CURRENT LOCATION: Anchored off the city of Saman�, Dominican Republic

19 11.875' N, 069 19.953' W

We are EXHAUSTED! I cannot remember a time when I have felt so utterly consumed with the need for sleep. It is nearly noon, and I am sitting listening to the weather at the nav station. I hold a small digital recorder in my hand, which we use to record NOAA weather forecasts in our area (Mike can sometimes be a little hard to understand the first time through). As I wait for Mike to read our area, I am falling asleep. I wake with a start, shaking my head and hoping that I haven't missed it.

Let me back up and tell you how we reached this state of exhaustion. Fatigue was already setting in at the point where I left off in the previous blog entry. We had originally thought that the 4-day plan was going to be the easiest way to transit the north coast of the Dominican Republic. Going into our second night on very little sleep, our thoughts were beginning to change.

Normally, on long passages, we split the nighttime hours into 4-hour shifts. This gives us an opportunity to get at least one solid block of sleep each day. However, neither of us can comfortably leave the other to contend with managing the boat in total darkness with land a mile or less to starboard while using this coast-hugging strategy. Although we are both capable of managing the boat under these circumstances, it is an anxiety provoking experience to be sailing the boat this close to land, IN THE DARK! Being together gives us the morale support to deal with this anxiety. Therefore, when underway we are both in the cockpit at all times. We still take shifts, either 1 or 2 hours depending on the conditions, so that one of us may take cat naps on the bench or curled up on the floor, but nothing which constitutes a substantial block of sleep.

Our departure time of 11PM from Sosua was intended to give us plenty of time to get around Cabo Macoris in the peak of the night lee, and arrive at our intended anchorage, Rio San Juan, by first light. However, as we rounded the cape the conditions were ideal to continue directly to the next cape, Cabo Frances Viejo. And, we could just make it by the cutoff time dictated by Van Sant's Rules: Pass the Cape by 8AM (O.K. maybe we would be just a little late), but we would not be able to make the next anchorage, Escondido, on time Van Sant's Rules: Arrive Escondido by 5PM. It was time to break the rules.

Daytime sleeping and nighttime sailing was not a pattern we welcomed for the next 3 days, so we decided to compress it into 2 and continue nonstop. We rounded Cabo Frances Viejo at 9AM as windy conditions had just started gearing up, and the last few tacks we took to clear the headland were exciting ones. As usual, Van Sant was right.

The exceptionally large bay, Bahia Escocesa, followed the cape. A sailboat we recognized from French Cay and Luperon passed us and led the way into the bay. Iain & Ruth, aboard s/v Bizim motor-sailed on toward a night at anchor at Escondido. Their bigger boat and bigger motor had allowed them to depart Luperon at 6PM the previous evening, catch up to us at this point, and will allow them to make it to the anchorage long before five o'clock.

We, on the other hand, could take our time working across the bay because we needed to stall for time so that we would be rounding the next cape at the appropriate point in the night lee to come. Throughout the morning hours, the winds were so light here in the protection of bay that it was not enough to sail upon, so we kept motoring through the somewhat calmer waters. I cannot swear to it, but we may have even caught a few hours of naptime during this period. Unfortunately, a cabin heated by the rays of the sun and a warm diesel engine, without the airflow provided by ports and hatches, is not the best sleeping environment (still too much spray to open the boat while underway).

At about 2PM, the winds went from less than 10 knots to 20+ knots in a heartbeat. The afternoon sea breeze was in full swing, and we at the point of our course where we were dangerously close to land. We put up as much sail as we dared in these winds and hand-steered to avoid some of the more threatening of the waves. It was tiring work, but we made progress away from shore and back out to safer waters. We did short tacks for the remainder of the evening, continuing to hand-steer to keep the ride more comfortable in the big breaking waves which surrounded us. We counted down the hours until the conditions would settle down at sunset.

The settled conditions never came. At the end of the bay we encountered the sheer cliff of a mountain, visible in the dwindling light of day. What we suppose were katabatic winds off of this mountain kept the early evening hours interesting, to say the least. Rather than waiting for the night lee, Van Sant's Rule: Peak of the Night Lee is Between Midnight and 2AM, we forged ahead in the early hours of darkness and proceeded to round Cabo Cabron. It was a long struggle to put the image of that cape behind us on the radar screen, but no relief was to be had, because Cabo Saman� stood in our way. Even though it was now the peak time for the night lee, this east-facing cape was still under the influence of the trades. We struggled through yet another few hours of crawling around this cape before finally finding relief by turning the corner at Punta Balandra.

