We spent more time than usual on land because time at sea was, to put it mildly, challenging.
It all started so innocently. We left Road Harbour at 11 on Saturday and had a pleasant sail over to Marina Cay on a warm, sunny day with moderate breezes. The forecast called for a cold front passing through Sunday into Monday, so we were psychologically prepared for a little rough weather for a couple of days.
On a sunny Saturday in the peaceful Marina Cay anchorage, we had no clue that this was the last calm day would enjoy on this trip. Meanwhile, Rick and TJ down Painkillers at Pusser's Marina Cay, taking advantage of The Drinking Man's Guide to the BVI.
After a very early jaunt to the Baths on Sunday morning, we returned to the boat only to take note of an ominous black sky to the east right in the direction we were headed (North Sound, as our jumping-off point to a planned visit Anegada). No problem -- we'd just ride through it. We'd certain experienced its equal in the Chesapeake, especially in the last miserably wet year, as well as a number of tropical waves in the tropics. Once underway, we punched through the squall under sail and cluelessly thought we'd seen the last of it, my experience with BVI rains being that they are quick-moving and localized. But that squall was the first of many, as we battled towards North Sound, now decked out in foul weather gear, for not only was it wet, but there was a wind chill as well! We finally dropped sail and made our way through Colquohon Reef into the relative protection of North Sound. Hoping to tuck in a nice quiet spot, we found a mooring in the Biras Creek anchorage at the southeastern corner of North Sound.
The protecting hills, however, were no match for the wind, which rode up and then accelerated down them through our rigging. The swell curved into the creek as well. We ate our dinner that night in the cockpit, wearing fleece against the cold. At one point, a gust picked up a plastic cup bearing a lovely Australian shiraz and dumped it in Rick's face. (As Galley Wench, I had made the executive decision to use some disposable dishes and drinkware to save on my dishwashing duties -- bad decision, since they were not match for the wind!).
The next morning, we scuttled our plans to head to Anegada, expecting more crummy weather for at least another day. Even though our anchorage was rocking and rolling, it looked far worse "out there," so we stayed another day With the sun shining, at least it was a pretty day. But we needed to be in Soper's Hole to meet Dorothy on Wednesday, so it was time to start moving west. The short term forecast for rough sailing kept getting extended, and the rep at the Moorings sub-base at Bitter End confirmed that we might as well move on, since things were not going to get better anytime soon.
With NE winds at 15-25 knots, with gusts up to 40, we decided that Little Harbour on JVD would provide our best hope of refuge. And so we made our way out through the Colquohon pass; once out of the minimal lee provided by Prickly Pear island, we were immediately buffeted by heavy winds and choppy seas. A double-reefed main and a little hanky of jib were the sail trim of choice for this broad reach (and we didn't shake that reef out for the rest of the week). Near the Dogs, we faced a choice:-- go into the Drake Channel and face 4-6 foot seas and currents coming from several directions, or go outside on the north side of Tortola and face bigger seas, but coming from a single direction (behind us). We opted for outside and had a white-knuckle sail to JVD, with the waves reaching 9-12 feet during a stretch. Looking aft and seeing those swells towering behind us definitely gave us a taste of "blue-water" sailing, but the water was a translucent sun-shot turquoise blue. We felt quite alone out there.
Battered but not beaten, we finally tucked into Little Harbour, but it was clear we had miscalculated. The NE winds simply curved around the protective headland and accelerated into the bay, ripping the tops off the waves and kicking up spray. We hung on to a mooring for dear life and gulped down lunch, plotting our next move. Hoping Soper's Hole would be more protective, but fearing a mooring was not going to be available, we reserved a back-up spot in the marina. This proved to be prescient, since there were no moorings to be found when we arrived.
Of course, a marina slip in a big blow presents its own challenges; in fact, I daresay the motion of the boat is rougher when confined in a small space it's jerkier than on the longer tether of a mooring. Add to that the squeak and creak of multiple docklines, the squeal of compressing fenders, and the clanging halyards of nearby boats, and you have a recipe for yet another sleepless night.
