Twas the night before Christmas. “What am I thinking, that is long past.”

Twas the first night at anchor and all through the boat, The rum and the wine were keeping us afloat.
The sun was slowly falling into the horizon below, when I looked to the east and cried out “Oh No.”
There is a rainbow so bright and so vivid, we better scramble to close the hatches before we get soaked. (Ok, I ran out of rhymes)
So we watched the sun sink into the Caribbean sea with a beautiful rainbow at our backs slowly fading away.

It was quite magical and the rain didn’t get us too wet.

We took a sailing trip south from Rodney bay located on the north end of the island to Anse Des Pitons. A marine park nestled at the foot of or in between the Piton mountains. One park ranger said, “ It is magical to spend the night between St. Lucias Breasts,” or as the locals say the tits of St. Lucia. We haven’t quit moved into the cleavage, choosing to just caress one breast right now.

I have stayed here before and the current, wind, and swells do not compliment each other. Mile High Dream pitches from side to side like a mechanical bull. After our first sleepless night we moved as close to shore as we could. The rangers thought this might be better than mooring between the Pitons called Sugar bay. It was better and we at least got some sleep. Sugar Bay is still calling me so we may try that tonight. Every other time I have been here, the moorings in Sugar bay have been full. This year we are the only boat here which is really quite sad and very hard on the locals that depend on cruisers to make their living. A local fisherman stopped by yesterday morning with a tuna he had just caught. Hoping for lobster we adjusted and dined on fresh tuna instead. Sacrifices we have to make.

We are in a Marine park reserve where fishing is not allowed. That’s what we are told anyway. The locals obviously didn’t get that memo or know that the local police are so busy with covid that no one will be enforcing the rules. They fly so close to our boat that to snorkel off the back of Mile High Dream is taking your life in your hands. The old wooden boats painted is bright red, yellow or green are maybe 16’ long and maybe 3 feet wide. The five to seven fisherman all stand up presumably looking for fish. I think it is more of a macho thing or right of passage and if you can’t do it, you need to find another profession. Or own the boat so you can sit down and operate the outboard motor. Even he stands on occasion. The boats sit so low in the water that from a distance they look like they are underwater. The other job of the outboard operator is to constantly bail the water out of the boat so being under water is not far from reality

Today another boat will be joining us to snorkel, explore and probably eat the rest of the tuna. It’s going to be a great day.