Ah, Island Romance--

(Or, Looks Great in the Brochure...)

There are songs to the unicorn, myths of centaurs and satyrs, godzillas, kongs (king and lesser exhalted), odes to Valhalla and Shangri-La, searches for the magnetic monopole, Tea-Partiers who know history, and other fantastical beings, places, and things. But none is so rare, so fantastical, so unbelievable as the Single Masted Schooner. Yet we have for the last month inhabited such a vessel. Just as the koan of the Sound of One Hand Clapping continues to challenge those on the path to enlightenment, the Sight of the One Masted Schooner brings confusion, frustration, acceptance, and finally resolution to its acolytes. Similar to the monastic retreat, the boatyard has its own rhythm and time schedule. But now is the time for reflection and reportage.

Undoubtedly you, our tremendous readership (tremendous in character, not I know in quantity!) have been wondering of the state and status of the Good Schooner Mistress and its wayward crew after the unfortunate event during classic. Wonder no longer. We are back whole and sound--but still in Falmouth Harbor in Antigua. For the past month we have docked the boat at Bailey's Catamaran Marina, eaten at Bailey's Cat Club hotel restaurant, pulled and repaired the foremast at Bailey's Boat Yard, shopped at Bailey's grocery (and rented a vehicle from D's Car Rental! Not all things...).

The mast, recall, cracked during the second race of the Classic. The yard is adjacent to the marina. Scooting over one fine day, derigging all the stays and shrouds, the crane operator had little difficulty lifting the stick from its hole. Though Jeremiah later expressed a bit of concern of how the crack would open up as I was up the mast attaching the crane hook to the strap. (Some things I don't need to know.)

Jerry and his crew at Chippy's--most notably BM--did a bang up job on the mast whilst (this is a British Isle...) back home at Briarcliff for some R and R. (The definition of irony?) Two 12 ft lengths of fir were scarfed on either side of the mast behind the jib halyard winches--beautiful. It was up to me to paint and varnish prior to the step. (I do hate to think how many months, nay years, I've spent in various boatyards--no wonder I'm well preserved--or toxic--you decide!).

Briarcliff sparkled in the springtime. There were a few odds and ends to tidy up, but all is now ready for the rental season. And fantastic dinners were had with Mistress Family and friends who had the good sense to miss this passage and regatta. (If there is anyone out there who needs a vacation home in Annapolis, we need to pay for the mast repair!-- www.briarcliffretreat.com.)

Thursday last came the big day. Alongside came that strangest of all vessels to receive her missing pole. Up it went and slowly slid in, with just a minimum of verbal and physical encouragement. (Damn it, twist--up a hair, now down--no, back up--keep it straight--forward a ch--now down--we're in!).

But like most dates, a girl's not complete till the rigging is attached and tidy. Unlike most, but perhaps not all dates, it can take a couple days for Mistress to be properly rigged. Up the mast I go, Julie now expertly manning the winch. But I failed to take the weight off the aft side of the main mast and am unable to attach the two intermast stays. So down I come to remedy that situation--and back up again. Masts connected together, forestays attached, shrouds woven, halyards strung, it is time to return to the deck and get some blood flowing in my legs again. (And have a cocktail.)
The next day completes the rig--tensioning all the stays and putting the booms and sails back on to their rightful places. Finally, there is a real schooner to gaze upon.

In the midst of this to-do, Julie--with a little local help from Scolatchy and Raymond--has been tackling the brightwork that was so sorely scarred on the passage from Key West. Salt water has a terrible scouring effect on the oiled teak--especially all the salt water baths we took on the way here. Rigging and face oil...so much work, and so much reward.

So, for those of you who still have the colorful brochure of the idyllic life sailing the isles of the Caribbean with warm crystal clear azure water, sleeping late, afternoon swims at anchor, and a rum cocktail at the end of the day while lying in the hammock--I'm here to tell you it's all true. That's our life, and I hope you'll join us in the coming months. Off to Nonsuch Bay next week, then onto Guadeloupe.

Be seeing you.

Monk