Well, we can't put it off any longer - it's time to head back to the boatyard to put Scappatella away for the season. Before taking off we met up with our kiteboard instructors for an espresso and emptied our bank accounts buying some kiting gear. (Holy crap, this is an expensive sport!) We left Antigua with moderate winds and seas, but by that night the wind had completely died. We were out in the middle of the ocean with no land in sight, yet the Caribbean Sea was as smooth as glass - we've never seen it like this! The next afternoon we stopped along the way for a swim, cooling ourselves off from the sweltering heat. I jumped in first, before our momentum had completely stopped. What a strange feeling watching Scappatella continue on without me, no land in sight...anywhere. Later that afternoon, we were joined by 2 pods of dolphins playing on our bow wake - very cool! That evening we barbequed up some pork ribs for dinner as we slowly and gently made our way to Curacao. So far this has been a pretty incredible - albeit slow - downwind sail!
But it was too good to be true: by the last day the dreaded sea enema started: the winds died, the seas were up, and the pitching and rolling began. The mainsail vigorously luffed creating a deafening noise below as the slapping reverberated through the mast into the boat's salon. Cooking became a Class 5 affair as a pot of boiling water rolled this way and that on the gimbaled stove. Sleep was difficult as our muscles tensed with each roll to keep us from falling off the bed. And we were bored: I'd listened to almost every song on my IPOD, watched 2 movies, and even read part of my book underway...all of this with no seasick meds! Louis played guitar and stared off into space, proclaiming about halfway through, "crossings are sooooooo boring"! I guess we won't be heading to the South Pacific any time soon (that's a 20 - 30 day crossing).
With nothing to occupy our minds but the horrendous sail-slapping and boom-bashing, we finally gave up on the sailing plan, took down our sails and turned on the motor. Arriving in Bonaire at 4:00am on a windless night, we picked up a mooring and fell to bed, exhausted and relieved to finally be here!
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One of our last nights on Green Island was spent eating, drinking and laughing with our friends from "Oti Mai". We originally met Gary and his wife Jean at a café a few weeks ago. Gary was eying my empendada, I offered him a bite, and the beginning of a new friendship was formed. Their daughter Nina (far right in the photo above) joined them a few days later and the 5 of us have shared many fun days and evenings learning to kiteboard, sharing stories, and laughing a LOT.
One of the things that got us laughing this night was a discussion of our upcoming 4-day downwind sail from Antigua to Curacao. You see, the folks on Oti Mai have a keen understanding of what it's like to be seasick for days at a time. If you're not prone, it's difficult to truly empathize...but they could. Instead of excitement, there was a mutual understanding of the dreaded pitching rolling motion that can accompany a dead-downwind sail, particularly with light winds and a big swell. As the seas come from behind you, the boat will pitch one way and then the other, making sort of a figure-8 motion in the process...truly puke-inducing. We likened our upcoming sail to a giant "sea enema", which cracked us all up.
Well, our time here has run out so unless there's a tropical storm a'brewin', we'll be heading out in a few days for Curacao. If all goes well and we get 20 knots or so, we'll fly downwind in 3 days; if we get light winds, we'll slowly loll around and be the victim of the dreaded sea enema for up to 100 hours! Let's hope for good winds!
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Well, we finished our kiteboarding classes and are now "certified beginners" (although many think we're certifiable by learning a sport in which there's videos of people accidentally flying into buildings & stuff!) I think modern equipment and good instruction are particularly important in this sport. Fortunately, we've had both at "40 Knots" Kiteboarding School on Green Island (how's that for a shameless plug!)
On Day 3 it was Louis' turn to get frustrated as his rapid-fire progress of the previous days stalled out momentarily. He struggled a bit trying to get up on the board and had a few face plants & kite crashes....a normal progression, but disappointing to Louis after his incredible progress the previous day. He overcame that, though, and by the end of the day was riding confidently in both directions. My lesson was also successful and, fortunately, not as entertaining as my previous ones! By the end of the day I was able to get up on the board most of the time and even had one short ride. The airtime prize of the day went to our friend Gary on Oti Mai, as he inadvertently launched himself up in the air about 20'! The ride back down was gentle and he and his instructor, Chris, were grinning ear-to-ear when they came back to shore! Gary, by the way, is just over 70 years old. (We would never have known it if he hadn't told us, though.)
