Saturday, February 9
This is to be our last morning in Blue Lagoon, as our initial repairs are winding up this morning
and we'll head to our next stop in Bequia (next island south). We dinghied into the TMM marina from our peaceful mooring around 8am, taking our shower items with us since we both missed showers yesterday and we wanted to save our fresh water on the boat.
Our original plan was to bring the boat back to the docks for Marcus to go up the mast to repair the windspeed and windex indicators, but the incessant winds still have not died down enough, so I spoke with Bob and Marcus and we decided to forgo that for now. Just too much risk in that breeze (20-30 knots w/gusts higher, and they typically only do mast work at max of
10-15 knot winds). So after some minor work cleaning up our engine room and such, we headed back to SJ in the dinghy to prepare to get under way to Bequia. We were ready to go about 11:15am.
Sailing across the Bequia channel
Preparation for our crossing to Bequia means rounding up tools of the trade, so to speak: sailing gloves to protect the hands from rope burns when raising or tending sails, studying the navigation charts of the area on the nav table w/GPS and log (for plotting points), and bringing up key items to have handy in our cockpit table - water, binoculars, and the cruising guide which describes the sailing area including any navigational hazards in the passage and harbors (sort of like a AAA atlas on land).
Typially our underway preparation is a teamed effort with Tim working up top, and me down below (or the reverse). Below decks that means closing all hatches (boat windows); turning off all unnecessary switches in the nav area and our water pressure so the pump doesn't run while underway; and closing the sea cocks in head, galley and front cabin (the sea cocks are the "plumbing" areas where there are holes in the boat to the outside, so we close them to prevent taking on water in the event a seacock lets loose for some reason).
I compare preparing to get underway in a sailboat to what you'd do if you were to suddenly decide to pick up your house and move it (well, okay....perhaps just one or two small rooms in your house to be more exact). And then imagine that as you move the house it will be leaned to one side or the other by as much as 20-30 degrees (if it's one of those "rail in the water" sailing days). This means of course that everything below must be secured where it can't slip or slide and go crashing to the floor. Everything on board has a designated spot while underway, and before we head out it should be in that spot.
On top, the preparations for getting underway include raising and securing the swim ladder, loading and securing the kayak and paddle on board, raising the engine in the dinghy and tying it up short (close to the boat), securing the boat hook and other "loose" items that might fall or blow off, and finally, taking a good look around to see if other boats are leaving or entering the harbor before we let go so as not to get in their way. We also check the surrounding weather to gauge the proper amount of sail to put up once we're out in the channel. As you can see, there's a fair amount of both mental and physical effort involved.
With both Tim and I working in tandum the above takes about 15 minutes if we work smartly, and soon we were ready to drop the mooring line and let wind blow us back, then gradually motor out of the harbor and turn south toward Bequia. The Bequia Channel which separates St. Vincent and Bequia is well known for being "lumpy" (big waves and/or swells) and windy on most days. As we expected, the waves picked up within 20 minutes from passing the reef marking the southern edges of Blue Lagoon harbor – sets of waves of 8-10 feet on our port beam which is pretty typical. You get used to the wave height after a few days of sailing, but when it's your first day out it can be somewhat intimidating to look off your beam and see a wall of water coming at you that is as high as the top of our bimini (the awning that is above our heads to protect us from the sun). Since we've sailed in waves this large before, we know SJ can handle them, but it's still awe inspiring and sometimes a bit frightening until you get used to it again.
The sail across is typicallyabout 2 hours with decent wind, and as we near Bequia the waves become more to our stern. This is when the dinghy we pull begins to do what Tim calls the “dinghy dance” in the water behind us – as she surfs toward the boat on a large wave and then when the painter (line connecting her to our boat) comes tight, she’s jerked back around toward the waves again; repeating the process on the next wave which surfs her in again. This is why sometimes on longer and more rough crossings you bring the dinghy aboard on the foredeck – since that's safer than letting it ram into the boat or get swamped or perhaps flipped upside down (the heavy outboard engine on the back makes it difficult to right it again).
