|
|
|
 |
||||||||||||||||||||||
Voyages of the m/v Emma Jo ...and Crew
We had barely enough time to recover for the barbecue lunch hosted by Eugenio up at his farmhouse the next afternoon. Nestor, his Israeli security consultant, did all of the cooking – from perfectly grilled steaks to homemade hummus, tahini and flan. Several of Eugene’s staff were on hand as well, and it was wonderful to be able to thank them for such a wonderful stay. After about a 5-hour lunch up at the finca, we were not at all hungry for dinner. So we joined Sid and Tuve of Blue Moon, Ken and Patti of Novena, and camped out on Alianna’s back deck with Sim and Rosie for more beer. We had only been there about a half an hour when we heard a frantic call to turn on the radio: there had been a collision between two lanchas under the bridge and someone was thrown into the water, reported missing. Recently the editor of the Rio Dulce Chisme Vindicator, the online “newspaper” for gringos in the area, compared this area to the Wild West of the 1880s. That’s about the level of emergency service here. Coast guard? EMTs? Rescue divers? Fuggedaboudit. Lights on the river? Dream on. A local missionary who lives aboard a trawler and is fluent in English and Spanish was contacted by the Navy station a few miles up the lake, to see if he could coordinate a volunteer search. Sim and Ken, armed with as many flashlights as they could collect, along with our gas tank joined the searchers. There may have been 10-20 dinghies on the water, along with the navy lancha, who searched in the dark for about 90 minutes. The current under the bridge usually boils a bit, and creates whirlpools under certain conditions. And at 20 miles up from the ocean, there is not much tidal influence. The navy overestimated the flow, and the search was concentrated about a quarter to a half mile downriver from the bridge. Needless to say, they did not find the man that night, and after about an hour, they knew if he hadn’t swum to shore and walked to a local bar for a drink, it was now a recovery rather than rescue mission. We heard this morning that he had been found under the bridge. And that his fiancée, also in the lancha with him, had been thrown out of the boat as well, suffering propeller damage enough to kill her. As a developing nation, Guatemala does have laws. Like running lights, speed limits and licences for lanchas. But they don’t have the manpower or resources for enforcement. The driver of the lancha responsible for the accident leapt into the water, swam ashore, and ran away. The locals probably know who he is, but he’ll never be caught, much less prosecuted. I’ve been out in the dinghy at night, and have experienced narrow misses. The lancha drivers have this “more is better” attitude to engine size and speed. They think it’s cool that the bigger the engine, the higher up their bow goes. They operate solo, with nobody on the lookout up forward. When we’re out at night, we madly wave a flashlight around, hoping that the lancheros will at least notice us. The river community is all abuzz about this incident, coupled with recent dinghy thefts. All it does is remind us that while we are relaxed and comfortable here, we can’t afford to be careless or complacent.
At the end of the day, it looks like we may head out of here on Thursday, November 8, sail downriver to “Texan Bay,” at the upstream edge of the gorge, and wait a day or two for the weather to calm down.
November 8, 2007 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
The nights at anchor were spectacularly quiet – save for sudden outbursts of British patriotism that broke out on one of the sailboats at the dock: Rule Britannia and Jerusalem at 200 decibels scared the night herons out of the trees but the incongruence of the music with the location made us giggle.
November 11, 2007
At Anchor, New Haven, Belize
Happy Birthday to me!!!
We left Texan Bay Marina yesterday morning at 9:45, aiming for New Haven in southern Belize. The weather wasn’t all that great, overcast with some showers, but it matched our mood at saying goodbye to the Rio Dulce.
The cruise downriver was a bit like a farewell parade, as some fish were running that brought out the Mayan cayucos by the dozen.
 |
 |
 |
 |
Crossing the corner of the Gulf of Honduras wasn’t too bad – certainly it wasn’t as placid as our arrival last March – and it came as a shock to the system of Mary Margaret von Stripenfurs, the seasick pussycat princess. Part of the securing for sea ritual is making a circuit of her “deposit” sites, trying to keep things tidy for obvious reasons. When we finally dropped anchor in New Haven at 2:45 in the afternoon and shut down the engines and generators, she glowered at us until the food dish was lowered at 5:30.
