For most of the year, the water in Boston Harbor is too cold to swim—but for a few short weeks every summer it is just warm enough (that is, warm enough to avoid hypothermia!!). Having tested the waters a few days before, Andrew was confident that he could do it again—so for this sail we had a mission: to find a nice anchoring spot and go for a swim!
We arrived at the dock around 9AM. Our boat was Amorina, a Sabre 30—probably one of the oldest boats owned by the Boston Sailing Center,—but a sturdy lady nevertheless. The GPS/chartplotter was broken, which made it the perfect boat for this chart-obsessed crew! The boat laid waiting for us at the end of the dock quietly, ready to take part in an adventure.
Knowing that we had to be back at around 3PM, there was no time to waste! Sergey and I raised the mainsail and unfurled the jib as Andrew pointed us into the wind. As we unfurled the jib, we noticed something terribly wrong—there was a flap at the foot of the jib that should not be there. After a bit of investigation, we concluded that the jib halyard was unlocked and therefore not all the way up. Amorina used a clutch system that we were not familiar with: instead of locking when the clutch was down, it locked when it was up. Sounded odd since anyone can accidentally sit or walk over the clutch (like I did at some point!) and the sails would come tumbling down. It was not until later that we discovered that there was a way to lock the line even when the clutch was down. Live and learn!
The wind was weak and blowing from the South East (SE). That meant that we were going to have to slowly and patiently zigzag our way out of the inner harbor since SE was our heading. A smaller boat on our port side was also struggling to catch enough wind in her sails. It was a shared struggle and we empathized with them. However, we had a motor and they didn’t. Noticing a few sailboats further south in the channel that seemed to be happily sailing with plenty of wind, we concluded that we needed to turn on the motor and get out of the shade of the Boston buildings. Which we did. We looked at our friends in the smaller boat, they looked at us as they heard our engine roar. I felt a little guilty—but later we found out that they managed to get out of the no-wind zone by themselves—which made me feel less guilty!
The wind was indeed better out of the shade of the Boston skyline and soon enough we were happily flying our sails toward the outer harbor. We had several options once we cleared Castle Island. We could go find a public mooring—Spectacle, Peddocks, Georges, and Gallops Islands all have public moorings—or we could anchor somewhere. As Andrew would say, “We have a perfectly good anchor and we know how to use it!”. In order to moor, we would have to go through either Nubble or the Narrows channels and—because of the SE wind—they would both require us to zigzag our way across, which would be annoying since those channels are narrow and we were short on time. So we decided not to do that and instead anchored just by the North East side of Spectacle Island. We approached the shore and when the depth sounder showed 10 feet of water under us, we furled the jib half-way and turned the boat into the wind.
Andrew had a special treat reserved for us: we were going to be anchoring without a motor! Sergey and I waited for the boat to stop and once it did, we dropped the anchor. It went down vertically as expected and soon enough we felt it hit the bottom. The main was still up and some combination of wind and current turned our boat around such that in a few seconds the anchor line was under the boat and at risk of being caught by the keel! During our trip to Provincetown we had managed to catch the anchor line on the keel and it had taken us a while to figure out a way out of that mess.
We trimmed the main in order to drop it, which seemed to help with reversing the rotation likely caused by the current rather than the wind (a boat will naturally turn into the wind… unless the force exerted on the boat by the current is stronger). Since we did not have plans to go anywhere (other than swimming, of course), we didn’t care too much. We decided we would deal with that later. For the time being, we were all eager to jump in the water! After all, that was our mission for the day.
The water was not unpleasant—there were pockets of warmer water and pockets of colder water but we all enjoyed the freedom of being able to swim around the Amorina. We did not see any jellyfish this time in spite of several warnings of giant jellyfish having been seen in Boston Harbor. After the swim, it was time for lunch. Andrew had brought a bottle of Rosé with hints of grapefruit which was a very pleasant addition to the sandwiches we made. It felt nice to hang out in the cockpit after a swim. Nowhere to go, nothing to do, but be present and enjoy each other’s company.
Since we had to be back by 3PM, we didn’t linger there for very long. The anchor line was still resting on the keel so we would have to be careful bringing the anchor back up onto the boat. We tried unfurling the jib half way but there was no easy way to rotate the boat without wind. Sergey and Andrew ended up pulling on the anchor line in the hope that it would rotate us enough to force the bow to rotate toward the anchor. What happened instead was that the anchor came loose and they just pulled it back at the stern. Which was awkward... but it worked! Sergey carried the heavy anchor to the bow and we secured it. Then we were ready to sail again! With jib unfurled and mainsail raised, we were on our way back home.
With the wind now to our port side and the tide with us, the trip back to the dock on a beam reach was easy and relaxed. We were almost at Castle Island when Sergey and Andrew felt the first drops of rain. We knew rain and thunder were on the forecast for late afternoon but were hoping that we would be back in the dock by then. Sergey quickly went to the salon to change into his bright yellow foul weather gear—Andrew and I decided that it might be a good idea to waterproof ourselves also. Other boats didn’t seem as scared by the potential of a downpour as we did. Plenty of motor boats and sailboats were buzzing past us on their way to the outer harbor. The wind seemed to be getting stronger. It was only 2.30PM when we approached the BSC, so Sergey—who was at the helm at the time—decided that we hadn’t sailed enough. As a result, instead of dropping the mainsail at this point like we would normally do, we just kept going—past the U.S. Coast Guard docks and up toward Charlestown where we got a glimpse of the USS Constitution before coming back.
Foul weather gear
The USS Constitution in Charlestown
Once at the dock, we celebrated another successful day on (and "in") the water by drinking a bottle of red wine that Andrew had brought. In spite of our efforts to get rid of Andrew’s cases of wine, he pointed out that we still have a long way to go! Which means we need to work harder at it next time!
The Boston Sailing Center has some rules about scheduling. With the 4th of July coming up, we decided to proactively book a boat for that weekend. That meant, according to the rules, that we would not be able to make a reservation in advance for a couple of weekends. However, we were determined to find a way to sail this weekend even though every other member of the BSC would have priority over us. Instead, Andrew called the BSC on Friday and asked them if they had anything available for our crew. They had the Osprey available for 7PM. Not the most obvious time to be sailing in the Boston Harbor, but we took it. Better to sail at night than to be grounded all weekend! This would be my first nighttime sail. I was curious about how it would feel - and a bit concerned as well - but I knew I was in good hands. Our only constraint was that we had to return the boat by 8AM the following morning. Knowing Andrew, I knew that this exercise would entail navigating in the dark, without a chartplotter, guided only by the chart, the compass, and the light and sound patterns from the multiple buoys sprinkled around the harbor. Coming out of the harbor at 7PM was easy. There was still plenty of light as the sunset was not until 8.25PM. Most ships were coming back, we were one of the few coming out. With a south / southwest wind filling our sails, it did not take much for us to leave the inner harbor. Andrew reversed the boat out of the slip and led us into the inner harbor, where we promptly raised the main and unfurled the jib and we were on our way to adventure.
There was plenty of light leaving the dock at 7PM
A south / southwest wind made it easy to leave the inner harbor. A very different sail from the previous Tuesday, when a northern wind forced us to tack several times before we could reach Long Island. A gorgeous red-orange sunset over Boston waved us goodbye as we made our way to Spectacle Island and beyond. I was at the helm at the time so all I could see from the sunset (unless I turned around to look over the stern, which is not advised for very long when one is steering a boat!) were the pink and orange reflections on the cockpit! We tacked a couple of times to clear Castle Island and then fell off to find the pair of buoys that mark the entrance to Nubble Channel.
Sunset over Boston
I was still at the helm when, possibly navigating too close to Long Island, a weird phenomena happened: a motor boat passed us on our starboard which caused some waves - soon after, and even though the steering wheel was all the way to the left, the Osprey started to turn right - straight into Long Island! I shouted, “Andrew, it does not want to turn!!”. Andrew and Sergey quickly released the main sail and the jib sheet and the Osprey was responsive again - the sails had been over trimmed perhaps? I was a bit distraught but we didn’t spend too much time confirming our hypothesis: soon after this episode, we saw something swimming in the water - a seal? Yep, it did look like a seal. As we were all distracted looking at the seal and grabbing our cameras, most of us failed to realize that the wind had died and we were helplessly drifting toward Long Island. Furthermore, we were pointing at the wrong pair of buoys marking Nubble Channel - with decisive action, Andrew turned on the engine and soon enough we were out of the shadow of the island and back in control of our ship. That was weird… and exciting! I handed over the helm to Sergey after the crossing of Nubble as the world around us began to really get dark and mystical. To our left, streaks of light seemed to come up out of nowhere, as if a second sunset had just happened but in the wrong side of the world - a phenomena, I am told, that is called anticrepuscular rays. This turned out to be a night for weird physics phenomena.
The world started to darken around us
Sailing in the dark has the advantage, I discovered, of making one acutely aware of sounds - the water rushing past us, the roar of distant fishing boat and tugboat engines returning to the dock - and the many, many lights in the distance flashing green, red or white.
