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April 16-23, 2015

We have had the pleasure of meeting many Volvo dealers in the Americas, many with excellent service, some not. Our dock and technicians at Case Pilote in Martinique were uniquely wonderful.  We had heard rave reviews of the Martinique dealer from a fellow cruiser who replaced his Volvo with this dealer’s help.  This seemed like the perfect time to do an overhaul on our engines in preparation for our Pacific crossing.

About 100 feet of the local fishing pier is earmarked for Inboard Diesel and Two Fish had a reserved seat.  Upon tying up, we noticed that we had a small

tree wrapped around our rudder. We wondered how we hadn’t noticed it while sailing. Jason opined that it had cost us half a knot.  Diving under the boat is a blue job so Jason dove to remove the tree.  However,  I wrestled the tree to a safe place, where it wouldn’t fall back in the water and cause a headache for another boat.

Around 5 pm was fishing time and we observed lots of lines being thrown, with little output but much relaxation. The boats that went out to sea seemed to have better luck. Another method utilized in the harbor was to string out a fishing net and haul it into shore. Fortunately, Two Fish and her propellers were a hundred yards away.

It was a nice change from our usual cruising harbor to be in an industrious small town with its own rhythm. There was a small supermarket and bakery and a sub-standard pizza joint. What else explains why when told we could get 2 for 1 pizzas, I responded: that’s okay, we’ll just take one.

We saw a sign for a night market and eagerly planned our day around the visit. We approached the plaza and saw the six

tables of participants, one of whom was selling old books. I saw someone frying bits of something and asked for a dozen assorted. My French couldn’t keep up with what they told me they were, but I figured it couldn’t be too bad. They were a mix of donuts and fish balls, both pretty good. Jason was meanwhile enthralled by the announcer who was circulating among the six tables with a portable microphone. The announcer’s routine was to describe the wonders at the table and then hand the microphone to the vendor. The bookseller held on to the microphone for quite some time. I, of course, couldn’t understand anything. I wish there was a 0.5x button you could press to slow speakers down.

Back to the engines. Philibert took both of our engines apart, cleaning the heat exchangers, flushing the coolant loop and replacing our fuel pumps.  Volvo requires dealers, NOT owners, to do valve adjustments and injector spray tests. We have found out that Volvo engines are really Perkins parts, painted Volvo green. I am amazed at how many pieces they can be decomposed into and that they can be put back together too. Philibert couldn’t have been nicer as he responded to our questions and checked everything out.

Frank, who owns Inboard, is originally from Sweden. The garage is about a ten minute walk away from the dock space, so they have adapted a Swedish mail delivery cart for parts transport. The shop is fully stocked with a variety of parts and is the dealer for the Caribbean and Latin American region. Like kids in a candy store, we were tempted to buy one of everything.

We stayed on the dock an extra day before heading to St. Anne, so that we could travel to Fort de France to meet Krystal. We had tried to figure out when the buses run to town and came to the conclusion that they stopped at 5 or 6 pm. No problem, we’ll get a taxi. I had thought I was very smart when I checked in at Fort de France and took a photo of the taxi sign with phone numbers. I should have tried to call them then as neither number worked. No problem, we’ll thumb a ride. We have been on walks on many Caribbean islands and had cars slow down to ask us if we wanted a ride; we always refused since we enjoy our walks. Not the case in Martinique, after 45 minutes of alternate thumbs, we gave up. Hence the bad pizza. We realized we could only meet Krystal during the day.

After Case Pilote, we chose to stay at St. Anne, rather than head to the boat city that is Le Marin. St. Anne is a nice seaside village with a few good places to eat. Our friends on Receta took us to their favorite place for cocktails and croquettes and we enjoyed a few quiet nights at anchor.

Anchors, mooring balls and docks are everywhere in Le Marin. Jason drove us via dinghy from St. Anne to Le Marin. I remember it as a 15 minute ride but he says it was 45 minutes. It was definitely into the waves on the way there. The town is great if you need boat parts, but we were taking a break from boat service so there wasn’t much there for us, other than some tasty kabobs.

Onward now to St. Lucia. Once again, our AIS was a great communicator. We were spotted by our friends on El Mundo as they passed us in the opposite direction.

It was past one o’clock in the morning and I was standing on our stern steps with a flashlight beckoning a naked woman I have never met to come aboard.  While swimming, she was yelling at a guy in a dinghy “Go away, you want to kill me”.   Gail was on the VHF speaking to the Grenadian Coast Guard. How did we end up in this mess?

We were anchored in Prickly Bay on the South end of Grenada.  It is a large anchorage, popular with cruisers.  Early in the evening we had hosted friends to watch the movie “Charade” from 1963.   We had all enjoyed the movie and Two Fish went to bed to prepare for the trip East early the next morning.

A screaming noise bolted me upright. I headed to the cockpit driven by instinct and not fully awake.  It was such an odd situation that it took time to figure out what was transpiring.    Was someone in the water?  I grabbed our emergency flashlight that we always store under the helm seat and saw a woman in the water.  I asked Gail to grab the life ring.  I now could see that the swimmer was a woman and that she was being closely trailed by a man in a dinghy.  Looks like we were in the middle of a domestic squabble.   Not a good place to be.  Her illogical communication with her partner clearly indicated some form of chemical impairment.   Messy situation.

Gail had the dark thought that the two people might be enacting this as a ploy to rob us; she is a New Yorker, so tends to be suspicious.   I was focused on not letting anyone drown.   The wind was light and there were no waves, so all we had to worry about was an aquatic domestic squabble fueled by alcohol?   As she swam closer to the stern I deployed the stern ladder.   She released an exhausted burp and some more diatribe directed at her partner.   The partner was holding a short distance away and encouraging her to come aboard Two Fish.  And she did!   Wearing only panties she climbed aboard.  I went below and grabbed her a shirt and a towel.   I offered the shirt and she replied  “what is this?”.   The comedy of the moment was missing since I was genuinely concerned she might drown.  She turned down the shirt but did accept the towel.

Once aboard, she repeated herself many times – a defining characteristic of someone who got more than their fair portion of the rum bottle.  She declared that she was embarrassed to be naked.   Gail thought that the swimmer had plenty more to be embarrassed of and told her “Don’t worry, he is not looking at you.”

Gail had been busy giving the Coast Guard our details, including our Lat/Lon.   This process had taken about 10 minutes.  In the meantime, our drunk swimmer had had enough of Two Fish hospitality and decided to enter her partner’s dinghy.   This was inspired by knowing the Coast Guard were coming.   The dinghy pulled away, but after 5 seconds her fury re-ignited and she dove into the water.  Oddly, she also confessed to him how much she loved him.  We realized at that point that they were from a boat in the anchorage. The evening was not over.

