Bruce Springsteen sung lovingly and at the top of his voice about being ‘Boooooorn, in the USA. I was Boooooorn in the USA.’ Now that we have left the Leeward islands and completed all our chores in ST Martin we can sing, in our best operatic voices, ‘Baaaaaack in the BVI. Ruffian is Baaaaaack in the BVI.’

Slipping out of the lagoon of St Martin calm descended upon Ruffian as once again we were headed out to sea, out of sight of land and onto the island paradise of the BVI’s. The new genoa was unfurled for the first time and pulled us along silently. All we had to do now was do battle with the sleep monster as sung his lullabies trying to seduce us into his world of slumber.

The waters of the BVI’s drew us toward them like the sirens song and as soon as the formalities were completed we succumbed to their allure. As we dived in we turned it’s shimmering blue to a nasty brown as all the dirt we’d been accumulated in St Martin flowed off our soon to be clean bodies.

The sirens sung time and time again and with each verse the delights were more and more enchanting. We discovered the usual corals and fishies and then thanks to ‘Time Out’, ‘Free Reins, aptly named tender (as they retire to it when they need some ‘Time Out’), we even found the cannons from sunken galleons on far out reefs.

It wasn’t all play and top of the agenda in the BVI’s was to try and find someway to attach our new mainsail to our mast. The song of the sailmaker was slowly becoming louder than that of the seas sirens. We had it on good authority, well DHL, that all the bits were in Tortola and we just had to get ourselves there. But first the sirens had one last call.

As we sailed past the Baths in Virgin Gorda there just happened to be a free mooring ball available and something told us that 1000’s of charterers can’t be that wrong. We took our lives in our hands as we watched the charter boats fly around us with the skills of chicks who had just fledged the nest and then upped the anti by diving off Ruffian and swimming ashore.

Landing onto the golden sand we felt like we were in another world. All around boulders towered above us and occasionally gave way to tranquil pools of water warmed by the dappled light of the sun. Around every corner we expected to find the sirens that would spell our doom but instead just found more sensational unworldly scenes.

As time moved on the sail maker’s volume increased and so we found ourselves, all excited and expectant in Doyles loft. There on the counter was a parcel that had our name on it and within minutes of opening it we’d have a fully functioning new mainsail. Again we were so excited that we stood with crossed legs while jigging on the spot hoping that our pelvic floors wouldn’t fail.

Our excitement was soon to be quelled. The parcel was indeed full of useful things, but nothing useful to us. Our main would remain inside it’s bag and not deployed on Ruffian. The critical bits were in a different island and we left with loft with yet more promises and the sail maker’s song very much muted. Happy and impressed we were not and so off we went to be once again seduced by the sirens song of the sea.


Larry isn’t a fan of the activities in the BVI’s.


Welcome to the BVI’s. That’s more like it.


Underwater selfie. That’s a new one.


Coral, coral, everywhere.


Looking lovely.


Snell, snell, snell. Dive, dive, dive.


All we need now is an eyepatch and we could be pirates.


The bonkers Baths.


We really hope these aren’t piranhas.


Hmmm. Warm water. The baths are called the baths for a reason.


Is it possible to do any more swimming.


Trimline. Thanks for the advice.


Flat water, no bugs, great sunsets.


Upwind we go with the new weapon. Now all we need is a mainsail.


Iain, that is not the way you should use Thug.


And the sunsets just keep coming.