Kaimusailing

We all had to go to the airport to clear in and clear out so we would be legal to leave for Punta Cana, Dominican Republic the next day. Customs closed at 4 PM and it was after 3, so we hustled a cab driver to get us to the airport.
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The roads were a mess with potholes, trees down, power poles snapped off, wires laying on the ground, work crews on both sides of the roads, and vehicles avoiding this mess coming into our lane. Yes, they drive on the wrong side of the road here.
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Our cabbie was driving a large van with seats for maybe twelve people, but he drove like it was a sports car, scaring us to death. We had talked about manicou, a possum-like animal that lives in the trees and are sometimes caught and cooked by hunters in the woods. The cabbie said manicou is a french name, a patois word, and where did we hear about it, like it was something only a St. Croixian would know about.
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A chicken ran into the road, I said “Poulet ala Van”, the cabbie said “Manicou”, I said “tastes like chicken”.
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We went to customs at the cargo terminal and were told to go to the passenger terminal, then once there were told to go back to the cargo terminal. In the end all the paperwork was completed rather quickly and we went back to the marina and had a good meal in a funky little restaurant there. We were dog tired, but now no longer hungry.
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Our fuel tanks were topped up taking 60 gallons of diesel for our 30 hours of motoring. The generator was also using diesel, so 2 gallons an hour had to also include that usage We would sail with the generator running and run the engines without the generator, but also run the engines and the generator at the same time when we wanted the air conditioning which would only run on 120 AC.
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The run to Punta Cana was about the same distance we had just run from Antigua to St. Croix. Because we will be in the lee of Puerto Rico, we will probably be motorsailing most of the time. This would come to about 30 hours again.
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My impression of St. Croix was that of extensive hurricane damage, but not devastation, I could see not houses unroofed, there were a few overturned vehicles in odd positions, there were lots of trees down, and the telephone poles were down all over the place. Power was out on the whole island except for those who had an emergency generator. The airport and hospital had power lines that were buried in the ground, so they were up and running. It was obvious that the populace was enduring a recovery from crisis, tired determined faces getting to work, fixing problems.
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Our sailboat was self sufficient, except needing fuel and water, so we had no hardship in this port. The docks were torn up in places, we had to tie up in a spot that had no missing planks, no protruding nails. They had fuel here but no water. Of our water we had used half of tank #2 and a quarter of tank #1 both which had been filled in St. Lucia. We probably had enough to take us to Punta Cana.
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The next morning I looked around the yard and was surprised to see a large Wharram catamaran named Jolly Roger. It was not one of the damaged boats. I took some pictures of it and then found a day sailing proa and took pictures of that.
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I made pancakes with sliced bananas and we prepared to depart. For some reason I felt almost like seasickness, but I was on land. I was afraid I had caught some kind of virus. I didn’t tell everyone, just went about my business hoping I wouldn’t come down with the flu. We were tied starboard side to and backed out of the fuel dock after casting off the stern line, the bow line, aft spring line, and forward spring line, in that order. Skipper spun the boat around and headed out through the serpentine channel.
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As we went out we looked at the wind and our downwind sailing directions. The wind was still form the East, about 15, and we headed up and raised the main. We bore off and rolled out the genoa. We tried wing and wing with the main to port and the genoa out to starboard, but the sea would roll us out of that, it just wouldn’t work. Skipper decided to roll the genny up part way to reduce its flapping, but then he discovered the roller furler was jammed, the sail wouldn’t roll up. We looked at it and were surprised to see the furler was jammed by a fairlead for the furler line having come loose and gone into the furler drum. The repair was tie off the genny and operate the furler drum by hand, then tying it off with a piece of line. The furler line was then untangled, lead out, completely removed from all the fairleads so that the entire furler line was loose on the foredeck. Then the loose fairlead that had been jammed inside the drum was slid off the furler line. Then the furler line was threaded through the fairleads from the bow all the way back to the cockpit and through the furler line rope clutch. We could now operate it properly with one less fairlead in place.
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We ended up giving up on the wing and wing idea and instead set up on a starboard broad reach, as low as we could sail and still fill the genoa. We were making around 6 knots in 9 knots apparent wind. True wind was around 15 from the East. Our tack would take us about 50 miles to the southeast corner of Puerto Rico, if we went that far. We would probably tack to port before then, probably at sunset. If the wind died we would motor due West, otherwise we would be on a WSW course all the way down the south coast of Puerto Rico.