For the first time since the Bahamas, we were now running with the wind. It took a bit of getting used to, as we have not trimmed the sails for anything but close-hauled action for so long. We had to dig through our cockpit line bag in order to unearth our preventer. We ran toward the harbor at B�rbara de Saman�, arriving in calm waters around 4AM. Rather than trying to enter the harbor in the darkness, we decided to circle in this calm, deep water and wait for sunrise.

No sooner had we settled into a pattern of pacing than the winds came up and squalls appeared on the radar. We held our position on this area of water while wave after wave of squalls washed over us. Each brought increased winds (up to 30-knots), torrential rains, and swell from the open water. At least the decks got rinsed clear of the salty coating which had accumulated over the past days. In fact, the crew was treated to a good soaking with fresh water before the coolness of the night air forced us to don our foul weather gear.

The squalls cleared at daybreak, and we slowly motored into the harbor. The water was DISGUSTING! Rains had cleared the town of topsoil and trash (and who knows what else), leaving us to motor through a chocolate-colored broth dotted with plastic, styrofoam, tree branches and coconuts. I kept checking the engine water strainer to make certain that we did not clog it with debris.

We anchored quickly so that we could shut down the engine before anything could get sucked into the cooling water system, and breathed a sigh of relief. Although exhaustion was clearly upon us, we felt that we needed to get the dinghy assembled and check in as soon as possible. Saman� is an official port of entry, and our clearance papers from Luperon carried us only to this point. As we inflated the dinghy, Bizim was setting their anchor next to us (having rested nicely at Escondido the night before).

With Patience in the water I began to remove the harness we use to lift and lower the dinghy, when I was interrupted with a call from the other side of the boat, "Hola, hola?" It was a navy officer, government official, and a translator. We invited them aboard and the boat they had arrived in pulled away.

After a quick check of our papers, they asked us for a ride over to Bizim, since the fisherman who dropped them off had departed. As you may recall, Sheryl had done official transport duties in Manzanillo, so I quickly volunteered to do the driving. First, we had to put the motor on the dinghy, and then the first two boarded with me (the translator and the Navy officer). I got the feeling that the Navy guy was a little uncomfortable in this small boat.

Now, I should tell you that we generally have a little trouble with the Evinrude on the first start after a long passage. Perhaps it has something to do with getting all shaken up on the stern railing of the big boat. In any case, I had forgotten this little fact until we were 50 feet way from Prudence and the engine died. It took several attempts as we drifted across the harbor, but I finally got Evinrude up and running again and we motored to Bizim. After dropping them off, I returned to get the third official and made a more efficient second delivery.

After all of this hassle, you would think that we were done jumping through bureaucratic hoops. Well, there you would be wrong. They required that the captain of the boat follow them back into town to complete the process. Sheryl is the captain of our vessel, which for some reason always elicits a smile from the officials, so she took off with Patience and met the group at Bizim's swim platform. Iain would take two in his dinghy and Sheryl would transport the final official back to shore. All the way from the deck of Prudence I could hear the voice of the translator indicating that the Navy General was afraid to ride in our dinghy. You would think that the navy guy would be the most qualified to handle the aquatic adventure posed by our small craft. In any case, Iain provided safe transport for the interpreter and the General, while Sheryl gave an equally safe ride to the government official.

Once all the hurdles to becoming official had been traversed, Sheryl and I were faced with a monumental decision: Do we continue on toward Puerto Rico or stay here for a while? In order to make this decision, we needed an update on a critical piece of information, the weather. This is where you find me at the nav station trying to stay awake long enough to record Mike's forecast.

The weather situation turned out to be one which would provide a good weather window to make it across the Mona Passage to Puerto Rico. It is important to get the right conditions to make this crossing, because the Mona Passage has a reputation for being downright nasty. This is largely due to the fact that one of the deepest spots in the ocean, the Puerto Rico Trench, lies just to the north of the passage between Hispaniola and Puerto Rico. Water depths go from over 8000 meters to less than 50 meters, in spots, over the span of just a few miles. The resulting confused seas and rip currents are nothing to trifle with. In addition, the area has a reputation for being a path for squall activity. They march in legions from south to north between the two land masses.