After the obligatory anchor dram and nap, Ole made me a birthday dinner featuring huge pork chops (from the Casa Guatemala orphanage store) braised in herbs and apple juice, with garlic mashed potatoes and fresh green beans – followed by a beautifully conceived Norwegian cream cake, caffe lattes made with the stovetop machine and cognac. Great celebration!
November 14, 2007
Tobacco Range, Belize
So there we were ...
On Monday morning over the Northwest Caribbean Radio Net, we heard our friends from s/v Litbe check in. We met them last March during the great rescue-the-other-trawler-off-the-reef incident at Spruce Cay, and they also opted to spend hurricane season on the Rio Dulce, departing in October.
They told us they were on their way out to the atolls – Lighthouse and Glovers Reefs – and we thought it might be a good idea to have some company for the trip. We agreed to meet up at the south side of a teeny tiny little place called Rendezvous Cay, where we would meet the folks from Sea Biscuit and Come Monday. The day was stern and grey, with northerly winds from 15-20 knots that we had to head into. The fur princess was unhappy again, but only for a few short hours.When we got up to Rendezvous Cay, Torrey of Litbe was poised in his wetsuit, in his dinghy, with a handheld depth sounder, motioning us in like we were a 737 coming to gate E-11 – in this case to the port of all three sailboats, toward the western corner of the cay. We dropped the anchor, backed down, and didn’t hold. So we tried again. And again. Then read in the cruising guide that the anchorage is “poor holding, with sand over hard coral.” Hmmm. So we moved over to the east side of the Cay – starboard of the sailboats, and had no luck there either.
Now when we say a “teeny tiny little cay,” we’re talking yards long by feet wide, with a few scraggly pines and palms and a bit of a fringe reef running from either end.Because it was 4:00 in the afternoon, edging toward twilight, Ole opted to dive into the line locker to dig out the spare anchor – a 65-lb CQR – to exchange with the Bruce that wasn’t setting. Now I’m not saying anything untoward about my captain, but it did make me laugh to see him on his hands and knees throwing things out of the locker, muttering to himself. I don’t know, it just seemed badger-like. When the anchor was finally uncovered, the question at hand was, “how did I ever get this thing IN here???”
By about 4:45, we found a place to drop the hook on the port side of the sailboats in 11 feet of water, and it stuck. Barbara over on Litbe told us not to cook – she had hors d’oeuvres and dinner all ready for us. We enjoyed homemade bread, great sloppy joes and beans –
Then it all went horribly wrong.
The wind suddenly kicked up to about 30, and within seconds, Torrey was up and out the door shouting something about dragging anchor. The folks from Come Monday were out the door and onto their dinghy in a blinding flash to check on their anchorage, leaving Ole and me and the folks from Sea Biscuit to help Torrey try to secure Litbe again, in 30-knot northerly winds, with a hand-operated anchor windlass and a 65-horesepower diesel that sounded like it had got up in a bad mood. Torrey and Mike were on the bow, which was pitching 6-7 feet straight up and down as they tried to haul up the anchor, and dousing them with green water on every down pitch. Ole manned the engine, Sue watched the depth sounder, and Barb and I manned the electrical panel and the ashtray from inside the warm, dry cabin. All I kept thinking through all of it was what could possibly be happening to Emma Jo.
I couldn’t begin to remember how many times they tried and failed, but after about an hour and a half, they were stuck enough to run us back to the boat in their dinghy. The good old CQR did a fine job, but we opted to stand an anchor watch throughout the night. We set the anchoring alarm on the gps, and over the course of the night watched the wind turn a complete 180° by 4:30 a.m., pointing our stern toward the shallow(er) end of the island. By about 5:00, we decided we’d sweat enough, so hauled up to find a secure place to get some sleep.
We headed for Sapodilla Lagoon, got there, anchored, and fell over at about 9:30 am, sleeping until about 2:00 in the afternoon. It was the perfect place – flat calm and quiet. On the net the next morning, Litbe called us again, inviting us to join him further north in the Tobacco Range, just spitting distance from Southwater Cay and Pass, making it possible for a direct jump out to Glovers Reef if the weather permitted.