Charting our course to Bequia
I am typically our navigator for our course, both because my strong math background (I was a math major in college) lends itself well to the type of skills needed for navigating, and also because I typically have the strongest stomach for being below in the closed-up cabin and studying small points on the chart with the boat lurching and weaving this way and that.
Today they have automatic chart plotters, but we haven't invested in that yet so we still do it the old fashioned way using a pencil and counting off the points on the chart. However we have added the technology of a GPS which automatically provides the latitude and longitude locations for us, and then I simply plot them on the charts and connect them with a line to track our position and overall course. It's important to know where you are at all times, especially in unfamiliar waters when there may be unknown hazards (these are marked on the charts), and also in case of approaching storms or other conditions that impair visibility - having some idea of where you are before the storm is on top of you saves much teeth clenching and stressful "guessing" later on.
I hadn't plotted points in over four years, so I was a bit rusty, and how rusty very quickly became evident. My first calculations seemed to indicate we were halfway up the lee (western) shore of St. Vincent (we were headed south which was the other way), and then when I tried again it indicated we were on dry land in Bequia (I don't think so). Upon looking closer I realized my error was due to misunderstanding the minutes on the latitude markings, so on my third attempt I got the hang of it again and from then on it was easy again. I like navigating because it's fun to see our progress on the chart via our DR (dead reckoning) line.
We'd pulled out our inflatable life jackets which allow us to hook ourselves into the cockpit to prevent someone going overboard in rough seas. Tim and I always hook in when we're sailing short handed (just two of us on board) and offshore (away from the sight of land, out at sea), but when we're making these smaller crossings we may or my not snap in depending on the weather and sea conditions. It was a sunny day and we enjoyed a pleasant crossing overall, albeit rolly with the lumpy seas. We saw flying fish all along the way, and although I typically only get a quick glance at them, they appear to be green or grey in color with a long narrow body, and they have these long and skinny "wings" that flip out as they dart out of the water and fly over a few waves, sometimes for a fair distance, before disappearing into another wave. I'm not sure what the proper scientific name for these fish is (but if any of my friends and marine biologists at USM or GMRI have an answer, I'd love to hear it). We are constantly on the lookout for fishing traps since the floats marking the traps can be anywhere and wreak havoc with a spinning propeller (not to good for the fishing trap either). We only saw one along the way which we easily sailed past, and since there were only a few other boats out there we had lots of sea room.
Approaching Bequia
There was only ourselves and one other sailboat in view as we neared Bequia and started to round the point near Devil’s Table and our approach into Port Elizabeth and Admiralty Bay. I’d been watching an orange and white rectangular "dot" on the horizon for about a half-hour that had first appeared aft of our position near SV and I was pretty sure was a ferry, and now it was a few hundred yards to our stern and approaching quickly. It was a car ferry which came in behind
us and cut the point much closer than we could with our draft of 4 feet. I was at the wheel and had already moved over to allow him room. Even though motor vessels including ferries technically have the give-way obligation toward sailboats, it’s marine courtesy to give ferries a wide berth and accommodate somewhat because they have a schedule to keep. As the ferry continued past us toward the commerial dock at the center of the busy harbor, we turned into the wind and took in our sails, and then we motored toward the beaches on the east side of the harbor. As we motored slowly among the many sailboats and a few large power boats already anchored there, we pulled the dinghy in short and prepared to anchor.
Taking the "harbor cruise" before anchoring
As we cruised the harbor checking out the available slots for anchoring and checking the bottom for holding ground, I thanked the local boat guy who asked if we needed a mooring ball but said no, we were just doing a harbor cruise right now and would wave to him if we needed anything. He graciously left us alone.
