Part 4: Setting Sail for Savannah Bay
Before embarking on our first sailing trip, we became concerned (given our drinking habits when together and on vacation) that there would not be enough (or the right kind of) liquor on our cruise. Hoping to avert such a disaster, Jodi and I went to the liquor store and stocked up on extra bottles of rum, tequila and mixers. We had two grocery bags full of the stuff; our extra booze supply probably weighed more than all of our luggage combined. We headed back to Treasure Isle to meet our crew. Since there was room on the boat for two more people, we invited Merle to join us, but she declined, claiming that she didn't have any clothes packed. Of course, she needed nothing more than a swimsuit, shorts, and a few t-shirts; by the time we returned to land, we discovered that what we brought in our meager luggage was more than we needed, as we spent most of our time lolling around in wet or drying swimwear.John Peacock soon appeared with a cart. Freckled and redheaded, our jovial captain spoke with a heavy Bristol accent. As he hauled our gear across the road to the pier, John remarked at how little luggage we had (I guess people show up with suitcases full of stuff), but raised an eyebrow at our liquor stash. Monique, a petite, black-haired woman of indeterminate age, was already aboard the Nittany, getting familiar with it (the Nittany was not their boat; the Peacocks lived aboard another). John confiscated our shoes before allowing us to board, since street grime would mar the beautiful varnished teak floors aboard our yacht. We wouldn't need any shoes until we returned from our cruise anyway.As we checked out our home for the next four days, John and Monique asked us about our boating experience and filled us in on key details of the boat, most importantly, how to flush the heads. Our craft was a Moorings 50, a Morgan built boat designed especially for the Moorings for tropical charters. There were two identical forward guest cabins, each with a full-sized berth, two hatches, and private enclosed head. Rick and I had the starboard, while Doug and Jodi had the port. There was also a bow cabin for the crew, accessible only from the deck, but since our cruise was under-subscribed, John and Monique were able to use the aft guest cabin, which was essentially identical to ours (or so the boat's plans indicated; we did not venture inside, and the door was kept closed). The main salon had a large semi-circular sofa, covered in tropical prints, which surrounded a table. The navigation station was on the starboard side, forward of the large u-shaped galley, where we did not intrude, so as to allow Monique to work in peace. The Nittany had a large, covered cockpit, with a table in the center. A huge cooler full of ice, beer and sodas was lashed to the mast, and cushions were placed in front of the cooler, for those who wanted unimpeded access to the sun or the stars, depending on the time of day.After our brief orientation, we motored off, heading from Road Harbour towards the Sir Francis Drake Channel, with Peter and Norman Islands in sight, straight ahead. Nittany's inflatable tender tagged along behind us. We crossed the Sir Francis Drake Channel and headed toward Salt Island, a barely inhabited island south of Tortola, near which lies the wreck of the HMS Rhone, one of the most famous dive sites in the Caribbean.We dropped anchor off Salt Island for lunch, which consisted of Monique's homemade roti (pastry pockets filled with curried chicken, potatoes, and other vegetables, which originated in Trinidad) and salad. John explained that Salt Island is named so because of the large salt pans just inland, which the British exploited during annual visits to the island. Today, all that remains is a single shack and three part-year residents of the island. We were largely alone, except for small airplanes buzzing overhead (which, we learned a few days later, jettisoned several tons of marijuana somewhere in the islands). After lunch, Doug, Jodi and Rick snorkeled the wreck while I stayed aboard and read.Afterwards, we prepared to make the passage to our overnight anchorage. Jodi and I headed to the bow to catch some rays. We asked John whether there were any rules against our going topless, and as he told us there weren't on his boat, he lamented the fact that only those women who had nothing to show ever bared themselves. Inspired to prove him wrong, Jodi and I took off our tops and gave the guys in a passing motorboat an eyeful (if their heads could have turned 360 degrees, they would have). Luckily, we were far enough away from the Flying Cloud, Windjammer's tall ship anchored near Moskito Island, to avoid giving a shipful of cruisers an eyeful as well.Our goal that afternoon was Savannah Bay, on the north shore of Virgin Gorda. Earlier, when our crew asked us if we had any agenda for our trip, we surprised them with how accommodating we were by telling them that the only place we absolutely wanted to visit was The Baths, also on the north shore of Virgin Gorda. Anywhere else we went could be up to the whim of our captain and the wind. With The Baths in mind for early the next morning (Wednesday), we would sail past that afternoon so as to have an easy trip in the morning. And, we could hardly lose, as Savannah Bay is regarded by some as one of the Top 10 anchorages in the Caribbean.Savannah Bay is a wide coral-studded