So off we went, deciding to run the watermaker while underway, and discovering a cheap-ass plastic elbow fitting had broken, rendering the watermaker caput, and us with less than half a tank with no supply in sight. We arrived at Tobacco Range, a couple of mangrove cays shaped like offset parentheses, just about lunchtime, finding Litbe anchored in the windiest part of the lagoon. We shared our watermaker troubles, and Litbe and Sea Biscuit dinghied over with an assortment of fittings to Rube Goldberg a repair together. Back in bidness.
Late in the afternoon, a family of dolphin cruised into the lagoon for a feed, but didn’t get close enough to us to photograph. Cameron and Jenny, a young couple of marine biologists aboard their sailboat Velela, were out kayaking and within 10 yards of the dolphin, just as the sun was getting lower in the sky.For the kindness of watermaker help, we hosted spaghetti dinner with homemade focaccia for everybody in the anchorage – YUMMM. So far a record of 8 for dinner aboard – there were Torrey and Barbara from Litbe; Mike and Sue from Sea Biscuit; Cameron and Jenny from Velela; and us.
We hoped that the weather would improve enough to get out to Glovers Reef atoll – the sun came out, but the wind was cruising along at 20-25 knots. Upon reflection, looking ahead to getting to Panama by Christmas, we may have to curtail the Glovers Reef trip and head straight for the Bay Islands of Honduras.
November 21, 2007
Water Cays, Utila
Bay Islands, Honduras
Happy Birthday to Ole!!!
Today was a whole lot more like what cruising is supposed to be! Sunshine! Light to no wind! Snorkeling! So how the heck did we get here?Well – we stayed at Tobacco Range until
Friday, November 16 – deciding that when we finally got a
weather window to get out to the atolls, we’d have to wait
there for a window to get back – and as of the 16th,
we calculated only five more weeks until our reservation in
Panama.
The boats with us in Tobacco Range all swear by the Caribbean weather guru, Chris Parker, who broadcasts three times a day and does weather routing for his subscribers. If some of his subscribers happen to be heading the same direction as we are, so much the better for us! So based on Chris Parker’s advice (to other boaters who are less tight than we are) we opted to make the first jump east on Friday at about noon, making about a 90-mile crossing.
Frankly, we’ve had worse – if this is as bad as we get during our travels to Panama, I’ll thank Neptune or whoever else is in control of such things. We had fair winds of 12-15 knots, and 4-6 foot seas off the port bow. Now compared to Rio Dulce, it was rough – but compared to our little jaunt down the coast of the Yucatán, it was a rocking chair. The only challenge was arriving at 12:30 in the morning, in an unfamiliar harbor, where the prevailing northeasterly winds had suddenly shifted to southwesterly, making our anchorage for the night a bit of a ride.Daylight found us in a typical Caribbean harbor, with colorful stilt houses, little inter-island transport ships in various stages of repair, and wonder of wonders, blue sky. Ole went ashore to find the Port Captain and announce our presence in Honduras – we lucked out as the immigration official was in town. Total cost to clear in was a whopping $6 apiece for customs and $3 apiece for immigration (what cats???). Ole didn’t have small change in dollars, it was Saturday and the bank was closed, so the official just waved him off and said “Monday is good enough…”
We kept hearing on the radio that several
boats were anchored someplace called “the Utila Cays” –
which aren’t listed as such on the chart or in any cruising
guide. So we called them on the radio and asked for
directions, heading over in the late afternoon to a
beautiful little lagoon and anchored in 45 feet of water
near three sailboats: Tempest, Wind Free, and
Attitude. Torrey had given us some parts for
Tempest
anyhow, so Tempest Bob motored over with the postage – the
local beer here is “Salvavida” – means “life saver” in
Spanish. Apt.
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
Shortly after we anchored, a local woman in a kayak paddled up and offered to sell us a side of fresh snapper – must have been at least 5 lbs! Her name is Wendy, and she is apparently the “bad girl” of the island, trading her favors to the fishermen for fish that she sells to boaters to finance a drug habit. She seemed friendly enough, lucid, and pleasant. The more we do this cruising thing, the more willing I am to live and let live – a community as small as Utila Cay needs one of everything.
