Passage South
Winter turned into spring and then summer, not that the seasons were noticeable in the Caribbean. It was hot and sunny every day with an occasional rain shower. The trade winds blew and when they didn’t, it got hotter and the mosquitoes came. I had been happy working alone on my little sailboat, trying to get her ready to sail, but now there was a deadline and I was anxious to get going.
Hurricane season officially begins June first, but it’s usually quiet until August or September when the storms get more numerous and stronger. I had nearly lost my previous boat in Hurricane Dorian in the Bahamas. There was no way I could keep Harmony in the hurricane belt. I had to get her out of there. When I bought her, I hadn’t realized just how extensive her damage was. She’d survived Hurricane Maria in Culebra, but she’d lost her bowsprit and her rigging was severely damaged. She was not in sailing condition.
Before I came aboard, I thought I could get her sailing in a couple of months but after eight months of working dawn to dusk seven days a week, there was still work to do. I’d gotten her diesel engine running, but it wasn’t totally reliable. The propeller shaft leaked where it entered the boat, but the bilge pump was working well and kept up with the flow. If I dove head down into the cockpit locker with a cold chisel and a hammer and stood on my head I could tighten the shaft packing and stem the flow. It’s difficult to properly put into words what a miserable job this was, but let’s just say natural childbirth was much easier and more pleasant.
Finally on August 17, 2021, I dropped my mooring and motored out of Culebra harbor. I was terrified of sailing alone, but I was more afraid of hurricanes. I had to get out. I was just clear of the harbor and the treacherous reef, when the diesel sputtered and quit. I rushed up on deck and hauled up the mainsail. Like a champ, Harmony sailed off towards our destination: Curaçao, 430 miles and a five-day sail away, if all went well. Close to the coast of South America, Curaçao is outside the hurricane belt. We would be safe there.
The engine would not restart. Harmony patiently sailed herself while I cried furious tears and tried not to panic. I was still close enough to the island to have cell service so I called my former partner in desperation. Luckily, he picked up right away. He listened to my tale of woe while I tried to quell my hysterical tears.
“Well, how’s she sailing?” He asked.
I looked up at the curve of the mainsail, beautifully shaped and pulling the boat along at a respectable three knots. We were making a perfect course for Curaçao, although we’d have to change course to get around the nearby island of Vieques. The wind was perfect, the sky was clear and the forecast was as good as it gets for the next five days.
“She sails like a dream,” I told my ex, “but what about the engine? Is it a sign that I shouldn’t go?”
“Well,” he said thoughtfully, “You’re not going to motor to Curaçao.”
He was right. I would sail there. I could do it. I thanked him and went forward to haul up the headsail. Once that was done, I sat back and checked our speed. Harmony was charging along at four and a half knots. We’d be there in no time.
On day two, the self-steering tiller-pilot quit working. I managed the rest of the passage by steering with a bungee cord, which worked surprisingly well.
On day three, the winch handle launched itself over the side with a frightening thunk. Fortunately, I had a spare.
On day four, I was caught in a strong current and unable to make any headway as the wind dropped. The sea was rushing by the hull and the GPS read zero knots. We were not moving. I began to panic and wondered if I had entered the Twilight Zone. Eventually, I realized I could make progress if I altered course slightly, which worked nicely.
On day five, the AIS alarm began sounding. It said a ship would pass within one mile, which seems awfully close, but they passed without incident. Sleep was elusive as I worried about collisions.
On day six, the headsail blew out in a squall. I suspected it was as old as the boat (43 years old) and the fabric was simply rotten. It tore all the way across and was unrepairable. Fortunately, I had a spare. Later that day, I was awakened from a dead sleep by a helicopter. The boatyard manager had become concerned about me and sent the Coast Guard. Charmed by the officer’s Dutch accent, I assured them I was fine and was very touched by their concern. Other than being quite exhausted, I was really was fine. Things were going well, if a bit behind schedule.
On day seven, Harmony and I were towed into the boatyard at Curaçao Marine. On the way in, I had a small hallucination of a barge nearby, which disappeared when I blinked. I was that tired. After the requisite Covid screening, I was very happy to drop into a dead sleep and rest in quarantine for a few days.
A couple of days after I was released from quarantine, I was strolling around the boatyard, stretching my legs when I saw a familiar boat. It was a silvery aluminum boat with a smart blue and white stripe. Like an old friend, there was Orfeo, Oliver and Beatrice’s boat, the sweet French couple who’d invited me for coffee in Culebra. The boat was there, but they were not. They’d left her and gone back to France for the summer, but they were planning to return in the winter. I was so happy to see Orfeo, I wrapped one arm around the rudder in a fond hug.
I wasn’t sure I would still be there when Oliver and Beatrice returned, but of course, I was, and Beatrice treated me to some beautiful meals and many nice coffees. She’d brought me a lovely little tray decorated with three birds, two big ones holding up a little one. It was such a beautiful gift tears sprung to my eyes. I felt like I was that little bird being supported by my sweet friends. I was lonely and discouraged by the slow progress on Harmony and they cheered me up so much. Although Harmony was stuck on land while I worked on her, Orfeo was now floating and enjoyed a breeze off the water, which felt lovely. We never lacked for conversation, which seemed to flow easily.
After a few weeks, they sailed away and this time I was really sad because I was sure I would never see them again. They were sailing back to France. I wasn’t finished exploring the Caribbean. They encouraged me to come and see them in France. I said I would love to see France, not dreaming I would ever get there.
You are amazing, absolutely AMAZZZING.
how in the world did you do what you did?