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The wind was almost dead aft and the main was filling and snapping at its mainsheet every time the boat rolled. We tried it on one side, then on the other, ended up with it on the port side with a preventer lashed forward to the chainplates. We had the boat steadied as much as possible, motorsailing at 1200 turns and boat speed in the high 5‘s. Our ETA at Punta Cana was Saturday morning and we had enough speed in reserve to makie sure we arrived daytime and early enough for clearance.
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We had prepackaged jerk chicken from the store way back in St. Lucia and inspected the contents of the package to see if it had gone off. It was probably still edible, there was no USDA inspection tag or due date on it. The owner was dying to try out his barbecue newly installed on the port rear pulpit. It was not propane fired, nevertheless he had brought a bag of charcoal on board to fire up the grill, and now we were going to use it, not in port, not in calm wind, but right now while we were sailing, rocking, and rolling.
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He piled the charcoal in it, poured on the lighter fluid, struck a match, and whoof! the flames sprang to life. He was surprised or lost his footing temporarily and turned back toward me, his had was black from charcoal soot, and he said he couldn’t touch anything. He fell on his side, but he’s a strong guy, quickly sat back up, got up and washed his hands down below. If I thought my cooking duties were over, I was mistaken, I had to go below and cook up some pasta to go with the chicken which was now awaiting its fate on the blazing grill.
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The stove had grippers that had set screws and you could screw them up tight, holding your cooking pot on top of the stove so that it would not fly off onto the galley sole. I cooked up a box of garden rotini, drained it, and poured a jar of mushroom tomato sauce on it.
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The chicken came off the grill as the sun set and it was getting dark. We had to use flashlights to check it to see if it was done. Then we ate the chicken and the pasta. It was actually a good meal, out in the ocean, moonlit seas, the south coast of Puerto Rico parading by the starboard side, about 10 miles away.
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The meal was over, skipper went below to get some sleep before he stood the mid watch later starting at 10 PM. I stayed on with the owner and his dad till they too decided to hit the hay. The boat was relatively quiet, the engine sounded like an idling trailer truck if you were down below to hear it, up topside it was a distant rumble and burbling exhaust.
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I looked on this computer at the NOAA chart of the south coast of Puerto Rico and could see we would be off Ponce, the port of entry on the south coast, in the morning, and hitting the big turning point off the soutwest corner of Puerto Rico where we turn north up into the Mona Pass tomorrow afternoon.
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The lights on shore were sparse, the moon was waxing larger tonight, it was just a crescent last night, I was timing some of the flashing navigation markers when a brighter than normal light on the far horizon began pulsing on and off. It was in the direction of shore far ahead. It was so bright I thought it must be a cruise ship. Tugs also light themselves up bright as day.
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As I watched the light ahead, I could see it was slowly passing from starboard to port, passing our bow eventually. I decided to come to starboard about 20 degrees to ensure we passed port to port. He would also see I had made a course adjustment, see my side marker, and know what my intentions were.
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He passed the bow, quite a ways off, and continued to the south off our port beam. It looked like a very brightly lit tugboat. Then I saw its lights go off for a while, then come on again. This was odd. I resumed our former course.
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The tug was on our port quarter now, probably 5 or 6 miles away, and it looked like it was showing a port running light, red. If it was port to port with us it must be going the other way and we should part company soon. It stayed there and slowly seemed to get closer. I was getting nervous, what was this vessel and why was it acting so strangely.
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After a while I could see it had a green running light and the red light was an indication that it was towing something. Then I saw two barges behind it with their green starboard running lights. It was going in the same direction as we were and closing with us, steady bearing, I idled the engine, it did not pull ahead, I turned to port and headed south, then it began to leave us. I had turned about 120 degrees to port. I decided to continue to turn to the left and come about onto my original starboard broad reach and my original course.
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We were sailing along at about 5-6 knots with the tug and tow keeping off our port beam. It seemed that when we speeded up, he speeded up, when we slowed, he slowed. I finally had had enough and set our speed high enough to pull ahead.
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I was tired of playing games with the tug. Skipper came on deck to take his 2 AM to 6 AM watch. We discussed the tug, who was still to port and a bit behind us. I went to my bunk and fell asleep.
