After a frustrating week at the Village Cay docks last week trying to get boat work done, we needed a little fun — after all Thalia was the goddess of comedy! On Friday night, the roads of Roadtown were bedecked in a Christmas Festival. They closed off Main Street and jammed it full of booths of vendors selling food, handicrafts and toys. “Main Street” here is so narrow, it is a one way road, and the booths, being at least 10-12′ square, didn’t leave but the gutters on both sides for all the crowds to pass by. And, believe me, you want to be careful when you walk by a gutter in these parts!
Thankfully, it didn’t take us long to find a local reggae band — down here, it’s all reggae or rap, with an occasional blues band. Here’s a video of some of the music. If you are looking out the window into a snow storm right now, this might put you in an island time, low-stress mood!
We decided to leave Roadtown on Saturday, with the refrigeration system not yet working, but with a couple bags of ice and our minds set on some more fun. Together with Heaven Won’t Wait, we headed across the Sir Francis Drake Channel to nearby Norman Island. On the way out of Roadtown harbour, we caught a glimpse of how ‘the rest of the world’ of sailors get their boats down to Caribbean. This is a ship that is offloading sailboats and motor yachts from their deck… that might be the way to do it next time!
The distance between the islands here is so short, it really takes some getting used to. I went down below for a short while to call on the radio as Karen sailed us along in stiff 25 knot winds. Before I knew it, she was calling me up to the cockpit as we were getting ready to navigate into Norman Island! At most it was 45 minutes of sailing. There are all of these islands — Tortola, Norman, Virgin Gorda, etc that are all no more then 2-3 hours apart, and often much less. Norman Island is resplendent with stories of buried pirate treasure, and is the basis of the original Treasure Island story. Sure enough, we picked up a mooring in Privateer Bay, a little crevice on the southern shore and a close distance away from The Caves, a spot that was highly recommended for snorkeling. Just around the corner is the much larger anchorage called The Bight, with at least 75 mooring balls and lots of charter boats in attendance. An enterprising person started a bar on shore called the Pirate’s Bight. I had no camera with me at the time so you’ll have to imagine what it looked like, but picture a beach-side bar and restaurant, open air of course, with kids playing on the sanding beach out front, and some moms and dads enjoying a frosty beer at one of the tables. All of the grownups that are not moms and dads were still on their boats recovering from a late night at the bar. All we had with us was a soggy $15, which after getting a couple sodas for the kids, left us sharing beers, but still the bartender regaled us with details from the previous night’s partying. All I’m comfortable publishing is the fact that there were several women who felt the urge to dance on top of the bar and that there were cans of whipping cream and chocolate sauce somehow involved. If those old pirates come ashore these days, I think they would find the scene very agreeable!
For us, we returned to The Caves for some snorkeling. It was a big help to be with Heaven Won’t Wait because we could use their dinghy to get around. Despite our efforts to search for our dinghy, we had settled on the fact that it was gone forever, and that left us, for now, with just kayaks to get ashore. Fortunately, Privateer Bay was small and the snorkeling at The Caves was a short swim away. There are a total of three caves and in between them are steep cliffs that drop down into the water, forming many nooks and crannies for all imaginable forms of sealife to coexist. This was by far the best snorkeling site I’ve seen. There were tropical fish swimming all around us. Some were in the shape of traditional angel fish with deep, deep blues and traffic light bright yellows. There were larger (i.e. 12-14″ long) fish too, one of which was my favorite that had clung close to the seafloor and had a rainbow of color varieties — I found out later that he’s called a parrotfish. At one point, we were all surrounded by a school of angelfish about the size of a hand that had vertical yellow and black stripes. There probably were 70-100 of them and they swam all around us, unlike most of the others that weren’t nearly as tame. We felt like part of the ‘ocean club’ as they accepted us just like any other creature in the water. Nearby, we ran into a sea turtle surfacing. These turtles either are very relaxed or are navigationally challenged — I couldn’t determine which. I held my breath and dove down to get a closer look at this fellow. He would amble up, around, down, sideways — with apparently not a care in the world and not too concerned that I was right nearby. On a much smaller scale, I dove down close to several of the coral clustered next to the rocky cliffs, and after focussing closely, I could see many tiny tropical fish, the size that you might buy at a tropical fish store, all swimming in the protection of the coral. These too were beautiful to study, with bright reds, yellows, and greens. I took many pictures using a disposable underwater camera and will try to get these uploaded for you all to see.
On the way back, we snorkeled into the caves some distance until it became too dark to see and too shallow. Looking up at where the water ended in the cave and where there were small sandy cuts formed in between the rocks, it didn’t take much imagination to picture pirates rowing in to stash their treasure chests full of booty. This could have easily been a movie set for Pirates of the Caribbean! It was a good thing, though, as Karen’s persistent love affair with Johnny Depp would have left me stranded in paradise, and then I’d have to frequent the Pirate’s Bight and we all know what trouble that would lead to…!
