Part 2: Roadtown to Peter Island
Overnight, a tremendous rainstorm passed through, but morning found the sky just as sunny, and the air just as humid, as the day before. Tropical rainstorms tend not to have the cleansing, humidity-clearing effect that storms in the continental US do. I woke with the sun and downed a few Tylenol; yes, I deserved my headache, but I didn't have to endure it. I sat on our harbourview balcony, writing in my journal, reading, and watching activity in the waking marina (quiet, save for a solitary sailor here and there and the splash of baitfish escaping an unseen predator), all in my pajamas. The sun is rising and the pink of the sky is turning blue, while mourning doves coo and the cocks across the harbour in Roadtown are crowing. A steady breeze dispels the heavy, warm air, ruffling palm fronds and stirring the water. Rick has gone out hunting for coffee. We are nothing if not creatures of habit, even if our vacation habits differ from our everyday habits.
Placed in adjacent rooms, the crew caught up with each other on our balconies. We then went to breakfast at 7:30, so we would have plenty of time to eat, gather our things, check out, and head over to Footloose. The breakfast buffet was fantastic, with eggs, sausage, bacon, pancakes, and the freshest, sweetest fruit. Does everything taste better in paradise? We filled up, not knowing when and if we would have lunch. After eating, we perused the gift shop (all the girls got matching ankle bracelets, since only I had remembered to bring the ones I made for the trip).
We got to Footloose for our chart briefing. Our briefer was Stephen, a funny BVI belonger of indeterminate age. He was giving his talk to only us and the 4-member crew of Poof! Begone. At least I felt better about the name of our boat, Space Dancer, because we didn't have the dumbest name. Stephen was a great briefer: very enthusiastic and knowledgable, while regaling us with funny war stories (though I don't imagine the stories were very funny to the hapless crews who were their source). Stephen is a former Detroit paramedic, as well as a Virgin Islands search and rescue worker, and it was clear he relished the opportunity and excitement of saving someone, very much like fireman Pete.
The funniest story he shared was about a crew radio-ing back to base, alarmed by the un-manned sailboat which seemed to have followed them very closely from The Bight at Norman Island to Cooper Island. A bit of investigation revealed that the crew had snagged the empty boat's anchor and dragged the entire boat behind them, leaving a very unhappy bunch of sailors at The Bight. My question: how is it that they never noticed how slow they were going, pulling all that weight behind them?
Stephen told us the charter companies monitor Channel 12 on the VHF, which they refer to as the "Entertainment Channel," while 16 is reserved for hailing and for emergencies. This was good information to have, as we were expecting a fairly strong tropical wave to roll through later, and would want to know where to turn for advice if needed. On the other hand, we certainly had no interest in providing anyone with entertainment. Indeed, my goal for this week was to not do anything stupid for anyone (other than ourselves) to witness.
Stephen also shared the news I'd been waiting for (without knowing it) -- White Bay at Jost Van Dyke was no longer off-limits (no longer on "de red line") because the cut in the reef was now marked. Since White Bay was my number one destination on this trip, this development would make it much easier for us to visit this fabled beach without having to dink over from Great Harbour. The other good news (or lack thereof) was that we didn't have to do anything to prove our competency with the boat. Footloose apparently accepted the fact that Rick and I had satisfied the Moorings with our abilities the year before, and that was enough for them. Not that we were going to inquire.
After the briefing came the tedious, sweaty work of loading our boat, going through the boat briefing, and making sure all items marked on our checklist were on board. Everything had to be stowed securely; while we left that to the others, Rick and I went through the briefing and checked items off our list. By about noon, we were very hot and sticky, but after picking up a few missing items, and getting fins and windscoops, we were ready to roll. We cleared out of the Footloose dock and headed out of Road Harbour on our way to bluer waters.
