on closer inspection susan

It does seem to take me longer than Dan to settle into a place. Our bike ride on Sunday morning gave me a clearer sense of my new surroundings. Although it is a bit of an effort to take our folding bikes off the boat and assemble them on land, it is worth it every time! Dan and I are both sensitive to try not to gawk at folks as we travel about, but our being on bicycles made us the spectacle. The norm for transport here in Luperon is the small motorcycle. The terrain demands it. And it is not unusual to see momma, papa, and a couple of bambinos in tow on one vehicle!
Thank goodness we have 21 gears because we used them all!
Our approach was to get going early before the heat of the day. The village was just waking up. In a climate that is temperate all year round the need for windows diminishes. Doors are left open for air circulation so the happenings in the main living space are often exposed to the passers-by. Chickens move about the yard and through the house without notice. Music fills the air as it oozes out of the confines of the inside to the space to the outside where the family sweeps, irons or sits in the yard to contemplate the day. Shops along the street often appear closed when they are not because they are dark inside. Electricity in Luperon is sporadic; when the demand exceeds the supply, there is darkness. It is not uncommon to see a couple of deep cell batteries with an inverter in the corner of a shop to kick in when the lights go out. Other shops have no power at all. Some folks were sweeping the sidewalk in front of their shops, others made their way through the streets dressed in starched clothes – perhaps on their way to church. We found the bakery, selected a couple of items and made our way out of town. We have been noticing that the dew is very heavy in the morning as we climbed up out of town into the surrounding hills, it glistened on the lush green fields. We passed horseback riders transporting milk cans or long poles tied onto the saddle. There were herds of cattle being driven to other pastures for the day’s grazing. The land is lush green.

Fences are crafted of spike tipped poles or small trees that are cultivated to function as hitching posts for the wire. Cacti are sculptured into dense hedges that define a field or corral livestock. Although there are a lot of fences, there seem to be plenty of farm animals that are free ranging. There are tree-lined lanes that serve as avenues of access to rear pastures – or maybe secret gardens.

As we moved farther away from the town we witnessed the simplicity and the hard work of the owners of this land. Cows were being milked, plants were being sprayed and fresh baked smells were wafting from the kitchens. As we came to the top of a ridge we stopped to catch our breath and survey our surroundings; two young boys, perhaps 6 and 8 came trudging up the hill, bare-footed; one pushing the wheelbarrow filled with 4-5 jugs of water the other opening the gate to their property. The memory of these young boys stayed with me later as Dan and I ate burritos at the local restaurant. I couldn’t help but think of the value they were assimilating about hard work and meeting ones basic needs. There was no contrived importance for their position in the family – each of them was needed.

And so in a subtle way, I came to respect this new place where I now live. It is far different than where I came from. I am grateful for these lessons.

The village of Luperon – dan

We came to Luperon from the sea and so it happened that our first contact with the inhabitants took place out on the water. We arrived at the coast in almost complete darkness at 2:00 am. I could make out the silhouette of mountains clearly outlined against the star-filled sky ahead of us, a few lights along the coast and then the beam of a nearby flashlight shown in our direction. Later another and then another small light stabbed out of the darkness saying; I’m here, don’t run me down. I figured those little lights must be coming from small fishing boats that are either too small or too poor to have running lights and that they must have been rowing or drifting because we didn’t hear any motors. That was our first contact with the people of Luperon, the brave fisherman who, miles out on the open ocean, were working in the darkness.

Later, after standing off and on the coast, waiting for dawn to come, we headed into the harbor in the company of many small boats, most propelled by oars. One of the rowers ahead of me whistled sharply twice to get my attention, then briefly took his hand off an oar, held it high over his head and with his index finger pointed to starboard twice - meaning; shallow ahead, go right. I waved my thanks and altered our course accordingly. I kept our RMPs low not wanting to rush by any of the small boats, glad for their guidance into a strange harbor and proud to be in their company.

After anchoring we dinghied into the quay to clear in. We landed right next to the rusted remains of what must have once been a steel boat of about 70’ in length. Several men were on the hulk, working barefooted with acetylene torches, cutting it up into plate size pieces. Those plates of rusted metal were then placed into old grain sacks and loaded onto a nearby truck. Two men on a small motorcycle drove by, the guy on the back had a 15 HP outboard motor balanced on his shoulders.

Further down the quay we came to a group of a half dozen men standing in a circle and talking. One of the men was dressed in fatigues and was casually leaning on a pump shotgun like it was a walking stick or a crutch. Not wanting to interrupt we waited until there was a pause in the conversation. Ola, pardon, Commandante? Was the best I could do with my limited Spanish. The man in the fatigues turned around, broke out in a broad smile, stepped forward, extended his right hand to shake and asked me; check in? I said “si” and he pointed further down the quay to two small trailers.

When we entered the small, windowless, non-airconditioned office of immigrations, the officer inside was preoccupied, texting on his cell phone. When he was done with we proceeded with the paper work, which was all duplicated via carbon paper. I hadn’t realized that they still made carbon paper.

