A Sail of Two Idiots by Renee Petrillo

Author:Renee Petrillo
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: McGraw-Hill Education
Published: 2012-03-21T16:00:00+00:00

British Virgin Islands

The sail from St. John’s northeast through The Narrows to Tortola was a quickie (4 miles in 45 minutes). Tortola’s safest harbor is Soper’s Hole, on the southwestern end of the island, home to a ferry terminal and charter operators. The water is so deep here that you have to pick up a mooring ($25 at that time). Nooooo!!! We found a shallow(er) spot near the harbor entrance where we could drop two anchors, using the forked moor option that we had learned in the Bahamas, near a tiny rock beach and hoped for the best. Other than being in the way of short-cutting ferries, it was good enough (and it was free).

Michael free-dove on the anchor, which was about 30 feet deep, and came back up with a surprise. The whites of both his eyes were bright crimson. The blood vessels in his eyes had burst! Note to self, don’t dive down that far. After a good kick, the anchor was set though!

After two days of rain and ferry wakes that sent our cooking pots flying (kind of like on a monohull—hee hee; I couldn’t resist), we decided to take advantage of the nice weather and steady abeam winds by heading to Sandy Cay, a 5-mile jaunt to the north. Wahoo! We were sailing! Wait a minute—we’re here already. Drop the sails!

We were at our destination within 30 minutes. That’s exactly what I didn’t like about the Virgins—the islands were too close together. Of course, if you’re pressed for time (on vacation), islands in close proximity are a plus, so it all depends on your situation.

We did a little snorkeling and had a quick walk around the spit (wear shoes!) and then decided to motor to Diamond Cay, Little Jost Van Dyke, just minutes away (1½ miles to the west). There was room to anchor near the moorings. The harbor was beautiful and there was one quiet bar onshore that played soft reggae music. The island also had a natural phenomenon called the “Bubblies” just a short walk away (and it was surprisingly uncrowded). This feature was sort of like a canyon separating us from the ocean. We stood or swam in a large pool facing huge rock walls with the ocean on the other side. Waves that looked as though they would come crashing down on us would break up as they crossed the rocks and serenely surround us by what looked and felt like champagne bubbles. We would come back to this anchorage time and time again.

The next day we decided to sail again and head for Guana Island, a spot we chose simply because it was farther away (10 miles east). We practiced tacking, looking embarrassingly rusty but having a good time, until.…

We were just getting ready to tack, meaning we were both holding the lines and I was just getting ready to swing and lock the wheel, when the radar reflector fell from the mast again (yes, we had put it back up), hitting Michael squarely in the forehead.

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