We took a few more lessons and by the end of our time we were both able to get good, long rides in both directions, although a few of mine were just on the verge of control. Louis even managed to link a few turns, riding one way and then turning and riding the other! We're pretty excited to have a new sport to focus on during our next season on Scappatella. I wish we could stay here another week to reinforce all that we've learned, but we're pushing our timeframe as it is. In about 10 days we fly home, and we've got a lot of work to do before then...not to mention a 500-mile trip back to Curacao! I guess we'll be going to the Delta to practice kiteboarding when we get home....brrrrrr!
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Our original plan this season was to pick up where we left off by exploring the Windward islands, from Martinique south. But we were also pretty committed to give kiteboarding a try, and we'd heard from our friends on Meow that in Nonsuch Bay, Antigua looked like a great place to learn. (There's schools all over the place, but the conditions and quality of the school were pretty important to us.) Although we visited Antigua last year we decided to return...and here we are.
The school is great: side-shore winds, a calm protected bay, and an IKO-certified school run by an engaging Italian couple and a really nice guy from Germany. So we can practice our Italian while learning to kitesurf! Bellissimo! Raus!!
Our 1st day went well...flying the training kite and then progressing to the "BIG kite" on land (by big, I mean capable of launching you in the air if you get it wrong...although our instructor always had a hand on us). By Day 2 we were in the water learning to "body-drag". This is where you do a series of figure-8 and other kite maneuvers, allowing the kite to drag your body through the water. It's not only an exercise to get you comfortable with the inevitable trashings of the sport, but also a useful skill you need to develop to enable you to drag yourself back to your board after you've had a good trashing.
We'd heard from many people that the body-dragging sessions were kind of brutal - heck, the name alone makes them sound a bit daunting. But it was time, so the instructor, Louis and I all get into the dinghy and go out into the bay with the kite, which is attached to a harness which is attached to one of us. Louis goes 1st and has a blast doing it...laughing while being drug through the water, with no kite crashings or anything. Easy, right? Then I go. I'm sitting on the edge of the dinghy, the instructor transfers the kite from his harness to mine, I slide into the water and "POOF", I immediately launch myself into the air and splat into the water about 50' away from the dinghy. After getting over the shock it was pretty funny (and didn't hurt or anything), so I try again. I'm ok once the kite is in the air, and am having fun dragging myself thru the water. But I crash the kite a few times and have a heck of a time launching the thing back up in the air. I don't seem to have a hard time launching myself, though, as I do it again only this time my body is all contorted and I get a good neck jerk in the process. Ouch. Now a bit of fear sets in, as my neck is a bit "tweaky" to say the least. I begin to get it, though, and it turns out the body dragging is really FUN! We end our 2nd session and then have a very entertaining night on Scappatella with some new friends - Gary, Jean and Nina from the boat Oti Mai - who are also learning to kiteboard.
The next day I am feeling a bit of apprehension. We decide to split up our lesson - Louis in the morning and me in the afternoon - as Louis is picking it up more quickly than me and I don't want to slow him down. He does AWESOME, and is riding his board by his 4th lesson, ahead of most people's progress. (He can be annoying that way). That afternoon it's my turn. I'm a bit apprehensive, but we go out into the bay with the kite and, no problem! I'm launching the kite easily, doing figure-8's, body dragging under control, having a LOT of fun with it with no crashings or trashings! Despite the 80-degree water I'm shivering after an hour or so of this but not wanting to quit because it really is a gas! I want to try the board but we're out of time...bummer. We're both looking forward to day 3 tomorrow!