We saw Boston Light immediately - it’s such a great beacon in Boston Harbor that we rarely lose the sight of it. It was about time to start really carefully reading the chart - we were looking for the lighted buoys. Some buoys flash green or red light following certain patterns such as 2 flashes followed by another flash with repetitions on a 4 second interval. The patterns and timing are annotated in the chart and help navigators know precisely where they are. Before GPS, this was the only way for sailors to navigate at night. We also saw in the distance the Minot Light pattern of 1, then 4, then 3 flashes every 30 seconds - a sequence that has earned it the name of “lover’s light” because 1-4-3 matches the number of letters in “I Love You”. According to LightHouseDigest.com, “many a romantic couple sat on the rocks or on beaches within sight of Minot’s Ledge being inspired by its visual message”.
As Sergey steered us toward Boston Light and beyond, I was sitting in the cockpit facing the stern and saw two or three lobster trap floats in our wake which felt dangerously close to having been captured by our keel or propeller. Lobster trap floats are impossible to see at night unless we’re really close to them. Having had the experience in the past of having a lobster trap float stuck in our propeller, I really did not want to experience that again… especially at night! Fortunately, we managed to escape the lobster trap obstacle course of Boston Harbor once more.
Boston Light as a beacon of hope in the dark
It was not yet 10PM when we cleared Boston Light - the wind was good so we decided to keep going. At this point, we had two options - either we turned around and came back home through Nubble Channel - or we kept going all the way to The Graves and then left into Nantasket Road. I asked Andrew why not go between the Roaring Bulls and The Graves - there seemed to be plenty of water. That’s another thing that is different while navigating at night - although we can clearly see obstacles during the day, the only way to know where we are at night is by looking for objects that emit light - buoys and lighthouses. Without them, it’s impossible to tell exactly how far from obstacles we are navigating, therefore the probability of running aground increases significantly. I am embarrassed to admit that soon after we cleared The Graves and turned toward Nantasket road at around 11PM - knowing that the crew had everything under control - I felt a strong urge to just lie down in the salon and take a nap. Which - I am told - meant that I missed the best part of the trip*. Oh well, I will never know. By the time I came back to the cockpit, we were already by Deer Island and making our way into the inner harbor.
Taking a nap in the salon
The return to Boston was uneventful - the crew kept a watchful eye out for unlit buoys because those are barely visible. Unlit buoys mark the entrance to the inner harbor and they must be obeyed - not to mention one should avoid hitting them at all costs. Sergey stood at the bow looking for obstacles and helped us to avoid them. I was in the cockpit, shivering due to the cold (even though Andrew had gracefully lent me his jacket) and Ben was at the wheel. As we approached the inner harbour around 1AM, fireworks over Castle Island were set off welcoming us home. It was the end of another adventure and my first night sail!
Fireworks to welcome us back home
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*The most” interesting” and the most adrenaline part of the sail was (according to Ben) the difficulty to find navigation lights on the background of Boston lights
One of the things to appreciate about sailing in Boston Harbor is that the weather is never boring. The weather forecast had advised us of the possibility of rain and thunderstorms in the afternoon. But looking at the clear skies and a clear weather radar, we were optimistic that the probability would drop and that we would have another lovely sunny and windy day in the water. A south / southwest wind of 10 knots with waves of 1ft or less sounded like the perfect sailing weather - too good to waste.
We cast off from the Boston Sailing Center on Emma - a Beneteau 343 - at around 9AM on Saturday. No big plans, just a few friends trying to have an adventure together. Unexpectedly (to me at least :) ), as we were preparing the mainsail and the dock lines for cast off, Andrew said "Lena, I want you to steer us out of the dock". I didn't know what to say - "thank you" didn't sound like the right expression. “Holy s***, wow, really?!” sounded more appropriate. So I said "Yes!" and mentally prepared to focus on not getting us killed.
With Andrew's guidance and mentorship, I turned on the engine, pushed the throttle lever slightly forward and we were on the move. A right turn as we came off of the slip, then onward toward the inner Boston Harbor. As soon as we were far enough away from the other boats, Andrew asked me to turn into the wind so that Sergey and he could raise the mainsail. With the main raised, the jib unfurled and 10 knots of wind, we were on our way and ready to turn off the noisy iron sail.
Leaving Boston behind for another adventure
Clearing the inner harbor was easy - the conditions were such that we were able to reach the outer harbor and President Roads on a beam reach and a starboard tack. It tooks us under one hour to get there and start planning the rest of our adventure.
Andrew had requested a dinghy so that we could venture into one of the islands. Sergey immediately proposed the Brewsters. We all agreed that would be a good idea.
Andrew takes the helm and Sergey tries to avoid a sunburn
As we passed Spectacle Island and approached Deer Island, a swarm of 10-15 fishing boats seemed to just be hanging out there, randomly distributed. Why were they all there at 10AM on a Saturday in the same spot? We had no clue, but they didn't bother us other than making our journey toward the South Channel a bit busier than usual. I asked Andrew to take over the helm as we approached the swarm of fishing boats.
The entrance to the South Channel in Boston Harbor is marked by a green-red buoy - one of those rare hybrids that mark the entrance to two channels simultaneously: the green serves the purpose of informing us of the port side of the South Channel to our right whereas the red serves the purpose of informing us of the starboard side of the north (preferred) channel to our left.
Once within the South Channel, we made our game plan: we wanted to cross over to the little cove formed by Calf Island and Middle Brewster via Hypocrite Channel. For that, we would need to exit the South Channel (preferably without running aground) before the green buoy number 9. All worked as planned and without requiring a change of tack.
I entertained myself taking pictures around the boat on the way to Hypocrite Channel and beyond
Calf Island
The little cove was indeed as lovely as promised - with both Boston Light and the Graves Light in our field of vision, we started anchoring while trying to avoid the many lobster traps in our vicinity.
A couple of orange-tinted jellyfishes swam happily around our boat as we attempted to anchor. Emma was equipped with a windlass - an electrical contraption that is supposed to make anchoring easier. In our case, it did the opposite: as we were clearing the line and setting up the anchor in the anchor roller, the windlass - which seemed to have a mind of its own - decided to turn itself on... twice. That made us nervous, to say the least. There seemed to be no way to take the anchor line out of the windlass without taking it apart so we did our best to pass the anchor line and chain through the windlass without mangling our fingers. Fortunately, we succeeded.
Then it was lunchtime! Andrew had brought us some treats (besides the sailing itself, which is always a treat): homemade bread, hummus, tahini spread and duck meat. Yum! Sergey had brought El Dorado rum, which was the perfect complement to the feast. After lunch, Sergey went for a swim - he seemed happy! But when I tested the waters for a few seconds, it felt like a thousand knives piercing through my skin. I guess growing up 6 degrees south of the Polar Circle gives one a certain resilience. I suspect the rum also helped.
Sergey happily swimming in freezing water
After the swim, we inflated the dinghy and got ready for Calf Island. The current was not very strong and rowing was easy. As we approached, we saw lots of kelp floating just at the surface of the water - it was the kind with the air bubbles that keep the leaves just at the surface. We rowed right through the field of kelp without thinking twice. Then we were off exploring the island. It was clear from the get-go that the many seagulls that lived on the island did not appreciate our visit.
As with all islands in the Boston Harbor, Calf Island has its own history and charm. Originally, the island was used by Native Americans. Its first "owner" was the Elder Brewster of the Plymouth Colony. After that, it changed owners a few times until it was acquired by Benjamin Cheney in 1902. Together with his wife Julia Arthur, he built a colonial style estate with 2 big chimneys, of which only one still stands tall in 2020. Andrew has visited Calf Island before and wrote about his adventure and his research into Calf Island history in his blog.
Calf island has a lot to offer
When we got to the west side of the island, where we could get a glimpse of Deer Island, we saw dark heavy clouds in the sky robbing us of the chance to enjoy this distant dreamy view of the Boston skyline. Worried that this might be a sign of bad news coming our way, I looked at the weather radar and the storm appeared to be north of Boston. I predicted (wrongly) that it would not hit us and it would instead be pushed east. We carried on our way around the island, taking pictures and both ignoring the seagull cries of anger and the darkening skies. We saw a few nests, walked around the ruins and admired the views. As we completed our round, we felt a few drops of water. We could also hear the sound of thunder. Oooops ... My amateur meteorologist prediction had been completely wrong. The wind was blowing the storm toward us, not away from us.
The storm clouds I saw on the radar appeared to be moving East. I was wrong. They were moving South
As we reached the dinghy, we noticed with a bit of panic that as the tide receded, the kelp that we had rowed through on our way in was now resting on top of rocks, giving them the appearance of furry green, wet, slippery monsters (they reminded Sergey of The Groke from the Moomin universe). We would have to carry the dinghy over several meters of slippery, kelp covered rocks in order to get to the water - and we had to do it quickly otherwise we would be drenched as the rain was starting to fall hard.
Emma and the seagulls
Safe and Sound
We all did get a little wet but we made it back to Emma just in time to avoid the worst part of the storm. As the wind, the rain and the thunder rolled past us, we rested safely and somewhat dry on Emma's salon and allowed it to pass over us. It must've taken less than 30 minutes and soon enough the sky cleared up again and we were good to go. We lifted the anchor and were on our way back to Boston. Sergey steered us around the outer brewster and through Nubble Channel, a course that afforded an uncommon low-tide view of both the tail of Outer Brewster as well as - a few miles ahead - the zigzagging tail of Nix’s Mate which has grounded ferries more than once.
