British Virgin Islands
The British Virgin Islands, also known as nature's little secrets, are comprised of some 40 islands rocks and cays that offer a wide variety of water and land-based attractions and activities. Their waters have been known to challenge the skills of seasoned world-class sailors while still offering first-time sailors a unique learning environment for the development of their sailing prowess.Virgin Gorda
Population 4,100 (2002)The British Virgin Islands are the paradigm of tropical island beach perfection, and the most popular cruising area in the Caribbean. Virgin Gorda combines the best features of all of them, packing enormous variety into its 21 sq km. Dramatic mahogany forests crown the volcanic Gorda Peak, the island's centre and highest point.
On Gorda's southern tip is The Baths, the most iconic geological wonder in all the BVIs: huge granite boulders are piled haphazardly on a curving beach, some of them forming natural pools which require a ladder to reach. They have also arranged themselves into secret coves that can only be entered on all fours, and into a series of eye-popping 'caves' and chambers, where shafts of tropic sun pierce waist-deep water to create the most romantic tableaux in the West Indies. The island doesn't even have a complete road system, so you can reach some beaches and coves only by boat. It means you can always find something idyllic and completely deserted. The area around North Sound is brilliant for getting lost among darting shoals of fish, or flocks of colourful birds, in the lap of affordable luxury rarely available to Caribbean visitors.
“501 Must-Visit Islands”
We left St. Maarten 6 pm Sunday, March 13. This was an overnight passage and our arrival in Virgin Gorda was 8 am, 14 hours later. While in St. Maarten, we had mostly anchored in the Bay and did not have good night sleeps; by the time we arrived at this destination, we were utterly exhausted, sleeping most of the day. By 2 pm, Jim had to do the mandatory immigration run – I (gratefully) continued to flop on the bed (it was one time I didn't grumble over the law/protocol that dictates only the captain may leave the ship.
The evening was spent quietly in the cockpit, continuing to feel stunned and out of touch. By morning of the 15th however, we were back to normal and ready to explore. Munchkin carried us to Spanish Town Harbour where we eagerly secured her and began walking to town from the harbour. A half block walk brought us to a barbershop, on an otherwise rather isolated road, and Jim decided to have a much over-due clip. Our barber, Casey, was a very handsome young man, originally from St. Patrick's parish in Grenada (our final destination this year). We asked if he knew of a good restaurant nearby and he directed us to Fisher Cove, about a block further down the road. We also asked him how far we needed to walk in order to reach Spanish Town. Chuckling, he replied, “you've already been there – the marina IS Spanish Town!” He said that a lot of visitors make this error, and that in fact, he also had done the same thing when he arrived 6 years ago by Ferry.
So we made Fisher Cove our final stop for the day and enjoyed a pleasant lunch of “calypso chicken” (grilled chicken lavished with mangoes).
The following day, March 16, we took a taxi to the Baths. It was a marvelous, splendid, perfect day! The Baths are simply extraordinary; it would appear as if a giant threw a dice of countless bolders and let them rest wherever they fell. Flowers then sprang up in a helter skelter fashion in the surrounding landscape to add arrays of colour. The seas must have taken hundreds of thousands of years to create their own form of art on these rocks, and warm baths with white sandy bottoms, sprinkled everywhere (refreshened with each tide), are la piece de resistance.
March 17 brought us back to “downtown” Spanish Town where we searched high and low for internet access in order to send birthday wishes to my friend Patrick in Montreal. We hauled our laptops to every little restaurant, bakery, bar and marina office in this tiny town before we were finally successful.
PRICKLY PEAR ISLAND
It's almost 4 p.m., Friday, March 18; we've just set anchor in North Sound, Vixon Point, adjacent to Prickly Pear Island. Jim is preparing the guacamole while I make the marguaritas; our sailing had continued over lunchtime, and therefore this was our delicious substitute! Later, the salmon is marinating while it waits for the grill and wasabi sauce and a glorious sleepiness is setting in. After our 'lunch', Jim dives into the sea for a refreshing dip while I try to convince him that this is NOT a nude beach! (with the distance between boats, one would require binoculars and a voyeur attitude to see him).
Jim has just sent his son an email through the radio letting him know that all is finally well; no more lengthy repairs, the generator is working at last, he has added 50 gallons of water during our sailing time using the de-salinator. As he tells me what he has just written to Mark, I smile in agreement as I turn the nozzle for the kitchen sink. Oh........no........ there is no water. My gentle spirited husband is not so gentle verbally with inanimate objects. He is 'beside himself' in anger and frustration at these on-going breakdowns. I convince him that since it is almost dark now, any actions should wait until morning. In the meantime, our salmon is waiting to be grilled, and a nice bottle of merlot wouldn't hurt at all.