After completing the check-in procedure we headed into town. The streets are sometimes paved and lined with sidewalks, the buildings modest, closely spaced and colorful. Dogs slept in doorways, on the sidewalks and even in the street. Chickens ran free everywhere. Cats gazed on in serenity. Motorbikes whizzed by, locals lounged in the shade chatting and watching the world go by. Latin music came from all over the place.

We were looking for the gift shop where we hoped to hook up with Alex who we heard ran the WiFi business that serviced the harbor as well as the town. We found a small building simply labeled "Gift Shop", which was an open shop filled with woodcarvings, jewelry and other curios. It was occupied by an attractive young woman, a beautiful child and an older man. The older man was inside a booth, behind a glass window, an old pistol laid on the counter next to his hand. Their English was just a little better than my Spanish but they understood what we were looking for. Alex wasn’t there at the moment but a phone call would summon him. Did we have a phone? When I said no I got a look that seemed somewhere between surprise and pity. The young lady whipped out a cell phone and after a rapid exchange in Spanish told us that Alex would be by in a while. So in the meantime we headed off up the road in search of bread and fresh fruit.

We stepped aside to make way for two men with a pole on their shoulders from which hung a large galvanized bucket that was filled with a heavy load of hog’s feet that looked as if they had only recently been detached from the original owners.

We came to the next corner we found it filled with men on 100cc motorcycles wearing checker-cab yellow vests that declared themselves Motortaxies.

We found a little place that had beautiful looking fruit stacked in front. We selected some papayas and a pineapple then went inside to pay. The light was dim inside the shop. Some grain was being weighed on an old scale on my right and chicken parts on one to my left. Whack went a large machete and a few more chicken parts were tossed on the scale.

Out on the street three men rode by all on the back of the same small motorcycle. Another motorcyclist went by, the driver had a 12-gage shotgun with a pistol grip, extra shells fixed to its side, that was lying casually across his lap.

Back at Gift Shop we hooked up with Alex, a very amiably young man who introduced us to his wife, two year old son and “me papa who gives that best rates of anyone for money exchange". Alex signed us up for WiFi. He explained that the power was out, so that even thought he had a computer in front of him, all our business, including logon instructions for me, had to be hand written. Alex explained that there wasn’t enough power for the whole town at once. So they share power by turning off sections at a time. He then made a balancing gesture with his hands and shrugged his shoulders. Once our business was completed Alex told me a little bit about himself. He had been studying architecture in Santo Domingo but left before completing his degree. He got work doing computer support for the nearby resorts and then went on to set up his own internet business. A very enterprising and resourceful guy. While we were talking two men on horses galloped by his shop front. I asked him about the pistola next to papa; was it safe here? Would someone actually try to rob them? Senior, he said, "this is like a bank, we must have security".

Later we walked to the outskirts of town, which had a much wilder and even more relaxed atmosphere. A small motorcycle went by with what could be a whole family onboard; father driving, mother on back and infant on the tank. We were startled by a small heard of cattle running towards us in the street and relieved when they suddenly turned off just before us. A man asked Susan if he could help us find something. She thanked him and said that we were just walking. He replied that; “It’s safe here, you can go anywhere, we are good people”. And that seems abundantly apparent.

When we got back to our boat we were delighted when we were able to log to the internet via Alex’s WiFi network. I wasn’t sure what to expect, as we never were able to get WiFi working at our marina back in Connecticut. Luperon is like that; full of contradictions and delightful surprises around every bend.

more than the physical distance susan

The first two legs of our cruising life could not have been more different. On the first 5 days, it was so rough that I only managed to brush my teeth twice during the entire passage; then from Bermuda to Dominica I was able to brush every day! Honestly, there was a bit of trepidation on my part as we left the safe St. George’s harbor. Weather forecasts are usually only accurate for 2-3 days. This next leg would be 200 miles longer than our previous one. What might the days bring? I was expecting physical challenges, what I what I didn’t anticipate were my own personal challenges. As Bermuda faded in our view we were sailing and it was lovely!

When night came the sky filled with such a vast amount of stars that it was difficult even to find familiar constellations. There was a clear ray of moonlight over the water that was surprising given that la Luna was only a quarter full. Far from the interference of man-made light the moon seems to shine twice as bright. I am fortunate that when I am tired, I can sleep just about anywhere – and the cockpit seat – hard-surfaced and too short for my length – worked just fine. I drifted off to sleep with my spirit soaring in the heavens above.

Once my initial queasiness went away, in 1 -2 days, I was able to cook and read and fully enjoy the experience. Dan and I have passed many an hour reading to one another, first as we took long car rides and now as we make extended passages. On Dan’s recommendation we devoured the novel Northern Borders by Frank Mosher that chronicles the lives of a rugged New England family. Peering into the intricacies of these people’s stories sent me into a reflection of my own family and the loss I have experienced over the past 5 years by the death of both of my parents. Next we launched into Whom the Sea Has Taken by William Willis – the tale of a single man who at 70, after having worked hard his entire life sailed a raft from Peru across the Pacific to Australia. The complexities of these two themes sent me into a dramatic state of self-examination. Or perhaps it was the gentle rocking of the sea that insisted that I go deeper into myself. I felt naked and newly born without a known identity.