This is to be our last morning in Blue Lagoon, as our initial repairs are winding up this morning
and we'll head to our next stop in Bequia (next island south). We dinghied into the TMM marina from our peaceful mooring around 8am, taking our shower items with us since we both missed showers yesterday and we wanted to save our fresh water on the boat.Our original plan was to bring the boat back to the docks for Marcus to go up the mast to repair the windspeed and windex indicators, but the incessant winds still have not died down enough, so I spoke with Bob and Marcus and we decided to forgo that for now. Just too much risk in that breeze (20-30 knots w/gusts higher, and they typically only do mast work at max of
10-15 knot winds). So after some minor work cleaning up our engine room and such, we headed back to SJ in the dinghy to prepare to get under way to Bequia. We were ready to go about 11:15am.Sailing across the Bequia channel
Preparation for our crossing to Bequia means rounding up tools of the trade, so to speak: sailing gloves to protect the hands from rope burns when raising or tending sails, studying the navigation charts of the area on the nav table w/GPS and log (for plotting points), and bringing up key items to have handy in our cockpit table - water, binoculars, and the cruising guide which describes the sailing area including any navigational hazards in the passage and harbors (sort of like a AAA atlas on land).
Typially our underway preparation is a teamed effort with Tim working up top, and me down below (or the reverse). Below decks that means closing all hatches (boat windows); turning off all unnecessary switches in the nav area and our water pressure so the pump doesn't run while underway; and closing the sea cocks in head, galley and front cabin (the sea cocks are the "plumbing" areas where there are holes in the boat to the outside, so we close them to prevent taking on water in the event a seacock lets loose for some reason).
I compare preparing to get underway in a sailboat to what you'd do if you were to suddenly decide to pick up your house and move it (well, okay....perhaps just one or two small rooms in your house to be more exact). And then imagine that as you move the house it will be leaned to one side or the other by as much as 20-30 degrees (if it's one of those "rail in the water" sailing days). This means of course that everything below must be secured where it can't slip or slide and go crashing to the floor. Everything on board has a designated spot while underway, and before we head out it should be in that spot.
On top, the preparations for getting underway include raising and securing the swim ladder, loading and securing the kayak and paddle on board, raising the engine in the dinghy and tying it up short (close to the boat), securing the boat hook and other "loose" items that might fall or blow off, and finally, taking a good look around to see if other boats are leaving or entering the harbor before we let go so as not to get in their way. We also check the surrounding weather to gauge the proper amount of sail to put up once we're out in the channel. As you can see, there's a fair amount of both mental and physical effort involved.
With both Tim and I working in tandum the above takes about 15 minutes if we work smartly, and soon we were ready to drop the mooring line and let wind blow us back, then gradually motor out of the harbor and turn south toward Bequia. The Bequia Channel which separates St. Vincent and Bequia is well known for being "lumpy" (big waves and/or swells) and windy on most days. As we expected, the waves picked up within 20 minutes from passing the reef marking the southern edges of Blue Lagoon harbor – sets of waves of 8-10 feet on our port beam which is pretty typical. You get used to the wave height after a few days of sailing, but when it's your first day out it can be somewhat intimidating to look off your beam and see a wall of water coming at you that is as high as the top of our bimini (the awning that is above our heads to protect us from the sun). Since we've sailed in waves this large before, we know SJ can handle them, but it's still awe inspiring and sometimes a bit frightening until you get used to it again.
The sail across is typicallyabout 2 hours with decent wind, and as we near Bequia the waves become more to our stern. This is when the dinghy we pull begins to do what Tim calls the “dinghy dance” in the water behind us – as she surfs toward the boat on a large wave and then when the painter (line connecting her to our boat) comes tight, she’s jerked back around toward the waves again; repeating the process on the next wave which surfs her in again. This is why sometimes on longer and more rough crossings you bring the dinghy aboard on the foredeck – since that's safer than letting it ram into the boat or get swamped or perhaps flipped upside down (the heavy outboard engine on the back makes it difficult to right it again).
