HELLO WENDY

Mark takes the dingy in to every island and goes for a morning jog.  This morning he ran 8 miles of the coastline stretching across St. Thomas' Charlotte Amalie and came back to report to the kids that he had passed by a Wendy's restaurant.  The kids were pretty stoked.  After Sev has been to spanish grocery stores where little english was spoken and a handful of shops where the island accent is so thick as to render it a non-english classification, he and the other two were stoked to hear about a familiar and American sounding fast food joint.

So we motored the dingy in to shore, risking life and limb as the wind is still blowing hard and throwing up the seas.  But our brave deckhands were eager for a burger.

Ordering was a little tricky despite the menu and speakers all being english.  The accent once again prevented the kid's ability to understand when the order was read back. I have to remind them that "tree" is "three". They just open their eyes wider and nod in agreement to anything that is said.   

Soon after, we found wi-fi at the Bad Coffee Shop (I mentioned in the previous post), procured the secret password, and now sit here digesting a Wendy's Baconator ("BUH-CON-UH-DOOR" as a Reed would say) and uploading photos to the blog.

While here, I had plenty of time to 'pay it forward' by passing on the coveted wi-fi password to the newcomers.  YES, I've been here so long making sure to keep far away mamas updated with blog posts that I have become a local now.

You're welcome.

Meanwhile the boys have found plenty of trouble on the docs while they wait for the slow process of uploading all these pics.

So far they found a RUM shop and inquired about the prices (why I do not know).  They were shocked to find the bottles started at four grand and returned to tell us.  Then they inquired about watches at the Gucci store and were even more shocked at the prices there.  They are now off to discover who owns the gigantic yacht named "Just J's".  It is a massive vessel that stands three or four stories high and its decks have clusters of uniform wearing deckhands. This has peaked the boys interest.  I've got three more pics to upload so it should give them something to do.  Perhaps they can ask the owner if they can fetch him some rum and a watch...

This doc is too posh for our little crew so I shall end here and tear myself from the bootlegged wi-fi so we can get our crew safely back on our little boat so the "tree" of them will cause less trouble.

DOWN THE HATCH!

Nope, not a drinking term in this case. This was quite literally DOWN-THE-HATCH.

Here's the quick, less pontificating version as I am in front of a shady establishment called "Bass A** Coffee" which is currently closed. I made friendly with a local who gave me the secret password to hack into their wi-fi.  

This guy earned a hearty fist bump for the password

Now onto the harrowing hatch saga, brief as it may be...

Connor was up on deck at night securing a line.  A small roof-top hatch was open.  Connor walked across it and...you guessed it, fell down the hatch.  Said hatch was not large enough to fall completely into, however, it was just the perfect size to swallow whole and eat his right leg.  There he stayed for about 5 minutes, embarrassingly defeated and painfully mauled by an open window whilst summoning the courage to live. (For the first 4 minutes it appeared as though he wished he had died instantaneously.)

A set of small LEG EATING hatches...

End of story.  Funny if you were there.  Not funny if you were Connor.

HIGH SEAS

Our next stop was Vieques.  This is one of our favorite places for several reasons.  We once spent a long weekend here over Christmastime with the Williams.  It is also where Connor turned 8 and was baptized on one of it’s beautiful beaches.  Vieques is also home to Bio Bay, one of our top favorite spectacular spots we’ve traveled to that we frequently reminisce about.  Bio Bay has a narrow inlet from the ocean from which it opens into wide modest cove that during the day has nothing really to recommend it.  It is at night that the high concentration of bioluminescent “dinoflagellates” turns this place into liquid magic.  At night when it gets dark, the water when splashed or moved turns into pixie dust.  I believe it has the highest concentration of ‘bio dinos’ and therefore it is the brightest bioluminescent bay on Earth.  It is something to behold.

On our second visit a few years ago I was afraid the memory of our night swim in the bay would not prove as wondrous as the first.  But it did not disappoint.  It seemed more magical than I had remembered.  And so our trip around the Virgins wouldn’t be complete without sailing south to share this spectacular spot with Sev.

But it seems mother nature had other plans for us…

On our way down, the seas were getting rough and swelling upwards of 6 to 7 feet.  The weather report was fine but calling for a steady gust of wind for several more days.  This meant the swells could possibly get larger for our return the next day from Vieques, which would mean the possibility of an eight to ten hour beat back up to St. Thomas against the wind in even rougher seas.  We decided to head toward Vieques anyway and see how our little band of sailors fared and gage their willingness to undertake an even longer and possibly more tempestuous passage if if we returned north the following day. 