The unfortunate thing about this good weather window is that it was scheduled to slam shut in only 2 days. From Saman�, we needed exactly two days to make it to Puerto Rico. In other words, if we wanted to capitalize upon this opportunity, we needed to leave this evening.

Although it seems crazy to even be considering moving on in this state of exhaustion, two factors are weighing heavily in that direction. First, we are sitting in the middle of this disgusting chocolate slop. Second, a very important piece of paper (our boat documentation) is set to expire at the end of the month. Our updated documentation for Prudence is already in my mother's hands in Indiana; however, we want to make certain to have her send it to us at a place where we can both quickly and reliably receive it. We considered doing so in Luperon, but cruisers with local knowledge suggested waiting until we reach Puerto Rico. Since this document is the first item ALL officials ask for whenever we do anything with the government, it would be an extreme pain to work with an expired documentation certificate. Although the expiration is over two weeks away, we here on Prudence hate to put anything off until the last minute. And you never know how long the weather is going to pin you into a location, especially when the next step is the Mona.

We took stock of the situation, and decided that Puerto Rico was calling to us. Just a few items stood between us and our departure. First, we needed diesel. Second, we needed sleep. And third, we needed to check out with the officials. We never would have accomplished them all in time if it had not been for the help of Iain from Bizim. Since Iain also needed diesel, he offered to take our cans in his dinghy and bring them back full. Sounds easy right? Well, it was slightly more of an undertaking for him to accomplish.

The commercial pier was out of diesel. Therefore, Iain had to work with an interpreter to arrange for a motoconcho, a motorcycle which hauls a covered rickshaw-like buggy, to transport the diesel cans to and from the gas station. The buggy, which has seats for 6 people was the perfect means to convey 6 jerry cans of diesel fuel, but it did increase the price of said fuel somewhat. The fuel itself was about $5/gallon. Our share of the motoconcho cost an additional $10 and the interpreter (although he wanted much more) got $10 of our money (thanks to Iain's skillful negotiation). If you add in the $15 port fees, which seems reasonable since ALL we did here in the harbor was anchor for a few hours while filling up, that brings the price to about $7/gallon. I cannot wait to get back to an area which allows us to sail more than motor.

When Iain, our hero, returned with our full diesel cans, I topped off the onboard tank and strapped the remaining spare fuel on deck. It was time for a much needed shower, after which it was naptime. Two solid hours of uninterrupted sleep made Sheryl and I feel better rested than we had in days (not a very high standard of rest, though, I can assure you).

When we awoke, it was time to check out. The Saman� officials had been quite clear that once we checked out we would need to go. No waiting around. Therefore, we were faced with a challenge in coordinating the timing. We needed to leave at dusk, because afternoon conditions in the harbor were kicking up some pretty mean winds, and we needed to take advantage of the maximum nighttime moderated winds to make our way further east along the coast before heading offshore in the morning. However, there was the little issue of deflating and stowing the dinghy to consider after checking out, and that would be a challenge to do quickly.

Again, Iain came to the rescue. At this point, we saw him flying over in superhero costume with cape flapping in the tradewinds, but in actuality he was bringing his go-fast dinghy to pick up Sheryl and head to the Comandancia's office. Bizim was planning to depart at the same time we were. I can only assume that they had been reading Van Sant's Rule: Leave Saman� at Dusk. While the Captain handled the official work, I deflated the dinghy and deployed the windvane steering.

Sheryl returned and we had time for a fairly leisurely dinner before pulling up the anchor. Since we had dropped the hook in 30-feet of water (only 10 hours before), it was a bit of a chore retrieving all that chain and a heavy anchor packed with mud. Breathing heavily, I sat in the cockpit while Sheryl motored us out through the now calmer winds of the twilight hour.

Bizim was fast on our heels, and would soon overtake us and sail ahead out of sight. We don't know if we will ever see them again, but we certainly hope that these are two friends we can keep in touch with over time. The blessing of cruising is that common experiences allow you to make new friends very fast. The curse of cruising is that those friends are gone from your lives before you know it.