Charting our course to Bequia
I am typically our navigator for our course, both because my strong math background (I was a math major in college) lends itself well to the type of skills needed for navigating, and also because I typically have the strongest stomach for being below in the closed-up cabin and studying small points on the chart with the boat lurching and weaving this way and that.
Today they have automatic chart plotters, but we haven't invested in that yet so we still do it the old fashioned way using a pencil and counting off the points on the chart. However we have added the technology of a GPS which automatically provides the latitude and longitude locations for us, and then I simply plot them on the charts and connect them with a line to track our position and overall course. It's important to know where you are at all times, especially in unfamiliar waters when there may be unknown hazards (these are marked on the charts), and also in case of approaching storms or other conditions that impair visibility - having some idea of where you are before the storm is on top of you saves much teeth clenching and stressful "guessing" later on.
I hadn't plotted points in over four years, so I was a bit rusty, and how rusty very quickly became evident. My first calculations seemed to indicate we were halfway up the lee (western) shore of St. Vincent (we were headed south which was the other way), and then when I tried again it indicated we were on dry land in Bequia (I don't think so). Upon looking closer I realized my error was due to misunderstanding the minutes on the latitude markings, so on my third attempt I got the hang of it again and from then on it was easy again. I like navigating because it's fun to see our progress on the chart via our DR (dead reckoning) line.
We'd pulled out our inflatable life jackets which allow us to hook ourselves into the cockpit to prevent someone going overboard in rough seas. Tim and I always hook in when we're sailing short handed (just two of us on board) and offshore (away from the sight of land, out at sea), but when we're making these smaller crossings we may or my not snap in depending on the weather and sea conditions. It was a sunny day and we enjoyed a pleasant crossing overall, albeit rolly with the lumpy seas. We saw flying fish all along the way, and although I typically only get a quick glance at them, they appear to be green or grey in color with a long narrow body, and they have these long and skinny "wings" that flip out as they dart out of the water and fly over a few waves, sometimes for a fair distance, before disappearing into another wave. I'm not sure what the proper scientific name for these fish is (but if any of my friends and marine biologists at USM or GMRI have an answer, I'd love to hear it). We are constantly on the lookout for fishing traps since the floats marking the traps can be anywhere and wreak havoc with a spinning propeller (not to good for the fishing trap either). We only saw one along the way which we easily sailed past, and since there were only a few other boats out there we had lots of sea room.
Approaching Bequia
There was only ourselves and one other sailboat in view as we neared Bequia and started to round the point near Devil’s Table and our approach into Port Elizabeth and Admiralty Bay. I’d been watching an orange and white rectangular "dot" on the horizon for about a half-hour that had first appeared aft of our position near SV and I was pretty sure was a ferry, and now it was a few hundred yards to our stern and approaching quickly. It was a car ferry which came in behind
us and cut the point much closer than we could with our draft of 4 feet. I was at the wheel and had already moved over to allow him room. Even though motor vessels including ferries technically have the give-way obligation toward sailboats, it’s marine courtesy to give ferries a wide berth and accommodate somewhat because they have a schedule to keep. As the ferry continued past us toward the commerial dock at the center of the busy harbor, we turned into the wind and took in our sails, and then we motored toward the beaches on the east side of the harbor. As we motored slowly among the many sailboats and a few large power boats already anchored there, we pulled the dinghy in short and prepared to anchor.Taking the "harbor cruise" before anchoring
As we cruised the harbor checking out the available slots for anchoring and checking the bottom for holding ground, I thanked the local boat guy who asked if we needed a mooring ball but said no, we were just doing a harbor cruise right now and would wave to him if we needed anything. He graciously left us alone.
We motored our way up slowly among the mostly charter boats anchored along the northern beach, past the headland which separates the two beaches. Tim suggested I turn out into harbor a bit more as we passed headland to ensure enough room left for reef that extends out below waterline, so I complied and we continued along past a few monohulls and catamarans of varying sizes (35-50 feets mostly) swinging on their anchors or moorings at the next beach.