On a second snorkel outing, we headed the other direction from The Caves towards a spot called Carvel Rock. There were equal amounts of fish of many colors. In addition, we spotted several conch shells on the seafloor. I dove and moved one to find that there was indeed a spiny creature inside. On another dive, I stopped to stare at a fish about 12″ long that was all covered in red and burnt orange colors. He was as still as could be in the tidal surge, and pointing up at a 45 degree angle, a strange orientation for a fish. After about 30 seconds of this, he abruptly leveled out, swam away, and in the process, changed from all of his bright red colors to a very subtle red and gray. This was some kind of chameleon fish and I assume he went all red to blend in with the orange coral behind him, thinking I was a predator. I followed him for awhile and watched but couldn’t get him to repeat his color changing tricks.
We stayed two nights in Privateer Bay, splitting dinners with Heaven Won’t Wait. When it was our turn, Karen did her Thai magic, pulling out the curry and fish sauce and produced a delightful chicken dinner. We had a full moon rising just after sunset, so there was not much more one could wish for.
On Monday, Heaven Won’t Wait had plans to visit nearby St. John, part of the US Virgin Islands, while we headed back to Roadtown (yes once again!) to be ready for Zack’s surgery Tuesday morning. While on the short sail across from Norman Island, we ran into an outfit called Yacht Shots. This is an entrepreneurial photographer who takes his dinghy and dog out on the water to take pictures of boats. He then posts the shots on his website for purchase. It was quite impressive to watch him maneuver his dinghy with one hand while he was leaning back on his tether holding on to a large digital camera in the other hand, spending time all around our boat, and even dead ahead off of our bow. I was so impressed, I had to take a picture of this guy!
Back at Village Cay in Roadtown, we had three important missions to accomplish. First, we needed to get Zack safely through his surgery. Second, we needed to get the refrigeration relooked at and hopefully fixed. And third, we needed to find a dinghy and outboard. The first seemed to be the easiest. Zack checked in Tuesday morning at the Bougainvella Clinic, where Dr. Robin Tattersall, a surgeon here for some 20 years, practices. This clinic is referred to by most folks in town as the “Purple Palace”. It is up on a steep bank with sweeping views of the town and the harbor. According to Dr. Tattersall, two guys who were antique dealers from New York bought the land and built the ‘palace’, but before they moved in, they had a falling out and it remained vacant for many years. Dr. Tattersall bought it, cleaned it up, put some fresh new purple paint on, and began his practice. The clinic’s main focus is plastic and reconstructive surgery, which was more then the general surgery Zack needed, but he got the same tender loving care that a “nip and tuck” patient would receive. This clinic was the nicest place we have seen for medical care. Take a look at the view Zack had out the window of his recovery room.
Zack stayed overnight in the clinic and came back to the boat the next day. It’s funny — when your family of four suddenly becomes a family of three overnight, you really notice the lose and miss the integrity of the family.
With Zack taken care of and recovering well on the boat, we got to work on the other two tasks. Franklin came back and made some more tweaks to the refrigeration system, but the evaporator plates were still not coming down in temperature enough. I began looking at what it would take to put a new system in. It was a very frustrating experience. Franklin seemed competent and the company was highly recommended, but he had spent almost a week of labor, and the system was no better then before, which left me with the unpleasant task of haggling with them over their labor bill. We had also spent money for a slip and time away from our trip. I couldn’t see getting to a ‘win-win’ solution with them, but we agreed to a reduced charge and left it at that. We are either going to replace the system sometime soon or supplement with ice for awhile.
On the last task, that of getting a dinghy, this proved to be even more tedious then the refrigeration issue. Ever since it was stolen, we had been inquiring around Roadtown for a used dinghy. I visited or called every charter company and every marina. I visited a outboard repair shop and we also mentioned our needs to everyone we met, from shop keepers to fellow sailors. There was a very attractive dinghy locked up on the beach at Village Cay and according to the marina personnel it was owned by a one ‘Jimmy Jon’, and they said he was selling it. The problem was he worked as a freelance charter captain at the Moorings and no one knew how to contact him. We spent the whole week chasing down leads like these as if we were diligent private detectives. A fellow Carib1500 boat, Villomee, told us BVI Yacht Charters had a dinghy they would give to us — it just needed pumping up every other day. When I got there, they had already started salvaging valves from it for another dinghy, so it was not an option. On a walk over to the outboard shop, I passed a place simply called “The Pub”. This was one of those town landmarks that was frequently used for giving directions. Apparently, this was a frequent hangout for the locals! As a directional landmark, it matched Dunkin Donuts or McDonalds in the states for popularity!
Right down the street from the Pub was the Fort Burt Hotel, a somewhat shabby looking place from the outside, but believe it or not the home of the local New England Culinary Institute branch. Read the sign if you don’t believe me! They were doing something right, as their bakery made the most delicious breads and pastries.
