We arrived safely to St. Bart’s on Monday, Dec. 18th after an 8 night passage from Bermuda. Our friend John from Baltimore came along for the passage, bringing pounds of cherry Twizzlers, Snyder’s pretzel bites and tons of Snickers for night watches. He also helped us out a lot by bringing boat parts from the U.S., saving us a bundle and a lot of time on shipping.
John learned to sail with Stephen, coming along on cruises in the bay since we owned the Tartan. Now she belongs to John and I couldn't think of a better owner for her. He was a nice addition to the crew because of his knowledge, passion and aptitude for sailing. He never panicked when conditions stepped up, and was proactive when it came to trimming sail and other maneuvers.
This was his first major passage and watching him go through the motions of adjusting to life underway was like watching a filmstrip of myself on the last passage. We compared notes on the sounds inside the cabin that would keep you awake at night. We both agreed it was like sleeping inside an industrial sized washing machine that sometimes spun out of control to the point she was going to break!
John flew into Bermuda on Saturday, Dec. 5th, the night before departure. A night of rowdiness began with Christmas parades and festivities in St. George’s square. Then we hopped a bus to the Swizzle Inn where you “swagger out.” We got our fill of drinking, dancing to a blues band in between gorging on ribs and chicken. It's popular for bars in the islands to do BBQ on the weekends. They found us quite entertaining, and even gave the microphone to Stephen to sing along. He surprised us all with his own version of scat that included animal noises. As the the sax player said, "You guys livened up the place!" We were able to give John a quick tour of St. George’s parish before casting off, leaving just enough time for a major front to blow through.
We followed the tailwinds of this system out of Bermuda. The seas were still choppy with waves of up to 12 ft. for the first 36 hours out of Bermuda. The biggest John had ever seen, and I prayed the biggest he would have to see. The skies stayed gray and dark until sunrise Tuesday morning while both Stephen and John were on watch. They witnessed one of the most beautiful sunrises at sea, lighting up the skies with vibrant shades of pink, lavender, red, orange and blue. Almost the whole spectrum of the rainbow, like the one they passed through.
As they watched the sun rise, they could see squalls passing through in the distance. The dawn brought the biggest rainbow, signaling the end of gray skies and foul weather. As Synchronicity passed directly under its arch, it was like we had entered the gateway to paradise. Almost the rest of the trip was filled with sunshine, rainbows, shooting stars at night and even dolphins that came to swim alongside our bow. It was like my first grade sticker book come to life. The three dolphins criss-crossed around each other as they rode our wake. They spiraled through the water, revealing their eyes and underbellies just before leaping out of the water.
Other discoveries of the slimy type included a squid hurled on deck early on in the trip by a churned up sea. He reminded me of one of those sticky rubber toys in the prize window at the roller skating rink. He was clear all the way through so you could see his insides and his head and eyes were elongated like an alien’s. His bright blue eyes were the only spec of color.
Then there were the flying fish that would visit during our night watches. Many of them flying through the water would accidentally land on deck. Sometimes they would fly right into you. When they landed they would flop around all over the deck. I’m sure I woke up John one night when I shrieked as one came out of nowhere. Even though it freaked me out to try to grab it, I figured I would want someone to try to save me had I found myself in some unexpected situation, gasping for air as I fought for my life. He was a slippery little sucker, so I had to grab a paper towel to grip him before chucking him overboard.
Then there was the huge Mahi that Stephen hooked on his line using the silver spoon – later lost in the mouth of a teethy, gnarly-looking thing while trolling on our way to St. Maarten. This Mahi weighed about 25 lbs. and wouldn’t die easily. Still trying to figure out the best way to end it quickly for them, Stephen gaffed it and then asked John to bop it on the head with something – a winch handle! He did so reluctantly as we all winced with each thud. These fish are so pretty – iridescent blues, yellows and greens that are so bright until the life runs out of the Mahi. We also read somewhere that they travel in pairs – with their lifelong mates. Every time you catch one you wonder if you are leaving behind a very lonely partner.
