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Jan 12, 2004 One of the most enjoyable aspects of bareboat cruising is that there is no set destination, no timetable aside from your own and Nature's. We could have set our course for any of hundreds of coves on dozens of islands. The British Virgin Islands are chock full of sheltered bays, many of which were pirate havens in the 1700s and 1800s. Many scholars think that the setting for Robert Louis Stevenson's Treasure Island was Norman Island, where treasure worth nearly two million dollars was found over a century ago. There is a small island called Dead Chest nearby, on which Blackbeard is said to have marooned fifteen men. ("Fifteen men on a dead man's chest, yo ho ho...") And uninhabited Norman Island has a Spyglass Hill, just like Treasure Island. I had dreamed of these places since childhood. But first, before visiting the more exotic British Virgins, we raised sail and made way for St. John, another American island, though much less developed than St. Thomas. It is approximately 50% national park, with trails, beaches, and a campground. Before heading for a more deserted anchorage, we decided to sail for Caneel Bay, a shallow bay just north of Cruz Bay, the only city on St. John. Once there, we entered the bay and, after making sure the ground swell was not excessive, we anchored over a sandy bottom in the southern half of the bay. The older crew members, Pam, Bob, Nancy, and I, stayed on the ship and swam in the warm, clear water. The younger crew members, while hiking the Caneel Bay Trail into Cruz Bay to find some night life, discovered about a dozen young couples, all looking like Mr. and Miss Universe contenders, sunbathing and swimming nude on a small beach (Solomon's Beach) at the south end of Caneel Bay. This is apparently where the young restaurant workers, scuba instructors, and other college-age workers from Cruz Bay skinny-dip regularly. Nudity is seldom seen on the beaches of the Virgin Islands, though some sections of beach are designated topfree. Throughout the rest of the trip, we saw an occasional topless sunbather, but no other nudity on the beaches. On anchored boats, nudity was more frequently seen. Sailors, by nature, tend to be carefree souls who doff their duds when in an uncrowded anchorage or when sailing on the open seas. Skinny-dippers and the occasional sailor showering on the stern platform are common sights. In the morning we took a local shuttle bus to Trunk Bay, where an underwater snorkel trail allows even weak snorkelers to see tropical fish and coral formations. Though not pristine scuba grounds, this spot is a great introduction to swimming in tropical waters, including fighting against a moderate tidal current. After snorkeling around the small island in the middle of Trunk Bay, we were all tired, but only Jenny, a pale-skinned redhead, was sunburned. The rest of the crew had gotten base tans while at home and had used high-value sunscreens. We returned to the ship after lunch at a food stand on the beach, and attempted to raise anchor. Actually, two anchors, as we had set out both at the suggestion of the charter skipper. However, we found that the tidal currents had swung the ship several times during the night and morning, so that there were several twists in the anchor rodes. The situation was made more difficult because the electric anchor windlass refused to pay out chain and the gypsy (grooves for chain) was somewhat worn and did not grip the chain well. It took a considerable amount of strength, cunning, and cussing before the two Bobs and I had the anchors in the bow chocks. We finally set sail for Greater Jost van Dyke and gingerly crept into a crowded harbor, where we lowered only one anchor. Bob and I collected ship’s papers, passports, and other identification and fired up the dinghy’s outboard for the visit to the customs house, a mandatory procedure when crossing from U.S. to British waters or vice versa. After Cheyenne and her crew were properly registered and the officer had issued us an ornate and official-looking certificate, we shuttled the rest of the crew to shore. Dorsey Chinnery’s Paradise Bar, painted a bright pink, beckoned us with island music to come and eat, drink, and be merry. Dorsey was mixing the second round of drinks when he suddenly stopped, trotted to an open window, and leaped out. Being resourceful sailors, rightful heirs to the swashbuckling tradition of the local pirates, Pam and Bobby without hesitation began tending bar and waiting on tables. Bobby’s college job, as luck would have it, had been bartending. You never know when old skills may come in handy. Meanwhile, finding a 110V outlet behind the bar, Pam sent Bob and Young Jeff back to Cheyenne for a hair curler and hair dryer, which she promptly plugged in and began beautifying her hair while serving drinks and adding up bar bills. After about forty-five minutes, Dorsey, all spruced up with a change of clothes, climbed back through the window and resumed bartending as though nothing unusual had happened. He took a considerable discount off our bill at the end of the evening for the help Pam and Bobby had given. Life in the islands is certainly informal. Back on ship after sunset, the awestruck crew sat around the cockpit and gazed up at stars like millions of diamonds scattered on black velvet, many more stars than can be seen in populated areas of the northern latitudes. So many stars were visible that it was almost impossible