Within a half hour, the ocean got hostile enough that we decided to abandon plans for Bio Bay. Sad but prudent. We battened down the hatches and reluctantly turned north and headed back up to St Thomas.  The beat back would be mighty enough without adding five more hours to the leg if we started the next morning farther south from Vieques. 

The sun was in full glory but so was the wind.  Dishes nestled deeply in the sink would fly out occasionally onto the galley floor.  Books and chart plotters sloshed to and fro.  Once underway, the boys were both below deck, each in their respective bunks, snoring away—mostly unaware of the ruckus except for an occasional jolt launching them off their bed followed by a hard thud back onto the mattress.  High seas either make you drowsy or sick, or sometimes both.  Luckily all three kids slept through most of it.  Chloe, the smartest, she slept on the aft deck in the fresh air.

Sometime within the first half hour after we’d turned north the auto-pilot screen went blank and turned itself off.  This is not a critical instrument, much like the cruise-control on your car.  It just means you have to steer.  Mark had charted our course and we just had to keep the heading manually.  Our chart plotter was still working and confirmed we were always on course.

When things get shaky I suddenly become more interested.  When the sea is calm I usually settle in with a good book and enjoy a leisurely sail.  But now that things were getting exciting I was suddenly interested in steering the boat.  So while Mark was stowing all the objects flying around in the cabin below I took the helm and tried my best to follow our course.

According to Mark (and the chart-plotter), I was only on course when intersecting it.  The large waves have a way of turning your coordination into that of a drunken sailor.  I managed to stay on course in a haphazard line much like the stitching in a sail, zigzagging my way left and right through the proper course.  Mark said that if I was taking a pilot’s IFR exam, he’d have to fail me.  But when the seas get rough I think every sailor turns into a drunken one.  A strait line seems impossible.

The seas were generally 6 to 8 feet but would sporadically mound into a ten-foot soaring precipice pointing the bow high into the stratosphere and then drop into a gulley on the back side.  During these infrequent pitches, the boat would momentarily suspend in the air before slapping with a hard shuttering thud on the ridge below.  These would often be accompanied by a breaking wave that would splash and wash into the cockpit.  The combination of which felt like riding a motorized bucking bronco while simultaneously being a contestant in a wet t-shirt contest, an interesting blend of activities to say the least. (Let it be noted that because I was the only participant in either endeavor, I did, therefore, declare myself the winner of both.  Which on land would be an impossibility, in both regards.)

This was our general endeavor for the next three hours.

[I've got some GO-Pro footage but I'll have to find better internet to upload]

The wind was whipping so hard that Mark and I had both forgot the sun was beating down hard and baking us.  At the end of the long rocky passage Severin remarked that we had “trucker’s arms”, a comment that should make his dad proud.  Our sun beaten skin over the course of the sail had coated in a thick layer of shimmering salt with a texture much like a fried donut shaken in granulated sugar.

We arrived safely and had to wake the kids in time to show Severin Hassel Island.  

Their rough day at sea was a long nap with frequent jarrings to and fro.

Then it was time for our crew to get topside and get us settled into a nice anchorage...

We are now presently anchored off Charlotte Amalie in St. Thomas.  We went into town and got ice cream cones and did a little shopping. 

I think the shopping was more loathsome to the boys than the rough seas.

MY FAVORITE BEACH…AND EVERYONE ELSES

Loblolly Beach on the Island of Anegada is by far the most stunning of beaches.  Both times I’ve been there, when I first reach the point where it comes in to view I stand there in a sort of stupor, transfixed and speechless.  I’ve seen a lot of beaches and this one is the Gisele Bundchen of beaches. From sky to sea, the stratums of translucent colors defy even the watercolorist’s palette.  The exact way I think a make-up artist looks at Gisele. Neither the girl nor the beach need improvement.  And simply put, I stare at both with mouth agape and wonder how either came to be so truly flawless.  But as stunning this beach is (or the model for that matter), my favorite it is not.

On the Spanish side of the islands lies my favorite beach, Culabrita.   This beach, with its narrow band of sand hemming the long crest of turquoise shoreline is not quite as effortlessly stunning as Loblolly. 

What proclaims this beach the clear winner in my pageant of beaches, would be its personality.  While Loblolly Beach would be that beautiful blonde with an always pleasant and sunny temperament and politically correct answers, Miss Culebrita would be the kind of contestant that would tell the judges she planned to eat a bucket of chicken and French fries when the fictitious pageant concluded.  Culabrita is the real deal. 