We were now eager for the Coast Guard to take over.  I engaged a flashing light to help them find Two Fish.  Two nearby boats with good intentions also helped guide the Coast Guard closer to the swimmer.   Finally, the Coast Guard was on the scene and the crew of Two Fish went below to unwind.  It took a few hours to relax before we could fall asleep.

Despite our shortened sleeping time, we were in no mood to stay in the harbor for a minute longer than needed. We sailed out at daylight, hoping for more peaceful surroundings the next evening.

Lessons Learned:

1)   I was quick to judge these people at their worst.   I hope this was a one-time occurrence.  I wish them well, but will keep our distance.

2)   Good to have safety gear in fixed locations.  Light, floating ring, heaving line and knife are useful.

3)   Break up the task.  I was keeping an eye on the swimmer.  Not because she was naked!  Gail was working the VHF.

4)   The other boats were slow to help.  It was the middle of the night but it would have been great to have another boat come by in their dinghy.  Also when Gail asked for the name of the other boats speaking on the radio they would not give their name.  Odd?

Tall ship sailors used to hope for a topless mermaid to swim aboard.  I would tell them a good night’s sleep is better.

Most passages on Two Fish start when bakers and armies are at their busiest. Before the sun had risen, the crew of Two Fish was removing a sail cover, unfrapping the main halyard and turning on the chart.  We were tied to a mooring ball owned by the legendary hiking guide Sea Cat, aka Octavius.  Even though we were only staying one night, I had donned my scuba gear and rigged a back-up line in case the mooring rode failed. The back-up line was actually two docks lines connected by a double sheet bend, that was too large to pass through the concrete block’s loop.  In the 5:30am brain fog, it took a few minutes to ascertain which side of the line to bring on board first, but I remembered not to let go of either end until I had solved the puzzle.

Passages in the Caribbean are broken into two sections:  in the lee of the island and in the exposed ocean.   Gail is our captain when we are travelling in the lee and yesterday helmed for the length of Dominica.  In the lee, the wind seems random as it can quickly go from zero to thirty knots in the lee of a large mountain. The lee-side marketing guys over-promise on light air, but they do deliver on flat seas, making Gail happy.

Today’s mostly ocean passage was projected to have lumpy seas, so Gail took her Sturgeron and I prepared to do most of the passage.   Shortly after releasing the mooring ball, the main was up with a single reef.   We motored for a while in fluky winds.  It is tempting to hoist the entire inventory of sails, but a patient captain waits until clearing the end of the island, where winds can sometimes peak.   Our patience was not necessary as the breeze only rose to 18 knots.   The full genoa was unfurled, as I kept a look out for any remaining fish pots.

The passage was short but plentiful of exciting moments.   A pod of whales passed, but did not linger for a photo opportunity.  Later, dozens of white flying fish began exiting the back sides of the waves and travelling twenty yards before re-entering the water.  I presume they were in search of a breakfast of bugs.  I watched them too intently, as I should have been scanning the radar for boats.   After 15 minutes of this show, the second part of the act arrived.  Four grey birds with black markings started to circle Two Fish.  The began to play a game of who can get closest to the genoa. I think the sail blocked the sun, improving their view of the flying fish.  Moments later, I saw the breakfast-eating fish become breakfast for the birds. I watched as the fish repeatedly exited the wave only to be captured by a bird mid-flight.  I was enjoying the show much more than a Phillies game.

The breeze had freshened and I switched from auto-pilot mode to hand steering so as to take advantage of the puffs.  The autopilot can steer Two Fish very well in every condition, but hand steering is worth 0.3 knots and keeps me on my game.   In the lulls I hardened up a bit and in the puffs I bore off.   The true key to beating the autopilot is to hold the helm straight; Two Fish then tracks nicely.  If the weather helm (tendency for the boat to head up) builds, consider shortening sails and adjusting the center of effort. I grinned as the boat exceeded 10 knots in 3 foot seas.  Ten  miles from the lee of Martinique, the clouds to windward had me concerned.   A high level cloud had a dirty bottom and a low level cloud was raining.  The weather guessers had predicted squalls with 30 knot winds.  I had a full genoa and 1 reef in the main.  I warned Gail I might need a hand in a half hour; as luck would have it, we threaded the needle between the two ominous clouds.

During the day, I adjusted the sail trim a half-dozen times.  Each time I would pause my podcast.  I listened to a comedy show on NPR (“Wait Wait Don’t Tell”) and a BBC show about the many languages of Myanmar.   By the way, Myanmar is an adjective in the Myanmar language but the military government insists that Myanmar is the English name for the country.  Learning while sailing.

As the wind went aft, I decided I needed to move the jib car forward. This a ten minute process, because I need to tie a second line to the active sheet, to temporarily take the load, then adjust the car, and then carefully shift the load back. After 15 minutes the wind changed back. Repeat process and remember we are cruising not racing.

I sometimes take photos of passing boats. I then call them on the VHF radio and offer to email the photos.  Sailors love their boats and it is hard to get a shot of your boat, in its native element.  I was taking photos of an English monohull when the VHF called out “Two Fish Two Fish”.  The caller was my photographic subject.   Four years ago, a work colleague resigned.  I never knew her reasons.   Fast forward to last week’s beach BBQ and who did I see?  Amanda, the colleague from 4 years ago.  It turns out that we both left work and went sailing.   Now, a week after our chance meeting, we met again at sea.

Gail took over as we reached the lee of Martinique; I decided to take a nice hot shower and shave to prepare for landing on a French island.  Our motors were needed for the remainder of the transit.   We were headed for a small fishing village, where cruisers are not invited, as the limited anchoring is for the fisherman.  We had reserved some dock space from the Volvo mechanic.

We put the boat to bed, adjusting the fenders, putting on the sail cover, raising the aft shade, changing the courtesy flag, and covering the instruments.  As always, a bonus job appeared.  When Gail was at the helm, in the lee Martinique, the boat seem slower than what we would expect.   A quick glance at the port stern revealed a small tree had become hooked on the rudder.  I dove in and easily removed the arboreal terrorist.   No damage except the benefits of my shower were lost.

We have come to the Volvo mechanics for our 1,000 hour service.  We prefer to overdo it on maintenance.   Replacing a part while at the Volvo dealer is much easier than mid-ocean, so we have created a long chore list:  valve clearance, injector spray test and coolant flush are just of few of the tasks.   I also have a few questions.   Do I have glow plugs?  Why does the manual refer to transmission oil as reverse gear oil?

