I had been checking the caribwx.com site for BVI weather (courtesy of David Jones, our BVI Weatherman, to whom we listened every morning and by the end of the week could mimic to perfection) for a few weeks prior to arrival, and noted that winds had been decidedly lackluster before our arrival. However, I am happy to report that this was not the case this week, as the winds were close to ideal throughout our voyage. And thus we zipped east along the Drake Channel, past Dead Chest, Ginger and Salt Islands, and slipped into Manchioneel Bay at Cooper Island before noon, grabbing one of the much-desired moorings. Manchioneel Bay is a fairly popular anchorage, but has a grassy bottom, making moorings particularly welcome.
Anxious for a swim, we went ashore to a sandy spot, swam around a bit, and returned to the boat for lunch of sandwiches and chips. The dive rendezvous scheduled for 1:30 got delayed a bit, but by 2:30, the divers were off to the Rhone, and Doug, Jodi and I went ashore to the Cooper Island Beach Club. Simon, the bartender from last year, was no longer there to blend such luscious concoctions as mango coladas, so we had to "settle" for Painkillers and rum punches. No frozen drinks here, because they don't waste their generator power on blenders! We poked around the gift shop and the beach, had some conch fritters, and then grabbed a few beach chairs and sat them in the water at the edge of the beach to wait for the rest of the gang to return.
The Cooper Island Beach Club, a favorite spot among yachties at Mabchioneel Bay. Get here soon after lunchtime if you have any hope of getting a mooring.
By this time, the harbour was full of Sunsail boats, a flotilla led by a large catamaran with a banner for "ComputaCenter" and populated mostly by young men with sunburned backs having less-burned stripes where they did manage to get sunscreen on themselves. They were all anchored, having arrived too late to avail themselves of moorings. We slipped into our routine of drinks and snacks (cheese, crackers, fruit and chardonnay tonight) and dinner of hamburgers with zucchini sautéed with onions and tomatoes. I kept a steady flow of rum punches coming, but it wasn't easy given the unusual array of juices with which we'd been supplied.
Having finished dinner, we decided to go back to Cooper Island Beach Club for drinks. While not exactly hopping, the place was fairly lively, with a medium-sized crowd having dinner and drinking. We got drinks, set up our chairs on the beach, and
sat back to enjoy the beautiful night and the sound of wavelets lapping ashore. Jodi befriended James, the Prince of Cooper Island, who claimed to be a member of the family which owns the island. While they entertained each other, Doug was feeling a little draggy (dehydration), and I started falling asleep, while being eaten by mosquitoes, at this "late" hour of about 9:30. Soon thereafter, we headed "home" to sleep. I slept better tonight, having to get up only once the close the hatches when a squall rolled through.
Now it is Monday morning, and we're in a bit of a quandary. We were supposedly supplied with 200 gallons of water, so how is it that, on our second morning out and not having taken many showers at all, we're almost out? Though it wasn't necessarily our plan to do so, we decided to go to Soper's Hole to take on water. Though we were heading in that general direction today, in order to get to Jost Van Dyke, we hadn't necessarily planned to stop here. Pete fuels us up with a breakfast of bagels. After breakfast, the crew took a snorkeling excursion at Cistern Point at the western edge of Manchioneel Bay. They reported that the snorkeling was outstanding, and even spotted an octopus, and we are soon on our way back west along the Drake Channel.
We sailed briskly along Tortola's southern shore, then turned into this long, narrow harbour shaped like the space between two fingers, with Tortola and the settlement of West End (with its ferry dock and customs shed) forming the northern finger, and Frenchman's Cay, and the Soper's Hole complex forming the southern finger. The harbour is a busy, commercial area, with marine repair shops, provisioning stores, the ferry, and lots of boat traffic (not all of it, apparently, able to avoid shredding mooring balls with their propellers). We docked at Sunsail's marina to fill up the tanks, and they allowed us to stay in the slip all afternoon at no charge.
The shopping and dining complex at Soper's Hole on the west end of Tortola.
