A
somewhat harrowing taxi ride along narrow lanes and busy roads brought us from
the airport on Beef Island to our dock on the east side of Road Town. Our boat, a gleaming catamaran, looked
marvelous, even in the rain as we began to load it up with our gear while
waiting for our skipper to arrive.
After
many beers and rum drinks, Ollie, our skipper, arrived and began our
pre-departure overview. MK and Dana, and even Michael, thought he was most
handsome, looking like a cross between Jude Law and Woody Harrelson. Steve and
I, feigning indifference to hide our mild jealousy, shrugged our shoulders.
We headed
west down the coast, rounded the bend and then north to Jost Van Dyke, stopping
along the way to snorkel, a sport that, at that time, was a first for MK and
me. It was a wonderful experience; one we would repeat many times over the next
week.
While
underway, I was getting sea-sick and vomited several times over the side of the
boat. Ollie suggested I sit at the helm
and steer the boat for a while; focusing on the horizon. Doing so seemed to
help. It also helped a little to stand
on dry land, which we did after a brief stop at “Sandy Spot”, a tiny sandy
island with one lone palm tree. We
anchored for the evening as the sun set in White Bay on Jost Van Dyke.
A swim
early the next morning was a refreshing start to the day. We hiked to the top
of the hill to a commanding view of the bay and our tiny boat far below. It was good exercise with a good sweat. We had beers in the “Soggy Dollar” beach bar
afterwards before sailing off to the west end of Tortola so that we could clear
customs and enter the U.S. side and a stop for ice and beer.
A south
and west heading brought us to St. John’s north shore and a full day of
snorkeling in Cinnamon Bay. As dusk came
on, Ollie, who brought aboard his guitar, picked at the strings playing
Coldplay and Bob Marley songs.
After
a brief early morning shopping tour of Cruz Bay, we sailed to Whistling Cay to
snorkel. There were great underwater
coral structures. We took pictures with
some old school throw-away underwater cameras, uncertain how they would turn
out. For a while MK was “missing”, drifting off away from our group. She got lost in the fantasy world of
snorkeling, but soon re-appeared amongst the waves and rocks.
A
quick sail brought us to Leister Bay on St. John’s north shore where we moored
for the night. I needed some alone time
and was a bit antsy. Steve motored me in the dinghy and brought me to shore
where there was a shoreline trail.
Starting at the sandy beach I passed several families and other groups
sun-bathing. One woman, totally oblivious
or uncaring about my presence, decided to strip to her waist and, at least to
me, erotically changed out of her shirt into a skimpy bikini top.
Onward
into the strong setting sun I made my way westward along the trail to the site
of a sugar cane mill, now in ruins. It
operated for quite a long time since the 1600’s up until the first few years of
the 1900’s. Sugar, molasses and rum were
the products.
Over
breakfast the next day, Ollie shared with us his background. We learned he was
24 years old. Born literally on a boat,
he lived in the BVI until he was three years old. He moved to the U.K. for schooling and then
came back to the BVI at the age of 18.
He does a little bit of everything, skippering charters one week out of
four, building houses and other odd job construction work during the rest of
the month. He had the patience of Job
and a charming English accent. He was a
good teacher to those of us that wanted to learn how to sail and steer the
boat. Steve was the one who took the
most advantage of Ollie’s tutorage.
A
long sail across the straight took us toward Norman Island, thought to be the
setting for the book Treasure Island.
Before mooring for the day, we stopped at the caves at Treasure Point
for snorkeling. It was quite an
experience snorkeling into the dark, water filled caves teeming with mysterious
fish and coral formations of dazzling colors and shapes. So far this was the
best snorkeling of the trip.
We
moored for the night at a spot a little further south called “The Bight.” In it
was a lot of mooring balls and a permanently anchored barge converted into a
floating bar and restaurant (the Willie T’s).
Ollie, Michael, Mary Kay and I went there in the dinghy for happy
hour. Ollie, of course, knew many of the
people on board. Later, MK’s fajita dinner seemed to be a hit with our
shipmates. A quiet evening followed. Ollie went alone back to Willie T’s to hang
with his friends while the rest of us turned in.
Our
morning departure took us away from Norman heading north and east on one long
tack. The breeze and its direction was
prefect all along the Sir Francis Drake Channel. We snorkeled at “The Indians” along the way. Making a turn at Beef Island and the east end
of Tortolla, we sailed north and back west through Little and Great Camanoe
Islands threading our way through moored boats, rocks, and other traffic. We snorkeled off of Monkey Point on Guana
Island. The place was teeming with fish,
thousands of them. I would dive and swim
with them, their silver flashes all around.
Steve
and Dana read there was a walking trail on a nearby island, but our reconnaissance
did not discover one. A plan for a 45
minute excursion lasted only 10 minutes.
Meanwhile Ollie, who was to pick us up in the dinghy and bring us back
to the boat, was off to the nearby port picking up provisions. Not wanting to sit in the hot sun, MK and I
swam to the boat to retrieve the kayak to then return to rescue the rest of the
“castaways” one at a time.
In
trying to leave the island, Steve and I got stuck on the sand and had to wait
for a wave to lift us up and off into deeper water. Of course, the rest of the group took
pictures of only our stuck-in-the-sand struggle and not of our mighty paddle
strokes once under way. No sooner did we
accomplish that did Ollie arrive earlier than anticipated. Seeing the others,
he headed to the shore making our kayak rescue system obsolete for the rest of
the group.
The
next day, we stopped for a couple of hours at the Baths on Virgin Gorda. This was a very unique area of large rounded
rocks making for little sea water-filled nooks, crannies, and pools. A neat trail wound its way through this
wonderland starting at the beach and ending up at a nearby resort’s parking
lot. Near there was a fascinating little
bar called “Mad Dogs” where, of course, we stopped and consumed many drinks.
Back
on board, we headed south and west, island hopping and snorkeling along the
way. One spot was at the “Wreck of the Roan,” a boat that sank off of Salt
Island back in 1867. It was quite a
sight in itself, but made more mysterious when, far below, we could see scuba
divers swimming in and out of the ship’s hull.
We moored
off of Peter Island for the night. We
were out of beer and ice so Ollie volunteered to take the dinghy to a nearby
port while the rest of us lingered at a very upscale and snooty resort beach bar.
The bartender was quick to remind us that after 6:30 p.m. they “don’t cater to
non-guests”.
We
awoke to sail a sad and rocky morning route north to Road Town Harbor to turn
in the boat. The mood was solemn as the
end of the sailing adventure was only minutes away. In port we unloaded our gear, gave to Ollie
what remained of our food and other provisions, and said our goodbyes. He was a great skipper, sailor, host, and tour
guide, all wrapped into one personable and patient package. We tipped him well.
At
Beef Island, we spent our final night at a 4 room bed and breakfast guest house
right on the water’s edge. We had drinks
at the De Loose Mongoose next door, strolled amongst art studios and gift
shops, and then ate dinner at the Last Resort, an island restaurant located on
an islet in Trellis Bay, with a donkey named Mary standing at our table looking
for free food.
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