"Reservations will open for May 28th onward" felt like the sweetest, most life changing words ever spoken since the start of the COVID-19 pandemic had delayed our return to the sailor's life after another very long Boston winter. What Andrew was alerting us to was the fact that the Boston Sailing Center (BSC) had worked out an opening schedule with the city of Boston that would get us on the water by the 28th of May. Following the disappointing news that sailing season would not start on May 4th after all - and our 'may the fourth be with you' sailing kick off canceled - none of us really had any idea when BSC would be allowed to take in guests again. In spite of several attempts, I had failed to convince anyone that "sailing really is an essential activity!".
Having reserved Camilla - a sturdy, built-for-speed, Beneteau 36.7 - we showed up at the dock with our sleeping bags, plenty of food and a longing for adventure. The air was warm and there was plenty of wind to keep our sails full. A smooth transition from motor to sail as we entered the inner harbor and we were on our way to an awesome adventure!
On our way to adventure
A steady southern wind carried us on a starboard tack all the way to the Boston Outer Harbor in less than one hour - my mindset on the boat was one of disbelief: Was this real? Were we really sailing again in Boston Harbor? It felt too good to be true after so many months. But there we were! Andrew, Sergey and myself, approaching Castle Island and beyond - adjusting the sails to a close reach once more, entering President Roads once more. We had sailed on these waters so many times before and yet it still felt special and magic.
Where to go from here? We were so incredibly happy and excited to be sailing again that we hadn't really made any plans. There were some thoughts about anchoring in Scituate if we went South. But we could go North too. We also needed to decide on a channel to use to leave the harbor. We could go where our hearts would lead us.
The decision to go South was unanimous. Notus, the greek god of the south and southwest wind, agreed - he made his presence known and helped our crossing of the Narrows channel (which is not that narrow) and we were soon on our way to the next waypoint: Minot Light. This crew of three had visited Minot Light once before and it had been a very special moment. With Notus's blessing, we soon had Minot Light in sight. The wind was so incredibly in our favor that it wasn't even noon when we got there.
Notus, the god of the south wind, permitted a visit to Minot Light - a journey we had attempted so many times before but had accomplished only once
Emboldened by this achievement, we debated for a bit about what would be our next waypoint and more importantly: where to spend the night? Andrew and Sergey had stayed overnight in Scituate before so that would not be a very exciting adventure for them even though Scituate is a protected harbor. I had never been there but I could empathize with the need to explore a new harbor. Also, thanks to the respectable 6 knots at which we were traveling, we would be in Scituate in no time yet had a whole sailing afternoon ahead of us in case we continued past Scituate.
Plymouth would have been another interesting choice - Andrew had studied Plymouth and so he knew that the Plymouth Yacht Club would be open for transient mooring in spite of COVID. But Plymouth is almost directly South of where we were - which meant that we would need to tack / zig zag our way there given the Southerly wind. How about Provincetown? asked Sergey. Both Minot Light and Provincetown had been on his bucket list for a while. We could simply head there - if not now, when else would we have another opportunity to do so, I wondered?
Provincetown, here we come!
I have been worried about a Boston-Provincetown adventure ever since Andrew mentioned his desire to sail there, years ago. The reason to be caution about it includes the fact that it's a long journey, we would lose sight of shore - and there would likely be no cell phone reception for a while in case we needed to call for help for some reason. Also, these sailing club boats are not always the most reliable boats out there...Nor are we fully equipped to fix them. However, before I had a chance to articulate my concerns since I was in the galley making lunch for the group, the guys decided: we were going to Provincetown. In retrospect, if I had I articulated my concerns, the guys would have respected them. I would probably have objected otherwise and thus would not have a story to wrote about.
On the Way to Provincetown
My adventure in the galley had left me seasick - Triton, the demigod of the sea, seemed to not be happy with our decision to collude with Notus to travel south east and decided to send some waves our way, which were registed in the NOAA Boston Approach Lighted Buoy as 4 foot waves. It had been a while since I had sailed in Massachusetts Bay so 4 ft waves felt to me like 14 ft waves. In addition, the wind had intensified and even though we had taken precautions against being overpowered - by adding one reef on the main and one on the jib - we were still overpowered and the boat was heeling pretty hard. Of course, none of this helped my seasickness predicament. Triton was displeased. To add to my discomfort, a heavy fog started also forming around us, preventing us from detecting container ships that we might need to get away from to prevent a collision.
As an act of kindness, when Sergey and Andrew noticed how sick I looked, they asked me to take the helm in order to help me focus on the horizon instead of the seasickness. "We are sailing at 140 magnetic, Andrew told me". At this point, we were far enough away from shore that we had lost all sight of land and were sailing by compass alone (Andrew always sails without a chartplotter / GPS if he can). For me, this was a first: it's very disconcerting and takes some adjustment to lose all sight of land and to have to trust that the compass won't lead you astray or that the currents won't make you drift too far off from your charted course. All I could see around me was the blue ocean.
The wheel on Camilla was very large, I felt like a hobbit trying to steer a boat that was built for giants! But it did help with the seasickness
I had not been at the helm for long when I saw the headsail unfurl itself. However, when Sergey reached for the furling line, it was still cleated.. ! What was going on...?
It did not take long for Sergey to realize that the line had snapped. We were facing 20 knot winds and 4 foot waves and furling the headsail, which was now flailing uncontrollably in the strong wind and not allowing us to balance the boat. With some effort and a lot of violent luffing over his head, Sergey was able to tie the two loose ends of the furling line together. This allowed us to recover our ability to use the headsail to balance the boat. Yay Sergey!
Lena's Sailing Classroom: The reason why this lack of balance occurs when only 1 sail is powered / full and the wind is very strong has to do with the way the two sails work together in modern boats: the mainsail, which is supported by the mast, pulls the boat toward the wind. The headsail, which sits forward of the mast, pushes the boat away from the wind. When these two sails are balanced, the combination of forces (plus the downward force provided by the heavy steel keel + gravity) moves the boat forward. When one of the vectors / forces is missing, such as the flailing / unfilled headsail, the other two forces prevent the crew from controlling the boat as it was designed to be controlled. In the case of a missing headsail, the mainsail forced our boat to rotate itself toward the wind. When the boat's motion causes the boat to be at an angle of ~30/45 degrees from where the wind is coming from, the boat is "in irons" and the mainsail loses all its power also. As a result, the mainsail also starts flailing violently and the lines attached to it start whipping around the cockpit. The first danger of being in irons in such a situation is the danger of being hit by a whipping line. The second danger for the crew is the water currents, also caused by the strong wind, forcing the boat to drift away from its crew's intended destination. This was the situation that the crew of the Camilla was facing in that moment. With 1 member of the 3 member crew out of comission due to severe seasickness. These are the types of conditions that cause good sailors to shipwreck when they are close to shore or, when in the middle of the ocean, to be destroyed by a large container ship that the crew cannot detect due to the lack of visibility caused by the fog.
At this point I freaked out - just a little - even though the headsail was now fixed and we had control of our vessel once more, I had the feeling that we had drifted significantly. The fog was now so thick that we would not easily see the tip of Cape Cod or any container ships heading our way. We had no navigational aid at this point since the compass does not detect drift and lack of visibility of any land or navigational features meant that we could not tell where we were on the paper chart either. I felt the sense of adventure disappear and be replaced by a feeling of wrecklessness. When they felt the exasperation in my voice, Andrew and Sergey looked at each other - time to turn on the chartplotter? Yes, Andrew nodded. After a few seconds we knew our exact position. We had indeed drifted. We were at Race Point: not exactly where we thought we were but close enough and, if we maneuvered correctly, we could get there in an hour or two. We had only a few miles to go before entering Provincetown Harbor, where the waves would likely (much to my seasickness relief) subside.
Anchor Trouble
Since we were still in the midst of thick fog, all we could see around us was water and clouds. We knew, because we were looking at the chartplotter, that Cape Cod was close, but we could not see it. Triton finally gave us a break and the waves did reduce somewhat at this point.
Sergey was steering the boat when Andrew shouted "Land-Ho"! At first I thought "is this a mirage". On closer inspection, however, we did see what appeared to be a Cape Cod beach and possibly a lighthouse in the distance.
Land Ho after about 3 hours of fog!
The lighthouse and beach soon disappeared and we were once again embedded in nothing but clouds and sea. As we turned to clear Long Point, the southern wind was now blowing from behind us and we could change the configuration of our sails - first, wing-on-wing and then a jibe. For the first time in the whole trip we were on a port tack. We saw the Provincetown breakwater and mooring balls soon after. We decided that we would try to find a mooring ball first and, if there were no moorings balls available, anchor. First, we radioed Provincetown Marina but nobody seemed to be screening the channel. We tried to use the phone also with the same result. After a little googling we learned about the only other sailing club in the area - "Flyers Boat Rental" - but they also did not answer the phone. In my eagerness to start sailing again, I had completelly failed to realize before this adventure that even though Boston might have opened their sailing season during COVID, other towns might not have made that same decision. I felt helpless. Anchoring overnight in these conditions would not have been ideal or safe.
We were out of comfortable options - since it was getting dark quickly, anchoring was the "safer" option since the crew was exhausted and sailing anywhere else in these conditions would be even more dangerous. We headed over to the anchoring area indicated in the chart, and dropped anchor. This area was deep enough according to the depth sounder but Andrew pointed out that it might not be deep enough for our ~6-7ft draft in low tide. We could not see any signs of land because of the fog even though we knew it was there. Very upsetting.
