The Mona Passage. The name sparks trepidation into all but the hardiest sailor. I'd heard the name but didn't really know where it was and certainly hadn't given much thought to it until I started to pay attention to our upcoming passages as we were leaving the relative security of the Bahamas. Reading the heady tome "Gentlemen's Guide to Passages South" by Mr. Van Sant it suddenly dawned on me that the author dedicated no fewer than seven pages solely to strategies for crossing the Mona, all 60 miles of it, and surviving. OK, so maybe this was something worth paying a little more attention to.
First problem the shoals, specifically the Hourglass Shoal which lies just off the east coast of the Dominican Republic. Now this 'shoal' is at least 100ft deep which is not, under the definitions that I have been accustomed to, a shoal. But what you do have to realize is that the waters running on to it come from the Puerto Rican Trench and that the Puerto Rican Trench is the second deepest trench in the world, second only to the Mariana Trench in the Pacific. Apparently when the ocean flows from over 15,000 ft in the Trench to 100ft on the shoal it results in some very large and very confused seas. OK, got that one! Plot a course that avoids the Hourglass Shoal.
Next, the gradient Trade Winds in this area blow a constant 20 - 25kts from the east. This also builds the seas, and guess which direction we're trying to sail in. Yep, east. So, second lesson; we will have to tack until we get around the Hourglass Shoal at which point we will turn SE and hopefully lay a direct course.
Next, the Mona Passage has strong and unpredictable currents so we may have to adjust our course to take account of these when we're out there. OK, so we'll just have to wing that one.
All in all, in all but the most perfect conditions (which we missed about 2 weeks earlier) we were facing 20 - 25kts of wind minimum and 6 - 8ft (at least) seas on the nose. Oh, and did I mention the thunderstorms? Because of something to do with the heat of the land, the height of the land and the ocean, almost every evening without exception strong thunderstorms flow off the west coast of Puerto Rico and head in a NW direction up the Mona Passage. Now why hadn't I heard of this before? And these were the delights we were heading into on the evening of February 10th.
Our forecast had been for 14kts of wind and 4 -5 ft seas in the Mona, but we weren't convinced. Our passage out of Bahia de Saman� was good. We tacked out of the bay in quite pleasant weather and as we approached the southern end of the Bahia saw humpback whales broaching. It was an incredible sight, although they were far too distant for us to be able to capture them on film. As we continued on our passage out of the bay we also saw several water spouts but no more whales. We 'hung a right' out of the bay and continued south along the east DR coast to the point we had chosen to jump off from to circumvent the Hourglass Shoal. As we traveled down the coast both the seas and the wind started to build but Magic shouldered her way into the conditions and, although uncomfortable, we were doing OK.
By 1am the following morning, we were starting to head around the Hourglass Shoal. The winds had dropped to 15kts and we were on a port tack battling our way east. By 11am the winds had increased to 21kts. By 5pm the winds were a constant 23kts and the seas were becoming increasingly nasty as squalls came through. We continued to forge our way to windward. Just after 5pm Someday Came, who were about 3 miles in front of us, called us on the VHF to say that they had just passed through a squall with 30.kts of wind. We already had one reef in the main but decided that a second reef was called for. Dave headed towards the mast to get the main reefed again. Within the next 30 seconds the following series of events occurred.
George, our autopilot occasionally sends us messages by flashing the display. This usually means "Hold on. I've lost my way. Give me a minute". After which normal service is usually resumed. This time the flashing meant "You guys are nuts! You steer the boat. I'm outta here!" At which point George turned himself off. Magic in the meantime had gone into irons and had pinned Dave, who was unfortunately on the wrong side of the mast when George had his tantrum, lovingly against the mast with the staysail sheet. Dave was yelling "what's going on??" or words to that effect. It took me a few seconds to realize what was happening but then I had to try to get Magic back on course and with the engine screaming at full revs we slowly nosed around back into the wind. Magic released Dave and he got the 2nd reef in the main. He then had to hand steer Magic through the troughs until the next squall came through. Within minutes we were seeing 34kts of wind and 12ft seas but then when the 'eye' passed over us everything calmed down. It was amazing. The heavens had opened and it was pouring with rain but the seas were calm. Hardly even a wave. And an eerie silence. But then the eye passed and the seas were up and we were again seeing over 30kts of wind. George was still on strike, Dave was at the helm and I was poised to release the main and/or the staysail sheets at Dave's command. We were only 30 miles from Mayaguez in Puerto Rico, but it could have been 300. We had already made over 150 miles but the last 20% was going to be a battle.
About 30 minutes later our staysail began to flog. We couldn't understand it. We were now sailing at a good angle. Further investigation revealed that the tab holding the sail to our furler had ripped. We dropped the sail and attached it as best we could to the rail. We would have to fix this in Puerto Rico.
We were not happy. We had forced our way to windward for over 150 miles. Magic had launched herself off the top of 12ft waves and ploughed her way through the troughs. She had stayed steady in seas that would have pounded lesser vessels and shouldered good sized waves aside. Neither Dave nor I had slept in over 24 hours but finally by 10pm we were approaching Mayaguez harbor. We could not see the red and green buoys guiding us into the harbor in the midst of the thousands of onshore lights but we could pick out the lit green range markers and we headed for these. By 11.15pm we had found our anchorage and literally threw down the anchor and about 100ft of chain. It was finally dead calm and that would have to do.
But then Shannon called us on the VHF. "I've checked you in with the coastguard" he said. "But unless you complete the check-in by midnight you will have to go ashore to customs and immigration in the morning". Dave and I looked at each other. We knew that in Puerto Rico outside of normal office hours you could check in with the coastguard. A trip to shore in the morning would be a lot more hassle. We decided to drop the dinghy and rowed over to Someday Came to use Shannon's cell-phone to complete our check-in. By midnight we were cleared into Puerto Rico. We'd crossed the Mona Passage and were officially back in the USA!