Don’t get me wrong, Culabrita is a lovely beach in her own right, a beauty that deserves to be a contender in my imaginary pageant of beaches.  But next to Loblolly, she would never dream of being crowned the actual winner.  But Culabrita is the one I would cheer on for the win if I was sitting on the couch and eating cheese puffs and watching a Miss World Beach contest.

Besides Culabrita’s attractive shoreline, which spreads out in a white crescent shaped welcoming smile, it has two other inviting attractions—a lighthouse and a Jacuzzi.  Loblolly has none of these--she's just pretty to look at which is her downfall.  Culabrita's more than just show. Her lighthouse is now derelict which adds to it’s charm.  The decaying brick building sits in ruins, a mosaic of encrusted oranges and reds, cresting above the green canopy on the top of its hill.  Below, a natural pool forms trapping water like a bathtub with an occasional burst of tide crashing over it’s rocky banks churning the water inside like a jacuzzi.  As you can see, Loblolly is a stunner but Culabrita is the one you want to date.

(Having trouble updating...next paragraph should say "it became clear we were NOT the only ones")

We set off for Culabrita’s beach mid-week.  I wanted to get there before the weekend because I am not her only fan.  On our last sail, we discovered the whole of Puerto Rico loves her too and they flock by powerboat to her beaches on the weekends.  But this time I knew this little fact and so our plan was to beat them there and leave before Friday.  As we rounded the point it became clear that we were the only ones wanting a date with Culabrita.  There were already a handful of sailboats anchored in her bay.  As we got even closer we realized that the whole of Puerto Rico was here too.  It was then we realized it was a holiday week and it didn’t matter if we were here for the weekend or not.

I’m not sure the boys were happy about the place seeing all the people.  Until they spotted the bikini clad ladies on the shore.  Suddenly it became their favorite beach too and they were more than happy to set us up on a mooring ball.

By late afternoon all the Puerto Rican bound powerboats were leaving which left just us and the other sailboats.

Early the next morning (early for island time) Mark, Connor, Severin, and I made the easy hike up to the lighthouse.  

Gone is the chain-link fence around the brick building and warning sign to not trespass.  Someone finally realized the relic drew visitors regardless of the rules.  This time we discovered not only had they torn down the fence but they shurred up the windows and doorways with 2 by 4’s rendering the place safer.  The steep winding and rusting stairwell to the top has been made impossible to climb if you’re ten years old and afraid of scampering up six feet to the first useable stair.  Luckily we are not ten nor afraid. 

Here is Sev making his way to the first step.  I was hoping his last tetanus shot was still effective…

His mom will be happy to know this is all the farther he went.  Mark had just scaled up ahead of him, followed by Connor, when Mark came upon a thicket of wasps somewhere on the rusty stairwell.  This immediately halted Severin’s desire to reach the top.  He climbed back down to safety and that was that.

As for me, wasps are no deterrent for the Lighthouse’s breathtaking view of my champion of beaches Miss Culabrita, so I let Sev come down and quickly scaled up.  Several flights of rickety rust worn steps later I reached Connor doing Lamaze breathing techniques to summon enough courage to thread the gauntlet of wasps ahead.  I laughed at him and pushed past him and continued up.  I called down to him that wasps don’t care about you unless you disturb them harshly and we were just passers by.  Connor wasn’t calmed by my rational but dodged his way up behind me not wanting to have blog posts contain any notion that he is a chicken and his mom is not.

Once at the top we were rewarded with this view…

I must say, this is a very precarious spot on which to perch for someone spending so much time at sea.  I had to hang on as the lighthouse felt like it was swaying and crumbling beneath me.  Luckily it was just my sea legs.

Once all three of us had inhaled the view like a fine wine, in our case diet Coke, Mark and I headed back down.  Connor was behind us but got hung up with the wasps.  We were back down and had toured the old lighthouse rooms, had conversations with a local family, and a myriad of other activities before Connor showed up back on solid ground.  Apparently he had more Lamaze breathing to do in order to brave the wasp zone.  I have found Connor’s Achilles Heal—stinging bugs.

There is a new more sturdy structure just to the west of the old Lighthouse which houses the light for seafarers.  This one was wasp and rust free and Severin seemed to enjoy the perch from up there.

Culabrita is still my favorite beach, despite the fact that everyone seems to love her too and she must be shared. 

Chloe was content to swim for hours around the jacuzzi …

…and the boys certainly didn’t mind sharing the beach with the ladies.

FABULOSO IS YOUR FRIEND AT SEA

On the second day aboard a tiny sailboat, the heads below deck make the smell of a boy scout tent seem like the air of luxury.  Of course this is never in the romanticized brochure tantalizing one for life at sea.  And like childbirth, this most detracting fact is often forgotten until you’re back in the throws.

