They aren’t kidding when they say the BVI is the Chartering capitol of the world! The number of charter boats running here, there, and everywhere is astounding, most anchorages are crowded, and moorings are $25.-$30/night. Fortunately, we were able to anchor all but three nights during our stay, and we did find some quiet, out of the way anchorages. There is no doubt that the islands are stunningly beautiful: the mountains are high, the water clear, the beaches lovely, the trade winds steady for sailing, and you don’t have to wait for good weather to move between anchorages or harbours because everything’s in such close proximity. We never had to raise the mainsail. Why would we bother when we could just unfurl the headsail (sometimes only part way) and still be doing 6 to 7 knots downwind. The downside is that when the trades are their usual 15-20 knots, you have an uncomfortable ride if you have to beat upwind into the wind, chop and swells. To put this in perspective, on Lake Ontario most sailors head for the dock when it gets up to 15 knots, and at 20 knots the lake’s practically devoid of sails. Here everyone’s out, the boats heeling right over to their rails, rushing between islands, and racing each other through the anchorages to grab mooring balls. People snorkel here trailing fenders or dive flags, because the anchorages are so crazy. Fun sailing, though!
We checked into the BVI at Great Harbour on Jost Van Dyke, planning to spend a couple of weeks in the BVI. It seems that every place I go, I think, “This is my favourite!” and JVD was no exception. Great Harbour has managed to take advantage of tourism while retaining an unspoiled atmosphere. The village along the beach is well maintained and more prosperous looking than most, and even the back streets don’t look quite as seedy or poverty stricken as some. We were able to anchor our first night, even though the harbour was crowded with moorings. The next day we went around the headland to White Bay, surely one of the most beautiful beaches I’ve ever seen. Working our way through the marked channel to the inside of the reef, we swam from Altona to shore. (The famous Painkiller rum drink was invented here at the Soggy Dollar Bar, so named because sailors would pay for their drinks with soggy dollars after swimming ashore.) The little bay was crowded with boats, moored and anchored, and some power boats almost beached. Vessels from Tortola and St. John’s disgorged loads of red-backed tourists all day, and beach chairs (mostly empty) lined the pristine white sand. Things quieted down somewhat by late afternoon, with only a few dinghies whipping back and forth to go to the bars at either end of the beach. It was worth putting up with for the beauty of the cove. Until later that night, that is.
It was here at White Bay that we experienced our first 'ground sea’. Winds were calm, weather beautiful, and out of nowhere, swells started. At first we thought they must be ferry wakes, but after dark they continued to increase. I’ve heard a ground sea likened to an underwater storm. We were anchored between the reef and the only rocky section of shore in the bay, and weren’t worried because our anchor was well set in sand. Even though the rollers were soon breaking on the reef, we figured we would have an uncomfortable night but no real issue. But the breakers were soon crashing with deafening force on the reef, and Altona was no longer rolling but bouncing and jerking on her chain. We came on deck and stayed in the cockpit, waiting while one boat headed out into the darkness. “I’d hate to be heading out that narrow channel through the reef in the dark,” I foolishly said. Before long, Altona was bouncing and jerking so much that Ralph was up front evaluating the anchor and letting out more scope, while I was in the cockpit with the spotlight checking behind us for the rocks ashore. We seemed awfully close. Then Altona ‘s bow bounced skyward with such force we could actually feel the anchor jerk loose. We were still anchored, but had definitely dragged closer to shore. So much for beautiful White Bay. With Ralph at the helm and me on the bow with the searchlight looking for channel markers (which fortunately had reflective tape on them), we carefully picked our way out through the reef and back to Great Harbour, where the swells were noticeable but much less. The water is deep there, so at least the waves weren’t breaking a couple of meters from our bow.
It was pitch black with next to no moonlight, and right out near the outer part of the anchorage, there was a huge trawler anchored with not a single light showing. We were much too close for comfort before we saw the shadow of her looming hull. My vision is lousy and my night vision worse, so Ralph was on deck with a flashlight (too many boats to use the spotlight) while I steered to his directions at idle speed. We tried anchoring 3 times in deep water without getting a good set, so decided we’d have to venture deeper into the anchorage to look for a mooring. This was the most nervewracking part of the night, because most boats on a mooring don’t bother to show an anchor light. (We always do, especially after this experience.) We had to creep through the darkened mooring field before we finally spotted a couple of free moorings close to the channel near the ferry dock. It would not have been pretty had we been forced to go deeper into the mooring field, and most balls were taken anyway. By midnight we were safely secured and could breathe a sigh of relief.
Next day there were easily 3 times as many boats as when we’d checked in. Foxy’s, the bar ashore, was doing a rousing business, charters were partying, and a cruise ship anchored offshore, running passengers into both White Bay and Great Harbour all day. Probably Little Harbour next door too. So much for the charming, unspoiled village.
As an interesting side note, in Great Harbour, a very nice fellow off a catamaran charter dinghied over to chat because he admires Tartan sailboats so much. They were leaving that day, so he brought us all their extra food and wouldn’t take any payment for it at all. Out of curiousity, Ralph asked what it costs to charter a 46 foot catamaran… $11,000/week! No wonder most of them have 8 people aboard! We realized something else at Jost Van Dyke. Sailboats of 40’ or 42’ are starting to look small to us. (At home, we were a fair sized boat, and I think the biggest sailboats in the marina were 40’.) At 37’, Altona is a veritable midget in the Virgin Islands.
Gladly leaving crowded Great Harbour behind, we scuttled down to the passage between JVD and Little Jost Van Dyke, where we hoped to anchor and go into Foxy’s Taboo (restaurant/bar) and the bubbly pool, a natural pool that bubbles with water at high tide. The moorings were already full, and once again we couldn’t get a good set on the anchor, so we retreated to the anchorage at Little JVD near Green Cay, where there were only 2 other boats and we were able to anchor successfully. Even those 2 left in the afternoon, and we had a private spot at last! From there we could dinghy over to Sandy Spit, where we landed the dinghy through rolling surf into what looked like sand but was actually flat, sand-coloured rocks. Gee that was fun. We walked around the small cay, and then had a lengthy conference about how we could safely launch the dinghy back out through the rocks and surf. We waited until the biggest rollers passed, ran the dinghy into the surf, I scrambled aboard and started rowing like crazy while Ralph kept pushed us past the rocks and up the next roller yelling, “Go! Go! Go!” before leaping aboard himself. By then we were deep enough to put the motor down, and the crew of the catamaran anchored just offshore gave us a round of applause. They’d been well entertained all day by the idiots who tried to land their dinghies through the surf. Even so, Sandy Spit is the quintessential Caribbean cay, and just another adventure.