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In the morning I was on duty at 6:27, although I could have slept in a bit. When the others awoke I made plain pancakes for breakfast. We were still off the south coast of Puerto Rico nearing Cabo Rojo which was the southwestern tip of the island. We turned when it was safe to clear the shallows off the cape and then set a course for our destination, Cap Cana, Dominican Republic.
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Our ETA was in the wee hours of the morning and we didn’t want to enter a strange port at night, plus the marina didn’t open till 7 AM, so we had to regulate our speed to arrive at about that time. The mainsail was jibing with the wind directly downwind so we dropped it into its sail cover and secured it amidships. The genoa wouldn’t stay filled on our course so we rolled it up. We were running under engine and at 1200 turns we would arrive about 5-6 AM. I would be on watch then and skipper would of course be on hand for the arrival.
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I decided to make pasta with meat sauce, kind of an empty the fridge kind of meal. The owner and his dad would be flying out of Punta Cana the day after arrival, so it would be the last meal I cooked for them on the boat.
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We were expecting chopped meat in the package from the fridge, but the package was unusual. The Caribbean has its own brands of foods and I guess each island has its own food culture. The chicken of the night before was prespiced, maybe it was jerk chicken. We were expecting ground beef, but beef is not the #1 meat in the Caribbean. I announced we would be having manicou cacciatorre and began prepping the onions, mushrooms, manicou pieces, all went together in a pot of spaghetti sauce. It began to smell good and the hungry crew seemed impatient, but this dish has to cook for at leat and hour and a half. I didn’t know how it would turn out. Manicou is reported to be possum, which is a delicacy in places like Georgia, where the boatyard is, but I’m not sure what it is. The islanders seem surprised that people from the mainland would know anything about it.
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First, there were lots of bones. I worked hard to slightly brown the meat before including all the above ingredients into a large pot, typical of me, brimming almost to overflowing with the tomato based sauce that you can’t wash out of anything. The boat was rocking and rolling, but the gimballed stove just kept things from splashing all over. After an hour or so I started the water for the pasta, then just a little while later joined all the forces of island cuisine together in the same large pot. It simmered a bit more. Bones stuck out of the mess as it bubbled. It had a nice red sauce and I scooped some into a bowl and went up on deck.
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The lights were off and I asked if we could turn on the cockpit lights so I could see what I was eating. Do you really want to? Yes, and they turned on the lights and turned their attention onto the bowl of manicou. It looked just like chicken cacciatorre. Because we had no garlic and I didn’t use wine in the preparation, it lacked the aroma of the real thing. I tasted it and said it was edible. First one, then another went down into the galley to get some. These guys must be very hungry. I brought up a bowl for the bones. Soon it was full of greasy manicou bones. It then jumped off the cockpit table onto the deck making a red tomato sauce stain and little piles of little bones. I went below for a paper towel to clean up.
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The novelty of the dish wore off and some had had enough after just one bowl. One sat and stared at it. Did they eat any of it or just throw some of it overboard? The rest of that bowl went overboard when no one claimed the pieces of meat in it, leftovers. I had a couple of bowls and the skipper was eating it like he was in an Italian restaurant. Tastes like chicken.
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We stood our overnight watches and felt tired after only a couple hours on deck. The seas were rough and kept us from sleeping except when we were too tired to care. It was a downwind leg from the entrance of Mona Pass to Punta Cana. We tried to use different sail combinations, motoring, heading off our rumb line, to try to smooth out the rolling motion of the boat. We could take our time, 4.7 knots average would put us into Punta Cana at 7 in the morning. Nothing worked to ease the motion. We did sleep because of our fatigue.
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In the morning we were searching for the buoys of Cap Cana, the marina at Punta Cana. We had no chart and only bits of information gleaned from the internet before leaving and the lat and long from the marina’s website. Someone said the sea buoy was yellow.
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We spotted the sea buoy near the waypoint we entered into the chartplotter based on the lat and long from the marina’s website. The entrance to the marina was straightforward. Depths ran as shallow as 9 feet and inside it was mostly about 13 feet deep. Dockage was stern to with bow lines to two pilings on either side, Med Moor.
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Customs, Immigration, and Agricultural officials boarded the boat. There were 6 in total. Clearance did not take long. Details followed the posted information on noonsite.com.
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The image (from the internet) is of a manicou. Appetizing isn’t it?