With the boat secure, and our appointment with Volvo set for the morning, we went for a short exploratory walk.   The joy of the French islands is that every village has a boulangerie.   Quiche and salad is for dinner.

And that is what a short passage day is like aboard Two Fish.

 

 

 

You don’t need to be in Dominica for too long before you learn that it has 365 rivers, 10 varieties of bananas, that the number of rings on a coconut tree indicate its age (age=#rings/2) and that a kingfisher is actually a bird, not an Indian beer. At least those are the facts that I remember. Martin (aka Providence) filled my head with many more facts as he rowed us up the Indian River. Fortunately, he canceled the test on the return trip. Our refreshment was a coconut procured from the riverbank and split open with his machete. We took the extra coconut meat home and savored it over the next few days. I have since learned that hardened cruisers travel with their own machetes. “Real Cruisers Don’t Use Knives,” may be the title of a new guide.

The mountainsides are breathtaking. Every inch seems to showcase a different plant, fighting for its piece of sunshine. They don’t need to fight too hard, as the plentiful rain – over 200 or 300 inches per year, depending on how you count it – interspersed with tropical sunshine translates into lush forests and plenty of fresh fruits and vegetables. The notable missing item on our walks has been trash-not one bit. When I asked Sea Cat, he said that people respect the land and there are huge fines if you are caught.

On our Boiling Lake hike with Sea Cat (aka Octavius) we also compared the roots of the various trees, some shooting out from what seems like the middle of a tree trunk to provide extra support in the muddy ground.

I tried to at least keep my shoelaces dry as we hiked to the Valley of Desolation en route to Boiling Lake, but we renamed it the Valley of Desperation as our feet sank into the fresh mud. Every time we encountered a stream, we washed off our shoes, only to be greeted at the next step with more

squishy mud. It was well worth it. In the Valley, Sea Cat ran ahead and dropped some eggs in the boiling vent. Eight minutes later, we had our snack of freshly boiled eggs. It was a good follow on to the iced rum punch but the best food was yet to come. On arrival at Boiling Lake, after 4 hours of hiking, we were treated to a feast of salted fish, fresh bread, salad and fried plantains. We were stopped on our drive home by a very irate looking bull, who was tied to a post by the side of the road but had decided to wander out to block it. We were liberated by a brave (or ignorant?) pedestrian who tugged on the bull’s tether, giving the bull an alternate target to charge at. We didn’t stay to watch the end of the story.

We led our own hike up and down through

the muddy mountains; only one wrong turn for a pleasurable walk up a river bed and only two wipe-outs in the muddy ground by me. Upon exiting the trail, we arrived in the close-by town of Picard, notable for Ross University,

Dominica’s medical school. Every island seems to have a US accredited medical school. I had previously thought that the industry was owned by St. George’s in Grenada. (The student’s rescued by Reagan)

Our intro to the island was completed with a van tour that we shared with some charterers from the UK. At that point, they were on their second monohull as the first one had the propellor fall off. They

were finally settling in. They later emailed us an update-on the return trip their engine had caught fire. The charter company sent a third boat to Guadeloupe and they made it back to Antigua without further incident. Every so often, our guide on the tour would pull the van over, get out and tear off a bit of something growing on the side of the road. We tasted the pungent bay leaves and cinnamon tree bark. On other stops, we were expected to exit the van and explore a bit. He was very quiet, so it was always a surprise which kind of stop he was making.

Like many cruisers, we spent most of our time anchored in Portsmouth, as the local businessmen have created an umbrella association to provide services to cruisers. The island is not as entrenched in the tourist industry as other islands. In the BVI, cruisers

are a dime a dozen and on Antigua the holiday cottages provide the work and revenue. We were treated well but weren’t very crucial to their income.

Dominica has embraced the cruiser community and they are core to many small businesses. Many years ago, a cruising guide had given a bad review to the island, after the writer had been harassed while anchored there. Then Chris Doyle, who authors the Two Fish preferred Caribbean Cruising guides, decided to investigate it for himself. He found welcoming people and he worked with them to institute a set of services in Portsmouth and to put out a new message. Add to that the travel and food writing by Receta (Embarrassment of Mangoes and Spice Necklace), and more cruisers decided to see for themselves. Enter a google search now for cruising in Dominica and you will find blog after blog of only superlatives. Lastly, Active Captain, entered and used by cruisers worldwide has now democratized the review dissemination process so that one bad experience doesn’t carry as much weight. We were fortunate enough to overlap in our time there with both supporters of the island and to hear in person the good words they had to say.

Back to the association. Mostly, they help with setting up and leading tours and tying up to mooring balls. Each operator has a well marked fishing boat painted with distinct colors and their business or boat name. As you approach the island, one of them will motor up to you to help. Usually, if we are in a good anchoring spot, we prefer anchoring to a mooring ball. Good-intentioned mooring operators may not inspect the lines regularly and boats drifting away from their moorings are not a happy site. Here, we wanted to avail ourselves of the local services so we tied up to a ball. As is now customary on Two Fish, Jason immediately put on his scuba tank and dove the mooring, including attaching a back-up line to the concrete block.

In Portsmouth, the local guides host a weekly cruisers BBQ, where you can feast on local fish and chicken along with the rum punch. Actually, our favorite drink on Dominica was the fresh-squeezed grapefruit juice.

Jason has often returned to the boat after a swim to inform me of the nice couple on the next boat that he has invited over for drinks. In Portsmouth, he outdid himself and invited 12 people. I guess he lost count but Two Fish can handle it. We may not have had the best provisions but the visitors forgave us and stayed for a few hours anyway.

We feasted on lots of fresh cucumbers, peppers and tomatoes, locally-caught tuna and other goodies from the weekly market. For our second breakfast, we tried the plantain sandwich – a grilled plantain stuffed with salted fish salad. Quite good.

On our final day in Dominica, we sailed to Roseau, where we tied up to one of Sea Cat’s mooring balls, aided by Marcus from the neighboring Marine Center. Did I mention that Titus helped us out in Portsmouth? Octavius, Marcus, Titus. Next time, I will try to meet more Roman-named people.

Portsmouth was also a fantastic spot for rain collection. The Antares cockpit roof has special gulleys and two stainless pipes on the end for collecting rainwater. We used quick-connects to hook up our hoses and were able to harvest at least 20 gallons. Very useful for wash-downs of scuba gear.