My next stop, again just down the street from the Pub, was the marine police. We had been there the week before to file a report of the stolen dinghy. While there, we were amazed at the variety of dinghies they had stored up on land, apparently found and unclaimed. On my return visit, I developed the saddest, pitiful look I could muster and met with Chief Inspector Armory (yes, a strange name for a police officer…). He at first said he couldn’t help me beyond the occasional search of the harbor. I had given up on finding our old dinghy — all I wanted was a chance to buy one of their many unclaimed dinghies. He eventually agreed to try to talk to the town’s finance department to see if they would sell one outside the normal public auction process. I left feeling frustrated that we were no closer to finding a dinghy and resigned to the fact that we’d have to go buy a new one and a new outboard.
The great dinghy hunt took a promising turn though when Tony from Tony’s Special Care Boat Management Company, based at Village Cay, told us that he had an 11ft dinghy, not too old, that one of his customers really wanted to get rid of. He also had a used Honda engine he would be willing to sell. The next day, Tony brought them to the marina for us to look at. The dinghy itself was in good shape but the only problem was all the stuff the owner had put inside. A good dinghy in my view is one with no seats or other stuff inside — just all open for as many passengers or gear that you need to carry. You find yourself making sudden and somewhat risky entries and exits from the dinghy, perhaps in between the breaking waves at a beach or from the stern of a pitching sailboat at anchor. The less cluttered the dinghy, the better. However, this owner had built a seat/storage compartment in the rear and a console to hold a little steering wheel. He put a big ol’ 25 hp Yamaha on it and was probably trying to pretend to run with the big dogs and lost out. He left the dinghy in Tony’s hands. Tony gave us a reasonable price for it and told us if we wanted to rip the console and seats back out we were welcome to. Not wanting to own the thing unless the seats come out reasonable easily, we laid the dinghy out on the dock and began chiseling away. After several very sweating hours, lots of bottles of water and the assistance of Tony with his heat gun and over-sized sledge hammer, we broke the seats and console free of the floor, and were getting closer to owning a dinghy. That’s Tony in the second picture.
We then moved on to the outboard. The engine Tony brought was a Honda 8hp 4 stroke with a little wear and tear but knowing how good Honda does, it was probably very workable. The only problem (isn’t anything easy these days??) was the fuel line connector on the dinghy was made for a Yahama, and the Honda fitting was not compatible. I sure wish they made dinghies like Apple makes computers, where everything is truly designed to work seamlessly together! So, the hunt for Honda fuel fittings began. By this time in our Roadtown experience, I knew where every marine and hardware store was. I first started at The Marine Depot, a small store right by Village Cay run by two very helpful guys. They took pity with my circumstance, but did not have the part. They recommended Golden Hind, a much larger marine store over at the massive Moorings complex. Here’s a glimpse of their docks, and the rows and rows of charter boats. Out on the water, you can spot these boats a mile away, as they all have the same color scheme and insignia.
The Golden Hind didn’t have the Honda fitting either, nor did their neighboring Marine Power Systems. They both told me to try the Honda dealer, Island Marine Outfitters, which they pleasantly gave me directions to with reference to The Pub! This was all the way across on the other side of the harbor. At Island Marine, I found a couple very unenthusiastic employees who casually pointed me to some distant shelf where I should find the part, but this store had nothing related to Honda. I retorted back, a bit put off now, that they must have the part as they are Honda dealers and everyone else in town referred me to them. Well, I guess I missed the press release, but they were getting out of the Honda business. Yikes, this was not going to be easy! I learned one thing for sure, though. If I ever run a business of my own, I’m going to make sure I only hire the most friendly, outgoing, helpful employees I can find. What a turn off it is to have the opposite.
Back at Village Cay, Tony gave me some ideas on how to work around the Honda problem by fitting on a make shift Yamaha connector. So, back I went to The Marine Depot for one part, Golden Hind for another piece, and finally the local hardware store for the final brass coupler to put them together. Do you ever wonder what your friends do all day when they choose to sail down in the Caribbean for a year? They spend whole afternoons, actually whole days, running around distance towns for parts! These are jobs that could quite possibly be solved with one run to Home Depot or Lowes back home.
With parts in hand, I modified the fuel connector on the engine, connected it to the fuel tank and after a few stubborn pulls, the engine sputtered to life. We had power! For a final test, we all jumped in and went for a buzz around the inner harbor. This dinghy and smooth running engine were going to work just fine. We passed cash to Tony and were now happily in possession of ship-to-shore transportation once again!
After celebrating our progress with a dinner at the Village Cay restaurant, we heading out the next morning to Trellis Bay, a small harbor about 2 hours upwind and right next to the airport. Now, this was not like being in the shadows of La Guardia. Only small turboprop planes flew in here, and the airport was just a 5 minute walk from the dinghy dock. Around the perimeter of the bay was a collection of restaurants, bars, and artisan shops and they served as an informal departure lounge for passengers. There were plenty of spots on the waterfront to relax, as the kids discovered.
Since Zack was still recovering from his surgery, we took it easy here in Trellis Bay, spending two nights at anchor and one day exploring around the neighboring harbors on our fancy new-to-us dinghy.
We hope to keep making our way around to the northern and western sides of Tortola in the next few days.