What does it mean to be a cruiser? My old familiar descriptors are gone. Daughter, homeowner, member of a congregation, drumming circle participant, part of the community; even my role as mother is redefined. Work hard, play hard and do unto others as you would want them to do to you… And so that is what I have done all the years of my life… “Where do you live, what do you do?” My answers seem vague… What am I supposed to be doing? Is it OK to take some time to wander through life, looking, paying attention, and learning? Sadness came over me and I shed many a tear in the ocean breeze. Uncertainty caused me to want to have the answers. I do not have the answers now. Can I live with that? After I processed these emotions by myself I talked to Dan. He listens; he hears. We talked about what it means to each of us to be traveling and taking the time to be “undefined”. We are committed to support each other while we learn about our own inner self. Choosing to live this life without a prescription is a much harder way to be. When I was younger I wondered if people chose religions with rigid doctrines so they could ascribe to what was taught. It is far more difficult to gather ones own data and evaluate it. I remain excited about this journey we are on. This inquisition is not about my happiness but rather about my value as a human being. I realize I need to evaluate as this evolves. I intend to observe my interactions with others and assess my self-honesty and assess how that affects those I come in contact with.

There is a symbolic lesson in the way the sea moves you along with the wind and the current and the roll of the sea. This past 820 nm not only brought me to the Dominican Republic, it brought me to a new awareness.

Bermuda to Hispaniola – dan

We’ve here, we’ve made it and it was a great trip. By “here” I mean Luperon harbor on the Norththern coast of the Isle Hispania, Dominican Republic. I’m a quite captivated and intrigued by Luperon and not sure where to start; with the place, or with the journey that brought us here. The place is overwhelming, especially after eight days of nothing but sea and sky. Not to minimize those two great galaxies of existence, but Luperon is a place, unlike anything I’ve ever experienced before. That said and in compliance to the pragmatic convention of first-things-first, I think I’ll start with the journey, less it works its way out of my mind. Not that I could ever forget this trip but time has a way of burnishing away details and sometimes it’s the details that make the whole interesting.

Before I get into the details of last crossing let me speak just a bit more about the place that we left; St. George’s Harbor Bermuda. It is as lovely a harbor as I’ve ever encountered, made all the more friendly by the people we met. One of those folks was Brian, the Commodore of the St George’s Dinghy club who welcomed us into the club’s facilities upon our arrival even though we weren’t staying with them. We ended up spending every second or third day sitting on their veranda enjoying happy hour, drinking dark & stormys and soaking in the view along with the rum in the company of sailors from around the world.

The view from St George’s Dinghy Club

It’s hard to leave such a lushly nice place as St George’s but as they say; all good things must come to an end and for us that end was signaled by a weather forecast which predicted reasonably good conditions for a journey south. The first favorable prediction in the past few weeks. Some thought that the inclusion of light winds in the middle of the passage forecast soured the window and cautioned that one would need enough fuel for 5 or 6 days of motoring in order to make it. We carry only enough fuel for 3 days but I felt confident in Gypsy’s exceptional light air ability and thought we’d be fine.

Day 1 – We were up at 6:00 in order to prepare Gypsy for sea, which happens to be a fair amount of work. At 8:00am we were at the customs office to clear out of the country and reclaim our firearms, which in our case was a flair gun. I wondered privately what they thought I might attempt with such a weapon, a bank robbery or perhaps the one flair revolution? Doesn’t matter, the law is the law and now that I had our flair gun back and departure documentation in hand we could now up anchor and head for the high seas.

We quickly raised anchor and shot out of the harbor followed by several boats that looked like many milkweed seeds shooting out of a pod and into the open sea. All of us carried by strong zephyrs of air and hearts full of hope. Most were headed to St Martin’s or the Virgin Islands and made a course just east of ours. We were the only vessel headed for the D.R. At noon, while Susan napped, I could still see eight sails out on the horizon, tiny scraps of humanity represented by insignificant looking bits of white cloth on a huge field of blue. We enjoyed a gentle 8-10kts of breeze out of the east in gently rolling 4’ – 6’ seas, nice!

My god, it was so beautiful out there. To describe it is simple; blue water, blue sky, puffy white clouds, white sails, the gentle rocking of the boat, the sound of the water as it swishes by the hull and the company of my love. But more than all that, it’s the simple enormity and permeating all encompassing serenity that impacts me so.

We started to sail amongst increasing larger strings of Sargassum seaweed that arrange themselves in a way that suggest colonies or at least large families. I know about Sargasum only from books; this is the first I’ve ever seen it. I’m surprised that no one mentions how beautiful it is; golden nuggets of life floating way out in the indigo colored sea. It has numerous little berry sized bladders that serve to keep it afloat. The mass of the plant lives in the water but it also has lots of delicate tendrils that reach up just out of the ocean toward the sky.