Still, once it was caught, it had to be put out of its misery. And we were growing tired of food out of a box or a can. Stephen was an awesome cook underway, making us meals everynight through every type of condition. Sometimes cursing at the rolling pots and at Gretchen who wants to get right up in the food that she’s smelling. It seems this is the only thing she has to look forward to on these passages, where she settles in to places for hours – sometimes days on end.
For several days we had calm seas and breezes of 8 – 12 knots – just enough to keep the sails filled and keep us moving along at over 4 knots. This made for very nice night watches where you could relax enough to watch the stars. Thanks to Dad Toman, our Sirius Satellite radio which we had been without since the last big storm, was now reconnected and we had tunes to keep us going through the night.
One morning the breezes let up completely and Synchronicity was becalmed in one of the deepest parts of the ocean, second the the Puerto Rico Trench. Of course John and Stephen saw this as the perfect time to "go for a swim." Apprehensive about what might be lurking below in this blue abyss of 20,000 + feet or 5 miles to the bottom, I decided to keep watch for "unfriendly sea creatures," that might see John and Steve as the catch of lifetime. Dangling from the line of the back in snorkel gear they did look like the perfect bait for Jaws. They finally convinced me to jump in long enough to go below with my mask and see the swirls of sunlight that spiral hundreds of feet into the deep blue below. It can be disorienting, for at the same time the light separates into perfect symmetrical beams that seem to reach up towards you in "a thousand points of light."
My favorite night watch was to the tunes of Christmas music on the Forties station. I had forgotten all about Christmas until then and cuddled up with a blanket under the stars as I thought about Christmas memories from childhood – Christmas Eve and Christmas dinner at Mom & Dad’s, Aunt Lynn’s rice crispie treats, always trying to make the Santa Claus parade in downtown Hanover with Uncle Jim & Aunt Jane. I don’t think we ever made it in time, but at least we always made it to the Famous Hot Weiner on Black Friday after Christmas. I will miss them and even miss the hot dogs and chili maybe more than the turkey itself.
For the last couple of days, once we made it to about the 19th parallel, we picked up the trades and the boat started flying again. Hull speed increased to 6 knots, even going above 7 for a few hours at a time. Wind speed was now anywhere from 12 – 20, gusts to 22 and increasing with every passing squall. Once we hit the trades there was line of squalls coming from the East.
We called ourselves the “squall patrol,” on the Sunday just before approaching St. Bart’s. We tried to dodge as many as we could, or at least dodge the worst of the rains and wind. Just sailing under a poled-out headsail alone, we would furl it in almost as quickly as we had furled it out. The winds always seem to drop to almost nothing just on the edge of a squall or right in the center of it when you would also get poured on. Sometimes the boat would pick up speed in a matter of seconds going into one but then lose all speed with sails luffing as soon as it passed over. The most it gusted was up to 35 knots and this was pretty short-lived. As the squalls kept coming, I started to think back to our last leg into Bermuda when conditions only seemed to get worse. I thought to myself, “It figures.”
I learned on this passage to always keep your thoughts about what mother nature may or may not do to yourself, as it seems she is always listening and wants to keep you in your place. I considered the irrational nature of this belief until it was confirmed. We had managed to avoid one nasty looking squall – three clusters of dark storm clouds that had merged into one. The clouds had just missed us when they stalled mid-air as if they realized we had gotten away.
We began to revel in our success, Stephen commenting, “Ahh, we’re in calmer seas now.” He began to sit down to take a break when he quickly stood up as if he sensed the consequences of his words. Seconds after he moved from his spot, a random wave came spilling over the side in the very place where he sat, filling up the cockpit with a few inches of water. We both looked at each other completely spooked. It was like the squall has sent the wave to mess with us.
Fortunately, Mother Nature was kind to us, settling down for the evening although I think John still had some increased winds and boat speed to ride out like the Comet at Hershey Park. The seas were still swelly from all the squalls. During the height of them John did get to see even bigger waves – mostly 15 feet with a couple of 20 foot rollers here and there. By the time I had settled in to my very last night watch, things were evening out, the waves were settling and there was an insane lightshow going on above, with shooting stars streaking the sky in every direction.