One morning Sev emerged from his cabin and when asked how he slept, responded with glossy downtrodden eyes, “Not at all.”  Apparently the swirl of bodily disgust wafting from his head despite the bathroom’s tightly shut door and notwithstanding having all his room hatches open, had deprived the boy of any sleep.  Thankfully the remedy was soon within our reach as we were checking out of the British side of the Virgins where one of the best island grocery stores happens to be.  And despite this being an “island” grocery store, meaning, you may or may not find what you need there, I knew this store was certain to have a well stocked shelf of ‘Fabuloso’ because I’ve bought copious bottles of the sweet smelling nectar there before.

Fabuloso is the Spanish equivalent of Pinesol.  Since sailing, I’ve developed a love/hate relationship with Fabuloso.  It is your best friend at sea. If you keep a large bottle aboard and pour a few drops in your head, it makes things, well, fabuloso.  That said, on land it quickly becomes your foe as you also quickly discover you’ve developed an unpleasant nero-association between the pungent lavender goodness inside the bottle and the pungent putrid it masked at sea. 

A few years ago Walmart started carrying ‘Fabuloso’ and so I bought some as a joke for our fellow sailing friends to remind them of a sailing trip we took together.  But once we opened the bottle and smelled its Lavender Lovelyness it brought us right back to the awful days of a rancid head.  Lavender has never smelled the same. 

Sev seems to love the stuff.  And I’m happy to report that he is getting good sleep again at night.  Fabuloso has made his life and sleep muy Fabuloso again…

…but it comes with a drawback.  I’m hoping his parents read this with a bit of mischievousness and buy him a bottle as a homecoming gift.  Perhaps even fill his toilet with generous splash.  It’ll be a homecoming he’ll never forget.

CHECK OUT, CHECK IN

We officially checked out of the British Virgins.  Sev got his first official stamp in his passport when we arrived by air.  We checked out by sea at Sopher's Hole and the total fee for the five of us leaving came to...wait for it...

seventy-five cents!

Cheapest thing we've done so far.

Next we sailed over to Cruz Bay on the American side and checked in.  The line was epically long and we learned that checking in to the US in the afternoon is not a good idea.  At that time, great party cruise boats motor in and belch out swarms of pasty white vacationers who must also check in.  The line was really long, in the heat.  

After finally getting clearance to come back in to the US we took the dingy back to Orion and sailed out of the busy bay.  After just a week, we feel foreign around hoards of people and being on land.

As I write this (yes, from a dockside bar with internet) Sev is sitting in the dingy lashed to the bar dock.  I'm afraid he's been at sea so long, without so much as a hint of sea sickness, that land has become a disturbing place for his stomach to be.  This is common among sailors, they call it sea legs.  Often when you get on shore where terra firma is, and basically, terra doesn't feel so firma anymore, your brain plays tricks on you.  You feel like the earth is swaying like the boat and usually you begin to rock back and forth as if you've been hitting the rum.  Sev began to feel a little green so he climbed back into the swaying dingy for some needed relief.

SEA LEG SEV

As we sailed out of Cruz Bay, fresh from the air conditioning inside the US Customs office we were happily headed to a nearby anchorage.  The boys seemed happy to choose a mooring ball next to a neighboring catamaran featuring a bikini clad young girl about there age.  It seems you can take the boys to sea, but the sea won't take the boy from the kid.

THE ORION FIRST WARD

Sunday we had church on the boat.  The boys all donned white short sleeve dress shirts and ties and Chloe and I put on skirts.  Mark had gotten permission from our Bishop to have the Sacrament while we are onboard.  This is one of Mark’s favorite days on the boat, harking back to the time in his late teens when he sailed with the Mitchell family and he joined them for Sacrament Meetings.  This is where he first learned about he church.  He loves sharing this little Sunday routine all these years later with the kids so they can catch a glimpse of what his first gospel lessons looked and felt like. 

Connor conducted the meeting and both he and Sev blessed and passed the Sacrament.  We opened with a song but really, just one verse, as we were afraid any more singing would drive out the spirit.  We are just as awful as the Mitchell’s were all those years ago.  We’d like to think we’re keeping up some sacred off-key tradition but really, plain and simply, we are just awful singers.  Chloe gave us a talk on Jonah and we discussed the challenges of having to teach people who we judge to be unworthy or just plain uninterested in the gospel.  The story of the sea getting tumultuous and Jonah going overboard must have been frightening.  All in all Chloe gave us a good lesson on doing what we’re asked. 

We ended the meeting with a prayer and without a song.  A good decision I think.