Attitude – the Difference Between Ordeal and Adventure – A 50 knot Bluewater Passage.

During the football game we also used the internet there to make sure that we had a nice little northerly to the Dominican Republic. Under this information it looked like we had a nice weather window lasting from Monday to Wednesday. We decided to skip going over the banks and took the ship channel south to West Caico Island. We planned to take a nice little evening nap here, but our nice northerly had turned into a southerly and the anchorage turned out to be on the windward side and we were taking big winds from the southeast. The anchor was bucking badly and a nap was not going to happen, but we did get the opportunity to run a night anchoring drill. The light southerly, although not expected, was easy motor sailing all night. The next morning Dad takes longer shifts as I am exhausted from working all day yesterday in the rain. Around three pm Dad takes his shift and I hand him his fowl weather gear. Our sails are reefed and I go below to take a nap. Mistake #1: underestimating a brooding sky. The black sky reared its ugly head and soon the boat was healing like crazy. Everything below was flying around. Water was pouring in from all of the closed hatches. I start putting down towels and trying to keep things together in the salon, when all of a sudden the fridge flies open and everything inside goes zooming out. I realize there is nothing else I can do below, so I throw open the companionway door.

It was the most horrifying sight I had ever seen. The sky was black, but everything was lit in a faint white glow. The sky and sea merged and you could only differentiate then by seeing the white caps which were being blown off by the wind so you were getting hit with brackish water – a heavy mixture of sea water and rain water. Dad is white knuckled at the helm while our boat is heeled over with its port toe rail completely submerged in the water. The water is so thick in the air it is almost if we are already in the water. Dad is yelling at me, telling me something. Something in your body just takes over, you don’t have time to be terrified, you don’t have time to think, you only have time to do. Sailing gloves on – tighten the main sheet traveler, winch in the jib… as the wind meter records the highest wind I have ever experienced – 50 knots. Three turns on the winch and tail, crank, crank, crank. I am throwing my whole body into pulling the jib in as the wind is pulling it away from me and tearing it up. From there I clean the drains as the water coming in over the side is starting to accumulate and not flow out. Luckily, I had resewed the clew so that it didn’t completely rip off in the wind. The front of the squall had passed and I lowered our reefed jib, but huge seas continue with 20-25 knot winds gusting to 30. We had found our forecasted northerly – and it kicked our ass.

But that was only the beginning. The northerly had pushed us too fast and we were coming in hot to Luperon, Dominican Republic. We get close around 11 pm; unfortunately we have to wait for the 6:30 am sunrise before we can attempt to enter the anchorage. This is how many boats go down; you get desperate, tired, and reckless. I was dead. I don’t know how Dad did it, but he managed the helm for almost 7 hours. After failed attempts to heave to, Dad just went back and forth beating into the northerly and then letting it push us into the harbor. It was painful. Cold, pouring rain, pushing through 10 foot seas – no stars, no moon, but blackness and pain. By the end of it I had sworn off another blue water passage. How Dad managed I will never know. Around 6 am he can’t take it anymore and we begin to go into Luperon.

We don’t have charts for this anchorage (while we actually do, but haven’t found them yet). So we are relying heavily on Bruce VanSant’s The Gentleman’s Guide to Passages South and the chartplotter. As we get close the sun begins to rise and it is just magic. One of the most gorgeous sights I have ever seen in my life. You can smell the thick perfume of wet dirt. The water is light brown with green caps while the rolling hills are dark grey-green and covered with a mist descended from the glowing grey sky. We dodge fishing buoys and small fishing boats and as we turn the last corner there are mast, at first only a few but soon there are at least thirty! While we are in awe of this, we quickly run aground. As Bruce had said turn off your chartplotter. Our chartplotter had said we were just fine, but instead of giving the yellow stick berth we should have hugged it to the port (as it was a mid-channel marker). We can’t see much in the murky water but as I jump on the bow we dislodge in a plume of black mud. The anchorage is full of shallow shoals throughout – it seems like every area that a boat is not anchored at is actually a shoal. We lay down our Bruce in the very muddy bottom and are anchored next to the giant thatched roof of the yachtclub. The admiral comes to the boat to collect money, then we go pay four different people at customs – it comes to a total of around $150 USD. I doubt the majority of that will get to any real government organization. After another wonderful bluewater passage we are sitting in a nice hurricane hole, which we don’t plan on leaving for a while. Luperon will be our home for the next month or so and it is welcomed to be free of blue water for a bit.

Departure At Anchor (short one ripped jib)
For your appreciation – a haggard captain takes joy in finally getting a cheap beer! Yes that is right, we are finally out of the Bahamas and can afford to drink heavily! The first thing we do is drink cheap beer and have a fresh seafood lunch at Liddy’s (a house of ill-repute).