I woke Stephen up almost half way through my watch, thinking we might have to alter course to avoid a huge ship first detected on radar and now visible on the horizon. The ship ended up running parallel until it was miles ahead of us before crossing our bow, but you can never be too vigilant even in this vast ocean. In the middle of our trip, a huge freighter crossed our path after we hadn’t seen a boat for days. In this vast ocean, the chances of crossing paths with another vessel seem small – but then you turn around 20 minutes after scanning the horizon to see one appearing out of nowhere. This one was westbound, probably for the U.S.
Ready to retire below again, another stray wave ended up dousing Stephen awake, so he joined me for the planetarium show. We later learned that we had seen a meteor shower. We kept an all night vigil, the lights from Anguilla, then St. Maarten glowing brighter as the islands drew nearer. Then we finally saw a faint glow from St. Bart’s up ahead. John joined us in the cockpit just before dawn, which brought with it more squalls. We weren’t getting off that easy. We could start to make out lights and even building structures on St. Bart’s when the winds and seas began to pick up and Stephen disengaged the wind vane to do some heavy handsteering in towards shore.
The moon was rising about an hour later each night over the course of the passage, and this morning she didn’t pop up until right before sunrise. As the first color started to appear in the sky, we tacked away from land just to move out of the way of a squall and to avoid running out of lee shore. Just like our last moments into Bermuda, Synchronicity was moving downwind, coasting gently along, rolling down the waves like little puffs of air were blowing her in.
I could make out land better then Steve and John’s faces still covered in shadows. It was quiet and peaceful and these islands were already some of the most beautiful I had ever seen. White house with red tiled roofs dotted steep hillsides that were covered in green. There were many small islands or outcroppings of rocks surrounding St. Bart’s. You could see the island of Saba, rising 3,000 feet up out of the ocean in the distance – it’s peak enshrouded by clouds.
As we made our way through the cuts and the channel into Gustavia, John enjoyed the view from up at the bow, ready to drop anchor. It was a smooth ride in, this time with a fully operational engine. Once we dropped hook and were secured, we all gave hugs and high fives, raised the quarantine flag, then poured ourselves some bloody marys. Bonjour, St. Bart’s.
We arrived safely to St. Bart’s on Monday, Dec. 18th after an 8 night passage from Bermuda. Our friend John from Baltimore came along for the passage, bringing pounds of cherry Twizzlers, Snyder’s pretzel bites and tons of Snickers for night watches. He also helped us out a lot by bringing boat parts from the U.S., saving us a bundle and a lot of time on shipping.
John learned to sail with Stephen, coming along on cruises in the bay since we owned the Tartan. Now she belongs to John and I couldn't think of a better owner for her. He was a nice addition to the crew because of his knowledge, passion and aptitude for sailing. He never panicked when conditions stepped up, and was proactive when it came to trimming sail and other maneuvers.
This was his first major passage and watching him go through the motions of adjusting to life underway was like watching a filmstrip of myself on the last passage. We compared notes on the sounds inside the cabin that would keep you awake at night. We both agreed it was like sleeping inside an industrial sized washing machine that sometimes spun out of control to the point she was going to break!
John flew into Bermuda on Saturday, Dec. 5th, the night before departure. A night of rowdiness began with Christmas parades and festivities in St. George’s square. Then we hopped a bus to the Swizzle Inn where you “swagger out.” We got our fill of drinking, dancing to a blues band in between gorging on ribs and chicken. It's popular for bars in the islands to do BBQ on the weekends. They found us quite entertaining, and even gave the microphone to Stephen to sing along. He surprised us all with his own version of scat that included animal noises. As the the sax player said, "You guys livened up the place!" We were able to give John a quick tour of St. George’s parish before casting off, leaving just enough time for a major front to blow through.
We followed the tailwinds of this system out of Bermuda. The seas were still choppy with waves of up to 12 ft. for the first 36 hours out of Bermuda. The biggest John had ever seen, and I prayed the biggest he would have to see. The skies stayed gray and dark until sunrise Tuesday morning while both Stephen and John were on watch. They witnessed one of the most beautiful sunrises at sea, lighting up the skies with vibrant shades of pink, lavender, red, orange and blue. Almost the whole spectrum of the rainbow, like the one they passed through.