Our first night was a bit cool. I started out with a fleece pullover on and ended up adding a windbreaker over top of that and finally added a warm hat before the night was through. The sea temperature was 74° and the air temperature was about the same but the wind had built to 15-25 nmh. The sky was clear and dark blessing me with the sight of half a dozen meteorites.

That evening we transited an area that was marked on the chart as; “Military Practice Area”. I wondered what sort of “practice” might go on here and hoped that we wouldn’t find out. We then passed an area of open ocean that rose up from a depth of over 2 miles to just 217’ deep and had the ominous chart label of; “Fish Traps – Vessels should proceed with caution”. I’ve never seen a deep ocean fish trap. Along the coast they usually look like a line of sticks or polls rising out of the water but there they usually occurred in several feet of water. I wondered what the deep ocean variety would look like and if they could trap or foul a boat. It was a dark and moonless night, I hoped and prayed that we wouldn’t get a chance to find out.

The last curious area that we transited that evening was labeled on the chart as; “Submarine Exercise Frequently both surfaced and dived. A good lookout is to be kept for them when passing through these waters”. Sage advice, I’m sure. I know that military vessels sometimes run “black” (no lights) when at sea and that subs were particularly prone to stealth. I wondered what my chances were of spotting a sub on such a dark night as this and what sort of exercise they might be doing anyway; jumping jacks, sit-ups, push-ups?

Day 2 – This day alternated between rainsqualls and sunshine producing many beautiful rainbows. The wind blew 20 - 28 nmh out of the east and the seas were a moderate 8’ – 12’. We broad reached under a single reefed main and a partially reefed jib. We charged along all day that way, running with the wild horses of the sea, the endless herds of white caped waves. That evening was as squally as the day until about midnight when the sky cleared and the wind piped down to 14 – 18 nmh giving us a very serine ride through the darkness.

Day – 3 Started out with rainbows, eggs and home fries as passing squalls moved by and Susan made us a delicious breakfast. We both seem to eat less on passage, making what we do eat especially satisfying. The winds proceeded to quiet down to a pleasant 10 – 12 nmh and the sea lay down as the day progress into an absolute gorgeous creation complete with puffy clouds drifting across the blue sky above and the blue ocean below. The temperature of the sea climbed to 77° and we both took showers in the cockpit, which were every bit as delicious as the tuna salad that Susan made for lunch.

We haven’t been listening to music as much as we usually do on this passage. The sound of the ocean and the movements of the boat have been filling in nicely in that regard. It’s also taken me longer to settle in and relax. I think having it so vividly demonstrated by our last passage and that of the others, just how venerable we are out here is the reason. It’s also one of the reasons I do this, to experience that vulnerability and know that I am not the master of my universe, just a humble traveler trying to make my way as best I can. Regardless, it doesn’t help to be tense about it. It finally sinks in that whatever will happen, will do so, weather I’m tense or not, so why not relax. So tonight, this third night as sea with a beautiful clear sky full of stars, including shooting stars, one the likes of which I have never seen before, my tension melts away and I’m able to accept a greater sense of peace.

It also finally settling in that I’ve retired. Not that I don’t expect or want to work again, I do. I’ve always been productive, even when not employed. What I’m feeling is that I’ve earned enough “bread money” for this lifetime and don’t need to seek employment in order to feed or shelter myself as long as I live modestly. That opens me up to the pursuit of endeavors that are driven more by interest that monetary rewards. That is a deliciously liberating feeling for me. I’m also able to enjoy a much less structured and even whimsical life, which is truly a delight. For me, one of the coolest aspects of this whole journey is that I haven’t a clue as to where we’ll fetch up once we decide to resume a land-based life. I am hoping to build another house. I built one years ago that, other that being fully passive solar, was fairly conventional. Susan and I have learned a lot about being self-sufficient already and I’m sure that we’ll learn more as we go forward. I’m looking forward to incorporating as much of that knowledge as possible in the next house. I’m envisioning a place, that along with blending in with its natural surroundings, will produce most, if not all, of its power needs; catch rainwater, grow food and have its own unique and hopefully magical nature.

Day 4 – This day dawned clear and bright with pink-fringed clouds completely encircling us and a clear blue sky above. We must have been right in the middle of huge high-pressure system, which the barometer as well as the accompanying light, 6 – 8 nmh winds confirmed. That light wind pushed us along at a very pleasant 4 – 5 nmp of boat speed. We road the long, 6’ – 8’ ocean swells that were headed in our direction. The previous days swells had also been gentle, but larger, 10’ – 14’ with long periods (large spacing between waves) that made them quite pleasant. At about 10:30 am we reached the halfway point of the passage, 410 nm from the D.R.

In the afternoon our breeze died to nothing, ending the longest single-tack run of sailing that I’ve ever done. Reluctantly we had to break the peace and serenity of the quiet ocean with our diesel engine, something we both hate to do. About this time we noticed that the sea temperature had risen to 79°. As we made our way south toward the warmer waters of the Caribbean I wondered how things were going weather wise in New England, what kind of weather were they experiencing. It was getting pretty cold when we left there over three weeks ago. For us, it seems that our summer is just getting started.