The first time we tried to throw the anchor overboard, we noticed that it didn't seem to be holding. We blamed it on a slippery algae bottom and Andrew thus asked us to lift the anchor and try to anchor further offshore where there might be less slippery algae. But that's where things went terribly wrong - while motoring toward the anchor in order to lift it, we somehow got the anchor line wrapped around the keel but still attached to the bottom. We thus were unable to pull it up by hand and the wind was making things even worse and pushing us sideways away from our anchor, which was connected to our bow via a line which was now going around the keel.
Now what? We needed to rotate our stern somehow in the direction opposite to the wind such that the anchor line could go under the stern. It's not like we had a little side motor that could move us left or right... All our motor could do was forward and reverse. Since we did not have forward motion, turning the wheel would not to much good. That's when Andrew had a brilliant idea - what if we used the headsail for rotation? Since it pulls the boat away from the wind, and since we were still anchored, moving the bow away from the wind would rotate us thus forcing the stern to move toward the wind. We tried it but, no luck, the strenght of the wind pushing the boat against the anchor line was too strong. Then, I suggested - what if we tried the opposite? I wasn't really rationalizing but I thought "if we try left and nothing happens, then maybe it's a good idea to try right". To everyone's relief, this maneuver worked, we soon felt the line loosen and we were able to bring the anchor back into the boat. In retrospect, when we tried steering the boat toward the anchor and not against it, the added tension might have been enough to force the line to slip further down in the keel and caused it to be released.
We could still not see any signs of land because of the heavy fog but using the chartplotter and the depth sounder we steered the Camilla further away from shore and dropped anchor again. Already frustrated, cold and exhausted, the bow crew realized that the anchor, once again, was not holding. We would need try yet another spot. Unable to reach the mooring companies and too far, dark and foggy to sail anywhere, we had no other option but to keep trying. This time, Andrew told us, use the full anchor line. At last, the anchor seemed to hold.
Lena's Sailing Classroom: The design of the hull on a keelboat such as the Camilla is such that the boat will always naturally rotate to where the wind is coming from as that is the position of least resistance. If the anchoring site is selected carefully, the wind will push the boat away from land, thus preventing a shipwreck overnight in case the anchor, which is basically a heavy hook burried in the sand, is not firmly securing the boat. Because of this rotation with wind shifts, the less distance between boat and anchor, the smaller the rotation circle and the more comfortable the crew is. A second reason to use less line - especially close to the shore - is that in low tide, the extra slack on the line means that, if the wind direction changes 180 degrees, the boat will not only be pushed toward land but the distance between boat and land is shortened, thus potentially causing the boat to hit the ground and the keel to hit the bottom thus tipping the boat sideways and causing water to come gushing in. On the other hand, if not enough line is used, the anchor does not sit firmly in the bottom and thus its hook won't be as strong, which means the boat might drag and drift overnight.
Shaken, Not Stirred
I cautiously went down below to settle for the night while Sergey and Andrew confirmed that we would indeed not drift toward Provincetown during the night. I was not there long before I started feeling seasick again. The waves, which continued, had felt a lot less violent from the cockpit. Andrew came down and soon enough there were two of us feeling seasick. Our plans had included rum, wine, a proper dinner and an evening enjoying ourselves and celebrating the start of the sailing season and having made it to Provincetown. In reality, even though Sergey made the effort to cook a kosher meal - neither Andrew nor myself were able to handle dinner. It wasn't pretty so I'll spare the gory details.
I went to the v-berth cabin to lie down - staying horizontal seemed to help. I was not there long when I realized that I would not be able to sleep at all given that I felt like I was sleeping in a washing machine: I felt tossed and shaken back and forth and sideways in a very unpredictable way as the waves crashed on our hull from many directions. First I tried to turn around so that my head was facing the stern. It didn't help. Then I got up with difficulty and brought my sleeping bag to the salon to try to sleep. Definitely better! Sergey and Andrew checked the anchor a few times during the night to make sure we were not drifting. I was completely useless and out of action at this point.
A beautiful day for sailing
At last, after a long night, the morning came! We didn't linger very long - Provincetown was still covered in uninviting mist. Only Sergey could handle breakfast. Any attempts to sit down or stand up were faced with serious resistance from my brain and seasickness. I dragged myself to the aft cabin to put on the foul weather gear since it was cold and wet and headed to the cockpit - at least there I could sit down without feeling dizzy.
We got out of the "washing machine" that our anchoring site was and tacked our way out of Provincetown Harbor. We had a long way to go ahead of us and the wind was going to die sometime in the afternoon. The waves were fortunately not as high. Triton was pleased. I was able to shake my motion sickness for a while and have some food, which made a huge difference in how I was feeling.
Our first milestone on the way to Boston was Minot Light once more. It must've been 10 or 11 AM when the fog began to dissipate and we could see the sun again. Layers of clothing started coming off. And then, around noon, the wind completely died! Seems like you can't have it all! We used this lull as an opportunity to prepare some lunch before turning on the engine / iron sail - if we didn't want to take another 10 hours to get to Boston, we had to surrender to the reality of our situation.
After a while, our boat started trying to heel again - we had wind! With both the sail and the motor we were able to hit 7.8 knots top speed, which would get us back to Boston in no time. The first few land features we saw in the distance were 3 stick-like looking things. Could one of them be the Minot Light? We would have to get closer to see it. With Scituate to our port side, and finaly lovely sailing weather, we turned off the Iron sail and pointed our bow toward the stick-looking things ahead of us, maintaining a heading of 310°M that would take us directly to Minot Light.
Minot Light from the other direction
Turns out that 2 out of the 3 sticks we saw in the distance were the Prudential and Hancock towers. The Minot Light soon revealed itself as a majestic and impressive lighthouse emerging out of the water.
We were finally seeing home. After some time, Sergey pointed at something in the water - a spout? Could this be a whale? Indeed it was - even though we didn't have our cameras with us, we all saw it: a spout, followed by a hump, followed by a black and white tail. It could not have been a more perfect sighting of a whale. Andrew and Sergey saw a few more humps after that but no more tails. It was a magnificent experience.
Lovely Boston
It's always a magical feeling to see Boston in the distance after a long and perilous journey. This time was no different. The entrance to the harbor protected by winged guardians perched on the buoys that guide the ships. The sparkles where the sun hits the water. And a privileged view of one of the most bubbling cities in the country. One that is slowly returning to normal after a long quarantine.
The trip to the Spanish Virgin Islands (SVI) started at San Juan Airport, Puerto Rico, where Andrew, Ben and myself landed at 4.30AM. Andrew, with a little bit of help from the crew, had planned for this trip for months. As we landed, however, it was hard to believe that this was finally happening.
As soon as I stepped outside of the air conditioned airport, the warm breeze felt so good, a stark constrast from the sub-zero temperatures that I had left behind in Boston. Was that a little bit of adventure spirit that I felt in the air too? It was drizzling a bit, which was annoying, but that didn't stop Andrew from switching into his sailing attire, which means convertible pants that he was turning into shorts. I didn't know it at the time but that has become a critical component of my sailing attire since. I highly recommend it.
Sailing attire
We were not scheduled to come back for another week, so there would be plenty of time for enjoying some of the promised Caribbean sun and warmth. As we waited in a long line for our rental car, we could already see a bit of the Puerto Rican culture in the rental car agency employee's demeanor and attitude, in the warmth and friendliness he was showing to his customers. He was, unfortunately, the only employee working at that time, which meant spending at least one hour in line waiting for our turn. "Island Time" indeed.
When we finally got our car, our first objective was coffee as none of us had slept very much. Yelp pointed to Los Pinos Cafe, one of the only places close to Old San Juan that was open on a Saturday at 6AM. As we made our way to the city, the drizzle turned into an unbelievable wall of rain. I was sitting in the front, next to Ben, who was driving, and I could not see the road ahead at all on the way to San Juan. If I was driving, this would have been my moment to freak out but Ben just drove right through it without hesitation. I didn't think I would get into such an adventure as early on the trip as this!
The Cafe was really a bar and filled with customers who were still partying from the night before. The floor was slippery and the place smelled. A very tired waitress gave us dinner menus at first before we told her we were there for breakfast. Not a great first meal on this trip to the SVI but it would only get better from there.
Old San Juan
In Old San Juan we had planned to park under the Ballaja building, hoping to catch the sunrise at Bastion de Santa Rosa but, as we got there, there were police barriers everywhere. Turns out that the city was preparing for "San Sebastian Street Festival", a 4-day festival to celebrate the life of Saint Sebastian, the first gay icon.
After a long conversation with a very helpful police woman, we learned that we could leave the car for the day at La Puntilla. As the sun rose behind a cloudy sky, I saw the vibrant Old San Juan colors emerging from their island slumber as we walked around for a bit of sightseeing and city exploration.
Fuente Raices and the wall protecting Old San Juan from enemy ships
We had plenty of time to kill before we were scheduled to meet the rest of the crew - Oleg and Koby - so we decided to do the Paseo del Morro hike. Paseo del Morro dates back to the 1630s and was once used as a maintenance road protecting San Juan as it borders the outer edge of Castillo San Felipe del Morro. As I walked down the path, I was struck by how familiar this place felt, like I had been here before.
It didn't click for me at the time but I realized later why this was - the 16th century city walls, contouring an unsettled ocean, reminded me of another 16th century fort perched on top of a cliff where the ocean waves fiercely hit the rocks below. One that is near and dear to my heart as it was the place where, for a year, I wrote (or procrastinated writing...) my Marine Biology thesis while watching the ocean hit the rocks below from the lab window. This was the Fort of Nossa Senhora da Guia, in Portugal.