As we were leaving, we realized that we were in Dominica for1 ½ weeks with no boat projects! We are learning.

 

 

 

We spent most of our time underwater or on top of a mountain so this post is just photos.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Sailors always have an ear open for sounds, listening for a warning that there is a problem with the boat.  Has part of the bridle failed, is another anchored boat touching our hull, is a water pump running, is a sail not stowed properly? The benefit of this audio monitoring system, aka worrying, is that I am more attuned to sounds than I was in Manhattan.  In NYC, you gain the skill of blocking out sirens, church bells, garbage trucks and Saturday night drunks.  Here are some sounds I have heard in our current bay in Dominica.

I always feel a bit like a pariah of the hard core cruising society when I admit that I like modern conveniences. I enjoy the romantic notions of setting out on the open sea to explore new places, but I also enjoy it when we find a place that has a bit of both worlds. I found this in Antigua.

Our arrival into Antigua was welcome as Jason had single-handed it overnight from St Barts in the worst transit since we had first set off with Two Fish. We were excited to see Zooropa, another Antares, for the first time and we anchored 100 meters astern of her. Ian and Philipa had been in Antigua for a couple of weeks, so were well-versed in all the ins and outs; this was especially nice, given our general lack of energy at that point.

Jolly Harbour was one of my favorite anchorages, because it is so large that most boats find their own patch of sand, keeping my heart rate down. Especially at this time of year, a lot of the anchorages are a bit

too crowded for my taste.  Monsieur Captain, why do you need to be 5 meters away from me? Can’t you see I am giving you the “don’t anchor there” glare? It was an easy

dinghy ride to the fuel dock to purchase some oil for our engines. We couldn’t find our Volvo brand so instead bought Shell Rimula 4X; the VDS-3 on the label meant it was okay for our engines.

Ian and Philipa took us on an awesome hike near English Harbour – dramatic vistas and interesting flora. English Harbour contains Nelson’s Dockyard and there are a few commercial enterprises and a museum capitalizing on the association. However, Nelson was only there for three years, before his famous career accomplishents. If you believe the history books, he found it a bit of a bore.

We were intrigued by a non-Nelson interesting fact we learned from some vacationing Brits; there is a BBC series called Death in Paradise that is filmed in Guadeloupe, our next island. We made a note to track down some episodes (available on Netflix).

We enjoyed the quiet bay and another fun hike along the mountain ledge back to Falmouth Harbour. The official Antigua trails are easy to follow because someone has painted white spots on the rocks every 20 meters or so to keep you on the right trail. See, civilization is not such a bad thing.

Once we had mastered the white spot trails, we decided to branch out on our own and climb to the not-so-

popular Mt McNish, where the radio tower of the Observer radio station is based. Interesting items spotted along the way were multiple donkeys and aggressive looking cows (they still had their horns). As we approached the summit, I thought I could detect the

distinct odor of recently applied citronella bug spray. However, the two radio tower maintenance guys, who had raced up the somewhat steep track in their jeep, pointed out the fields of lemon grass that they were harvesting for their tea. On the way home, some of the horned cattle and donkeys had decided to graze on the path. Being the animal expert, I told Jason to follow my lead. Later, he asked me what my plan would have been, if they had charged us. I told him it was to run;  he responded, “I could have thought of that myself”.

We weighed anchor and sailed over to Falmouth Harbour. We decided not to anchor in nearby English Harbour for a few reasons. First, the lack of breeze in the bay was known to result in bumper boats with every boat following its own float pattern. Second, the holding was supposed to be just okay, but not great. Lastly, one had to also avoid large chains that had been fastened on the sea floor. When the old English sailing ships used to enter the harbor, they would hook their anchors on these chains as a way of staying attached. This might have looked like a slow motion version of fighter jets landing on aircraft carriers.

We watched a few Lasers racing in the harbor, and when we were ashore, stopped at the Antigua Yacht Club. The people there were super-nice and for a modest charge, Jason signed up for a monthly membership, which allowed him to take a Laser out and participate in the weekly racing. The Yacht Club restaurant also served iced teas and salads – can’t ask for much more than that. We saw Phaedo 3 at the dock. The last time that we saw her, she was racing past St Maarten at 37 knots.

Just a few hours away from Falmouth Harbour, we found one of those perfect, sometimes elusive spots. Nonsuch bay is a quiet, protected anchorage with beautiful water and snorkeling. We picked up a mooring ball and immediately spotted “Seabattical”, another Antares, not too far away.  Our neighboring boat housed

expert kite surfers and we enjoyed watching them foil across the flat waters. Some day I will try that. We saw a few megayachts in the distance and once again wondered what their life was like. A few clues: they were dinghied to the snorkeling beach along with coolers and umbrellas; they seemed to have a VHF that you could talk into and lunch would instantly appear; and, they had no motor oil stains on their clothes.

On our further afield trips from Jolly Harbour, we took a few local taxis. On an early morning drive with Gene, he was listening to the radio. A bit sad as the local broadcast was airing condolences and funeral parlour ads. More commonly, the radio would be airing the local minister. There are many churches on Antigua; they are mostly small community buildings except for the Seventh Day Adventists who hold services under large tents, accommodating several hundred people. On Emancipation Day, 1st August 1834, the churches were the main gathering spot for celebrations. We enjoyed a history lesson at the Museum of Antigua and Barbuda, and gawked at the giant statue of the first Prime Minister, but we found St. Johns to be a bit crowded with Cruise Ship shopping sprawl.

We also drove by the Antigua Cricket Grounds, “Sir Richard Vivian Stadium”, known as “The Viv.”  Of course, some of you might be more familiar with the old Alan Stanford stadium that hosted the 20/20 West Indies match right before his pyramid scheme came tumbling down. Unfortunately, the winning team was forced to hold their prize money in his fraudulent bank and they lost it all.

 

I enjoyed my cooking class  at Nicole’s Table. I even brought home a few leftovers for Jason. I am looking forward to making Coconut Chips. If you

want to try it yourself, just find a dried coconut, cut it in half and remove the hull. Then make shavings using a vegetable peeler and bake them in the oven for about 20 minutes at 350 degrees F, turning every so often. Salt generously and enjoy.

 

We spent over two weeks in Antigua and we still had a list of “must do’s” that we did not do including golf, climbing Mt Obama (previously known as Boggy Peak). As they say, “We’ll be back.”