After a few hours of motoring the wind came back up to a very faint 3 -5 nmh. We cut the engine, unfurled the jib and started sailing again at a very sweet 2 mph of boat speed. When I checked the chart I saw that the here ocean was over three miles deep. That’s hard to imagine but then, hey, we weren’t planning on anchoring anyway, so it really didn’t matter.

The day had been of such a singular beauty, so amazing in fact that it was the first day the neither if us took a nap in spite of having been up half the night. I think that neither of us wanted to miss any of it. One might think that days might drag on during an ocean passage but for us it seemed the opposite. Later on we passed within two miles of another sailboat on a northeast track, the first we’d seen since leaving Bermuda. We hailed them on the VHF but got no response.

That evening, on my first watch, the night sky was extraordinary. The sea was flat calm with just the tiniest amount of ground swell. The wind was 3 – 3.5 nmp causing us to ghost along at 2.5 nmp. It wasn’t much in the way of boat speed but we were reluctant to break the great piece of the ocean by starting the diesel and so were grateful for even the modest zephyrs that continued to bear us along.

Day 5 – Started with another gorgeous sunrise. The sea temperature had dropped two degrees over night, which pulled the air temperature down with making it feel a bit cooler. The wind came up a bit to 4 – 5 nmp and we continued to glide along peacefully. Later the wind increased to 8 nmp but unfortunately it was, as they say, on the nose, forcing us to start tacking to windward, which we did, grateful for the wind that we got. In the afternoon we rigged the sun shower from a halyard on the foredeck. Previously we have been using it in the cockpit but the day was so beautiful and with no neighbors for probably hundreds of miles I thought it would be nice to bathe out in sunlight and fresh air and indeed it was. We washed ourselves in rainwater that we had caught and heated by the sun. We then dried off in radiant goodness directly from the sun surrounded by the deep blue sea below and clear blue sky above, truly children of nature.

The air was particularly clear today providing excellent visibility making the vastness of the surrounding ocean seem even greater. It’s been surprising to me how little life we’ve seen on this trip. No dolphins, no fish, just a couple of sea birds (Fulmars) and sargassum seaweed. I’d never traveled and seen so little signs of life.

In the late afternoon we both went up on the deckhouse to watch the sunset, which was spectacular. We’ve started watching for the famous green flash phenomena where a flash of green can be sometimes observed over the setting sun just as it dips below the horizon. Susan has seen it before but I’ve only read of it. No flash tonight but no worries, it was an incredible light show anyways and there is always the hope for tomorrow.

It was a busy night for ships, we saw several on the AIS (automatic identification system) and three came close enough to see visually. The wind backed around to the south and gradually filled in. Could this be the much anticipated and hope for tradewinds? Time would tell.

Day 6 – The winds in the east continued to hold giving us a gentle 7 nmh push toward our destination. Susan made Johnnycakes for breakfast, mmmmmmm. Later I saw the first flying fish of the passage. Around noon today the sea temperature jumped up to 81° from the 77° that it had been holding at. That afternoon we finished the book we had been reading to each other (Northern Borders by Howard Mosher). It's a wonderful book and with tears in our eyes we read the last few pages, trading the book back and forth frequently as each of us in succession got too choked up to read.

This passage or any passage for that matter is a lot like life; your start out with the best intentions but even so you never know how it will go until it’s done and your anchor is down in a safe harbor. Things had been going exceptionally well but we still had a lot of deep water to cross to reach our safe haven.

The sixth night out was uneventful except for the sky, which was magnificent and still producing shooting stars. We beam reached through the heavens propelled by 9 – 12 nmp of steady winds which by this time I felt surely must be the trade winds.

Day – 7 This day dawned clear and bright. If this wind would hold we would make our first waypoint of the passage, which marked the entrance to the Silver Bank Passage late this afternoon or early this evening. It is through this passage that we transited the reefs of the island nation of Turks and Caicos, which lay about 60 miles north of Hispaniola.

There had been lots of time for reflection on this pleasant passage; clear open headed, long ranging thoughts. It’s been a good life for me and the fact that it is getting better is the long-and-short of all that reflecting. That and the importance of staying true to oneself and not giving up on what you determine is important.

It looked like we were going to make landfall at about 3:00am. We didn’t want to attempt to navigate the reefs into the harbor in darkness so we started reefing in the sail in an attempt to slow the boat down which at this point was cruising along at 7 – 8 nmp. First we put a second reef in the main, but that didn’t do much. Next we dropped the main altogether but even that didn’t make much of a dent in our boat speed as we were still going about 6.5 nmp. Gypsy must have had a bad case of barn fever because she just didn’t seem to want to slow down. Finally we rolled up half the jib and got her down to 5.5 nmp – better, but not slow enough to keep us from making Luperon before sunrise. At 2:30 am we were 7.5 nm off the coast of Hispaniola and incredibly we could smell the island in spite of a strong 15 nmp side wind. It was an earthy smell mixed with a smoky overtone of wood fire, a lovely scent to us.