I must admit that watching the fury of the sea and the force with which the water was hitting the rocks did make me a bit nervous about our plan to live on a sailboat for the next several days, something that I had never done before (fears that were completely unfounded, it turns out).
The fury of the sea that day gave me second thoughts about sleeping on a boat out in that ocean for 6 nights
Our morning adventure at Paseo de Morro ended with a gorgeous view of Capilla del Cementerio Santa María bathed by the morning sun and surrounded by the Atlantic Ocean. On the other side of that sea - Africa.
Capilla del Cementerio Santa María
The city was waking up and it was finally time to find something stronger than the orange tea that we were served at Los Pinos. Puerto Rican families and groups of friends on the streets created a palpable sense of excitement and joy around the celebrations.
The city was waking up
The next self-guided sightseeing tour of the morning would take us to Castillo San Felipe del Morro, a citadel that was originally designed to guard the entrance to the San Juan Harbor and protect what was then the Spanish colonial port city of San Juan, from seaborne enemies. The walk up to the castle involved going up an impressive lawn. We learned on wikipedia that this lawn was kept free of shrubbery to avoid supplying attackers with vantage points where they could hide and attack incoming military. Smart move!
The lawn was kept free of shrubbery
Cannons pointed at sea, ready to attack invading ships and Andrew protecting the castle
After the Castle tour, the crowds really started to gather on the streets of Old San Juan. Our last touristic visit was to Casa Blanca, which had a very nice view of the San Juan Harbor. That's when we heard from the next sailor to join our little group - Oleg. We met Oleg at Barrachina restaurant, where we had made a lunch reservations. The restaurant looked really nice, we sat outdoors and enjoyed the first of a series of lunches in the open and warm Puerto Rican air.
Getting ready for a proper Puerto Rican meal
Rushing to Fajardo
When we looked at the time it was 1PM. The car had to be returned before 5PM in Fajardo or, as Ben would put it, "5PM island time which really means 4.30PM". Google maps had told us that the trip to Fajardo, where our boat was docked - in the East side of the Island of Puerto Rico - would take approximately 1 hour. We still had to provision and our cook Koby, who was not set to arrive until later that day, had given us a huge shopping list of groceries such that he could prepare the meals that he had planned for the crew. Island time must've gotten to us to because we arrived at Ralph’s Warehouse, the grocery store recommended by the charter company (SailCaribe), at around 3PM. Even though we split the group into groups of two - with team Ben + Andrew took care of the top half of Koby's list and team Lena + Oleg the bottom half - it was 4PM when we were checking out and we still needed to buy water and load the car!
We learned that it's tricky to find ingredients on a shopping list that you didn't prepare, in a grocery store that you're not familiar with! In the process, we completely missed corn (which was later fixed), a key component for the corn fritters that Koby was planning to feed the crew. A gentle reminder of the need to plan well ahead and pay attention to small details whenever you plan to charter a boat and take it to places where there are no grocery stores.
Fortunately, Andrew and Ben were able to go back for the 20 gallons of water. It was a very crowded car: camping backpacks and gallons of water everywhere. But I'm happy to report that we managed to fit everyone back in! We arrived at the Puerto del Rey Marina and quickly unloaded everything into a cart which we could take to the boat. Ben quickly drove the car to the rental place - they were about to close but Ben made it in time! (Way to go Ben!) It was getting dark by now but there was still enough light to admire the boat that would become our home for the next 8 days: the Pura Vida, from St. John, USVI.
The captain inspects the cockpit while the crew is dazzled by the unexpected luxuries of the salon
Pura Vida is a 2019 Jeanneau 440 so it was a brand new boat with a bunch of amenities that we don't get on the boats that we normally sail in Boston: air conditioning (which we didn't use), a generator, a refrigerator and 2 heads w/ shower. It was also bigger and heavier than what we normally sail and equipped with electric winches to help trim the lines, which was a new (and welcome) addition for me.
The term "Pura Vida" is used in Costa Rica to represent a relaxed attitude towards life, including its ups and downs, and an easy-going nature. It was the perfect name for our boat and for the attitude that would characterize our adventure!
After finding little cubbies and hidden storage places for all the food and water, Oleg and I mixed some drinks while our brave captain Andrew checked boat details with José from Sail Caribe. We toasted to Pura Vida and to a week of unforgettable adventure!
El Yunque and a second night at the Marina
The first night slept on the boat in the marina was uneventful albeit slightly wet as the rain from the previous day decided to hang around for a little longer. Still not fully adjusted to Island Time, I woke up only slightly later than my usual time, at 5.30AM! Eager to watch the first sunrise, I sat on companionway, hoping to stay dry from the rain and get a glimpse of the view in case the clouds dispersed. What I saw instead - arriving in a golf cart - was the last member of our crew Koby, which was supposed to have arrived in the middle of the night. Turns out that the snow in Boston had caused a 3 hours delay on his flight from Boston, but he made - the crew was complete at last.
The plan for Sunday had been to begin our crossing to Vieques. Andrew had laid out his plan carefully, thought about anchorages for every night, planned all the places that we would visit. However, as the waves on Sunday were quite high and hitting the Marina sea wall, José - our contact from SailCaribe - decided that it would not be safe to make the trip to Vieques, our first planned stop - and did not give the crew clearance to start the journey. It was with disappointment that we learned that we would spend another night at the Marina - another reminder that although careful planning and strategizing when going on a week long sailing trip is crucial, things rarely go according to plan and learning to adapt to the weather is a must.
Marina Puerto del Rey was huge and easy to get lost at + One of Koby's sophisticated lunches on board.
To make the best use of our day, we followed Oleg's suggestion and ended up renting a car in the marina and driving to El Yunque National Forest, the only tropical rainforest in the U.S. National Forest Service. We did get quite wet as the rain was constant and intense (Oleg did warn the crew that there is a reason why it's called a 'rain' forest) but in return we were greeted with gorgeous waterfalls, luscious green vegetation and amazing landscape. That's where I learned the importance of "layering up"... I had brought to the El Yunque only my warm puffy jacket, not my water proof gear, which meant walking around in a moist jacket for the rest of the day.
Waterfalls at El Yunqye + five wet grounded sailors.
Wet and ready to wrap up the day and return to the Pura Vida in Fajardo, our last stop was in a little town on the way back, where we found local art shops and came across a cute little juice shop - Degree 18 Juice Bar. If you are ever in those parts of the world, I highly recommend a visit to that place. In addition to the organic / vegan juices, they also had home-made hummus, which was a very nice addition to the menu onboard the Pura Vida. The whole crew agreed that even though we did not get to sail, it was a pretty good day overall.
The discovery of the day was a place called Degree 18 Juice Bar which had the most amazing juices and hummus
Upon returning to the Pura Vida, and in spite of having been deprived of sleep for nearly 24 hours, Koby volunteered to season and prepare dinner for what became the first of many amazing chef-Koby dinners for the crew. We fired up the grill, cooked the fish and enjoyed Koby's happy hour cocktails. We can't thank Koby enough for the amazing planning and cooking of all meals for 5 hungry sailors. It was quite a challenge but he was clearly up to the challenge.
Good food, good friends, endless stars and adventure in the air. The expectations had been set pretty high after that first night with the whole crew on board.
Cast-Off to Vieques!
On Monday morning the whole crew was fully rested at last and the waves and strong wind that had prevented our exit the day before were losing strength and would subside around 11AM that day. José from SailCaribe stopped by for the boat briefing and to help the crew learn to handle the boat. We practiced raising the main, tacking and operating the electric winches.
Lena's Sailing Classroom: Each of the electric winches on the Jeanneau 440 is operated via pressing of a button, which tends to get stuck when the waterproof plastic surrounding the button gets stuck in the fiberglass casing. This is a problem since the sheer force of these powerful winches can cause the main or jib lines to break, something that is unlikely to happen when using a manual winch. Another important lesson about using the electric winches is to always remove the winch handles before pressing the button since their rotation will cause damage to anything on its way. There is a whinch handle release mechanism that is triggered when the button is pressed but it's better to be safe than sorry: José told us about how he broke a rib as the which handle came flying toward him when he switched from manual to electric.
I remembered the lessons about the electric winches almost every time except once... needing to trim the mainsail fast but too lazy to finish the manual work, I pushed the button without remembering to remove the winch handle ... The handle release mechanism worked like a charm and I did not break a rib or hurt myself… Just my pride!
José helping the crew steer the boat out of the slip
At around 11AM on Monday morning our journey to Vieques begun and it was a magical experience. It was an opportunity to gain our sea legs again since none of us had sailed since October. Once we were far enough from the Marina, we raised the mainsail, unfurled the jib and began the adventure of a life time!
Goodbye Fajardo - see you in a week!
Lena's Sailing Classroom: A sailing boat cannot sail directly toward the direction where the wind is coming from. But modern sail boats can sail very close to the wind direction - approximately 30 degree angles in racing boats and good wind conditions or about 45 degrees for the Pura Vida as Jeanneaus are typically built for comfort, not for racing. Since the wind was coming from the East that day, which was the direction where we needed to go, we set our direction to about 45 degrees north from where the wind was coming from which put us on a starboard tack. That meant that we would soon be heading toward land and thus had to rotate 90 degrees in the opposite direction, a maneuver called tacking.