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While we initially planned to only watch the races for a few days, we were so caught up in the event that we decided to stay thru the end and attend the award ceremony on Day 6. So, here's another very cool thing about this regatta: it's a world-class event yet it has a fun, casual welcoming spirit versus the more exclusive, serious tone that I expected. For example, the main parties and other events were open to all, with generous offerings of food and beverages paid for by sponsors and served up by regatta volunteers. The last day of the event featured dinghy sailing and rowing competitions, light-hearted events that attract cruisers, families and professional crew alike. And at the award ceremony last night they must have presented at least 30 awards for the 56 or so boats which entered. There were awards for "Best Dressed" and "Spirit of the Regatta", both won by Veracity, aka the "Pirate Boat"; honorable mentions for yachts placing 4th and 5th in their class, and spectacular trophies for overall wins like Galitea's fastest overall win. I don't know what other regattas are like, but if they're anything like this one I might become a regatta follower! If you're even in Antigua in mid-April, be sure to check it out!
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Race 4 got off to a bad start even before they started. Noryema 4 collided with Zeebonk and dismasted her. The 32' sloop, pictured above, suffered severe damage as her mast was reduced to splinters. Later, in the middle of the race, we heard Charm III call in as she reported to the race committee that she'd had a minor incident with "Kate". As the crewmember of Charm III reported, "...she kept pinching up, pinching up, pinching up and we clipped her rig..." Neither boat appeared to suffer any major damage and continued on racing. We also heard a report from one boat, Spirited Lady, that they'd retrieved their man-overboard...not sure what happened there. And then, toward the end of the race, we heard Velsheda report in that they were quitting the race and heading in. The tone of the crewmember's voice suggested something serious. It turns out Velsheda had inadvertently collided with Ranger, creating some serious damage in the process. As we understand it, Ranger was in the lead and had just completed tacking when Velsheda's captain either attempted an aggressive move to cut in front of her or didn't respond quickly enough to Ranger's turn to tack themselves. Either way, he apparently miscalculated and speared Ranger amidships, denting her hull and damaging her rig. Several of the crew on Velsheda jumped overboard to avoid being hit and both boats had to quit the race and return to the dock. This is the 2nd collision between these two 135' yachts; the other also reportedly caused by Velsheda. Interestingly, many of the larger yachts are professionally captained during these races. We're talking World Cup league captains here. Velsheda, however, is captained by its owner...impressive, no doubt, although his style appears to be wreaking a bit of havoc with Ranger! In the end, Velsheda took 1st place over Ranger's 2nd in their class, despite earlier reports that Velsheda had been completely disqualified from the Regatta.
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Today was absolutely one of the highlights of our season! Intent on some more close up looks - and photos - of some of the most beautiful yachts in the world, we hightailed it out into the big swells in our little 15hp dinghy. We misjudged the timing of the 2nd leg and were a bit late, so we pounded our way upwind (what is it with us and this upwind theme?!) giving our dinghy all she had...and....we made it! Wow - there's nothing quite like sitting in the water in a little 12-foot inflatable boat, a hundred feet or so away 120 tons or so of wood, fiberglass and steel, groaning under the intense pressure of the rigging as she tacks thru a turn. We were close enough to one of the boats to be awestruck by the speed of the crew as they worked the giant winches (grinders, actually) making it look like there was hardly any pressure at all on those massive lines and sails!
We cut across the sea as Ranger, my favorite, completed her turn and raised her giant spinnaker (a beautiful downwind sail). Hot on Ranger's heels, we flew over wave-tops, surfing down the face of some and pounding/skipping our way down others as we drafted off her stern. Trying to balance myself and my little digital (non-waterproof) camera in the air, I snapped photos as Louis expertly piloted our dinghy with a vengeance. After a bit our boat - and our backs - couldn't keep up with Ranger's pace so we headed to the finish line while Ranger, Velsheda and the others sailed to the next mark, spinnakers flying. Velsheda and Ranger approached the finish with a few minutes between them, and sad to say, Velsheda was the winner of today's exciting race.
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Well, the Sailing Gods must have been looking out for us. A combination of weather, mechanicals, and good fortune have landed us in Antigua for the week of the Classic Yacht Regatta. I can't imagine a better first regatta to be at: a stunning array of classic yachts; a venue steeped in history; a racecourse accessible to us by dinghy; and a generous lineup of events and parties open to all! I've never even had an interest in going to a regatta, but after this one I'm already thinking of next year!