As they watched the sun rise, they could see squalls passing through in the distance. The dawn brought the biggest rainbow, signaling the end of gray skies and foul weather. As Synchronicity passed directly under its arch, it was like we had entered the gateway to paradise. Almost the rest of the trip was filled with sunshine, rainbows, shooting stars at night and even dolphins that came to swim alongside our bow. It was like my first grade sticker book come to life. The three dolphins criss-crossed around each other as they rode our wake. They spiraled through the water, revealing their eyes and underbellies just before leaping out of the water.
Other discoveries of the slimy type included a squid hurled on deck early on in the trip by a churned up sea. He reminded me of one of those sticky rubber toys in the prize window at the roller skating rink. He was clear all the way through so you could see his insides and his head and eyes were elongated like an alien’s. His bright blue eyes were the only spec of color.
Then there were the flying fish that would visit during our night watches. Many of them flying through the water would accidentally land on deck. Sometimes they would fly right into you. When they landed they would flop around all over the deck. I’m sure I woke up John one night when I shrieked as one came out of nowhere. Even though it freaked me out to try to grab it, I figured I would want someone to try to save me had I found myself in some unexpected situation, gasping for air as I fought for my life. He was a slippery little sucker, so I had to grab a paper towel to grip him before chucking him overboard.
Then there was the huge Mahi that Stephen hooked on his line using the silver spoon – later lost in the mouth of a teethy, gnarly-looking thing while trolling on our way to St. Maarten. This Mahi weighed about 25 lbs. and wouldn’t die easily. Still trying to figure out the best way to end it quickly for them, Stephen gaffed it and then asked John to bop it on the head with something – a winch handle! He did so reluctantly as we all winced with each thud. These fish are so pretty – iridescent blues, yellows and greens that are so bright until the life runs out of the Mahi. We also read somewhere that they travel in pairs – with their lifelong mates. Every time you catch one you wonder if you are leaving behind a very lonely partner.
Still, once it was caught, it had to be put out of its misery. And we were growing tired of food out of a box or a can. Stephen was an awesome cook underway, making us meals everynight through every type of condition. Sometimes cursing at the rolling pots and at Gretchen who wants to get right up in the food that she’s smelling. It seems this is the only thing she has to look forward to on these passages, where she settles in to places for hours – sometimes days on end.
For several days we had calm seas and breezes of 8 – 12 knots – just enough to keep the sails filled and keep us moving along at over 4 knots. This made for very nice night watches where you could relax enough to watch the stars. Thanks to Dad Toman, our Sirius Satellite radio which we had been without since the last big storm, was now reconnected and we had tunes to keep us going through the night.
One morning the breezes let up completely and Synchronicity was becalmed in one of the deepest parts of the ocean, second the the Puerto Rico Trench. Of course John and Stephen saw this as the perfect time to "go for a swim." Apprehensive about what might be lurking below in this blue abyss of 20,000 + feet or 5 miles to the bottom, I decided to keep watch for "unfriendly sea creatures," that might see John and Steve as the catch of lifetime. Dangling from the line of the back in snorkel gear they did look like the perfect bait for Jaws. They finally convinced me to jump in long enough to go below with my mask and see the swirls of sunlight that spiral hundreds of feet into the deep blue below. It can be disorienting, for at the same time the light separates into perfect symmetrical beams that seem to reach up towards you in "a thousand points of light."
My favorite night watch was to the tunes of Christmas music on the Forties station. I had forgotten all about Christmas until then and cuddled up with a blanket under the stars as I thought about Christmas memories from childhood – Christmas Eve and Christmas dinner at Mom & Dad’s, Aunt Lynn’s rice crispie treats, always trying to make the Santa Claus parade in downtown Hanover with Uncle Jim & Aunt Jane. I don’t think we ever made it in time, but at least we always made it to the Famous Hot Weiner on Black Friday after Christmas. I will miss them and even miss the hot dogs and chili maybe more than the turkey itself.
For the last couple of days, once we made it to about the 19th parallel, we picked up the trades and the boat started flying again. Hull speed increased to 6 knots, even going above 7 for a few hours at a time. Wind speed was now anywhere from 12 – 20, gusts to 22 and increasing with every passing squall. Once we hit the trades there was line of squalls coming from the East.