Approaching Vieques on a Port tack
As soon as we could, we positioned ourselves on a Port tack for the approach to Vieques. The crew's navigational skills were put to the test as we noticed that the chart identified an underwater shallow / coral area where the Pura Vida might run aground had we tried to sail over it. Fortunatelly, the area is marked by a red buoy called Vieques Southwest channel lighted buoy 2, which acts as navigational aid. All the crew had to do was make sure that the Pura Vida was sailing West of the buoy. With binoculars in hand and a vague idea where I would be able to find buoy 2, I spent a significant amount of time looking for the real thing in the horizon and was reminded of how hard it is to find a small red dot in the horizon that we're supposed to avoid. I was also reminded of how reassuring it is when it's finally possible to see it with a naked eye and it's almost always exactly where the chart says it is supposed to be!
In the excitement of the sail and the navigation, it is easy to forget the less enjoyable tasks, like emptying the holding tanks that had been holding the product of our bathroom visits while on board for the previous 2 nights. Andrew had given me that one job and I completelly forgot to do it! Fortunately, Ben remembered my job and -- once we were >3 miles offshore -- had silently gone down below to release their contents into the big wild sea. Silent and pragmatic, we did not learn that he did that until much later!
Happy crew on the way to Vieques
Our first anchorage site in Vieques was between Punta Arenas and Punta Boca Quebrada. As we prepared to anchor, a glorious sun setting behind heavy rain clouds made an appearance and was refleced on the water, followed by a beautiful rainbow, as if welcoming us to our Puerto Rico adventure. Unlike Boston, where the crew is already very familiar with every cove and every island, we did not immediately recognize the Punta where we had decided to anchor and almost passed it before we realized that we were exactly where we were supposed to turn into the island and anchor. At this first Anchorage place, we saw the beautifully transparent water of the Caribbean for the first time!
Hello wild untamed anchorage
Jump right in!
What surprised us the most - since this was supposed to be the high season - was that we anchored without any other boats around us. Of course, as soon as we anchored, jumping in the transparent water was required. No other option available - the urge was just too strong.
I think this is also where I first saw curious turtles poking their head above the water for a few seconds to take a look around. I would see them again many times in several other places and on one occasion we were also able to photograph a little guy poking his head out of the water.
The boat bobbed gently over the waves and we fired up the grill while taking pictures of the glorious sunset. The sunset was followed by Piña Coladas, compliments of chef Koby.
Sunset: the first of many over the water
The night was uneventful. A few of us stayed on deck and admired the unbelievable sky with millions of sprinkled white dots. Venus was also above the horizon and it shun with such a bright light that it could almost compete with the moon.
A bottle of propane moving around in its storage cubby as the waves passed under our hull kept me awake a lot of the night. It gave me a chance to go outside and marvel at the stars (whilst trying to identify the source of the noise, which Andrew helped me to fix the following morning).
Esperanza and Ensenada Sun Bay
On Tuesday morning, we woke up to a glorious sunrise and of course jumped in the water after some delicious coffee. The cove felt like it belonged to us. We were the only boat anchored, not another soul in sight. We wanted to check out the beach so we grabbed the dinghy - which was later baptized Dory the Dinghy - and rowed ashore. The view from shore was even more amazing because it included the boat that we were already starting to call home.
The first beach we explored in Vieques with Pura Vida in the distance
I managed to step on a sea urchin while walking on some rocks at the beach. There were some people on the beach further North from us. A horse might or might not have been involved! They were doing their thing, we were doing ours. They didn’t bother us and we did not bother them. Island mood!
We tried (unsuccessfully) to find a path or trail to explore beyond the vegetation. We rowed the Dinghy back to Pura Vida (it would be the last time we resorted to such intense manual labor since we were equipped with a outboard motor for the dinghy, which we had been too lazy to mount) and once back on board we lifted the anchor and we were off to Esperanza!
Esperanza was quite a different experience from our first otherwise uninhabited anchorage - Esperanza was an actual town, with moorings and a pier for dinghies. We actually had to worry about other boats here. Andrew showed us how to set up the mooring line around the bow. Once that was done, we jumped into Dory the Dinghy and made our way to one of the piers. The climb to the pier was not easy but nobody got hurt in the process. We wanted to go to a restaurant called Bili for lunch but were told that it was closed so we went next door to Banana’s instead. Island life was in full swing. We drank local beers and ate local fish and a great time was had by all. We also made a furry friend - a Lab called Max - that sat by our table begging for scraps.
Island life in full swing - at Bananas
Max the Lab was a sweetheart!
After lunch, we saw a giant iguana which was just hanging out, enjoying the view. We all took lots of pictures of the iguana before heading off to look for a grocery store for supplies. The cruising guide pointed us to a store called “Green Store” which we found around a corner under the name “Tienda Verde”. There were some nice painted signs about Vieques on the way. Koby felt we needed more onions but the only onions they had were giant onions so we took one - it weighted 1.5 pounds! We also bought some more gallons of water (it’s important to not run out of drinking water!) and an overly priced container of cashews for snacking while sailing. Then we returned to Dory the Dinghy, who was patiently waiting for us at the dock. A guy was sitting at the dock and instead of helping he laughed as he saw us clumsily try to enter the dinghy equipped with the gallons of water.
An iguana enjoying the view in Esperanza, Vieques - with Pura Vida in the distance
Then, it was time to head over to Ensenada Sun Bay, where we had planned to spend the night. Andrew, our brave skipper, allowed me to steer the boat while we approached the Ensenada under motor. The little cove where we anchored had a ship that was aground - a great picture opportunity - and there was one other boat - a motor boat - in our little cove but they were very quiet and didn't make any noise. Andrew took over the wheel for the motoring part of the anchoring, which I appreciate.
This was going to be our last night in Vieques, but we didn't know it yet!
After Andrew looked at the chart and the weather, we discussed whether we should aim to do the long trip to Culebra on Wednesday (the following day) or Thursday (and give ourselves an extra day in Vieques). We had decided to do it on Thursday since the wind looked better then and would give us an opportunity to try a tour of Ensenada Mosquito - famous for its bioluminescence tours - or anchor on Puerto Farro, where bioluminescence was also supposed to be good.
After sunset, we were all hanging out in the cockpit when we started seeing some green specs of light around our boat. Our little cove was right next to Mosquito Bay, which is very famous for its incredible bioluminescence and for tours on kayaks with glass bottoms.
The first person to jump in the water in the dark was Andrew. While the rest of us were hanging out in the salon, he came over - still wearing his snorkel equipment - excited to share what he had just experienced in the water: amazing bioluminescent specs swimming all around him. I think that Oleg and Koby were the first to follow Andrew back into the water. I was falling asleep in the cockpit and had already taken a quick shower so it felt too much of a hassle (and a little scary) to jump in the dark water. Also, my internal lazy reasoning self took over: since we had planned to stay in Vieques another night, I could always swim in the bioluminescence tomorrow.
However, as the morning approached, the weather forecast changed and going to Culebra on Wednesday sounded like a much better idea. Down the drain went my plans to swim in the bioluminescent water that night. We decided (me and my lazy rational self :D ) that this was a good excuse to come back to Vieques at some point in the future and do the tour on the kayak with the glass bottom (spoiler alert: I DID swim in bioluminescence water before our return to Fajardo).
Before we lifted anchor, we were greeted with what I think is one of the best view of the whole trip - a magnificent rainbow streaming just for us behind Cayo de Tierra, on the left side of our cove.
Not photoshopped :)
We set sail to Culebra as soon as we were done with the morning rituals: "mud" coffee (compliments of Ben), quick breakfast and a jump in the refreshing water to shake away the morning grogginess. On the way to Culebra, we made a first long tack toward the wide open ocean. Facing the respectable waves and decent winds once more made us realize and appreciate the protection that Vieques - and our wise Captain's anchorage selection - had granted us from the swell and the winds for those two amazing nights.
We caught a fish! No ... wait... it's HALF a fish..
When we were far enough from shore (at least 3 miles), I remembered my job (at last). Once that was done, we tacked and Koby was put at the helm while Andrew explored the chart planning our approach to Culebra.
Koby at the helm while Andrew examines the chart and Ben forecasts when is the best time to tack
We could not stay too long on that tack since we were getting too close to shore so we tacked again. I remember this particular collection of tacks to have been pretty meditative, especially since we had constant sight of shore and could see Vieques on our port side most of the time. Since the east side of Vieques is a national wildlife refuge, there were very few anchorages but they were either not convenient for us (or prohibited by SailCaribe) which means that we had to make our way to Culebra on a single trip.
After a few tacks Oleg took the helm for the last port tack before we cleared Vieques: our final starboard tack before clearing Vieques was beautifully timed: Had we tacked a little bit earlier, we would have needed to tack again; had we tacked a little later, we would still be OK but had had to go further offshore.
When we saw the building at the Punta Este of Vieques, we knew we were close to clearing the tip of Vieques
Once we cleared Vieques, and given that the wind was blowing from the south east, we were able to turn to our port side and let the wind go behind us for a smooth run to Culebra - or "civilized sailing" as Andrew's sailing instructor used to call it.
"Civilized" sailing toward Culebra
At this point, I notice that the contraption that Ben and Oleg had created to know when a fish had been caught was triggered. But I should explain: while sailing along the shore of Vieques, Oleg had setup his fishing rod to troll for fish. Since the pressure on the bait is pretty constant - and our Pura Vida was not set up for fish trolling at an angle, Ben and Oleg came up with an ingenious contraption to know when there was pressure on the line: using a clothespin! Low Tech Indeed!