 

 

My passport has twice been brought to the US State Department to have pages added because of my business travels.  However, on these trips, I never really saw the countries I visited.  I became an expert in airport lounges, taxis, business hotels and how to get to the office.  Lesson #24: Do not cross the eight lane highway in Moscow that is between the Swiss hotel and my office, unless you like to play human frogger.  Similarly, many of our cruising experiences keep us isolated from island life.  We know which anchorages are lined with anchor-fighting grass and which beaches make for dangerous dinghy landings because of breaking waves.  We meet locals when they drive us in their cabs or feed us in their restaurants. As the sun sets, we return to Two Fish and the locals head inland to their homes, churches and chicken BBQs.  Sailing South, we change countries every week and chant the typical cruising refrain, “We are going too fast”.  Are we doing the middle-age equivalent of a ten day, nine country tour of Europe?  “Ladies and gentleman that is Switzerland and on the left there is France.   Soon we will be in Spain where they speak Spanish.”

It takes a bit of guts and some luck to meet the locals.  Sometimes they can be taken aback when you reach out.  Sometimes they are trying to sell you something, not trying to meet you.  But remove your NYC veneer and you might see something through someone else’s eyes.  I did, for a brief time in Montserrat.

 

For this story, you will need to understand a bit of geology.   There are two types of volcano eruptions. There is the Hawaiian style, in which lava flows out of the volcano like a river.  This is dangerous, but predicable in its path of destruction.   The second is pyroclastic, in which the volcano’s dome grows in size over a period of years, venting off sulfur, dust and a few rocks traveling at speeds which are unsuitable for the Autobahn.   In 1995, Montserrat’s seemingly dormant volcano changed classification and started attracting geologists.  The Soufriere’s hill grew to be the highest point on the island and the capital town of Plymouth became an excellent vantage point for watching the nighttime pyrotechnics.   Authorities from the Montserrat Volcano Observatory created exclusion zones to protect people from harm. Some residents did not comply with the rules because they needed to tend crops and herd cattle and were uncomfortable moving into a government shelter.  Sadly, economics drove their decision to stay.  And for two years they enjoyed a few close calls but no real impediments.  That ended on 18 July 1997 when half of the mountain charged to the sea.  Nineteen people died.

As I listened to the story of the volcano, I felt empathy for those that lost their homes. A large percentage of Montserrat locals own homes and this is their primary asset.   As the volcano expanded, its path of destruction grew.  First a dusting of ash, then red hot twenty foot boulders and finally complete burial by ash and rock.  Their entire neighborhood was gone.  Their life’s work.  Their most valuable asset.  Their retirement plan.  They would move in with in-laws, cousins, or live on a floor at a primary school.  The English helped their overseas territory by constructing red-roofed temporary housing but the impact of the volcano has changed people’s lives forever.

The people of Montserrat carry two passports, Montserrat and the UK.  More than half of the residents left their lives on the Island and searched for a new life in the UK.  Manchester, Plymouth, Birmingham and London.   Younger residents left in droves to pursue a different life in the UK while they parents were left behind on the ash covered island.  The immigrants could no longer go to the beach at a whim and had to own winter jackets.  The transition was tough on many people.  On island, they had known everyone. Now they were just another anonymous tube passenger.

I eavesdropped on a conversation between a man who had stayed and a woman who had left.  The female leaver had moved to the UK in the late 90’s and was back in Montserrat visiting family.

The man asked  “How is your brother doing”

She responded “He died… back in 2010”

The man was slow to respond   “We did not know that.  I am sorry to hear”

She went on to tell the story “We went by his house in February to tell him we were going out of town for two weeks.  No one answered the door, so we left a note.  We assumed he was away for a few months on one of his faraway jobs as we still did not hear from him when we returned.   But then, when the weather warmed, a neighbor complained of smell and that is when we found the dead body.”

The man was in shock.  “That should not happen to anybody.   How can you go a month without seeing someone.  Or a week.  Or even a day.”

He stopped for a bit as he did not want to seem judgmental  “You know you guys should have never left Montserrat as people would miss you after 24 hours.  I remember your brother well.   We would go diving near the airport for lobsters and spear fish.   He was the best at holding his breath.”

 

I always have the utmost respect for economic refugees.   People who leave something for absolutely nothing.  They had a life and a house in their old country but board a plane for a new land with different customs and little money, if any. Half of the island people had to do this in the late 90’s.  Many flourished in the UK, but some returned to be part of the rebuilding process of Montserrat.    We went a few times to The Attic for vegetable roti.  On the final visit I asked the owner about the name of the restaurant, “Why is it called The Attic when it is a one story building.?”   She replied that her original restaurant was in the attic of a tall building in Plymouth, the former capital.  She clearly missed Plymouth but covered up her loss with a joke about her customers preferring that her new location has fewer stairs.  But her new location has different clientele. The old location drew the downtown crowd, while her new location is near the American expats.  The Americans try become part of the island but they speak of their stateside condominiums and how to get cheap flights back to the states.   The Americans will not use the greeting “Wa Gwan” which is short for “what is going on?”

 

In addition to the psychological and physical impacts, the financial impact was devastating. Many of the homes were insured, but the insurance company went bankrupt faster than a boulder traveling down the hillside.  The bank also went under.  The government banned access to the southern half of the island.   This left the home owners owning property they could not use, insurance that would not pay and owing money on mortgage to a bank that no longer existed.  I asked a few people how they navigated this broken financial system.   Most were patient and survived the crisis. They were not required to pay on their mortgage and the government allowed them to keep the deed on their ash buried property.   The home is not habitable, but, when the volcano becomes dormant their children’s children can return.  If you are working with volcanoes, you must think multi-generational.

Some industrious islanders bought new land and over the next decade built new homes.  Never a replacement, but it would do.   Villages such as St Patrick’s and Kinsale were gone forever.   Residents of these destroyed villages were spread out across the northern region.  Your neighbors, who you used to see ten times per day, were no longer a regular part of your life.   The government entered the real estate market.   The prime minister used eminent domain to buy a parcel of land from a mega-large land owner.    The government gave the land owner 13 million dollars, but he is suing for more money.   I asked about the land owners background, as his behavior seemed very anti-social in such a small island.   He lives on island full time, but his poor behavior was attributed to spending his teenage years in the States

The government also built houses just for young couples to make sure the island would not run out of children.  This has stemmed some of the emigration.

 

I heard another sad story of someone who had left the island before the volcano had become active.  He worked long and hard off-island.  He built a wonderful hillside home but just before move-in day it was destroyed.  He never slept a night inside.  He has given up on the dream of returning home and is staying Stateside.