We spent Sunday on our own, puttering around the boat trying to glue the dinghy back together (that’s another story for another day), and got invited over to Neil and Cathy’s Attitude for cocktail hour and pictures of a dive Neil did with great white sharks for his 60th birthday. I had always suspected that sailboaters had a different mindset than us “trawler trash,” but jeez – to PAY somebody to put you into the water after they’ve chummed it with dead tuna and summoned oh, 10 or 20 great white sharks – sorry, I’m afraid that merits a stronger word than “different.” The oohs and ahs were punctuated by yums and wows, as Neil is a bit of a “foodie,” and had some wonderful snackies including real cheese. All in all it was a great evening.
Monday we sped over to the town on the biggest of the cays. It’s a cute little berg with about 600 people, 3 or 4 tiendas, 3 or 4 churches, and no street – just a wide sidewalk that runs pretty much the length of the cay, about a quarter mile. They just got electricity three years ago, and the infrastructure is primitive at best, but we did pass one house with four satellite dishes. He’s the local media conglomerate. Overall we were impressed by the cleanliness and order of the place. Most of the houses were freshly painted and many had beautiful gardens of croton, hibiscus, trumpet flowers and ginger.
As we were returning to the boat, we met a guy in a speed-dinghy who invited us to his house for cocktails that afternoon at 3:00. Bobby Thompson bought his house about 3 years ago from a missionary who built it as a dream then developed health problems. I don’t know what he paid for it, but given that Bobby was in the offshore oil industry, the missionary business in Central America must be pretty profitable. It’s a hell of a property. The house, at least 5000 square feet, has full suite accommodations on both levels, a full solar panel array on the roof, backup generator, both a rain catchment and reverse osmosis watermaker, a white sand beach he’s built with breakwaters, beautiful grounds patrolled by an exhuberantly retarded Labrador retriever named “Splash” and a watch-toucan who’s meaner than snot.Part of the property’s charm is a long dock with a palapa bar built as a tower on the end – where all of the boats at anchor assembled as Bobby’s guests. After a bit of Flor de Cana lubrication, the purpose of the invite became clear. Bobby wanted a focus group of boaters about what he could do to provide better service to boaters, as he’s noticed an increase in the number of boats that anchor in front of his property. He doesn’t want a full-on business, but wondered what kinds of low-maintenance, honor system services he could provide. Said his wife would kill him if he ran a business – he’s supposed to be retired! He was a charming, gracious and generous host, and told us we were welcome to come ashore and stroll his property any time. Just at dark, a squall blew up, so we sped back home and hoisted up the dinghy.
Tuesday’s weather was crap. All day. It makes me grumpy. We did not embark on this venture to stay tucked inside while at anchor in the Caribbean!
Wednesday, on the other hand, for Ole’s birthday, Ra was out in full force. I spent the morning making two cakes – one for the birthday boy and one for Thanksgiving dinner. Ole continued to glue the dinghy. After lunch, off we went to find some snorkeling, with Tempest Bob and Annette and Dave from Connie Marie, who joined us in the anchorage Monday night. Had a wonderful time, seeing plenty of damselfish, angelfish, tangs and parrotfish among the coral, sponges and sea-fans. Colors here are good – with some of the sponges being crimson, cobalt, and turquoise. My favorite fish was a juvenile damselfish who was cobalt blue with neon turquoise polka-dots. I can’t help it – snorkeling makes me feel like a little kid – when I see the fish going about their daily lives, my mask leaks from smiling.
The glee factor raged on, when upon return to the mothership, frozen pina coladas appeared. Two tall ones, feet up on the back rail, contemplating the complexities of life.
Then it was time for Ole’s quiet birthday
fiesta, with puyaso from the meat lady in Guatemala, garlic
mashed potatoes and the last of the fresh broccoli – add red
wine and a concocted recipe for chocolate-tia maria cake,
and the day was complete!
November 23, 2007
Barefoot Cay Marina
Roatan, Bay Islands, Honduras
Yesterday marked our first “cruiser” Thanksgiving, and as we had the most galley and salon space, we served as the mothership for the flotilla in Utila, hosting folks from four other boats for the potluck: Tempest, Wind Free, BabSea (who was with us at Tijax) and Connie Marie. New Emma Jo guests for dinner record: 12 total.