bay on the north side of Virgin Gorda which is not as well-protected as some of the smaller, scalloped coves in the islands. Nevertheless, it is blessed with clear water and a long, white beach. Because of the abundance of hull-threatening coral, the bay is marked in red on the Moorings' chart: off limits to bareboaters. Not so for crewed yachts like ours. We would be the only ones moored in Savannah Bay that night. Using a series of long-perfected hand signals, John and Monique efficiently anchored, and then John took us to the beach in the dinghy. All of us went snorkeling from the beach. As the sun was setting, and there was a swell running, I didn't linger long under water and went back to the beach to explore and keep an eye on the others, making sure I could always spot three snorkels. The beach, though long, was shallow and soft, not too inviting for long strolls, but interesting nonetheless. At one point, I took a look out towards the water and saw only two snorkels; momentarily alarmed, I soon saw that Jodi had swum back to the Nittany. As it turned out, Rick had pointed out a barracuda to her; not wanting any more such encounters, Jodi sprinted back to the boat.After all of us had returned to the boat, it was happy hour. John had mixed up a batch of Painkillers, and Monique had prepared a batch of hot artichoke and cheese dip to eat with crackers. Meanwhile, Savannah Bay was no longer empty, as a group of islanders had come to the beach to be baptized in the waters of the sea. We watched, as about 20 people of all ages robed in white, submerged themselves in the waters up to their waists, and held their baptism ceremony, once again demonstrating that there is life in these islands not solely devoted to our pleasure and entertainment.This first evening was, by far, the most sober evening of our voyage. We were getting our sea legs, John and Monique were a bit restrained, and though we drank our fair share of Painkillers and wine with our grilled swordfish dinner, we hardly drank to our usual capacity. By the time our charter was over, John and Monique learned that we welcomed their company and did not view them as our servants but as fellow travelers; and, as our vacation video would reveal, we seemed to spend the balance of our cruise in a somewhat alcohol-addled state.The sun set quickly; after all, this was the day of the autumnal equinox, and the days were becoming ever shorter in their inevitable slide towards winter. After our beautifully prepared and presented dinner and a few bottles of wine, Doug and Jodi went forward to gaze at the stars, while Rick and I did the same from the cockpit while enjoying a conversation with the opinionated Captain John. John told us a few stories of some the injustices suffered by non-belongers in these islands at the hands of the natives. As we observed a sky of diamonds strewn on black velvet, and only an occasional sign of civilization as the distant headlights of a passing car on the road curving along the Virgin Gorda mountainside punctuated the dark, it was easy to understand which the islanders would want to keep this place to themselves, and favor each other over outsiders so as not to invite too much disruption to their little corner of paradise. At the same time, they were dependent on our tourist dollars, and were thus caught in the uncomfortable position of inviting us in while letting us know that we couldn't stay for long.We retired to our cabins for a less-than-satisfying night of trying to sleep. The night was wind-less, so we resorted to a miniature fan mounted on a bulkhead in our cabin for air circulation. Although the hatches overhead and in the head were open, occasional rain showers necessitated climbing (awkwardly) out of bed and closing the hatches. The side to side roll of the boat did not improve matters much. Above all, the utter unfamiliarity of a night at sea made sleep impossible for me.Apparently, I was not alone. In the wee hours of the morning, I heard Jodi climb out and try to sleep on the foredeck. At the first sign of light, I made may way topsides as well, but not before smacking my head on the companionway hatch, which had been slid closed for the night. I foraged in the cooler for a Perrier, since the previous night's drinking had made me very thirsty, and watched the sun rise over Virgin Gorda. The wind had picked up, and I watched our drying towels and swimsuits, pegged to the lifelines, fluttering in the breeze. No sooner did I think that perhaps my parrot towel needed a few more pegs did it fly off the lifeline and into the sea. Rick, who by then had made his way up on deck, offered to dive in for it, but in the relative darkness of dawn, I doubted he would ever find the towel. I considered it my offering to the sea.Only some time later did Monique get up to start breakfast, but what a feast she laid out: coffee, juice, milk, pastries, yogurt, cereal, eggs, etc. Having attempted grocery shopping in the islands on past trips, I was endlessly amazed at the quantity, quality and variety of food that was presented at every meal on this charter. As we dug into breakfast, John, who had apparently climbed through his stateroom hatch to get on deck (rather than going out the door to the saloon and passing by us), shouted at the top of his lungs: "GOOD MORNING VIRGIN GORDA!" Had we not been alone in our anchorage, John would have wakened everyone in the vicinity.