Soper's Hole marina provides refuge -- a little - from the howling winds of the anchorages.
After two nights at Soper's Hole marina (which is a very nice facility, incidentally, and not too expensive), we decided on Thursday that -- weather be damned -- we were going to JVD at least for the morning. We left early, and by 10 a.m. were easing our way into White Bay, where there were a few available moorings in front of Ivan's. We snagged one closest to shore (waves were breaking over the reef, way too close for comfort), and it only took an eyeful of that gorgeous beach before we succumbed to the realization that we would be here for the day. Once on the beach, sand driven by gusts scoured our melted-onto-beach bodies, but by this point, we hardly cared. Overnight, though, we were miserable in this relatively exposed anchorage. All of us ended up wedging ourselves in corners of our bunks (in my case, between the mattress and the wall) to reduce some of the rolling.
By our last night, which we spent at the Bight, we were exhausted. So, while the wind and seas continued un-abated, we each finally got several hours of sleep. Before heading to dinner at Pirate's, however, I had to change clothes because the wind up-ended a bowl of salsa onto my new Foxy's t-shirt. And the final insult: the wind took TJ's Sabre cap and sacrificed it to the sea on the final reach to Road Town.
The good news: few mosquitoes or no-see-ums. And we did a little better than another Footloose charter -- a couple reportedly so intimidated by the weather that they only went out for daysails and returned to the base at the end of each day. Gotta find a silver lining somewhere!!
By Land and By Sea
Since we found ourselves in Soper's Hole, at a marina, for a couple of days, we decided to rent a car. There is a Hertz office right behind the Jolly Roger, so we dinked over and snagged their last available vehicle, a nicely maintained Pajero. With wheels at our disposal, we took off.
Rick and I had not driven on Tortola since 1998, when the anxious wait for Hurricane Georges stranded us ashore for a few days and we rented a jeep. To really appreciate Tortola, it is not enough to skirt around her perimeter; the roads are an experience unto themselves. They are narrow, and at times breathtakingly steep. The switchbacks require a leap of faith, since you are at once perched precariously on an incline, making a sharp turn, and praying there is no oncoming traffic. On a dry day, it's barely OK; in the rain, my heart would be in my throat.
Yet, every turn up those hills rewards you with an incredible vista of sea, sky and mountain. These are not high mountains, but they rise straight out of the sea. There is not much flat space on Tortola, and I'm always amazed that people were ever able to cultivate sugar cane on this island; it must have been grueling work. No trip can be made without winding through the verdant hills.
We used access to a vehicle as an opportunity to visit Bomba's Shack, since there is no anchorage nearby. We also visited some of the beaches not accessible by boat. Wednesday morning found me and Rick alone, at least temporarily, at Smuggler's Cove. The heavy winds and swell created unaccustomed waves here, and the wind made it chilly for swimming, but we rode a few of the 3-footers in a lame attempt to body surf (my swimsuit top wasn't cooperating). A good portion of the beach was underwater, but it was still the lovely, palm-fringed spot I remembered from past visits. The old honor bar, however, looked different. Bob's old Lincoln now resides in the brush, instead of under the roof as it used to, and someone has taken over the "operation" here, adding fresh paint and, sadly, locks. I wonder who it opens for, and when?
Taking advantage of having wheels, we headed to Smuggler's Cove before anyone else could get there. We were alone for a while, but the kicked upsurf had taken away some of the beach. Nevertheless, the body-surfing was a blast.
Brewer's Bay also called us, so we managed a brief visit there Monday morning, passing an almost unrecognizable (for all the development) Long Bay enroute. Lovely as always, Brewer's Bay looked green in the filtered light that morning, and but for the tents hidden among the sea grapes, has remained relatively undeveloped. However, by the time we arrive, a load of cruise ship daytrippers had taken over the near corner of the beach. We didn't stick around to see how many more would arrive, and left feeling grateful to have visited the beach in its relatively quiet state.