First, the logistics: plate station on top of the television; beverage service on the back deck table; food spread out on the galley breakfast bar, including turkey, cornbread stuffing, cranberry sauce and gravy; turkey gumbo (50% of the boats in the anchorage are from Louisiana), dirty rice, broccoli rice, garlic mashed potatoes, candied yams, and the obligatory green bean casserole – wonderful how a potluck is an organic thing, containing exactly what is necessary without a whole lot of intervention and control.
The company was fine – no bar
fights, political brawls or obnoxious drunks – and our feast
lasted from 2 in the afternoon until nearly 9 at night.
Lots of laughter, great sea stories, and reassurance that
our fellow man isn’t such a bad creature when we get
together to share a ritual over food.
Friday morning, we left at a reasonable hour for the 34-mile
passage to Roatan. The crossing was mild, though of course
just as we made the turn through the coral reef into Brick
Bay, a squall came up. We opted to stay a few days at a
marina, since we’ve been at anchor for two weeks straight,
and picked Barefoot Cay Marina, which is halfway between the
two principal towns on Roatan, French Harbor and Coxen
Hole. Barefoot Cay sent a lancha to meet us at the pass,
and they guided us into our spot at the marina. What a
beautiful spot!
On the next pier over is a 93-foot go-fast yacht owned by some rich guy in Mexico City who has the clout and the cajones to have had a private pier built for him in Acapulco. The sucker burns 200 gallons of fuel per hour – you do the math – and expects his boat to be delivered to Acapulco for him by Christmas. The only thing they didn’t think about is the fact that there is no fuel dock here – it all comes over by fuel-truck-on-a-barge!
November 25, 2007
Barefoot Cay Marina
Roatan, Bay Islands, Honduras
What a great day!
Yesterday we took a taxi down to West End,
a spot that isn’t mentioned in any of the cruising guides
for Roatan. It’s essentially a marine sanctuary, and the
town consists of alternating dive shops and bars along a
road, of sorts, that’s nothing more than graded beach sand
with gigantic potholes every six feet to keep traffic under
control.
After meeting up with Bob and Annette
from Tempest, we strolled along the street and poked
into some of the shops, ending up at Eagle Ray’s for lunch
and an unobstructed view of the ocean. We picked up a new
snorkel for Ole and a set of dive skins for Jan after the
dubious pleasure of being stung repeatedly by jellyfish
plankton in Utila. We decided to come back today to rent a
scooter and take a little tour.
O’Neal from Captain Van’s scooter rentals gave us maps with the highlights of Roatan, and off we went – first, out to West Bay, where most of the gringo development is going on – and boy oh boy, development there is. You can get a 5,000 square foot villa with beachfront for a cool million, or a 1200 square foot condo for $250,000. Everything is first class – granite, marble, hardwoods, stainless steel, grand architecture. But they forgot they’re on an island in a third-world country, where the electricity is considered reliable if it only goes out once a day. We chatted with a woman from Maui who moved here with her sister to start an espresso shop, who said that starting a business on Maui is prohibitively expensive. She and her sister put together a great little place called Cool Beans in West Bay, and rented a house for a few months, finally tearing their hair out over the lack of infrastructure. The shop owners in the mall got together and built condos above the shops and chipped in on their own generator so at least they have reliable power. Finding groceries is a different challenge, as the one big grocery store is in French Harbor, on the other end of the island – and they get stocked once a week from the mainland.
Once we left West Bay, we stopped a few
places on the crest of the island for the obligatory view
shots, and noticed a jungle zip line tour with 20 zip runs
through the rain forest canopy. Nope, said Ole. So we
worked our way to the first recommended stop – a local
artist called “Mad Marvin.” Mad Marvin got his name because
he used to sign his work “Mad by Marvin,” leaving out a
crucial vowel. A charming, happy man, he greeted us with a
grace and formality that seemed really out of place in his
rough front yard/studio. He apologized profusely that he
didn’t have much small work to show us as the cruise ship
passengers buy him out every time they come through.