 

By early 2000, the mountain had grown to new heights and the geologists at the MVO (Montserrat Volcano Observatory) told the government that the airport might be in jeopardy.  Airport employees were drilled on a facility evacuation plan, which to the non-volcanologist the escape plan might seem to be a waste of time. They realized that the switchback road out of the airport was inefficient by bus. Instead, they parked the bus after the switchbacks and asked everyone to run across a field to the bus, reducing evacuation time by five minutes.   They also told staff to leave everything behind when the alarm was sounded.   Fortunately, everyone was listening during training because six months later traveling at over 90 miles per hour, a wall of boiling rock and ash covered the airport.   The staff left five minutes before the airport was covered.  The airport is buried for eternity and is the gateway to the newest land’s end on the island.   Now the island would need a new airport and a new port for ships.

 

The rock slides have created five additional square miles of land which is a big increase on a thirty-nine square mile island.   There are brand new jet black beaches, a rare beauty, but remember to wear flip flops for protection against the hot sand.  Emigration has slowed and the tide is turning.  The new airport is up and running and ferry terminal pier can accept commercial shipments.

 

We watched the primary school games in which the five schools compete in a day of track and field. The enthusiasm for the days games could be seen from our far away perch.   We later listened to the final event, the tug of war, on the local radio.  Graves School won the tug of war and was overall champion for the fifth time in a row.  The bright future for the island can be seen on the playing fields.

 

 

Small businesses are recovering.  I visited a local hair salon located conveniently across from the airport.   The proprietor had owned a similar shop in Plymouth and after the volcano moved to the new airport.  She also owns that adjacent “Last Chance Trinket Shop”.   She was unsuccessful at cross selling my haircut with a snow globe. I left with little hair. I might have been her first customer with straight hair and I think she would say it was a learning experience.

 

 

Our guide, Scriber, is obsessed with the local oriole.  Neither Gail nor I are much into the sport of birding, but respected his enthusiasm. I did enjoy seeing the part-lizard part-snake creature.   Gail’s reaction was more dramatic as the creature ran up her leg.  They say animals are more scared of you than you are of the animals.  In this case I can clearly testify Gail was more scared.  I thought I could hear the creature say something under his breath  “Come on, I am only a reptile, not a great white shark”.   Gail shook her leg violently to remove the cold-blooded friend but he was able to stay attached for a few seconds.  In the reptile world, this is the equivalent of riding the bronco.    Scriber, who had previously lived in St. Patrick’s, has multiple jobs, a common occurrence on the islands.  He is a forest ranger, tourist guide, environmental radio personality and a member of the Caribbean birding society.   Both of his adult sons live in the UK.  His new house is a solidly built home on a nice plot of land with space for his dogs, chickens and goats. Both sides of his family came over as slaves.  He never revealed his marital status, religion or education. However, he skillfully educated us on forest almonds, rubber trees, snakes and Montserrat history.   There might have been a few embellishments, but Scriber is a person whose presence makes the island of Montserrat a better place to visit and, I dare say, live.

Montserrat has a mentally ill guy who also drinks too much.  He spends his day selling a few coconuts he has gathered in the forest.  His business does not have brisk sales. In his ample free time he observes the traffic on the great north road, which is the only artery for the island.   After our third pass of the nut salesman’s location without buying he said, “F– off Scriber”.   Scriber was slightly taken back but was able to recover and replied, “Have a good day”.

 

I have not covered nearly enough of the interesting tapestry of Montserrat.  Curious readers will wonder why St Patrick’s Day is a government holiday or how the artist who wrote “Hot Hot Hot” spent his royalties on the island.  May be the key to understanding Montserrat is to slow your clock down.  Stop thinking in years, and like our friend Sciber, start to think in generations.  Stop thinking in generations and start think in geological time.   In 400 years, the volcano will most likely be dormant and the black sandy beaches will be a jewel in the Caribbean.   You might want to buy some land today for your descendants.

 

The island of St. Bart’s brings visions of high-end Caribbean lifestyles with a French flair.  I was eager to Med moor and hop off the stern, greeted by a pain au chocolat.  We found something else when we arrived, and I think it was better.  This has not been a season of smooth seas and many anchorages have been infested with annoying swell, which disturbs our slumber. “Swell is the collection of waves moving away from a storm in the ocean. Although the waves will all be of different size and power and heading in slightly different directions we can tend to talk about averages of all these waves as one discreet swell.”

We made landfall in St. Barts at Anse de Colombier , a marine park.   The marine park has mooring balls so that cruisers don’t damage the sea grass with their anchors.  Most cruisers grab the free mooring balls, but some boats insist on anchoring close to the beach.  Fortunately, the upfront anchoring does not ruin the full habitat so there are plenty of sea turtles swimming in the bay.

 

When we first arrived, we took one of the few open balls, but at 4pm a huge boat dance began; Thirty percent of the boats sailed away and another thirty percent, including us, upgraded their positions.  We lost in a stare down competition to a mono hull for our first choice, but we were very happy with our consolation prize ball.

The next day we made our way to the “big city” of Gustavia to check in.  The distance between high tide and the cliff face is narrow so instead of leaving the dingy to float away, we concocted an alternate plan.  I ferried Gail to shore on the dinghy along with the delicate ship’s papers and passports.   I then motored back to Two Fish and raised the dinghy. Next, I dove into the sea for a 15 minute swim to shore.  Gail greeted me with a towel and dry clothes.

 

An asset of this anchorage is that the closest road is reached after a 25 minute hike.  The hike offers beautiful vistas of the windward side of the island with its unforgiving, pounding surf.   We almost never anchor on the western side of an island as it offers the full force of the sea.  At the end of the hike, there is a quaint hotel.  We spoke with the owner as we waited for a cab to arrive.   His family used to own the entire property that we had just hiked, but they sold it to the Rockefellers years ago.  Our cab driver was a graduate of the French school of race car driving but to my surprise did not send us over the cliffs to our deaths or crush one of the many slow moving land based turtles on the roads.

 

Gustavia is full of mega yachts, great dining and high-end shops.   The promised beautiful people are only in town for high season so we rubbed elbows with the moderately attractive stands-ins.  We failed on a true St Barts experience because we did not wake up with a champagne hangover.

 

Anse de Colombier has no beach bar, no shop and no wifi.  You are not alone but it feels more like the magazine ads in Cruising World.  The sea grass revival attracts my favorite marine creatures, the sea turtles.  The bay also has plenty of starfish which to the starfish’s chagrin seems to attract topless French sunbathers, who like to pick them up.  I could hear the starfish screaming – look, do not touch.  The breeze was blowing 20 knots in the anchorage but the waves were small.  We had found paradise and swam a few times a day.   A few mega yachts had left Gustavia and joined us in the marine park.  I noticed that when a mega yacht passenger got out of the water the staff anticipated the swimmer and had the outdoor shower running before the first foot exited the water.   If you visit us, we will try to offer this service on Two Fish.