We called ourselves the “squall patrol,” on the Sunday just before approaching St. Bart’s. We tried to dodge as many as we could, or at least dodge the worst of the rains and wind. Just sailing under a poled-out headsail alone, we would furl it in almost as quickly as we had furled it out. The winds always seem to drop to almost nothing just on the edge of a squall or right in the center of it when you would also get poured on. Sometimes the boat would pick up speed in a matter of seconds going into one but then lose all speed with sails luffing as soon as it passed over. The most it gusted was up to 35 knots and this was pretty short-lived. As the squalls kept coming, I started to think back to our last leg into Bermuda when conditions only seemed to get worse. I thought to myself, “It figures.”
I learned on this passage to always keep your thoughts about what mother nature may or may not do to yourself, as it seems she is always listening and wants to keep you in your place. I considered the irrational nature of this belief until it was confirmed. We had managed to avoid one nasty looking squall – three clusters of dark storm clouds that had merged into one. The clouds had just missed us when they stalled mid-air as if they realized we had gotten away.
We began to revel in our success, Stephen commenting, “Ahh, we’re in calmer seas now.” He began to sit down to take a break when he quickly stood up as if he sensed the consequences of his words. Seconds after he moved from his spot, a random wave came spilling over the side in the very place where he sat, filling up the cockpit with a few inches of water. We both looked at each other completely spooked. It was like the squall has sent the wave to mess with us.
Fortunately, Mother Nature was kind to us, settling down for the evening although I think John still had some increased winds and boat speed to ride out like the Comet at Hershey Park. The seas were still swelly from all the squalls. During the height of them John did get to see even bigger waves – mostly 15 feet with a couple of 20 foot rollers here and there. By the time I had settled in to my very last night watch, things were evening out, the waves were settling and there was an insane lightshow going on above, with shooting stars streaking the sky in every direction.
I woke Stephen up almost half way through my watch, thinking we might have to alter course to avoid a huge ship first detected on radar and now visible on the horizon. The ship ended up running parallel until it was miles ahead of us before crossing our bow, but you can never be too vigilant even in this vast ocean. In the middle of our trip, a huge freighter crossed our path after we hadn’t seen a boat for days. In this vast ocean, the chances of crossing paths with another vessel seem small – but then you turn around 20 minutes after scanning the horizon to see one appearing out of nowhere. This one was westbound, probably for the U.S.
Ready to retire below again, another stray wave ended up dousing Stephen awake, so he joined me for the planetarium show. We later learned that we had seen a meteor shower. We kept an all night vigil, the lights from Anguilla, then St. Maarten glowing brighter as the islands drew nearer. Then we finally saw a faint glow from St. Bart’s up ahead. John joined us in the cockpit just before dawn, which brought with it more squalls. We weren’t getting off that easy. We could start to make out lights and even building structures on St. Bart’s when the winds and seas began to pick up and Stephen disengaged the wind vane to do some heavy handsteering in towards shore.
The moon was rising about an hour later each night over the course of the passage, and this morning she didn’t pop up until right before sunrise. As the first color started to appear in the sky, we tacked away from land just to move out of the way of a squall and to avoid running out of lee shore. Just like our last moments into Bermuda, Synchronicity was moving downwind, coasting gently along, rolling down the waves like little puffs of air were blowing her in.
I could make out land better then Steve and John’s faces still covered in shadows. It was quiet and peaceful and these islands were already some of the most beautiful I had ever seen. White house with red tiled roofs dotted steep hillsides that were covered in green. There were many small islands or outcroppings of rocks surrounding St. Bart’s. You could see the island of Saba, rising 3,000 feet up out of the ocean in the distance – it’s peak enshrouded by clouds.
As we made our way through the cuts and the channel into Gustavia, John enjoyed the view from up at the bow, ready to drop anchor. It was a smooth ride in, this time with a fully operational engine. Once we dropped hook and were secured, we all gave hugs and high fives, raised the quarantine flag, then poured ourselves some bloody marys. Bonjour, St. Bart’s.
1 comment:
Fantastic recap of a great trip! What an adventure and accomplishment, I'm glad I could be there to enjoy it with you both. Anytime you need some crew you know I will be there! -john
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