From Puerto Real (Puerto Rico), crossing the Mona, and end destination, Bahia de Samaná (Dominican Republic)

And where we hoped we would get a peek at what Humpback Whales do best.

****

"Are you checking The Weather?" I asked the Capt'N. Again.
"Yes, dear" he responded. Again.

Refresh Webpages.
Repeat. Ad Infitium.
Repeat. Ad Nauseum.

The Mona Passage can be one of the longest, and hardest passages to cross, if the weather is not Just right.

The Mona connects the Atlantic Ocean to the Caribbean Sea, and is a well-used shipping route between the Atlantic and the Panama Canal. There's active tidal currents and large areas of sand banks that need to be avoided. The Capt'N plotted the waypoints carefully.

Four years ago we were crossing from the Bahamas to Puerto Rico, in three quick successive bursts of ~220 nm miles apiece. The passage along the DR coast was one where, as many cruisers love to hate us, we passaged easily downwind, with our spinnaker up no less. Would we, COULD we be so lucky the second time 'round?

"The weather looks like it's a Go" said the Capt'n, as he points out the colours and the wind-arrows out to me, and I concurred. It did look good.

And so we had the taxi driver at Puerto Real (Puerto Rico) take us to Customs for our Out Clearance. When exiting the U.S., you habitually just leave. However, some incoming countries don't appreciate your arriving without that piece of paper proving you've cleared out. The Officer stamped his blue stamp, added the date and signature, and slid the paper under the glass window to us, telling us he did his job, and it was now up to us to complete the remainder of the form.

D.R. with it's policies would be no less of a challenge. And we hemmed and hawed as to our need for one. We finally gave in and got one, after all there was no need for any extra hassles with the authorities, right? It was free, however, the cost was in the cab ride there and back.

Back onboard, it was a quick time to prep and with the help of friends, we cast off our marina lines and motored away at 11:30, only 30 minutes ahead of schedule.



The next three hours had us motor-sailing up the Western Coast of P.R.

"Just until we get North Enough" said the Capt'n, "Then we make the turn".

Which was fine by me. I kept busy storing the few extra provisions we'd gotten that morning, and then prep our lunch, supper, sandwiches and munchies required for the next 27 hours or so.

And by the time I was done, we were almost ready to turn left.



"Look at that" said Dave as he analyzed the wind speeds and our angle, "just as predicted" he said with a smile, and turned the engine off.



The air is chillier now. I felt the need to go below and get my sweats and a heavier T-Shirt was exchanged for my usual tank-top, side-stepping the ditch bag that had been prepped before we left, and bringing up the life-jackets as I came back out.

The winds blew a constant 10-15 knots, propelling us along nicely with very respectable speeds.



We had calculated our speed-time-distance at 6 knots, and we were a little over that. Our ETA changed from late afternoon to around 14:00. Bonus !!



We sailed well North of the Sand Banks and Desecheo Island.

"Let's have supper before it gets dark" grumbled the Capt'Ns tummy. The pressure-cooker meal still warm as we ate and contentedly watched the sun set, snapping & posting some photos as we used up the last of our month's worth of AT&T data package.

The twinkling stars emerged as the dark skies of night descended. The depth to the limitless black sky making us feel quite insignificant, quite alone on the ocean, and below us, their counterparts shone brilliantly as the the dazzling bioluminescence lighted up our wake.

We kept vigilant, and while there was not one other sailboat venturing the Mona with us, we did encounter four large Cargo Ships that were making their way to their respective destinations.

Reading the AIS hits on the chart plotter screen, noticing the size and CPA, name of boat, and destination gave us something to do as as the seconds and minutes and miles rolled over in time.

Before we left, we had mathematically calculated and planned our departure to have us arriving along the D.R. coast just as the sun was rising. Why?

We wanted to arrive at our destination during daylight hours, and why? Mostly because, between January and March, Samaná is home to thousands of humpback whales. As much as we wanted to see them, we didn't need to be bumping into them.

A fully grown humpback can be as large, if not larger, than Banyan.

Behind us, in the clouds that hid the rising morning sun, there was a hint of a rain shower.



A brief time on my watch I saw the winds quickly escalate to 20+ knots. I regretted having woken up the Capt'N as it all died back down again right after we brought in the jib. Back out it went. The seas were left a little churned up though, and we continued to zoom-zoom happily along, our ETA now showing up as noon. Wow, even better!!

During morning coffee sometime,

"Look, there" said Dave pointing.
"And there" I said, pointing to the opposite side, as I quickly ran below for my camera.
"There's another spout" said Dave.

They were like giant plumes of spraying water rising unnaturally like high-rise buildings on the horizon of blue.

"Humpback whales have lungs the size of a small car and when they take a breath they exchange up to 90% of their lung capacity. They exhale with great force! The existing air has been estimated to be travelling in excess of 300 kilometres per hour. We see this as the whales 'spout' which can be up to four meters high and is actually any water around their blowholes being blown clear."

"And there's a splash" I pointed a few minutes later, "that looked like a tail slap!!"

And I snapped photos, left, right and centre, trying hard to find, follow and point and click on the many splashes and spouts.

Then off in the distance, we saw one emerge from the depths of the water, his face clearly recognizable as almost half his body emerged. He did this again, and again, and again.. each successive attempt seeing him rise a little lower than before as he grew tired.

We were totally encircled by them, as we sped along the long entrance into Samaná. Beautiful. Breath-taking. Goose-bumpy. We were spurred on by our adrenaline at being so close to Nature, rendered talkative by every spray of water we witnessed, and speechless when we saw the odd bit of a tail-slap, or head that emerged, of half a body as it twisted itself back into the depths of the ocean blue below him.

In the Bay we sailed by El Cayo Levantado (also known as Bacardi Island as the Bacardi Rum commercials have been filmed here).



took our sails down just minutes before arriving in Puerto Bahia Marina, where we were totally welcomed by the staff,



and all lines were secure at 10:30.

The log book entry: 154 nautical miles , 23 hours.

Customs was a friendly breeze, and the Navy Man stepped on Banyan with his big black boots, quite respectfully. He smiled, and with a handshake he said "Buenas tardes".

"No necesito" said the Drug Guy, when Navy Man said we might be inspected. "No necesito" with a shake of his head.

They left moments later, we hoisted the D.R. flag, and immediately crashed for an afternoon nap, exhausted from our travels and yet exhilarated at what we'd seen.