 

We have recently started a new practice when using mooring balls.  We attach a line via rolling hitch underneath the ball.  This way if the ball or pennant fails we will still be attached.  After instituting the policy we heard of two other Antares that broke free of their balls.  No damage done but it surely has encouraged our new policy. I sleep better on anchor but we use balls to help the turtles.

 

On our second day in the anchorage the breeze had become gusty and several boats were struggling to pick up their mooring balls.  I hopped into One Fish to help them.  My technique is to attach the dinghy to the ball, then grab the pennant in my left hand while catching the line from the boat in my right hand.  The third step is to pass the line through the pennant and hand it back to their crew.   Finally, I detach my dinghy painter and motor away.  I helped an American boat with a 90 year old owner who is still game on.  He has crew to help but still snorkels and does plenty of boat work.   I find it tiring and I am a few years younger.  We also helped a Dutch boat pick up a ball after they failed on the first few attempts.  Later in the day I invited the two boats over for drinks.  Good stories were swapped and the Dutch brought tasty popcorn while the 90 year old brought wine much younger than himself.

 

 

Time passed and a weather window looked to be opening for a passage from St Barts to Antigua.  The wind was forecast to be in thelow 20s and the seas 8 feet. Both on the nose.  Before casting off, we had to make another trip to Gustavia to check out of the country.  If the paperwork seem pointless, you can skip it all together BUT we did see a boat that tried this strategy get boarded by the French Coast Guard.  At the St. Barts prison, they serve day old croissants.  For checking out, we chose to walk the entire trip, about 2 hours.   The up hills encouraged blood circulation but the down hills were hell.   The road narrowed and two cars could barely fit so pedestrians seem destined to become hood ornaments.   We made it alive but vowed to return by cab.

The reward for adversity in St Bart is the key boulangerie that supplies much of the island.  It was high on a hillside near the airport and frequented by the local repairman who immigrated from France.   Clients can be a good culinary indicator (Avoid the shops catering to cruise ships). We bought bread, quiche and of course the Pain au Chocolat I had dreamed of many years ago.

 

We slipped our lines at 6pm and set our sails in the shadow of the island.   I decided on one reef in the main and one reef in the genoa so that we would not arrive before sunrise in Antigua.  Gail went off to bed shortly after we got under way.   We chatted a bit through the cabin hatch as we passed Gustavia.  It had become dark so I had to pay attention to the traffic coming in and out of the port.  Dodge starboard for a tug with side to barge, dodge port for a huge anchored schooner and ease back to starboard to avoid fuel terminal buoys.   Usually, I head straight offshore to avoid other boats but I wanted to enjoy the smooth waves for as long as St Barts offered protection.  An hour later, the breeze peaked at 27 knots and we entered a washing machine that did not stop for the next 12 hours.  The trip was our worst since owning the boat.  Gail was green and despite trying very hard could only spell me for 20 minutes.  After 6 hours of being on the non-amusement park ride I hove to for 15.  The genoa had two reefs and the main one reef.  It did not take long for the boat to find the right balance and she gently drifted downwind.  Slightly refreshed I soldiered on.   To add to the bumpy ride, I was frequently having to check the bilge since I was getting a bilge alarm.  I do not ignore bilge alarms but on the 15^th visit I sure was tired and annoyed.   Hanging upside down in the bilge tasting the water to see if it was fresh or sea is not a bonus.  I will need to extend the anti siphon loop on the bilge as I think water was entering in the gruesome seas.   Gail was a major hero as the short spell gave me the power to finish up the trip.  As we got closer, the sun came over the horizon and hope returned.   We entered Jolly Harbour to see our friends on Zooroopa, an Antares built two hulls after Two Fish.   There was a huge open spot ideal for anchoring right behind them.  The anchor set on the first time in the white sand.

 

Even as I write this, I am forgetting how bad the trip had been.   It is amazing how a sailor has the ability to forget the bad and embrace the good.   St Barts was definitely good bread, good people and good swimming.  The crew of Two Fish are working on 2016 plans and we will announce the plan soon.  Well, as soon as we have decided the plan.

 

PS:  You may notice that the pictures in this post look a little out of focus.  Our camera has died.  We have a back up, so the blog will continue but we are eager to reach a camera shop (aka Amazon).

 

 

The Caribbean Islands, also called the West Indies, have many names that confuse me.  Anguilla and Antigua, as well as Barbuda and Barbados, are names that sound alike but are far afield from each other.  Saba Island is not the bar in the BVI known as Saba Rock.  There is more than one Georgetown, and a couple of Marigot Bays, so you might want to keep  your chartplotter on during shoreside conversations with other cruisers.   We visited Saint Martin, or was it Sint Maarten?  Those similar names are the French and Dutch names for parts of the same island. The island was sawed in half in 1648 and controlled as colonies of Holland and France.  The Dutch got a smaller portion, but with more productive salt ponds.

 

Today, St. Maarten has the lowest import duties in the Caribbean and has become a hub for boat repair.  It also offers sailors plenty of cheap booze, large docks for mega-yachts and other activities outside the coverage of this blog.  It has car dealerships, malls, box stores, Ace hardware and small traffic jams.  In St Maarten’s major bay (Simpson) you are never far away from a night club’s thumping bass.   Two Fish went there for the flat water of the lagoon and to buy a few spare parts.

 

 

We docked the boat in the Cupecoy Marina, deep into the Lagoon.  The marina offers a deluxe service in which a pilot boat greets you at the bridge and guides you into the marina.  The service is more appropriate for mega-yachts, but we enjoyed the over-the-top service for our little boat.  Docking there is tricky in a strong breeze and the very competent port captain, Guy, helps some owners park their boats.   We enjoyed his dinghy-as-bow-thruster service as an extra precaution.  The marina is not sheltered.  Instead it is at the end of a wind funnel creating discomfort in the outside visiting slips during strong trade winds.  However, shore side life in the complex was very comfortable.  Huge pool, nice gym, a great French supermarket and friendly live-aboards made our stay wonderful. The marina would be considered rural St. Maarten; we were happy to be away from the tacky night clubs.  We chose the marina rather than anchoring to make it easier to work on the boat.  But first, it was off to have some fun.