This regatta is a world-class event, attracting yachts on a US - Caribbean - Mediterranean race circuit. Louis and I walked the docks every day and were awestruck by the beauty of these yachts, from the famous J-boat Velsheda built in the 1930's, with her classic lines, beautifully varnished brightwork, and gleaming stainless steel winches to the old gaff-rigged cutter Thalia, built in 1889 and still sporting her original deck fittings, hatches, and anchor windlass. There was also a local flavor to the regatta with a handful of "Carriacous", 20' - 40' wooden sloops built on the island of Carriacou from the late 1800's thru the 1970s to transport goods throughout the islands. And, unlike the seriousness of many regattas there was a fun aspect to this event which drew smaller yachts like "Old Bob" and Veracity, the "Pirate Boat". While it was impossible to pick a favorite out of the 58 participating yachts, the one I seemed most drawn to was Ranger, a modern replica of the original 1937 Ranger, a yacht commissioned by the Vanderbilt's to compete in the America's cup of the same year. Her sleek lines, fast appearance, and beauty above decks just called to me.
The first day of the event, Louis and I made a loose plan to catch up with some folks at the top of the lookout to watch the race. But as we left Scappatella in our dinghy, the sea beckoned us and we decided to head out in the dinghy to get a close-up look at the race. Good decision! While the view from up high offers a good perspective to watch the entire event, we were able to get within 50 feet of the boats at the start line, all jockeying to avoid hitting each other while keeping behind the official line until the gun went off.
Race number one was a single-hander's race - can you imagine handling a 70+' yacht by yourself? The skill of some of these sailors was amazing, as they steered, raised and lowered sails, tacked, plotted their course, etc. singlehanded. The following four days each offered a different course with staggered start times so all but the smallest boats ran the same course and finished somewhat together. Every day we'd contemplate hiking up to a lookout to get a different perspective, but each day the action of being in the dinghy would win out and we'd head out to sea to watch the race up close. After the last of the 5 races finished, I was left wanting more. I never would have thought I'd be so enamored with the racing scene! More to follow...
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You know all that stuff I said about how "fun" it is sailing upwind in big winds and seas? Fuh-gedda 'bout it!
After spending a relaxing 3 days in Los Roques, Venezuela we got a decent weather forecast to make the 4-day trip to Antigua, 450 miles northeast of us. You may recall that Antigua was our intended destination about 1 month ago, but we detoured to Bonaire because of a mechanical. Well, here we are all set to leave for Antigua again, when we discover a tear in our brand new genoa (the headsail)...bummer! It's a defect in the cut of the sail and we decide we can sail with it reefed (rolled up a bit) without risking further tearing. But it means either heading back to Curacao for repairs (NO WAY) or detouring to St Croix and then the British Virgin Islands (another 100 miles, round trip) to get it fixed. The BVIs wins out. We leave with a reasonable forecast of 18 - 20 knots the first day, dropping to 12 to 15 the next few days.
The first 12 hours the winds were 20+ knots with 6 to 7 foot seas and wind chop on top of that. Several times we've got green-water breaking over the bow of the boat clear back to the bimini, the shade structure covering the cockpit in the back of the boat! Given my previous writings about upwind sailing, this should have been fun and exhilarating, but unfortunately it was pretty uncomfortable. And the sounds the boat makes while slamming down over big waves are incredibly loud down below. My seasick meds were inexplicably not working and I became violently ill. Puking over the sides; sleeping when I wasn't on watch. Ugh. During one of those sleeping episodes I woke to a much louder BANG than normal and Louis' stressed voice saying, "JAAAAnet". I scrambled up top and took the wheel while Louis clipped in and went up on the foredeck to investigate. We both feared that a shroud had broken, one of the wires that holds up the mast. That would be really bad. Instead, Louis discovered that the furling line for our Genoa had snapped, and the sail had now unfurled itself and was flying off the side of the boat. With no way to take that sail in, this was not good, but it was way better than a broken shroud.