Our morning pills are washed down with grapefruit juice and gingerale. No coffee this morning; no squeaky clean mouth from brushing either, and the kitchen sinks are looking pretty pathetic with greasy dishes. Jim discovers that the culprit is a cracked filter housing. In this layman's understanding, the ocean water is pumped onboard and passed through a number of filters and the new fresh water is deposited into a holding tank. Every 120 hours, some of this new fresh water in the holding tank is mechanically forced back through this housing filter to cleanse it of salt and also to stop the growth of algae (this is called the flush cycle). Because there is this crack down the length of the filter, the water doesn't pass through it and continue its cycle, but instead, is leaked into the bilge (bottom part of the boat where water run-offs are deposited and eventually “spit“ out of the boat). So this poor little cracked filter just keeps on pumping....until eventually all the water in our holding tank was used up. We didn't hear the pumping noise it would have made because the generator was also running.
We have kneaded some special water-proof cement on both sides of the crack and now must wait for it to harden. If we're lucky, this will enable the watermaker to go through its process at least once to give us a new supply, then sail to Tortola where there is a marina where we should be able to order a new filter housing. In the meantime, we understand that Prickly Pear Island has a quaint little restaurant called The Sandbox where we can drown our sorrows (and try to forget all the other little islands and inlets we had planned to visit in this part of the BVI's (perhaps another year?)
 |
| Lall |
 |
| View from The Sandbox |
We were the only customers today, and our server, Lall, a gentle young man from Guyana, South America, chatted amicably with us as we munched on his exquisite breaded shrimp and spiced fries (darn, they were good!). I'm developing a taste for Carib beer and it definitely washes everything down nicely. (I can almost hear Jim's son, Mark shuddering if he reads this!). There are a couple of cats quietly observing us. Lall explains that there are quite a number of cats on the island as some people simply drop them off and sail away. These poor little critters, left to defend for themselves on a small island that doesn't seem to offer much other than a few families of goats and iguanas.
Later, we take our dinghy to the end of the island to an area called Bitter End. What a beautiful area – very americanized, very touristy, but beautiful just the same. Unquestionably, this is a location that draws the mega yacht owners and their guests. This country cousin still enjoyed taking photos of all this richness.
Well, we weren't lucky. The glue we used to fill the crack for a temporary fix on our watermaker didn't work, so the following morning the anchor is raised and Tortola is our next destination, where we hope to quickly find a new part. Fortunately, the wind was with us and it was a quick sail, albeit a roller coaster ride most of the way with huge swells.
The first night, March 20 we anchored in the harbour surrounding Road Town, the capital of Tortola, but took a mooring the following day at Fort Burt Marina. The moment we discovered we had internet access, all else fell by the wayside! Jim, of course, was searching sites pertaining to our broken water part, whereas my concern was to reach family and friends. Ironically, because of the intermittent conditions of the internet in this part of the world, I had very little success, whereas Jim was able to reach a handful of our friends, in addition to my daughter on his laptop.
The on-again-off-again internet is driving me to distraction. This morning, we were able to talk to my daugher for over an hour, hearing and seeing her, Alex and Jasmine so clearly, they could have been next door; this afternoon, Jim called one of his children and the connection was dreadful.
It's Thursday April 14; almost a month has passed and we're on a very very long trip to St Kitts. These past number of weeks have been a whirlwind of activity; first preparing for and then receiving our Canadian friend, Christine. We enjoyed her visit immensley! There's nothing quite like the company of someone who is up-beat and positive and makes laughter a large part of their vocabulary!
From April 1 through to the 10th we visited Trellus Bay, the Baths, Devil's Bay, Spanish Town, snorkeling by Norman Island, The Caves, White Bay, Great Harbour on Jost Van Dyke, Pusser's Landing in Soper's Hole. We visited the famous Willy T's, Foxy's, Soggy Dollar (home of the original “Pain Killer” cocktail – now the BVI's official drink). By the 10th we anchored in Road Town, Tortola where Christine could take a taxi to the airport the following morning.
Now it seems but a mere lovely dream as we sail against the wind and waves...hour after hour (for those folks 'not in the know' against the wind is very uncomfortable travel ...somewhat like riding on a hobby horse that doesn't know when to quit). This long horsy ride was made more tolerable by time spent re-hashing our 'Christine time', the countless laughs the three of us shared, the pleasure of such a congenial friend and the feelings of intimacy in being with someone from home.