The must do thing on the island is to put you self in harms way near planes taking off and landing.  The runway abuts a beach and thrill seekers hang on to the airport fence while receiving a jet blast.  We timed our visit to enjoy the largest landing, a KLM widebody.  I found the experience underwhelming but it was a fun way to spend an hour.  The area was a complete zoo as the cruise ships had exported their cargo, the hotels had shuttled their guests, and a few wayward cruisers added themselves to the mix.  There are clearly more people watching the planes than using the airport.

We explored Marigot Bay, in the heart of the French side of the island.  The wind, which I will complain about a few times in this post, was hooting for our entire visit.  Twenty-two knots most of the time, with puffs over thirty.  We have had these persistent trade winds since before our departure from the BVI.  We thought Marigot Bay might be calmer, but monohulls and catamarans were sailing on their anchor chains.  The random puffs coming down the hill would push them askew from the prevailing wind.  Then the uncomfortable process of equalization would occur.  We watched this tiring battle from a café before beginning our ascent of the local fort.  This fort stopped the English from stealing French goods in St Martin.  The commandant boasted that not one single French coffee bean was stolen after the fort was constructed.  I often wonder how different this region would have been if the Europeans had arrived after the abolishment of slavery and the industrialization of agriculture.  We will never know.

Gail’s trusty watch finally died from excessive salt water inhalation.   The glow-in-the-dark Timex with cloth band had served her well.  So we went to the mall. We had not seen a mall since Florida.   The Blue Mall seemed like a project that was destined to fail.   It is four stories of modern mall with enough foot traffic to keep a small bodega in business.   We did our part to keep the mall open by buying a Swatch and  a running shirt.  We learned later that cab drivers are paid 2 dollars per passenger they drop off at the mall.  We had walked.

While there, we met some new friends who were on a Voyager brand catamaran.  I marvel at these boats since they have a bar that extends from the aft portion on the boom for raising the dinghy.   I suppose you learn to trust the construction but I prefer our traditional dinghy arch.  The four of us decided to visit Loterie Farm, which charges 5 euros to go for a hike on the property.  The goal of the hike is to visit a cell phone tower situated at a local geographic maximum.  Caribbean hikes offer many views of radio, microwave and cell phone towers.  The hike was a bit below average in terms of beauty, which matched our opinion of much of St Martin.  We liked it, but did not love it.

St. Martin has two drawbridges, which is unusual since the rest of the Caribbean has about zero. Some charts don’t yet show the second one in the middle of the bay so it is good to keep your eyes open. After 18 months, we are no longer complete rookies. Our Inter Coastal Waterway experience gave us plenty of drawbridge practice, so we passed through like pros, usually the foundation for an upcoming monumental mistake.   Ten days later, while leaving St Martin, we saw a charter cat floundering as it exited.  We were following behind her closely and the bridge operator sent out a boat to scold her for transiting too slowly.  This only slowed her further.   The captain was propelling the boat at drift speed close to the leeward side of the bridge, causing me to assume he would bump the bridge.  But luck was on the charter boat’s side, as the breeze stayed calm while the bridge operator boiled over.

The Heineken Regatta, one of the big Caribbean sailing events, took place during our stay.  Kool and the Gang flew in from the USA as the featured band for the party.  This headliner was not enough to have us leave the cocoon of our marina compound.  Instead we opted for outdoor movie night.

We did see Phaedo 3 race by us going faster than the cars on the island.  Her top speed for the race was 38 knots.  Imagine if Two Fish traveled at that speed; overnight passages would be over in 3 hours.

We left St Martin on the last day of racing and I enjoyed threading through the fleet to reach St Barts.  The low point of the visit was a customs official with a tip jar.  How is that possible?  However, I think I gave St Maarten a bum rap because the wind made life aboard in the wind tunnel marina a bit annoying.

Skills builder

We are always experimenting and learning about securing Two Fish in a Marina.  Marinas are tougher than anchorages since the boat is prevented from floating naturally and there are plenty of fiberglass eating surfaces.  Here are some of the basics we have learned

1 )  Two Fish is never tied up with fewer than 4 dock lines.  A stern line, a mid to stern spring, a mid to bow spring and a bow line.   The spring lines retard fore and aft movements while the bow and stern retard the boat turning.

2) Gentle line angles and longer lines will reduce the load on the boats chocks and cleats.  The boat has ten cleats offering a myriad of clever ways to tie up the boat.  In the strong breeze in St. Martin, we had two bow lines.   The bow farther from the dock was set to hold much of the load.

3) Winches make great cleats. Often we may wish to get the stern close for loading on provisions.  But later, we ease the line to allow the boat to float more naturally away from the dock.  Instead of cleating, we just leave it on the winch.

4)  Fenders can be hung vertically by one line or horizontally by two lines.  The latter is key if the dock has pilings protruding into the slip.

5) In tidal places the length of all dock lines should be 3 times the tide height.

 

Here is the rundown of our boat labor.  Stop reading now if you like the travel stuff but find the technical boat stuff a bit boring.  Be honest-do you think I can drone on about boat things?

 

Job#1:  Fix bridle

 

The Antares has a great bridle which is permanently fixed at the water line. While in Aguilla, I (Jason), installed the bridle with twist.   After 6 hours in a stiff breeze, the bridle ate itself and failed. (click here to read post) The boat stayed on location, but was held by the anchor lock.   This put us in the market for a new bridle. One could say we were motivated buyers.  We did not choose to splice our own and hired the services of FKG marine. We followed our typical rule.  If anything breaks, buy two, one to replace and one as a spare.   In this case our spare is designed to be operated at deck level for flexibility.  We have decided that when leaving the boat at anchor in a strong breeze we will deploy both bridles.    The deck bridle is superior when you wish to make adjustments for particular conditions.  (Short bridle for shallow anchorages where the bridle is being rubbed on the seabed and a skewed bridle for swell coming for a direction other than head to wind.)

 

As an aside the guy next to Gail was ordering 25,000 dollars worth of work for his boat but he had to wait for us to finish up our 100 dollar order.

 

Job #2:  Replace raw water pump

We have 1,000 hours on our engines and the raw water pump bearings had started to fail, allowing a small amount of sea water to enter the bilge.  We were extravagant and installed new pumps rather than rebuild the old ones.  We will now rebuild the old pumps and keep them as spares.  Remember the Two Fish rule: buy two.   When picking up our spare parts from the local dealer we noticed that the entire shop floor was covered with broken sail drives.  We consider ourselves lucky not to have sail drives.  It is also worthwhile to have a gear extractor when changing out the raw water pump.  Supposedly, you can buy a 100 mm at any auto parts store.