when the vessel’s name is called during the departures section of the Cruiser’s Net in the morning.

While we hoped to see Nic and Michele from SY Irony again on our way north, they were on opposite corners when we were in Antigua and then picked up speed, arriving in the British Virgin Islands when we reached St. Martin. It was wonderful to see our friends Tom and Karmen from SV Ellida again, after never catching up with each other over the last year. They made new plans and are on their way to the United States at the moment.

Last but not least, we had to say goodbye - hopefully not forever- to our good friend Dave of SV Tatia. Over a span of three years, we united and separated in multiple harbors, to hang-out for the season together here in St. Martin. As a single hander, he got a bit bored with things (how could he not have enough boat projects to do to fill his days?) and accepted a job as IT engineer on Le Grand Bleu, one of the largest privately owned yachts in the world. His cruising life is on hold now and we saw one of our best friends go.

While our current circle of friends is getting smaller these days, there is room for positions to fill up. New friends will be made and the wonderful thing about St. Martin is that many paths cross here, in the middle of the Eastern Caribbean. When one befriended cruising couple leaves, another one is bound to arrive. Very soon!

St. Martin: Home away from Home?

Barbuda was our last real stop before arriving in St. Martin, on February 3^rd. As always we enjoyed our pretty and peaceful environment in Low Bay. There seemed to be more sailboats than last January, but we didn’t feel crowded. Once in a while, we took a break from work, for a walk on the 11 mile beach, sinking into the soft sand up till our ankles. Darwin loved it here, we missed his joyful presence, and this time around, the weather was just wonderful, even a bit chilly to swim.

One afternoon, I convinced Mark to join me in the dinghy towards one of the reefs. He remained in the rubber boat, bopping around, enjoying the sunshine, while I braved the cool water and snorkeled around for a bit, seeing multiple colorful fish on the damaged reefs and two stingrays. On the way back to Irie, we passed over large patches of grass. We could see big white spots from above the water and I joked that they were probably all conch. Mark urged me to put my mask and snorkel back on to check it out. Indeed! Tons of conch!

Within seconds, I donned my fins again and went diving for dinner, only picking the adult ones with a big lip. Twenty minutes later, I found enough sea creatures for a few meals. We felt happy and successful to finally find some food in nature. Every fishing attempt this season has failed miserably. Even worse: we lost all our lures in the progress! Once back aboard, Mark cut the animals out of their pretty shells and cleaned them up a bit. They would turn into delicious meals over the following weeks.

Now we are back in St. Martin with mixed feelings. It is the third time we will be spending four to five months in Simpson Bay Lagoon, focusing on our business and other work. The Wirie “factory” is back in production. The list of boat projects is long again and so are the chore and the grocery list. On the other hand, it is great to see all our friends again and spend some fun evenings together.

Mark and I also have a wedding to plan and our friend Karmen, who is an aspiring travel and wedding photographer (www.meanderingmoments.com) is practicing on us, as we speak. So, just like previous years, it is all about finding the perfect balance between work and pleasure. St. Martin is not a bad place to achieve such a thing!

French Clash

“I wonder whether that boat sees us” Mark remarked when we were sailing along St. Barth’s west coast nearing the capital Gustavia. A small boat under full sails was heading our way. As a matter of fact, he was on a collision course pointing straight at us and coming closer by the second. Irie was (also) under sail and on a starboard tack, which meant we had right of way. But, he was flying a French flag. And as far as stereotypes go, some of them are pretty close to the truth when it comes to the French. They don’t like to speak English, they anchor right on top of you when there is plenty of space in the bay and they don’t seem to follow (or know) “the rules”…

“I can’t believe this. He is not making any moves to avoid us!” Mark started considering the options. We had been fine and peacefully on course with nicely trimmed sails for 11 hours! Frantically, I reeled the fishing line in. Even if the boat cut behind us, he would snatch our line and our last lure would be forever lost. Mark fell off and got out of the way. The Frenchman must have seen us, because he sat on the high side of his boat. When he came within a few yards, just missing our stern and waving with a big smile on his face, Mark yelled at him, in English. He basically explained how we had to change course for him, that we were on a starboard tack and he was on a port tack, that this was inconsiderate of him as a sailor. The guy did not quite understand what was going on, didn’t feel any guilt and did not speak any English. Until… he caught the word “idiot” coming out of Mark’s mouth. Now, that he did understand (the French word is pretty much the same) and he yelled: “I’m coming back for you!”

The next instant, he turned his boat 180° and came after us. Gulp! Luckily his boat was a bit smaller and a monohull. And, the wind picked up which sent us (and him) flying in the right direction, at least for us. He kept up pretty well and actually shortened the distance between us in his pursuit. Now what? Mark was getting nervous and demanded the jib to be perfectly attended to while he took care of the main sail. While it normally doesn’t matter too much that our sails are trimmed to perfection, all of a sudden we were part of an important race. With the least change in wind, I adjusted the jib and Mark did the same with the main. Back and forth, in and out, slightly so.

