A Sail of Two Idiots (37 page)

We were further enthralled when we experienced not only a lunar eclipse but a night rainbow (a moonbow, as it were). We had never heard of such a thing, but they do exist! The moonbow was varying shades of glowing grays, and we could see its arc separate from the darker grayness around it. We could not have had a better day or night. Days like that happened just often enough to remind us what we were doing out there. We'd forget the drudgery, the bad sail, and the lack of sleep and could just lose ourselves to the moment, knowing that we'd just had an experience we never could have had any other way.
Beau
.

The next day while I was charting our trip to Dominica, I looked up and panicked. A boat I had been using as a reference point was no longer there. I immediately assumed that we were on the move yet again, but then I quickly realized that
they
were dragging (the holding is not the best off the Ilet a Cabrit). They were bearing down on a catamaran behind them whose crew was getting into defense mode.

Michael jumped onto the deserted, dragging monohull, but the key wasn't in the ignition so he couldn't motor it forward (remember LESSON 84, Ignition a go?). The catamaran folks lifted their anchor and got out of the way. They also towed the drifting boat away from the beach and gave Michael their second anchor to toss out until the owners of the drifting boat came back. Oddly, the returning boaters seemed completely unfazed and didn't thank anybody. Oh well, Michael had still done the right thing.

That was pretty much it for Les Saintes, so we bought some extra baguettes and turned toward Dominica.

Something wasn't right with our port-side engine. We didn't know if it was the fuel, the fuel line, or the pump, but it was out of commission. There weren't any marine stores on Les Saintes, and we were
not
going back to Guadeloupe, so we could only hope to resolve the issue on Dominica.

I
f you read the prior What Broke? section (I'm guessing that some of you are skipping them), you know that we were on one engine. Pros at this from the Bahamas, we weren't worried. Plus, all we had was a three-hour (25-mile) jaunt between Iles des Saintes and Dominica and a quick little jut into Portsmouth, on the island's northwest coast. With moderating winds, this would be a piece of cake. Let me just say that if conditions had “moderated,” as reports suggested, they must have been pretty rockin' before, considering we were again dealing with 25-to 33-knot winds and high waves. Can you spell B-A-R-F?

We got about midway there, flying right along, when the wind suddenly changed direction at 30 knots and backwinded our genny momentarily. We came to a complete stop and then started getting shoved backward. The winds were so funky and so high that the genny was flapping enough to shred, so we completely eased the sheets so the sail wouldn't catch any wind at all (while making it easier to tighten the sail again if the winds cooperated).

I figured I'd just flip on the one working engine and turn us until the sail flopped back, except that within a minute that engine stalled too. Uh oh. After some sleuthing, we discovered that one of the sheets had come out from the clutch (which keeps the line secure and allows us to winch the sail in and out) and had found its way into the water and into our prop. Our rigging setup was designed with secure lines in mind, so loose lines weren't something we normally had to contend with. I had heard of this happening to other boaters, so I was alert to this kind of thing, but I hadn't noticed the broken clutch.

Jacumba
was now flopping all over the place in the cut between the two islands as we contended with high waves, strong winds, and nasty currents. Michael had to jump in the water, try not to get knocked unconscious by the bouncing boat, and get the line dislodged. He did so like a pro and we finished the business of sailing. I was beginning to doubt that Melissa would ever get to experience a decent sail; at least Michael and I had memories to fall back on.

I should mention that Dominica has a bad rap. Many yachties avoid Dominica due to stories about obnoxious “boat boys” harassing everyone for money. We had debated skipping the island, too, but we let more positive stories about how stunning the island was override our hesitancy. Sure enough, before we had even turned into the harbor (Portsmouth), we were greeted by Alexis. He seemed perfectly pleasant, had a great smile, and asked if this was our first time visiting. He
also asked if we were anchoring or picking up a mooring. I thought, Well, it doesn't matter, does it, since I don't need your help. But what I
said
was “anchoring.” I had hoped he'd just let us be so we could get settled. Instead he headed into the bay motioning us to follow him.

I was annoyed because I didn't want to pay for someone “helping” me do something I could do for free, but he led us to a spot closer to the beach than we normally would have gone and made sure we were in a place with good holding. More importantly, we were now in a location with good oversight from the beach (they had implemented security there).

We chatted a bit as he told us what services he offered (groceries, tours, whatever) and then he left us alone to get situated. No hassle, no money even changed hands, just a friendly introduction. This was a good application of LESSON 67 about not being a snob.

It turns out that Dominica had responded to the critics, realized they were losing business, and dealt with it. They licensed the boat
boys
, making them boat
helpers
responsible for the tourists. If something happened to the helpers' “charges,” they'd get fined and lose their license. Not long after we left, there was a crime against a boater and the locals were on it immediately, locating the thief within days. But word has not gotten out and people keep relying on old information, missing out on a great place to visit. Go to Dominica.

Another reason to go is for their easy check-in and checkout. We were given an automatic two weeks, no checkout necessary. It was also cheap, and the island isn't even French!

Once settled in, we asked Melissa how she felt about sailing so far and was surprised that she was rather unperturbed about the rough conditions (she had better sea legs than we did), but she
was
sick of the constant drizzle, chilly waters, and lack of beaches. She hadn't seen one since we left Antigua. Where was the warm, sunny Caribbean she had seen on postcards? Yeah! When Melissa
did
see the little beach on Dominica and found out that we were back on an English-speaking island, she couldn't get the kayak pumped up fast enough. Wow—look at her go!