We found a nice “hole” between 2 catamarans, depth was great at 5 feet, so we edged ahead with Tim on the bow preparing to drop the achor and me at wheel keeping us into the wind and slowing us down to idle speed. As we came abeam of the two boats on either side we dropped about 75 feet of chain and waited for her to settle back – this put us behind the two boats on either end and didn’t foul their anchors, and also put us well infront of the boat behind us and in no danger of fouling his anchor or being in his way when he pulled up later. We had checked teh bottom before dropping and it appeared the bottom provided a good sandy spot for our anchor to dig in below. Our first attempt took and the sand seemed to provide good hold, but as careful and responsible sailors, we took some time to just sit and watch how she swung for a while to see if there was any slipping, and also to check our positioning with other boats during our swing. When everything checked out okay, only then did we back down (reversed) using our engine to test the set of our anchor. While doing this we both watched fixed points on land to see if angle between them changed (if the angle changes, it indicates you’re slipping), and on the bow Tim also kept his foot resting on the anchor chain so he could feel any "jumps" in the chain which can also indicate if the anchor bounces below). She was holding well, so we turned off the engine and and began opening hatches, let out the dinghy farther behind the boat, and otherwise began to prepare to stay the night. We had found a very nice spot, between two beaches and just off the headland which should offer some great snorkeling if time allows later. We're not too far from "town", but far enough away to reduce some of the noise (means longer dinghy rides versus quieter and perhaps a less crowded anchorage - we tend to prefer a quieter anchor spot).
Arrival celebratory drink and lobster dinner
To celebrate our arrival Tim prepared fruit juice and rum drinks (rum is really inexpensive down here), and I brought up cheese and crackers s a snack to supplement the light lunch we’d eaten just before departing. Pretty soon one of the local fisherman motored by with his son selling Caribbean spiny lobsters they had just caught, so we negotiated with him for a huge (5 pound) lobster to share. The fisherman's name was Flex as was his boat name - in keeping with the local custom. Flex split the live lobster down the middle (I felt really bad about that for the lobster) - to be sure it would fit in our pan and then explained how to season and cook it (boil or grill, but boil first to reduce grilling time, or boil for ~ 30 minutes till done). He also indicated the meat from the legs would be good for lobster salad later.
He asked if we had a beer to spare and fortunately we did so we handed him a Haroun and they wished us a good dinner and visit in “his paradise” and departed with an island handshake (softly punching fists together). Before cooking the lobster Tim and I sat on the deck and broke the remaining pieces into manageable portions that fit better in the pan, and after it was cooked Tim did the messy work of removing all the meat from the shell and disposing of the residue overboard for the fish. To complement the lobster we added some local brown rice; a salad with tomatoes, cucumbers and celery (here celery sort of looks like our parsley except with small stalks) and garlic butter for dipping. It was a great dinner and our splurge to celebrate our arrival in Bequia. We have enough lobster left over that tomorrow I’ll make a lobster salad or lobster roll for lunch. For about $28US, we have enough lobster for 2 meals. Even with my miserly ways, that sounds like a pretty good deal.
After washing up the dinner dishes we both relaxed and read a bit as we watched the flurry of activity between the boats anchored around us and town ahead of us about 200-300 yards away. As I turned the pages of my John MacDonald novel, I can hear the buzz of yet another dinghy ferrying passengers between their boats and the beach nearby or dinghy dock in town. As the warm and sunny afternoon turned into late afternoon, we watched the parade of sailboats entering the harbor – like arriving armies coming home from battle they entered the harbor looking for a restful spot to anchor for the night.