Contraption to tell us if something was caught in the bait
Basically, the idea was that an increase in the force with which the bait was trolling behind us would cause the line to snap out of the clothespin and we would know we had caught something. Which was exactly what happened soon after we turned toward Culebra.
Oleg quickly asked Andrew to take the helm so that he could reel it in. Everyone was super excited - the only one of us who had ever fished before was Koby! As the bait got closer, we were super happy to see that there was indeed something attached to the line; as Oleg pulled it out of the water was when we first noticed... it was only half a fish!
Only half a fish but still a proud fisherman!
We hypothesized that a bigger fish had eaten the other half - it was a very clean cut. Koby thought it was (used to be) a red snapper. We now had two options: we could eat half a fish for dinner... or we could try to use it as bait. We decided to be adventurous and maybe a little bit greedy and attached it back to the bait in the hope of grabbing a bigger fish... which we failed to do. Of course, in the process, we lost the half fish we did catch... live and learn!
Dory the Dinghy quietly followed her big sister everywhere she went. Vieques in the background. This need for our dinghy to "just keep swimming" behind us was the origin of her name!
As we approached Culebra with plenty of time to spare before having to look for anchorage to spend the night, we decided to stop at Bahia Mosquito for lunch and a swim. According to the chart, there was a red buoy protecting an area of shallow water - red number 8. We strategize that we should turn just before red number 8 in order to make a proper entrance in Bahia Mosquito. In the distance we saw a red buoy, whose number we could not read, but which we assumed was the buoy we were looking for. Spoiler alert: it was not! The buoy we were actually pointing at was red number 10, which protected the entrance to the Culebra's Ensenada Honda from - you guessed it - extremely shallow waters. Turning just before red buoy number 10 would land us right on top of the rocks that the buoy was supposed to be protecting us from!
Turns out that red buoy number 8 was missing. The missing buoy required some fast reaction on Andrew and Ben's part. Fast reaction, good leadership and teamwork saved the day and we anchored safely in Bahia Mosquito. At this point, I remember feeling complete confidence in our captain and our crew. Even though we were in a slightly perilous situation due to a missing marker, I felt none of the drama. Pura Vida!
Not the right red buoy!
At the Bahia we swam and through the binoculars saw what happened to red buoy 8 - possibly as a result of the hurricanes that destroyed much of Puerto Rico a few years ago, number 8 had been dragged ashore at Bahia Mosquito. At this point, my sister asked what I was up to and I sent her a selfie with Bahia Mosquito in the background - "Life is good" ;-)
Koby's mixed drinks were not just delicious, they were beautiful too!
Another boat came into our Bahia (how dare they! :D) - a catamaran - they gave us space and that made us happy. The water was transparent and we could see seagrass. Koby discovered some swimming noodles in a compartment in the bow. He also mixed some drinks to go with lunch. Then we were off to Ensenada Honda to look for good anchorage to spend the night.
Ensenada Honda
Our original plan was to head over to Ensenada Fulladosa, which seemed to be super well protected. When we got there, however, we realized that it was a mooring field with mostly private moorings - our assumption that it was well protected was correct ... thus the mooring field in that location. It was also too shallow for comfort. Next, we tried Ensenada El Coronel but something did not feel right there either. We really wanted to avoid sleeping surrounded by too many boats, whose numbers would increase the closer we got to Culebra city. We were quickly running out of options. We ended up finding a nice anchoring spot just slightly south from where all the other boats were and it turned out to be a pretty nice place to anchor - far enough from the other boats but deep enough into the Ensenada that we could barely feel any waves.
We had several anchoring options within Ensenada Honda but ended up staying just south of Culebra
We anchored, there was some jumping in the water and then it was time to go to town and for Dory the Dinghy to get some action!
Oleg all dressed up and ready to go to town!
We had forgotten what it meant to "wear nice clothes and go to town"! Pura Vida!
Our Pura Vida nicely anchored while we left her for a few hours to visit Culebra city
The lamp posts in town flashed a red light - which, as we were told by Oleg - is better for the turtles
We had dinner at Mamacita's per José's recommendation. While at the restaurant Andrew was almost eaten alive by hundreds of bugs that started flying over his head toward the light - turns out the bugs are way worse on land than in the sea. After dinner we walked a little around Culebra at night. We walked to the ferry stop and headed back - not our type of crowd - we were so used to the solitude and the waves and having deserted beaches all to ourselves that we just felt out of place in this bubbling island city. It felt nice to get back to Pura Vida.
Oleg had tea and Russian delicacies that he had brought with him - by now this had become a nightly tradition at Pura Vida, which made her feel that much more homey. In the following morning we woke up to roosters! Who kept singing non stop throughout the morning. So much for our deserted islands!
Koby prepared an amazing breakfast and everyone jumped in the water. The roosters just kept on going.
Morning face
Attempting some early morning fishing
Feeding the crew (we can't thank Koby enough!)
"So you thought you could sleep in, huh" - says the rooster as he prepares for another wake up call
We needed to re-supply so we headed back to shore - on the way there we saw a boat called Spiritu Libre (Free Spirit), red and green and very hard to miss. I think that the boat's name just said it but we all felt it.
It took us a while to find tomatoes at the grocery store that Oleg had seen but we did! We were very proud of ourselves.
Island attitude
Then we went back on Pura Vida and away we went. It was time for Culebrita!
We did return to Culebra later on Friday but on the other side - the side of the ferry - where Koby and Ben went on shore because we were running out of rum. And that simply is not acceptable on board of the Pura Vida!
Welcome to Culebrita!
Culebrita is a small island east of her big sister Culebra (Culebra means snake, Culebrita means little snake)
The passage from Culebra's Ensenada Honda to Culebrita was smooth and uneventful. We anchored at a small cove near Monte Primero, where all the other boats were. At this point we had faced the reality of our situation - we were not going to be the only anchored boat anymore!
The color of the water in Culebrita was majestic! Beautiful turquoise waters, tropical vegetation and an adventure to be had! We had planned to go to the lighthouse in Culebrita (Faro Culebrita) - the only remaining Spanish-era structure in the Culebra archipelago. We were all hungry from the crossing but before we ate, we all jumped in the water first, which was refreshing.
There was some rum drinking with lunch, which meant we were all extra relaxed when we finally jumped on Dory the Dinghy to go ashore. In the process, we were half way across to the beach when I asked if anyone remembered to close the hatch and the companionway. Nobody did. Not a big deal but I was worried nonetheless. I am the one to hope for the best and prepare for the worst. As a result Ben and I dropped everyone on the beach except me and we went back to lock up the boat.
Ben and myself coming back from our "lock the boat" mission. The guy in the other boat (Cabo) totally photobombed our picture, which is funny!
Twin pic! Lena takes a picture of Andrew taking a picture of Lena. Koby enjoying the view
On the way to the lighthouse, we saw lots of red crabs in borrowed shells - they were funny: as soon as we approached they would start walking away in unison. As we got closer to the lighthouse, we also saw a bunch of goats - including a baby goat! The view from the lighthouse was spectacular!
Spectacular view from Faro Culebrita
As we were returning from Faro Culebrita, we saw dark clouds in the distance. Rain perhaps? We had plans still to go explore what they called the "baths" - rock formations that slow the waves and form a Jacuzzi-like experience. We decided that the rain wasn't going to scare us into not going to the "baths". We jumped on Dory the Dinghy and motored into the area. We had to walk over some rocks in order to get to the baths and since Andrew was still recovering from a broken ankle, he decided to keep Dory (and Ben) company. Koby, myself and Oleg quickly found a lovely natural pool and inside it - three people enjoying themselves, plus their dog - Leo - who was super excited to be exploring this gorgeous place. The Jacuzzi was right next to the pool ... but it looked too adventurous for our taste so we resigned ourselves to taking pictures.
Leo the dog was a great source of entertainment while myself, Oleg and Koby explored the "baths"
We needed to head back to Culebra since we were not allowed to anchor overnight at Culebrita. The people we had met (Leo's people) had started a conversation with us. They were nice - the guy and his partner were living on their boat for 8 years.
On the way to Culebra, the weather started getting nasty. That's when Oleg caught his second fish - this time, a complete fish (yellowtail snapper)!
In Culebra, we first checked out Bahia de Almodovar as anchorage. It had some mooring balls and there were already a few boats anchored. We aimed for one of the free mooring balls but it said "Day Use Only". Bummer. We went for another mooring ball.. same thing: it was not until later - by reading the documents that Sail Caribe had left in the Navigation table - that we discovered that "day use only" meant "You Can Moor Here for One Night Only"! Go figure!
As we left Bahia de Almodovar to go look for better anchorage at Puerto de Manglar, it REALLY started to rain. Even though the bimini was somewhat protective, the rain was relentless. For a while we all stayed in the cockpit, getting wet but providing emotional support to Andrew (and to Ben, who was likely going to be the one dropping the anchor).
Wet and cold but providing emotional support to the skipper
Slowly the non-cockpit essential people started to head down to the salon to keep warm. The rain was so intense that we could not see a thing! That, of course, did not make the anchorage operations any easier - how can you tell if you're not moving when you can't see a thing? Andrew and Ben arrived at the salon completely drenched (thanks guys!)