So, by now it's 4:00am; the winds have climbed to 25 - 27 knots, and it's a moonless, pitch-black night. Louis is on the foredeck trying to fix the line amidst the howling winds and occasional seas breaking on deck. As I keep the boat steered into the wind, I run through the "man overboard" procedures, thinking through the steps of what I would do if Louis were washed overboard. Now, this is highly unlikely as he's clipped into safety lines on deck and it's not like we're in a big storm or anything, but it's the kind of stuff your (my) mind thinks about in the moment. (As my camera was at arm's reach, I also toyed with the idea of taking a photo of him up there, but decided against that.) After about 30 minutes of arduous work on deck, Louis fixes the line and we reef the sail further. We really should put up the staysail at this point, (a smaller, high-wind sail) but we're too exhausted. A few hours later the repair fails and the furling line breaks a second time. Louis again attempts to repair the line, directing me to turn downwind so the bow won't continually crash into the oncoming seas. The spreader lights illuminate the foredeck so he can see what he's doing, but at the helm this light is very disorienting. In my attempt to keep the boat pointed downwind, I accidentally jibe the boat...CRAP! (Jibing is when the wind crosses the stern from one side of the boat to the other; if you're not prepared for it, the boom swings violently to the other side, potentially breaking things in the process.) Louis comes back to the cockpit but then the wind crosses back and I jibe again, breaking a pin off of the traveler - another important piece of equipment. The pin was pretty wimpy and already bent; Louis had just recently put it on his repair list. This offered some small consolation, but nonetheless, this was definitely a "pendejo" moment for me!
We start the engine, bring the boat into control, and set a boom brake....a handy thing we have to prevent the boom from flying in case of another accidental jibe. Louis is finally able to repair the broken line and we reef the genoa down to 50% and continue on our way. Louis eventually gets some needed rest while I take the next watch. Over the next day the winds finally begin to abate, but after 36 hours we're still heeled way over beating into 18 - 20 knots, and I'm still puking. We decide to flatten the boat out by turning on the motor and heading straight into the wind. What a difference - my seasickness finally begins to subside and with the motor droning away we head directly to St. Croix. Another 36 hours later we finally drop anchor outside the main town and breathe a sigh of relief!
Isn't sailing fun?
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Another incredible anchorage in Los Roques, Venezuela. It's as still as a lake in here despite the big swell that has adversely affected so many other anchorages in the area. And, an unexpected bonus: the swell has kept away the typical weekend crowds of Venezuelans who normally drive their powerboats over here from the mainland. We have the place almost to ourselves. We snorkel over to a small reef just outside where we encounter huge barracuda, rays, mackerel, and a ton of other fishes. Louis is tempted to spear the mackerel, but spearfishing is illegal here. Damn - those mackerel are incredibly tasty!
But the mackeral gets us thinking about that Mullet Snapper in our freezer. This is our last stop before crossing the Caribbean sea, so we need to find a local fisherman who can tell us if our snapper is toxic. Luckily, we spot 2 Venezulan guys in a "panga" - a local fishing boat - cruising by. I wave them over, and they approach our boat warily. (It's probably not often that local fisherman get hailed over by a bikini-clad woman on a sailboat.) I attempt to converse with them in my limited Spanish: "Excuse me, a question, you are a fisherman, yes?" They nod. "We have a fish from Los Aves, but don't know if it's good. Ciguaterra? You know ciguaterra?" Louis brings up our fish book and points to the fish in question. The older man, probably the father, rattles off a whole bunch of Venezulean-accented Spanish words, of which I understand one: Mejor. "Mejor", I repeat, assuming (hoping) he's telling us it's one of the best eating fish around. A bunch more Spanish comes forth, and I get none of it. "Lo siento, no comprendo", I reply. "No ciguaterra?" Louis and I both ask. "No, no, no....he says, shaking his head. "Es bueno?", we repeat. Again, a battering of Spanish; the words "bueno" and "mejor" stand out. Ok, well, "muchas gracias, muchas gracias" we reply. I feebly attempt to make small talk by asking the father if he's going fishing now, but in actuality I think I said, "you are a fisherman now?". He kindly replies, "No, no, manana....". We wave goodbye, thanking them again, and watch them motor away.
"So, you want to have fish for dinner?" Louis hesitantly asks. "Well, I don't know...how well do you trust my Spanish?". I look up mejor in our Spanish-English dictionary to confirm it means better or best. It does, but then several words down appears the word "morir". Sounds kind of like "mejor", doesn't it? Only, morir means "to die".
Hmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm.....guess we'll keep that fish on ice for now!
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