After lunch, we went east just past French
Harbor, to Sherman Arch’s “World Famous Iguana Farm and
Marine Park.” Sherman and his son, Henry, were having a
family Thanksgiving, but welcomed us in and gave us a
personal tour of the place. It seems that the native
species of black iguana has been hunted nearly to
extinction, and nearly 30 years ago, Sherman and his family
began feeding and protecting a few iguanas on their
property. Their charges now number in the thousands. When
we parked the scooters and walked just 25 feet past the
sign, we met what must have been 25% of Sherman’s iguana
population. The photos can barely do justice to how amazing
it is to see so many of them in one place.
Sherman has named many of them, and considers them his friends. He told me that when you stroke their foreheads, they close their eyes in pleasure just like cats. Once we had hypnotized a few, he asked us if we wanted to see an iguana stampede – and tossed a handful of ripe bananas into the pack – the video speaks for itself. (Note: It's a 7 mb file and may take awhile to load.)
As we headed back toward the west end of the island, we passed through the outskirts of French Harbor, your typically gritty Caribbean settlement. When we passed the power plant we understood why one power outage a day is exceptionally good. The power plant is a series of diesel generators that live in old boxcars, strung together in an almost symmetrical way,
We were really looking forward to the last stop at Anthony’s Cay for a free dolphin show at their marine park. Unfortunately, when we got there, we were told there would be no show (dolphins don’t work on Sundays). Although we were disappointed, we enjoyed a look around the property. It would be a great place to come spend a week. In addition to the “swim with the dolphins” activity that has become very popular, they have a couple of more advanced activities, including working with a dolphin trainer for a day and getting to know your own personal dolphin – which would be an amazing thing to do.Given it was moving on toward 4:30 when we left Anthony’s Cay, we opted to turn in the scooters and walk to the end of the road to the Barefoot Bar and Grill for pina coladas (best so far on the trip, far surpassing the homemade ones), a sunset, and 8,462,573 mosquitos. Thank god the Barefoot Bar and Grill hospitality included complimentary Off on request.
All in all a wonderful day.
Wednesday, November 28, 2007
Barefoot Cay Marina
Roatan, Bay Islands, Honduras
Yesterday we got company in the marina, a 47-foot Nordhavn, that Ole was dying to get aboard. Looking more like a little ship than a pleasure boat, it’s a real ocean-going trawler as opposed to our DeFever, which is billed as a coastal offshore cruiser. They’ve got dogged doors, lexan windows, bolt-down hatches, no loose furniture or knick-knacks, an engine room that looks like an operating theater, and a range of 3000 nautical miles. We’ve got comfortable sliding doors and windows, a real couch and chairs, all kinds of stuff that can fly around our salon and engine room in a real good blow, and maybe a 750-mile range.
Ole discovered that this Nordhavn, “Strickly for Fun”, had been one of the boats involved in a trans-Atlantic rally that Nordhavn sponsored a couple of years ago, written up in Passagemaker Magazine in 2004. She spent three seasons in the Mediterranean, returning trans-Atlantic to their home in Florida. He met the owner, Scott, and invited him, his wife Terri, and their friend Janet over for cocktails and a chat, after they graciously gave us a tour of their boat. So we spent yesterday cleaning and vacuuming, but truthfully, there’s no way this boat compares to theirs. Definitely apples and oranges. They’re also heading south toward Panama, with the end goal of the Galapagos. We discussed the possibility of cruising together toward the Vivorillos Cays when the weather opens up.After a couple of days of clouds, wind, and passing squalls, today turned out to be one of those Caribbean days we thought about when we first started talking about this trip. A brief chat with Vincenzo next door got me a one-on-one scuba refresher course, and a once-in-a-lifetime dive off the wall on the south side of the island with just one other person.
As a water child by nature, I always thought I’d be a natural for scuba, and last year when I got certified, I was surprised at how uncomfortable it made me. Twice during the pool portion of my class, I inadvertently found out how much water human lungs can hold. The first set of my checkout dives were in a freshwater lake with a mud bottom, on a day when the air temperature was 68°, the water temperature was 63°, it was raining and so murky under water I couldn’t see my hand in front of my face. The second checkout dives were off Pompano Beach, in 3-5 foot seas and 20 knots of wind, when getting on and off the boat was downright scary with 75 pounds of gear on. And in retrospect, I wasn’t properly weighted: the instructor, a bit flighty for my taste, had to pull on me to get me to descend, and on the ascent I just shot upward and failed to make a safety stop I never dove again after last December, and didn’t know if I wanted to.I explained to Vincenzo my concerns about lack of confidence and difficulty with descent and buoyancy, and fear about the “remove and replace the mask” exercise. Working one-on-one with me, he was the very soul of focus and patience, and I performed all of the necessary skills just fine – even taking off the mask and putting it back on with my eyes open. (I know you divers reading this will probably think I’m a weenie –just call me Oscar Meyer). For the dive we were joined by a young Honduran doctor named Sunny – all 85 pounds of her – who was also a beginner.