We tacked on and off the coast until it became light enough for us to make a safe entrance into this unmarked and poorly charted harbor. Susan had done an incredible job of standing the longest watches through the night in order to allow me to be fresh as possible for the entrance. At 7:00 am we rolled up the sails, fired up the diesel and took the extra lashings off the anchor. As we made our entrance into the harbor and were searching for a spot to anchor a cruising woman passing by in her dinghy, warmly welcomed us to Luperon and offered to pick us up some fresh vegetables as she was headed to the farm market. That was our first welcome into this enchanted harbor, the first of many. We anchored in 12’ of water near the mangroves at the east end of the harbor and then made our way in to see the customs, immigration and agriculture officials. We had heard and read horror stories about checking in at Luperon but we didn’t find it too bad. Yes we probably paid ten dollars more that we strictly should but we shrugged it off and hoped it would be put to some good.

Luperon harbor

We then took the short walk into town and in the process seemed to have stepped into another dimension or time period the likes of which I’ve never seen before but that’s another story…

Oh and about the fuel thing; we used less that 10 gallons of diesel for the entire passage and came in with 60 gallons left in the tanks.

Dominica bound – susan and dan

The excitement that we felt when we left Mystic, CT on October 26th is mounting in us again. We intend to leave Bermuda tomorrow morning on our second leg of our journey, next stop Lupron in the Dominican Republic. The checklists are humming and so are we. It’s time to change Gypsy and the way we live from harbor mode to passage mode. We won’t be leaving the forward hatch open as we sleep under the stars nor will be able to litter our salon with books and glasses and the usual signs of comfortable living. And we have been living comfortably.

The weather forecast looks good along our track for the next several days but it looked good for our last passage, which turned out to be more science fiction than fact. That’s ok; we’re doing our best planning and preparing for the worst conditions, as any good mariners would do.

We are saying our good-bys to new friends and old. Most of the other boats are headed for St. Martin or the Virgins; we’re the only one we know of that is headed for Dominica. Jack & Marcia will be in port a few more days sorting out some boat issues and waiting for their new rudder quadrant to come in from the states.

If all goes as planned we will up anchor tomorrow morning and commence the seven to eight day, 820 nm journey south.

Ordnance Island, St George's harbor (center) where customs and immigrations is for yachts.

the unexpected revelation susan

It was two weeks ago yesterday since we entered this safe, welcomed harbor. There were 4 maybe 5 other boats at anchor. We drove around surveying the surroundings to select the spot where we wanted to live. Over these weeks a community has formed. There are now over 30 transient boats living here. A few vessels have arrived and departed but there is a core of us who have come to know about each other. What we know is incomplete and sometimes random but it gives an identity none-the-less. Sometimes it’s the captain’s name or their hailing port or the repairs needed to make ready to set out once again. There is a 57’ vessel with an 8 and a 10 year old aboard who are being home schooled (boat schooled) and another badly damaged vessel that came in under tow that is right now trying to determine their course of action. And there are those we have come to know with more detail. There are the two single-handlers who over the course of this past year have made a friendship that has followed them to distant ports. They have shared charts with us and knowledge and their playfulness… We have introduced them to Jack and Marcia and the family grows. At night instead of the porch light we see the sparkle of the white anchor lights atop the masts, or with some of the smaller boats, the white light of a lantern hanging from the boom. I was surprised at how this made me feel a sense of belonging.

And then there is the town. Let me tell you about Flea. The picture would be incomplete without knowing this yellow, plump goddess of a cat that knows more people than I will probably ever know in my lifetime. She confidently trots about the streets, stopping when she gets the slightest bit of attention. Apparently the locals know her well and we passers through soon learn of her distinction. Folks call her by name and she responds. One evening before we knew her whole story we met a couple that had just come across town followed by “a friendly cat” – later to be known was Flea. The couple was flattered by the attention and when they were heading back home they called “kitty” and she went along with them. I heard one older dignified lady with an English accent stop and stoop down in the middle of the square rubbing Flea’s belly and speaking to her as if she had just met up with a long lost friend. It is impossible to not be drawn into this scene.

Marcia and I decided to mask the unpleasantness of doing laundry by doing it together! Jack and Dan helped us lug the bags to the Laundromat and left us there to do other errands. The place was hopping with most of the washers and all of the dryers spinning non-stop. Because of the volume it was necessary to empty stopped dryers into the rolling baskets. The attendant was busy with the “dropped off” bags of dirty clothes. The first dryer I emptied was full of towels and it seemed like a good thing to fold them before they got wrinkled. Marcia did the same. Before long the attendant, Zena, realized what we were doing. She was full of gratitude and verbalized our good deed to anyone within earshot. Zena looked after us, too, and a couple of times she added time to our dryers. It made for a playful afternoon at the Laundromat.