Later in the day a large crewed yacht arrived quietly (we estimated 120 feet, and likely housing a full crew of 6-8, 12 state rooms, board room, 3 decks, and complete radar/satellite (multiple systems) – this baby was designed to go across the ocean, and likely employed a fulltime crew including chef and all the amenities. Around dusk I heard a ferry horn indicating their immediate departure, and shortly thereafter we felt a slight wash as the wake passed under our boat coming from our port beam.
As darkness fell and the drone of moving dinghies lessened except for those going ashore for dinner, Tim and I worked on some additional boat projects in the cooler air. The wire cable that we use to lock up our dinghy at night and at the dinghy docks had begun to fray and wires protruded making it a bit dangerous to hands, so Tim wrapped it with every sailor's favorite remedy -- duct tape (Red Green would be proud). Then Tim worked on repairing the reading lights in the saloon which had mysteriously stopped working after our first night.
I made some homemade banana bread using the only oven pan I could find, and although the pan was rather big leaving the banana bread shape somewhat flatter than usual, it still tasted just as good. The wind had been alternating between pleasant breezes and howling gusts all afternoon, like sets of waves that sometimes slam into the sand followed by gentler ones that simply lap the shore. Around 7:30pm after darkness was complete, the sliver of a moon we’d seen briefly became covered as a rain squall and strong winds blew in for about 20 minutes, but as is typical of this part of the world it was over almost as soon as it began. Soon the stars were out again, although the wind continued to blow in gusts most of the evening. We reheated some leftover coffee from this morning and enjoyed warm banana bread as our dessert. It was a nice finish to a really nice dinner onboard.
We enjoyed a relaxing evening reading below after dark, enjoying the usual harbor sounds of dinghies coming and going, the clank of halyards moving against masts in the wind, and the soothing sound of water gently lapping against the hull as we swung on our anchor. The rain had stopped so we had opened one small hatch to catch the breeze, with the remainder of the hatches still closed from the last rain. The temps are so mellow tonight and the winds so strong that it keeps things comfortably cool below. By 10pm after a day of sun and sea, we're both starting to get sleepy, so once again it's an early night in preparation for another full day tomorrow. I hope you night is peaceful and relaxing too. Goodnight. cy
We found a nice “hole” between 2 catamarans, depth was great at 5 feet, so we edged ahead with Tim on the bow preparing to drop the achor and me at wheel keeping us into the wind and slowing us down to idle speed. As we came abeam of the two boats on either side we dropped about 75 feet of chain and waited for her to settle back – this put us behind the two boats on either end and didn’t foul their anchors, and also put us well infront of the boat behind us and in no danger of fouling his anchor or being in his way when he pulled up later. We had checked teh bottom before dropping and it appeared the bottom provided a good sandy spot for our anchor to dig in below. Our first attempt took and the sand seemed to provide good hold, but as careful and responsible sailors, we took some time to just sit and watch how she swung for a while to see if there was any slipping, and also to check our positioning with other boats during our swing. When everything checked out okay, only then did we back down (reversed) using our engine to test the set of our anchor. While doing this we both watched fixed points on land to see if angle between them changed (if the angle changes, it indicates you’re slipping), and on the bow Tim also kept his foot resting on the anchor chain so he could feel any "jumps" in the chain which can also indicate if the anchor bounces below). She was holding well, so we turned off the engine and and began opening hatches, let out the dinghy farther behind the boat, and otherwise began to prepare to stay the night. We had found a very nice spot, between two beaches and just off the headland which should offer some great snorkeling if time allows later. We're not too far from "town", but far enough away to reduce some of the noise (means longer dinghy rides versus quieter and perhaps a less crowded anchorage - we tend to prefer a quieter anchor spot).
Arrival celebratory drink and lobster dinner
To celebrate our arrival Tim prepared fruit juice and rum drinks (rum is really inexpensive down here), and I brought up cheese and crackers s a snack to supplement the light lunch we’d eaten just before departing. Pretty soon one of the local fisherman motored by with his son selling Caribbean spiny lobsters they had just caught, so we negotiated with him for a huge (5 pound) lobster to share. The fisherman's name was Flex as was his boat name - in keeping with the local custom. Flex split the live lobster down the middle (I felt really bad about that for the lobster) - to be sure it would fit in our pan and then explained how to season and cook it (boil or grill, but boil first to reduce grilling time, or boil for ~ 30 minutes till done). He also indicated the meat from the legs would be good for lobster salad later.