Michael and I were also excited: look, a pretty
and
protected anchorage! We all ended up partying at Big Papas until 2 a.m. (and listening to the music until it stopped at 3).

A little too early the next day, we met Bogart (Alex's cohort), who rowed us down the Indian River. The trip wasn't quite all it's made out to be in travel logs, but it was pretty and relaxing (no motors allowed) and gave us time to have a good conversation with our widely traveled guide. There was a bar and a few farms at the turnaround point. Bogart knew some of the farm owners, so he walked us around plying us with grapefruits, tangerines, cinnamon, and coconut and introducing us to locals he knew. Melissa was offered a job in the bar there, but she wasn't quite ready to commit to life in the islands.

After a few days relaxing in Portsmouth, we motored (still on one engine) 20 miles to the southern end of the island, Roseau. Roseau is steep-to (deep) so a mooring is mandatory there. A boat helper motored out and waved us to follow him. The “help” was actually included in the mooring fee (a whole $10), so we accepted the assistance graciously.

Be forewarned—Roseau was not a pretty place to be “parked” and probably still isn't. But we were safe. Sea Cat (Octavius) maintained the moorings and dock and lived right there to watch the boats. Sea Cat turned out to be a hoot, and we were excited to learn that he could take us on the grueling Boiling Lake hike the next day.

Of course, Melissa wanted no part of that six-hour (8-mile) hike and instead decided to go snorkeling with Sea Cat's right-hand man, Smokey (our “helper”), and another family.

Boiling Lake and the trail to it are one of the top five things we've done in our entire lives. We attribute a lot of our exuberance about the trek to our guide. Sea Cat was a lot of fun and made the steep, hard hike worth it. We had a blast. We played in the clay (good for your skin), boiled eggs in the hot lake streams, hot-tubbed it in the lukewarm pools, and had a great time goofing off while we huffed and puffed our way to the lake. Well, Michael and I huffed and puffed; Sea Cat (no spring chicken) ran ahead like a mountain goat.

The hike took us through changing foliage (from lush to stunted) down a long, stepped hillside (that we later had to come back up) to Desolation Valley, which looked just like it sounds. We were surrounded by a stark, dead landscape crisscrossed by hot and cold multicolored mineral springs. Then it was up, up, up to where we were greeted by beautiful blue-water (glacier colored) pools and waterfalls. They were the perfect temperature for soaking, so we were glad that Sea Cat had told us to bring swimsuits. A little more up and we were looking down into a huge sulfur-spewing, boiling lake. Spectacular.

The lake is about 200 feet across and of varying depths (documented as deep as 195 feet). Temperatures have been recorded between 180 and 197 degrees Fahrenheit, so you do not want to dip your toe into this body of water. Although the lake is shaped like a crater, scientists believe that it's a crack that allows gases to escape from the molten lava below (similar to the geysers found in Yellowstone National Park). The basin of Boiling Lake collects rainfall from the surrounding hills and two small streams. The water seeps through the bottom to the hot lava below, where it is heated until it boils. This startling geological feature is constantly changing. In the late 1800s a geyser shot mud and water from its center. In 1988 the lake boiled only intermittently. In 2004 the lake went dry for a few months. Who knows what you'll see when you go, but I'm sure you'll still be in awe.

We didn't want this trip to end, so we took a detour on our way back to Titou Gorge, with its high volcanic walls and waterfall surprise at the end. This escapade
involved some very cold water, so I was out. Michael and Sea Cat jumped in and disappeared into the canyon. I laughed as Michael and Sea Cat's whooping and hollering echoed off the walls while the waterfall pounded on their hollow heads. Goofballs.

You should start working out now so by the time you make your way to Dominica, you'll be ready for Boiling Lake!

Later that day, we mentioned to Sea Cat that we were having engine problems, and the next thing we knew an ancient fisherman whom Sea Cat sent over was on our boat with his head in the engine room telling us we had a bad water pump. He was sure we'd be able to get another one on Martinique. Let's go to Martinique then!

Same stuff—one engine, leaking windows.

D
uplicate our past two cut crossings and you have the likes of our 88-mile sail to Martinique. Getting behind the island was no help because nasty storm squalls brought 40-knot winds that knocked into us from all directions. We tacked, jibed, took the sails down, put the sails up, loosened the sails, tried reefing them.

A quick aside on reefing. Our mainsail rigging allowed us to decrease or increase the sail area in three increments. If we wanted only a third of the sail up, we'd raise the sail until we reached a spur, or reef point (a strip of cloth attached to the mainsail and sporting a grommeted hole); attach the spur to a slider on the mast; and then “lock” down the reef line using a lever located at the bottom of the mast. If we wanted to shake that reef out and raise more sail, we'd just unlock the lever, undo the clasp, and hoist the sail up to the next third or two-thirds, or all the way up, before locking the sail in its new place. This process wasn't difficult under normal conditions, but if we were heaving up and down on waves and/or dealing with gusty winds, reefing could be challenging if not impossible. If we were reducing sail area, we'd have to release the mainsail just enough without overshooting the appropriate clasp, or have to winch the heavy thing back up to where we needed it. If we were releasing (or shaking out) a reef, we'd have to winch the heavy sail up. Doing that over and over again could be exhausting.