to pick out the common constellations without diligent study. When we finally hit Cheyenne’s bunks, the gentle rocking of the waves was like a mother’s hand on a cradle. The next morning I was up at six AM and swam lazy circles around Cheyenne as the sun rose over the islands to the east, lighting pink, gold, orange, and mauve fires throughout the clouds. Tropic sunrises and sunsets are the most gorgeous I have ever seen. The younger crew climbed the hills behind the harbor, where they came upon herds of goats grazing on the grassy hillsides. Young Jeff was, for the rest of the cruise, known as “Goat Boy.” In prime charter season, the more popular anchorages--and even remote beaches--may be crowded. Luckily, some isolated spots may exist if you take the time to search. Two such places are near Jost van Dyke. Green Cay and Sandy Cay are tiny uninhabited islands, the latter maintained as a nature preserve by its owner, one of the Rockefeller heirs. Green Cay is frequently seen in advertisements, as it is a lovely small island with a scattering of palm trees in the center. Even these islands may be surrounded by boats and populated by cruisers at times, unfortunately. Approaching Sandy Cay, I fired up the diesel engine, came into the wind, and ordered the sails doused. Cheyenne lost way and nosed in toward the anchorage marked on our charts. The water faded from deep blue to turquoise and took on a yellowish cast, indicating a sandy bottom. The depth sounder flashed steadily declining numbers, and when it blinked twelve feet, I brought Cheyenne to a halt. The foredeck crew gently lowered the anchor to the white sand bottom, the chain rattling and humming as it slipped through the chock. We drifted slowly backward, paying out line, then cleated it off, and felt the anchor bite cleanly into the sand. I put Cheyenne into reverse and increased throttle, straining against the anchor, making sure it was set solidly, then killed the engine. When the rumble of the diesel died, the only sounds were the gentle breaking of waves on the shore and the lap-slap of waves against the hull. I have always loved that first moment of peace and calm when I kill the engine in a quiet harbor or after the sails are hoisted. Much of the time, we had been told, a boat may have these islands to itself. Both were crowded when we arrived. It was Young Jeff’s birthday, however, and we all went ashore to eat birthday cake. It was not much of a cake but expensive, having been whipped up secretly in a Virgin Islander’s kitchen on Greater Jost van Dyke, but it was a great place to celebrate a birthday. Over the next several days, we stopped in several bays on many different islands. Especially lovely were Manchioneel Bay, on Cooper Island, and the Bight on Norman Island. The latter is a spot which struck some crew members as rather desolate and lonely, with no shoreside restaurants, though a floating “pirate ship” with a limited food menu but lots of rum is anchored near one side of The Bight. Some other bays (Trellis Bay, Cane Garden Bay, Drake’s Anchorage in Virgin Gorda Sound) may be more beautiful, but are usually much more crowded. Every morning and evening, Bill and I skinny-dipped in the warm, tap-water-clear Caribbean. One night we threw crumbs into the water and the whole crew watched enthralled as schools of fish like silver scimitars dashed back in forth in a frenzy through the beam of our underwater spotlight. Suddenly a dark torpedo-like shape went by. A shark? We didn’t get a clear look. Swimming after sunset became more adventurous after that. After the beautiful but deserted Norman Island, the crew wanted some night life again, so we returned to Caneel Bay and all piled into the dinghy for the trip around the point to Cruz Bay. The return trip, on a moonless black night, was eerie to several of the crew, and the dinghy was overloaded, which got us all soaked in saltwater spray as we would hit unseen waves. We had the foresight to attach a small strobelight to Cheyenne’s rigging before departing, so we spotted Cheyenne easily, but found that the anchor had dragged and our lovely craft had nearly crashed into another sailboat while we were gone. The strong tidal currents shifting continuously around Caneel Bay had dislodged the anchor and we had not let out enough chain to allow it to reset easily. It had finally caught, but we were darned lucky we didn’t have to chase Cheyenne out into the ocean. What lessons were learned? If I were planning the cruise over again, I would invite only two or three couples nearer my own age The boat was overcrowded, though the good cheer and even temperaments of the crew made it work. I would leave any children at home, and I would not invite any last-minute replacements that I did not know well. We were lucky in that everyone was compatible, but this was sheer luck. I would take even more time familiarizing the inexperienced crew members with sailing terms and skills. I would give serious thought to chartering a sailboat for a day in local waters to brush up my own skills. I would choose a big-name charter company, as the equipment is newer and the amenities more complete. ------------ About the author: 62-yr-old physician, still practicing, retired from 41 years intermittent military service as of June 1, 2003. Just write for the fun of it. Currently writing a novel. Email Brooks A. Mick: brooks15@cox.net Comment on this column in the forum. ------------ |
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