He asked if we had a beer to spare and fortunately we did so we handed him a Haroun and they wished us a good dinner and visit in “his paradise” and departed with an island handshake (softly punching fists together). Before cooking the lobster Tim and I sat on the deck and broke the remaining pieces into manageable portions that fit better in the pan, and after it was cooked Tim did the messy work of removing all the meat from the shell and disposing of the residue overboard for the fish. To complement the lobster we added some local brown rice; a salad with tomatoes, cucumbers and celery (here celery sort of looks like our parsley except with small stalks) and garlic butter for dipping. It was a great dinner and our splurge to celebrate our arrival in Bequia. We have enough lobster left over that tomorrow I’ll make a lobster salad or lobster roll for lunch. For about $28US, we have enough lobster for 2 meals. Even with my miserly ways, that sounds like a pretty good deal.
After washing up the dinner dishes we both relaxed and read a bit as we watched the flurry of activity between the boats anchored around us and town ahead of us about 200-300 yards away. As I turned the pages of my John MacDonald novel, I can hear the buzz of yet another dinghy ferrying passengers between their boats and the beach nearby or dinghy dock in town. As the warm and sunny afternoon turned into late afternoon, we watched the parade of sailboats entering the harbor – like arriving armies coming home from battle they entered the harbor looking for a restful spot to anchor for the night.
Later in the day a large crewed yacht arrived quietly (we estimated 120 feet, and likely housing a full crew of 6-8, 12 state rooms, board room, 3 decks, and complete radar/satellite (multiple systems) – this baby was designed to go across the ocean, and likely employed a fulltime crew including chef and all the amenities. Around dusk I heard a ferry horn indicating their immediate departure, and shortly thereafter we felt a slight wash as the wake passed under our boat coming from our port beam.
As darkness fell and the drone of moving dinghies lessened except for those going ashore for dinner, Tim and I worked on some additional boat projects in the cooler air. The wire cable that we use to lock up our dinghy at night and at the dinghy docks had begun to fray and wires protruded making it a bit dangerous to hands, so Tim wrapped it with every sailor's favorite remedy -- duct tape (Red Green would be proud). Then Tim worked on repairing the reading lights in the saloon which had mysteriously stopped working after our first night.
I made some homemade banana bread using the only oven pan I could find, and although the pan was rather big leaving the banana bread shape somewhat flatter than usual, it still tasted just as good. The wind had been alternating between pleasant breezes and howling gusts all afternoon, like sets of waves that sometimes slam into the sand followed by gentler ones that simply lap the shore. Around 7:30pm after darkness was complete, the sliver of a moon we’d seen briefly became covered as a rain squall and strong winds blew in for about 20 minutes, but as is typical of this part of the world it was over almost as soon as it began. Soon the stars were out again, although the wind continued to blow in gusts most of the evening. We reheated some leftover coffee from this morning and enjoyed warm banana bread as our dessert. It was a nice finish to a really nice dinner onboard.
We enjoyed a relaxing evening reading below after dark, enjoying the usual harbor sounds of dinghies coming and going, the clank of halyards moving against masts in the wind, and the soothing sound of water gently lapping against the hull as we swung on our anchor. The rain had stopped so we had opened one small hatch to catch the breeze, with the remainder of the hatches still closed from the last rain. The temps are so mellow tonight and the winds so strong that it keeps things comfortably cool below. By 10pm after a day of sun and sea, we're both starting to get sleepy, so once again it's an early night in preparation for another full day tomorrow. I hope you night is peaceful and relaxing too. Goodnight. cy
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