While Rick filled the tanks (they were EMPTY!), I took the trash away and bought some ice. We also poked around the various tropical-bright colored shops in Soper's Hole (which contribute to the overall tropical, if slightly Disney-esqe, appeal of the place) and bought a few souvenirs. It was clear that Pete was getting hungry, and our close proximity to Pusser's was fueling that urge. So, although we had planned to eat aboard (I had even boiled eggs for chef salads), we ended up settling at an umbrella-shaded table on Pussers' deck. While waiting for food to come, I had a brainstorm: why not buy some Arundel spiced rum for happy hour tonight, and pick up some flavored syrup to pour over a breakfast of french toast tomorrow? I ran to Caribbean Corner where it was overly air-conditioned (pleasant, but only for a second), in stark contrast to our visit last year when there was no electricity and
the storekeeper wasn't even able to make change! I bought a bottle of spiced rum and another of highly-recommended ginger syrup and returned to our table.
Lunch was the typical Pusser's spread of Painkillers, fried appetizers (calamari, conch fritters) and assorted sandwiches. I had a fish sandwich, which is always a safe bet. The heat and drinks soon made my head spin a little. But we were all getting used to both the heat and the alcohol . . .
After lunch, we left Soper's Hole and headed north, then east, toward Cane Garden Bay. Yes, we've been there before, but never by boat. Yes, everyone goes there, but it still is one hell of a gorgeous spot, almost South Pacific in its colors, at least on this somewhat squally afternoon. The crescent shaped beach goes on for about ½ a mile, surrounded by sheltering palms, and the water has a green cast to it on a less-than-sunny day. Though in the midst of one of the many squalls we encountered, we had no trouble dropping sail, motoring in, and finding a comfortable spot to moor. Pete and I are getting pretty good and tying up the boat.
We can't wait to secure the boat so we can jump in the dinghy and get to shore to explore and swim from the beach. We dinghy over to the dinghy dock, tie up, and climb over some rocks to get to the beach. We park our belongings on some beach chairs in front of Rhymer's, in all of its pink cinder-block glory, and Rick and I take a walk to the end of the beach, where there is a rope swing, a broken-down house, a stray dog and some roosters. A few other people populate the beach, but not many, and it rains on and off. We play around in the water for a bit, then head back to the boat to make happy hour snacks and drinks, and later, dinner. I tried to make drinks with 7-Up and the Arundel spiced rum, but the stuff is HORRIBLE, sort of like a spicy smelling turpentine. So we revert back to the Mt. Gay and enjoy a dinner of spaghetti, with cookies and milk for dessert.
The departing clouds of a quick-moving rainstorm, and the setting sun, gilds Cane Garden Bay and the fleet of sailboats settling in for the evening.
The next morning, we make some ambitious plans. After a breakfast of french toast with ginger syrup (sweet, but with a kick), cantaloupe and coffee, we went ashore. We peeked in a few of the gift shacks on the beach before seeking directions to the (in)famous Callwood's Rum Distillery. We were directed to walk towards the purple house on the beach, walk up the dirt road, and the distillery would then be evident. With a brand spanking new sign marking the distillery, it was easy to find. There was a small bridge over a gully filled with sluggish water, and once over it, we spotted the facility, surrounded with rusting boiler equipment and a threesome of little boys, one of whom thought nothing of peeing in a puddle right in front of us.
We went inside a dark cavelike room, where a youngish (late 20s?) man held court
A sign near the bar informed us that we could take no pictures without either paying for a bottle or paying for a tour. The tour was only $1 per person after a purchase. Not wanting to buy any rum without ensuring that it tasted better than the rotgut spiced stuff I had picked up in Soper's Hole, I requested a sample. Fortunately, the plain dark rum was smoother and tastier that the spiced rum, so I bought 3 bottles, one for each couple, for $6 each. If nothing else, they would be novelty items in our home bars, and for me and Rick, living in Anne Arundel County, Maryland, Arundel Rum would be especially noteworthy.
The leaning palms and blue-green waters of Cane Garden Bay on a calm day.
Then we each paid our $1 for the tour, which was given by the oldest of the three boys we encountered outside. He was all of about 8 years old and spoke barely intelligible English, and gave us a most minimal tour, pointing vaguely to vats, boilers, pipes, barrels and troughs, all overrun with vines, weeds and rust. What was most impressive about the tour was 2 things: (1) that they can actually distill rum here, and have been doing so for a couple hundred years, and (2) that they could actually get people to pay for the tour and the rum. I guess that's why they want you to pay for the rum first!