And so it goes… life aboard Gypsy in St. George’s harbor. Everyone is not cut out for this life. Making do with what we have aboard with minimal chance to get necessary parts is standard. No mail yet with our roller furler part but Dan has improvised replacements. Essential strangers reach out to one another with a generosity that is not always evident in busy lives. We have been offered parts out of our neighbor’s stock of spares. Neighbors travel to each other’s vessels to assist with mechanical problems. I overheard Kennedy offering a replacement flagpole to Jack and Marcia. Finding the commonality in our compatriots, as well as their uniqueness, is the richness of each day. I had expected to find the value of this journey in the cultures of the countries that we visit; I have been humbled to learn that I can start right here with my fellow cruisers.

The canvas workers dreams – dan

One of my brothers sits in his loft,

sewing beautiful canvas work by day.

Day after day he watches boats come & go

from his perch high above the lovely river and he dreams his dreams.

He has everything he needs to live his dreams; he’s doing that already.

I hope he knows that it’s all good;

the work, the dreamer and the dream, the doer and the deed.

That’s the journey, the realization of our wholeness.

namaste

They’re safe! - susan

It was a little after seven PM when we knew it for sure. We were sitting in our cockpit eating dinner when we saw the silhouette of two vessels entering the harbor, the first was a large vessel with a dark hull, the second, close behind, was a relatively small vessel with a light colored hull. Could this be them? We had been keeping an ear to the radio and an eye on the harbor cut all day in anticipation of their arrival. To our elation the two masts and distinctive lines of The Right’s of Man soon became visible. We immediately tried to raise them on the VHF radio. When that failed we jumped in our dinghy in spite of the darkness, good size waves and strong wind. It was them, really them and they were finally safe in the harbor. A large wave had smashed into their rudder while they were hove-to, destroying their steering quadrant, leaving them without steerage. Because of that they had to be towed 220 nm and Tenacious, a gorgeous 120’ sloop offered to assist - an act of great kindness and no doubt, superior seamanship. The activities of transferring the tow from Tenacious and to a private towboat for docking occurred in the open waters of the harbor. We circled in the darkness eagerly trying to catch a glimpse of the familiar faces of our dear friends. Several Yacht Services employees aboard Right’s of Man assisting the disabled vessel to a secure tie up along the wharf, all were dressed in fowl-weather gear making it hard to identify anyone.

We tied up our dinghy and made our way up the quay to them. The excitement of all the activity was palpable. Several passers-by stopped to watch and question. It had been a successful effort by all involved to bring this vessel safely home. We stayed out of the way but with our attention focused on giving our greetings to Jack and Marcia. Once the lines were secure and the activity calmed I caught Jack’s glance; he seemed very pleased to see a familiar face. Marcia reached way out with both hands for a hug but because of the great height of the dock, the best we could manage was a double handclasp. True to the Fyfe’s manner they gracefully completed the custom’s process from the jostling of their deck as the customs & immigration officers, under the illumination of Dan’s headlamp, sat on the wharf and carried on their business with courtesy and playfulness. They don’t often go to a vessel but in this case they made an exception to accommodate. When immigrations ask where they were headed next Jack replied “St. Martins”. “What port sir?” “Whatever port will tow us in”, Jack shot back with a big smile on his face and a giggle, “That’s the usual way we make our entrance”.

It was a huge relief to hear Jack’s answer and to see their smiling faces. It meant they were not beaten, strongly tested, but not beaten. They had endured a rough ten-day passage, double the usual crossing time. Marcia said that as bad as the storm was that incapacitated them, it was the two days under tow that was hardest to endure. Constantly accelerating down the faces of large waves, then slamming into the backs of the next wave before being pulled through and starting the whole jarring process again; thousands of times over. Any voyage out on the open ocean is a tenuous thing and something this damaging could easily be a trip-ender. Lesser setbacks have ended grander plans. We were hugely relived to see and hear evidence that this wasn’t going to be the case for our friends. Their determination remained undaunted, perhaps even bolstered by the experience; they will sail on.

The previous day Dan and I had a heartfelt discussion about how we might have held up in such an ordeal. How would such a misfortune affect us? What would we do if Gypsy were lost? It could happen. How would that affect our adventurous spirit? Would we continue on? It’s hard to say but my gut reaction is that we’d go on, get another boat and somehow continue our adventure. At the same time that’s an easy answer to come up with when we’re snug on the hook in a safe harbor well out of harms way. We both agreed that making the break with our conventional lifestyles was probably our biggest hurtle and that somehow we will deal with what comes our way when it comes our way.

In the mean time we’ll continue to sort out our own boat problems and at the same time spend quality time with our friends before our ways part again; them for St. Martin and us to the Dominican Republic.

Since our last posting our days have been going along; one blends into the other. The simplest things are so appreciated. On Sunday we loaded our bicycles into the dinghy and went into town. We unfolded them and soon we were meandering through the narrow roads acquainting ourselves with the English norm of driving on the left-hand side of the road. Luckily we did not meet much traffic initially as we made our way up the hill and on to Fort St. Catherine. The views out over the sea made it clear why this would have been a strategic location for the fort. The sun darted in and out of the clouds overhead casting moving shadows across the landscape. The wind carried the sound of the ocean lapping the shore below us and the whoosh of the breeze through the pines around us. We spent much time climbing through the ruins of the fort discussing the improvements that had been made through the years.