A big vessel that looked like a cruise ship was entering the harbor to Gustavia, while all around us mega yachts were peacefully lying at anchor. We couldn’t afford going behind the giant and we had right of way, so we stuck to our course, passing in front of him, just in time, thanks to the consistent wind. Nobody seems to like giving way to others and our day was all of a sudden coming to a more exciting end than anticipated…

By this time, Irie had gained quite a bit of distance and our pursuer shrunk in size. He was still following and we contemplated sailing to our planned anchorage in Anse de Columbier, or making the already very long and tiring trip three miles longer by shooting for Ile Forchue. When we saw how busy Columbier Bay was, we chose for the rough, inhospitable but quiet island further away. We made it safely there, having shaken off our chaser, but we were kept awake all night by incredibly strong and loud wind gusts. Take note: you do pay a price for calling somebody and idiot, even when he is just that!

On the Way to St. Martin: Antigua and Barbuda

After our unfriendly episode in Jolly Harbour, checking into Antigua in its capital St. John’s was a more pleasant, albeit slow and slightly inconvenient matter. We dealt with customs and immigration near the cruise ship dock and then had to take the dinghy to the “big ships wharf” to deal with Port Authority and pay EC $50 (US$20) for a cruising permit. This fee used to be EC$ 30 (US$ 12) last year. The town itself has nothing special to offer. Even the 2400 cruise ship passengers avoided it and planned other activities. A visit to the church seemed to be worthwhile, but the nice looking building was under construction, so access was prohibited.

Our plan was to stay in St. John’s harbor for a couple of days to work online -as always- and then move around the corner to the north shore for some peace and quiet over the weekend. Unfortunately, because of an over-presence of an Antigua company’s strong and inaccessible WiFi signals (present wherever you go on the island but luckily not as strong everywhere), Mark and I couldn’t connect to any of the weaker signals because of the interference. Quite an annoying experience if you rely on internet for urgent business matters. The result was that we had to hunt for another bay with decent WiFi, which we found in Deep Bay.

Deep Bay is a beautiful and relatively calm anchorage with a nice beach and pretty surroundings. A wreck in the bay offers good snorkeling, but because of the heavy trade winds this time of the year, the water was cloudy and the visibility non-existent. A walk to the ruins of fort Barrington offers a nice view of the ocean, the lagoon, St. John’s Harbour and the hilly shores. We enjoyed spending some days there and liked the view out of our office. The only “disturbances” came in the form of loaded day charter catamarans and a pirate ship full of cheery cruise ship tourists, multiple times a day.

Two hours of motoring into strong head winds brought us in between the reefs and the northern shore of Antigua to Long Island with attractive Jumby Beach. Palm trees line the sand, but the many man-built structures really assure you that you are anchored off a fancy resort. After one night, we decided to check out the only settlement in the area: the town of Parham. We explored the local fishing village and unexpectedly found a decent supermarket. The beer was cheap and Mark and I joined a bunch of locals outside the store to sit, drink, watch and be part of the scene.

It was Friday night and we hadn’t eaten out for ages, so we decided to try out Sugar Apple Alley, the big attraction in town. Only, we were the only customers. We started with drinks and saw the humongous speakers arrive. “Aha, they must be planning quite the party” we thought. After another hour, people stopped by to take out food and that was that. We ordered our meals and got served by very friendly employees. When it was obvious that nothing more would be going on, we left the place and dinghied back to Irie, anchored all by herself near the mangroves.

Our next stop was Great Bird Island, part of the “outer islands’ in the North Sound. You have to dodge a few reefs to get there, but it is so worthwhile. Little green islands linger everywhere and the water is clear and pretty. Not a lot of sailboats venture out here, so it is quiet and peaceful. A little bit of swell does make it in, but the anchorage is comfortable enough. And, you can always move towards one of the other, more protected islands, if the light is good to see the reefs.

Great Bird Island is a joy to explore. There is a path to the top with a grand view (if the sun is behind you; better in the morning) and two remote beaches. The snorkeling is OK on the reefs, which are mostly damaged. During the weekend, and possibly other days as well, local boats bring in hordes of tourists between 10am and 4pm. Luckily when you’re there on your own vessel, you can visit whenever you want. This is a nice place to be for a while, but, unfortunately for us, a weekend is only two days and we had to get back to work.

The hunt for internet started again and we tried to anchor in a few places, unsuccessfully, before returning to Deep Bay by afternoon, all frustrated and annoyed to have wasted another half a day. Communicating with Taiwan (where it is twelve hours later) was out of the question now. We wonder more and more whether we will be able to keep this lifestyle up. Running a business professionally and the way we want and cruising seem to be an impossible combination.

When the wind subsided a bit and the sea state improved, it was time for Irie and her crew to make the fun crossing to Barbuda, one of our most favorite places in the Caribbean. We were flying along at 7 knots, with one reef in, getting splashed multiple times by higher waves. No luck fishing again. On the contrary, we lost one hook from one lure and our last decent lure. I guess they do bite; we just don’t seem to be able to catch ‘em! With food, supplies and water running low, we will reach St. Martin in no time. But, in the meantime, we will work in our office with the nicest view of them all! And, try to do some fun stuff as well, this weekend…