Vince took us just a few hundred yards out from the marina to a place where the shelf drops from 40 to about 2000 feet deep, and in a spectacular 47 minutes of bottom time, Vince led us at an easy glide, showing us three distinct ecological zones. First was a garden of what he called “laminate” coral, which almost reminded me of the basalt flows of the Columbia basin, but in living color, with the coral forming literal waves, one growth upon other. Then we dropped down and drifted along the wall, where fire coral, sea fans, sponges, the odd crab and lobster, parrotfish, damselfish, angelfish, wrasses, snappers, and just about everything else in my “Snorkeler’s Guide to Reef Fishes of the Caribbean” showed up. The visibility wasn’t terrific – maybe just 50 to 60 feet – but just enough to get vertigo looking down at the blackness of 2000 feet then get comfort from the screaming oranges, purples, blues, greens and yellows of the wall. The last part of the dive was through a forest of colorful sea fans close enough to the surface to be affected by the wave action, hundreds of them bowing and rising in rhythm. The sea fan garden also had sponges impossible in size – three feet in diameter at least – many of them sheltering lobsters and crabs.I declared the dive a success, and my confidence level raised by at least 100%. It just didn’t seem right to be in Roatan, one of the finest dive sites in the world, moored next to a boatful of scuba instructors, and not take advantage. I’m so thankful Ole encouraged me to do it! And if you’re ever in Roatan, look up Barefoot Divers and ask for Vincenzo!
We decided our weather window for the 185-mile crossing to the Vivorillos is tomorrow, so we’ll be taking off, joined by Strickly for Fun and a big Beneteau sailboat called Ketel Up, at 6:00 in the morning.
Friday, November 30, 2007
Vivorillos Cays, Honduras
It’s official. We’re now out in the middle of nowhere in the Vivorillos Cays, a mere freckle on the kneecap of Central America, right where the Honduran/Nicaraguan peninsula turns 90 degrees south.
The cays are actually three islands running more or less north-to-south, two connected by an exposed reef, and the third to the south of the other two, with a fairly deep passage between them. The northernmost cay is a rookery with thousands of magnificent frigate birds and masked and brown boobies. The southern cay has a bit of a beach, and is home to a group of fishermen who come out here for months at a time, diving for conch and lobster, and selling their catch to “mother ships” that come by periodically.The guidebook we are using, Capt. John Raines “Cruising Ports: The Central American Route” gives this place mention as nothing more than a rest stop, and speaks about “incessant beggars and a murder of a cruiser that took place several years ago.” The incessant beggars part I just don’t get – how would they get here? We’re 30 miles offshore! And the “murder of a cruiser?” Gives me pause to think, but I think karma has something to do with things like that.
We arrived here and dropped anchor at
about 8:00 in the morning, after a 26-hour cruise that by
all definition was a success. It could have been WAAAAAYYY
worse. We had just 5-10 knots of wind for about half the
time, and over the night/early morning, the wind picked up
to 10-15, making for a bit of rolling, but we had just 4-6
foot seas off port bow with next to no wind chop. It was
actually a pleasant enough ride to get some writing done on
the computer. As we got closer, Strickly for Fun and
Ketel Up bailed (must have been the bad write-up in
the cruising guide) and opted to head straight for Providencia, another 200 miles and a sharp turn to the
right. At about 3:00 a.m. we started seeing other boats out here, and quickly realized it was the Honduran fishing fleet. They pretty much stayed out of our way, and a little music on the i-Pod helped pass the time.
The anchorage itself is a bit exposed to anything other than straight north to south, and is quite rolly, but we are snugly anchored in about 11 feet of water. After a hearty breakfast of corned beef hash and poached eggs, it was off to bed for a six-hour nap.