We had been told about the old railroad bed that now, without trains serves as a foot/bike path. Following the signs we accessed the trail in a neighborhood of small colorful houses, each with its own prescribed yard. Our mountain bikes had no difficulty on the grassy terrain of the trail that mostly skirted the shore with more breathtaking views of the sea. We had been told that the railroad bridges out but that we would be able to travel small distances without interruption. We came to a fence where we could not pass and on the bank above us was a small herd of goats peering inquisitively down at us. Their immobility made it hard to know if they were real! Our only other encounters on the trail were the free-range chickens that move about the countryside.


Food takes on a new dimension for me, here, also. Besides trying to buy fruits and vegetables in season, it is easy here to purchase those foods because the others are of poor quality in the local market. How many ways can one make cabbage attractive and interesting to eat? Seeds and boat grown sprouts have livened up many a plate and both of us are enjoying the textures and tastes of creativity.

Thanks to technology I have been able to have an Instant Messenger conversation with each of my kids over the past couple of days. My children have started their own life’s paths and moved away on their own in the last few years. Being able to communicate in this way with them does a lot to support our family unity as well as ease my mind as to their well-being. Having a back and forth dialogue, even when it’s written, seems much more intimate and personal that email.

We’re waiting for parts for our jib furler to come in. We’re also casually watching the weather for a window south. Tropical disturbance Ida has things pretty well stirred-up for now. Other than that we’re taking things day by day.

Bad news – dan

Somewhere out on the Atlantic Ocean, approximately 200 km north of Bermuda, a small yacht is floundering. We got the gut wrenching news today that our friend’s vessel, The Right’s of Man, has suffered rudder damage and is struggling in large seas.

Bad news, bad news,

Come to me where I sleep,

Turn, turn, turn again.

Sayin' one of your friends

Is in trouble deep,

Turn, turn to the rain

And the wind.

from Perc’s Song by Bob Dylan

There are four souls on that troubled vessel and there’s nothing we can do for them but hope and pray which we are doing in boatloads. The captain that gave us the news had just come into port himself aboard his 46’ yawl and reported experiencing winds up to 40 kts and extremely high seas. It’s hard to imagine what the conditions are like on poor Right’s of Man but imagine I do. They have been at sea now seven days. Without rudder control it will be hard to manage any sail or power and without her sails to stabilize her she will be tossed about madly in those huge seas. We heard there is a large yacht, inbound from Newport, that has offered to take her in tow as she is too far out for rescue from Bermuda. The good news is that Rights of Man still floats and in the remote chance it’s needed they have a good life raft and all the latest communication equipment; SSB, sat phone & EPRB. Thus equipped and with many good eyes and ears tracking them, their chances for survival are good.

This crossing takes its toll on vessels. Our dock mates on the 50’ catamaran Amazing Grace got five gallons of saltwater blasted into their diesel tanks via their vents and had to have a new set of injectors flown in. The boat next to us has had mechanics working on their engine for the past two days. A small boat just in front of us lost their mast and a brand new 60’ catamaran suffered a broken rudder. I see why this crossing has the reputation that is has, the evidence is all around us.

Jack & Marcia tuning up The Right's of Man back in Mystic

Hanging in the harbor – dan

We’re still doing boat projects interspersed with walks about town, visits with crews of other boats, reading and a trip to the big city of Hamilton for some parts and charts. Hamilton is at the opposite end of the island geographically as well as ambiance. St. George’s where we are at is small and laid back where as Hamilton is very cosmopolitan and bustling with activity. Hamilton is where the big cruise ships land. We definitely ended up on the better end of the island from our perspective.

We took the bus to Hamilton and that gave us a good tour of most of the length of the island. From Hamilton we took the fast ferry to the Royal Dockyards where we toured the old fort, the Commissioners House and the Maritime Museum. We could feel the history of the place as we walked the cobbled streets and in amongst the limestone fortifications. From there a 45 minute ferry ride brought us back to St. Georges.

We’ve shifted our sleeping quarters from the aft cabin to the forepeak to take advantage of the large deck hatch that offers wonderful ventilation as well as views of the moon and stars at night.

We picked up our sails from Ocean Sails and were pleasantly surprised by the bill. Picking up the sails couldn’t have been easier for us either as they are located right at the water’s edge just a couple thousand yards from where we are anchored. We were able to land the dinghy on a little beach right next to the sail loft. We haven’t put our genny back up yet because when we took it down we discovered that the clevis pin that supports the furler was missing. That part is on order from Schaefer in the states and hopefully will come in early next week.

We’re still waiting for our friends on Rights of Man to arrive. They left Newport RI six days ago and should arrive here any time now. Not that we’re worried about them, we’ll just feel a lot better once we know that they are safe in harbor.