CURRENT LOCATION: Anchored off the beach in Sosua, Dominican Republic

19 45.609' N, 070 31.203' W

During our many recent discussions with other cruisers, the topic of 'strategies' always came in second only to weather in order of importance. By strategies, I mean how and when do you plan to make your move along the north coast of the Dominican Republic and across the Mona Passage to Puerto Rico. This is largely dependent upon how large a boat you have, how well it sails to windward, how big and reliable your engine is, how much 'discomfort' you are willing to tolerate, and (of course) what your opinion of your weather window is shaping up to be. Everyone had a slightly different strategy.

When Sheryl and I shared our strategy, we spoke of the 4-day plan. We were hoping to use the weather window to get to Samaná, toward the eastern end of the Dominican Republic, then wait there until the next window for our crossing of the Mona Passage. The 4-day plan would have us making all the stops outlined in Bruce Van Sant's guidebook, The Gentleman's Guide to Passages South. According to Van Sant's advice, we would move the boat from anchorage to anchorage along the north coast at night. This would allow us to take advantage of the lighter winds (due to the night lee) to get around each of the major capes, which can be challenging if not impossible during the height of daytime winds. Based on the specifications of our boat, namely the fact that we are relatively short and extremely heavy with a very tiny and very tired engine, we planned to take the easiest route possible.

Van Sant's guidebook can almost be read like a rulebook. In fact, it is written in such a dogmatic tone that one could even interpret them as commandments, 'Thou shalt take a heading of 180 degrees magnetic.' The attitude of the author which exudes from his writing style suggests that he would take well to this allusion of him as the Supreme Being and his guidebook as the Bible. Although I give the author credit where credit is due, I am not inclined to feed such grandeur, especially when all of the valuable information within the book is buried within Mr. Van Sant's efforts at self-aggrandizement (making it incredibly difficult to read). Therefore, this blog will simply refer to the advice laid out in his book as rules.

Van Sant's Rule: Stage Your Departure. Since our plan was to leave Luperon in the dark hours of the night, we would pick up our anchor and move to a position much closer to the entrance of the harbor. In addition to making it easier to navigate out to open waters, this move would also serve the purpose of giving us a clean anchor rode. A chain which has been drug around in mangrove mud for two weeks can be a very messy thing indeed. After our final trip to town, we spent the afternoon pulling the dinghy up on deck, cleaning the bottom, and getting all items stowed for an offshore journey.

As the evening hours approached, we kept waiting for the winds to die down so that we could more easily navigate out of the harbor (around the shoals and the other boats). In our experience, by five o'clock the afternoon winds are usually beginning to settle in the harbor. 5PM came and went and the winds were still kicking up above 20-knots. We began to wonder if this was a sign that we were not supposed to be leaving. Nobody else was leaving the harbor tonight, and although we prefer to make our own decisions regarding our sailing strategies, we were feeling a little conspicuous and unsure about taking off when other (more experienced) sailors were staying put.

By 6PM, the winds finally started to abate, so we started our engine. It took some time to get the anchor aboard in a relatively clean state, but finally we were ready to motor the obstacle course around the corner to the Pinzon anchorage, in the mouth of the harbor entrance. With barely enough light to still see, we dropped our secondary anchor into the water and deployed just enough rode to hold us firmly for a few hours.

After a nice dinner and a very few rolly hours of sleep, we were hauling in the anchor just before 1AM. Our secondary anchor is a 33-lb Bruce on 30-feet of 5/16 chain followed by braided rope, while our primary anchor is a 60-lb CQR on 200-feet of 3/8 chain. Prior to going cruising, we usually deployed Bruce. It was all we needed in the muddy bottoms of the North Carolina sounds and rivers. I must tell you that the pleasure of picking up the Bruce on this dark tropical night was due not only to the comparative ease of retrieval, but also to the nostalgia it induced. Being a weekend coastal cruiser was much, much easier in so many ways. However, I digress.

Navigating out of Luperon from the Pinzon anchorage was not too challenging, but doing it in the dark did create an understandable level of anxiety for the crew of Prudence. First, even on a calm night the swell creates breakers on the reefs lining both sides of the narrow channel. We intended to avoid these reefs by following our 'breadcrumbs,' the saved path on our GPS unit, back out in exactly the way we came in. This would have been quite simple, save for the fish pots which may have moved since the time of our arrival. Therefore, we motored out through the swell with Sheryl on the bow, shining a bright light from side to side, stopping when ever she encountered a float on a fish pot. I, at the helm, made slight course adjustments to avoid the pots while still remaining close to our breadcrumbs. Soon we breathed a sigh of relief as the depths dropped off beyond the range of our depth sounder. We were underway again.

The ride around Punta Patilla seemed to take forever. Even in the peak hours of the night lee, the winds had still not come down entirely. Once we made it around the point and into the bay, things settled down and we motor-sailed the distance to Sosua. As we approached this little pocket in the bay, we began to discuss the possibility of pushing on further. It was only 8AM, and the bay was calm. It seemed a waste to stop now. But, according to Van Sant's Rule: Cape Effects, the acceleration of winds around the capes of Hispaniola, "...can get to a fierce 30 knots on the cape in the daytime, while it blows only 15 to 20 knots beyond the cape." Since we were in the protected wind shadow of the bay, there was no telling what we might face if we tried to push on. Therefore, the anchor was down in Sosua Bay by 9AM.

Sleep would have been a natural way to pass the time while waiting for the calmer conditions to tackle the next cape, Cabo Macoris. Unfortunately, though, our location was right in the middle of party central. Sosua is a vacation destination, with hotels, a long beach, and a coral reef right in the bay. We spent the day surrounded by boats: transports full of scuba divers out to explore the reef, glass bottomed boats, and big catamarans playing loud music and packed with pale tourists. By nightfall, the boats had gone away, but the nearby hotel was engaged in a lively game of Bingo. The announcer's voice carried well over the calming water, entertaining the crowd with his Ricky Ricardo inspired accent..."B25, baba-loo veinticinco." We managed a few short naps throughout the day and into the early hours of the night, up until our departure time of 11PM. We raised the anchor as thumping dance music from the hotel accosted our eardrums...