Blessedly, the breeze was brisk and, stripped of our "land clothes," we soon cooled off and chilled out. Rick was steering us toward Norman Island, but I thought the Bight might be a bit crowded tonight. The Bight is a traditional first and last night anchorage, and a Sunsail regatta was also reputed to be heading there. Since a tropical wave was making its way west, I thought we'd be better off at an anchorage that was less crowded, so we'd have a better chance of grabbing a mooring and, as a result, a decent night's sleep. Luckily, my reasoning prevailed and we soon changed our course for Peter Island, where we would lunch and swim at Deadman's Bay, then round the headland to moor in Sprat Bay.
After only two attempts, we managed to anchor at Deadman's Bay, no small feat, as its known to have difficult holding. Once settled, we could see that Deadman's Bay lived up to its billing as one of the loveliest beaches in the BVI, if not the entire Caribbean. While it is home to the exclusive and expensive Peter Island Resort, the expansive white sand "arms" that are the beach embrace visiting yachtsmen in their reach. We were anxious to get in the turquoise waters. While the others snorkeled around, I headed straight for the beach, which is bordered with regiments of swaying palms and looks like a picture from a travel brochure. Jodi and walked the length of the east of the beach, then crossed over the rock outcropping separating it from the west end. The west end had more activity (other than the handful of sailors and dinghies on the east side), and was the portion dedicated more to resort guests than visitors. When we returned to the other side, we just plopped ourselves in the water, where we were soon joined by the rest of the gang, and just floated and splashed blissfully in the buoyant waters. It's hard to believe it could get much better than that.
on dinner. All the while, we ran the engine to charge up the refrigerator.
Dinner was salad, grilled chicken, potatoes with onions and garlic, french bread and lots of beer; Rick helped by doing the grilling. In the meantime, winds were starting to kick up, with gusts that threatened to douse the grill and rip our towels off the lifelines. The frantic calls to charter bases were starting as well, and Footloose called us to make sure we were in a secure place. A yacht called Sand Dancer kept calling the Moorings, looking for guidance, while other radio users scolded them for hailing on 16 when the charter companies monitor 12. Another series of calls related to an un-manned boat on the loose in Road Harbour, which some users suggested should not have been reported on 16 either (which is for emergencies). It turned out that the loose boat was a dinghy, so they detractors were probably right.
All evening and all night, the wind keened and wailed, with sporadic but fierce gusts which were reported in the 45 knot range. It made for rough sleeping, especially since it was our first night, and what little sleep I managed to get was inevitably interrupted by sudden rain squalls pouring in through the open hatches. Compared to some reports, however, we had it easy in Sprat Bay. A boat at The Bight had dragged its anchor and hit the Willie T, and a boat in Trellis Bay came off its mooring, ran aground, and broke off its keel, sinking. Yikes!
Sunday, our first morning at sea dawned much as the rest of our mornings would: sunny and hazy, with some cloud cover. We all pretty much rose with the sun, anxious to get out of our dark, little staterooms and get moving. We also made good on our promise to use shore facilities for our personal business instead of fouling our anchorages. I threw on some slapdash clothes (a cover-up -- and nothing else -- and Tevas) and headed over to the resort in the dinghy. While Sue and Jodi showered ashore (part of our mooring fee), Doug decided to take a hike. Although I hadn't planned on doing so, I decided to join him despite my unconventional hiking attire, and was glad I did. The scenery was breathtaking. We overlooked sun-dappled Deadman's Bay and the Drake Channel and other Virgins in the distance, and gorgeous tropical foliage in hot colors. The hike was steep and, given the heat, not quite a Sunday stroll, but well worth it.
By the time we returned to the boat, Pete was making good on his promise to make us breakfast every morning. Bacon and individual omelets (yummy!). We went through our routine of covering ourselves head-to-toe with sunscreen, and cleaned up. The divers among us (Pete, Sue and Rick) had also made arrangements for a rendezvous at Cooper Island so they could dive the Wreck of the Rhone. So, after getting the boat shaped up (and the refrigerator charged) and battening down for yet another quick squall, we made for Cooper Island mid-morning.