We had dinner down below that night. Oleg prepared the fish that he had caught and cooked it on the stove. It was so awesome to eat fish that we had caught ourselves! Of course, one yellowtail snapper is not enough to feed 5 hungry sailors so Koby also kindly prepared a meal that kept the sailor's bellies full.
The rain eventually stopped but everything in the cockpit was so wet that it was not pleasant at all to sleep on deck. The waves were minimal at this anchorage site and we saw some more bioluminescence. As the morning approached, the rain clouds were completely gone and another gorgeous day begun in Culebra. As we were hanging out on deck drinking coffee, Koby and I saw what Koby refers to as "boiling fish" - a large school of fish all jumping out of the water at the same time, possibly driven into shallow waters by a hungry turtle and desperately trying to escape. It was in this quiet cove that I later saw a true flying fish - not just a jumping fish but a glorious creature with fins that reminded me of the wings on a bird. This was my favorite anchorage place in spite of the rain... and the mosquitoes who were eating me alive in spite of multiple layers of smelly bug repellant.
My favorite anchorage site - Culebra, Puerto de Manglar
Pura Vida Photo-Shoot
While sailing in Boston, we rarely get a full picture of our ship with the mainsail raised and the jib unfurled. But having Dory the Dinghy happily swimming behind Pura Vida gave us an idea: what if we raised the sails while part of the crew was sent on the dinghy, equipped with a camera, with the aim of taking a picture of Pura Vida in her full glory?
We had tested the short range radio as a means of communicating with the crew on the dinghy. However, in the excitement of raising the sails, they forgot to take the handheld radio. When Ben motored back to Pura Vida to get it, Oleg - who was on the dinghy with him - forgot that he had left the hook from the fishing rod hanging from the stern and as Ben started to motor away, Oleg's shirt got caught in the hook. Fortunately he was wearing long sleeves so flesh was not pierced. Lesson learned! Never ever leave a fish hook hanging from the stern or anywhere else on the boat!
Pura Vida in full glory with her sails raised as seen from Dory the Dinghy
After collecting our dinghy-marooned friends, we set sail back to Culebra city - we had plans to go snorkeling next to Punta Melones. It was supposed to be an easy sail - however, soon after we left Puerto de Manglar, we saw fog in the distance. The rain started soon after. We made sure we had a fog horn handy in case we needed it. We didn't need it as the fog would soon pass. Pura Vida :-)
As we had been promised by Ben's friends, snorkeling was indeed very good next to Punta Melones - we must've spent an hour or more in the water, swimming after fishes and watching the corals dance in the waves. Ben and I even saw a manta ray on the way back to Pura Vida. If felt so amazing to see all the fish swimming under us! For a second I even felt bad about catching and eating them.
After snorkeling, we set sail again and leisurely started making our way toward the other snorkeling spot that we had heard about - Punta Tamarindo Grande. When we got there, however, the waves were crashing into the rocks quite furiously, which in turn made us think twice about anchoring or jumping in the water at that particular location. Didn't matter. There would be other snorkeling opportunities. Pura Vida!
Our next stop would be Cayo Luis Peña, where we had planned to spend the night. Reality hit when we realized that it was almost sunset - we had agreed with Koby that we would not be sailing late that day since it was Friday and the sunset meant the beginning of Shabbat. We motored to a cove on the West side of Cayo Luis Peña and made it on time to observe another gorgeous sunset. The arrival of Shabbat had a bitter sweet taste to it: on the one hand, it was an important and meaningful day for the crew; on the other hand... it meant that our adventure was approaching the end.
The sunset that would start Shabbat was bitter sweet
While Andrew, myself and Koby were having a deep philosophical conversation on deck, we noticed a strange phenomena - our boat was not pointing in the same direction as the other boat anchored in the same cove. They were a catamaran, we were a monohull but still ... the physics of the whole situation didn't appear quite right.
Then all of a sudden our boat rotated 180 degrees or so around its anchor and our bow was now pointing in the same direction as the catamaran. We looked at the tide table, which indicated that the tide had changed not too long ago. Our running hypothesis was (and still is) that the spot we selected was so well protected from the wind (kudos to Andrew for picking such a great spot) that our positioning was being controlled by the water current, as weak as that was, whereas the position of the other boat's direction was being impacted by the light wind. Once the force from the wind and the tide pushed our boat in the same direction, we were finally aligned. For me, this whole incident was the perfect illustration of WHY, when deciding where to anchor, it is so important to think about the full circle around the anchor - not just the specific direction that you happen to be pointing at when anchoring. Things can change suddenly and if you're not careful about having enough depth all around the anchor, you may find yourself running aground when you least expect it. When, in the following morning, we looked at the path that our boat had tracked on the GPS during the night, it looked like a perfect hourglass.
Smelly Business
The sunrise on Saturday morning at Cayo Luis Peña was glorious and relaxed, Pura Vida style. Our only neighbours at the anchorage left early in the morning so we had the beach all to ourselves. The swimming and island exploration started soon after breakfast - eggs with leftover peppers and spinach - I had to show off my omelet preparing skills, which is basically the only cooking skill I possess!
I felt the unease and longing for more days like these that is associated with the finale of an amazing experience (Mono no aware, I am told, is what I was feeling). If the rest of the crew felt that same way, they didn't share it. Some things are better left unsaid. We had another day and a half to enjoy and decided to make the best of it.
On the last day of our journey, at Cayo Luis Peña, saudade sets in.
As usual, the reliable Dory the Dinghy was ready when we needed her to take us to shore where we could explore the secrets of Cayo Luis Peña. Each member of the crew found their own unique way of exploring the island. Ben relaxed by the Dinghy, Andrew decided to find a path to the top of the hill, Oleg went looking for good photo opportunities and Koby swam in the deep turquoise waters. I sat on the beach and stared at the ocean.
Soon after our return to Pura Vida, we noticed something not right with one of the heads that required us to make a small adjustment to our plans for the day: the holding tank was overflowing; we needed to sail 3 miles offshore to dump it.
As we were raising the anchor, we saw a huge turtle poking her head next to Pura Vida and showing off her shell. Since Koby and I had agreed not 2 minutes before that he would help out with the sailing while I would use his camera for pictures, I was holding the camera at the right time in the right place with the right lens and managed to take a picture before she dived back down.
We saw a huge turtle at Cayo Luis Peña
After our hygiene adventure, we steered back to where we had been snorkeling the day before. We could not get enough of the colorful fish, the manta ray and the dancing corals. This time, however, we had company - two other boats were already anchored in "our spot" - another reminder that the weekend had arrived and with it, plenty of other adventure-seeking explorers with whom to share our Culebra shores.
As we all jumped in the water I discovered, with some frustration, that I had failed to recharge my underwater camera. I quickly reminded myself that it did not matter. Pura Vida!
Our anchorage for that night was by Punta Tamarindo Grande. As we approached, we saw some swimmers next to their motor boat, sipping beers and blasting loud music. We grabbed a mooring ball and quickly jumped on the dinghy to go ashore and leave the boom box behind. The plan was to find the trail that led to Flamenco Beach, on the other side of Culebra island. Flamenco Beach was ranked the 3rd best beach in the world according to TripAdvisor ranks. The way there was surprisingly muddy even though we had seen no signs of rain that morning.
A muddy path on the way to Flamenco Beach
The path ended in a huge parking lot - after 5 days of deserted beaches, this was a culture shock! We crossed the parking lot and made our way to the water. The beach was indeed pretty albeit more crowded than we were used to at this point. We didn't linger. Pura Vida was calling us back.
The last sunset
That last night was solemn. Everybody knew what the morning would bring - given the 5-10 knots of wind and a 4/5 hour trip back to Fajardo (where we had to be by 10AM), we would have to get up before sunrise and probably motor all the way. I had corn fritters for the first time in my life. The rum flowed. I lost count of toasts - we toasted to everything and everyone under the stars. The morning came too soon. As we were preparing the boat for its early departure, I noticed the same flickers of green light in the water by the hull that we had seen in Vieques. I decided that I was not going to miss my last chance of swimming in a bioluminescent sea. So I faced my fears and jumped in the dark water. It was indeed as magical, exhilarating and unreal as the crew had been telling me it was.
Andrew motors us back to Fajardo with that solemn look in his face, probably planning our next adventure
As we made our way to Fajardo, the sky granted us one last view of a surreal sunrise, as if waving goodbye, "come back soon!"
The last sunrise
SVI itinerary:
Day 0: Old San Juan - Puerto Del Rey Marina, Fajardo
Day 1: El Yuenque
Day 2: Puerto Del Rey Marina, Fajardo — Green Beach, Vieques (anchor)
Day 3: Green Beach — Esperanza — Ensenada Sun Bay, Vieques (anchor)
Day 4: Ensenada Sun Bay, Vieques — Bahia Mosquito, Culebra — Ensenada Honda, Culebra (anchor)
Day 5: Ensenada Honda, Culebra — Bahia de Tortuga, Culebrita — Puerto del Manglar, Culebra (anchor)
Day 6: Puerto del Manglar — Bahia de Sardinas, Culebra — SW corner of Cayo de Luis Peña (anchor)
Day 7: Cayo de Luis Peña — Bahia Tarja (S of Pta Melones), Culebra — Bahia Tamarindo (S of Pta Tamarindo Grande), Culebra (mooring)
Day 8: Bahia Tamarindo, Culebra — Puerto Del Rey Marina, Fajardo (dock)
