Sail Antilia

A Puppy Rottweiler, Geese, Dead Batteries, New and Dear Friends

2012-02-09T23:16:00.000-04:00

Cielito, Ceiba with Palomino in the distance

Friday, February 3. I met with dear friends and fellow sailors (Sue, Margarita, Betty and me) in Cielito, Ceiba to celebrate life. From Sue’s beautiful home, one can see Palomino, the island that, little did I know, I would sail to in the morning. After an 8-hour lunch and joyful day, I spent the night in Andariego.

Four sailing women on land

Saturday, February 4. The plan was to sail with Ángel and his young family early on Saturday morning to Luis Peña. There were five souls in Andariego. The engine would not start in the morning. After much problem-solving, that which true sailors do best, it was deduced that the batteries were faulty. Neill, in San Juan, helped us conclude that the lead oxide in the old batteries had been converted to lead sulfate, short-circuiting against its next-door serial neighbor. We took both batteries to West Marine, where their meter declared them dead batteries and adviced, “Replace Batteries.” New batteries later, the engine started without a problem. Our late afternoon start made us reconsider our destination. We sailed to Palomino instead.

As we left Isleta Marina, I saw a black small head in the water. At first I thought it was a turtle, then a seal (but the last Caribbean Monk Seal spotted in these waters was in 1952, now extinct), finally realizing it was a small dog. The puppy Rottweiler was swimming toward Andariego, seeing us as his only salvation. Had we not passed by, he would have swam himself to exhaustion; there was no shore nearby. I went in reverse, as Ángel grabbed the net on a long pole from down below. The puppy was rescued in the net, brought aboard, and wrapped in a towel. We went back to the dock and gave the puppy to Kurk, from Andariego’s next-dock sailboat. I live with two rescued dogs at home, Desie and Falcor, but I never thought I’d rescue a dog at sea. We felt very proud, happy, and celebrated the successful rescue quite a ways into Palomino.

We grabbed a mooring on Palomino’s north side, near the interesting rock formations, protected by the hill from east winds. Ángel, a geologist, explained how the rocks that look like stacked blocks were natural formations, shaped mainly by the rain. After a swim and an early night, scattered clouds played peek-a-boo with the moon, and played misty on me, until I secured the hatches.

Palomino sunrise

Sunday, February 5. The sea gremlins were not done with their mischief after rendering the old batteries useless. The engine started beautifully in the morning, but the gas stove died soon after starting it. The meter read that there was propane gas left; it was lying. The Cobb barbecue came to the rescue. Ángel managed to almost boil water in the Cobb, enough to make coffee. He made scrambled eggs with cheese for all on a flat pan on the coals. For lunch, you guessed it, a barbecue grill. Midst barbecue extravaganzas, we saw a flock of geese flying northwest in perfect V-formation. South to north, north to south, without a stop in the tropics. What a treat to see these beautiful birds flying so high in their ancient migratory display.

We docked in the afternoon, and my new friends helped to clean Andariego after our short adventure, making him look shiny and new, ready for the next new adventures.

Andariego's new caring friends

Happy Christmas Sailing

2011-12-18T08:28:00.000-04:00

Qué el lucero de la Navidad nos guíe a un rumbo de pax in terra,

Qué en el silencio del mar oigamos la música cósmica de las esferas,

y nos deleitemos en la creación del universo.

Somos estrellas, peces, y naves,

árboles, piedras, arena, y plancton,

viento, agua, tierra, y fuego – infinito

Qué no olvidemos nunca ser y estar maravillados en este mundo encantado.

May the Christmas evening star guide us towards pax in terra,

In the silence of the sea, may we listen to the cosmic music of the spheres,

and delight in the creation of the universe.

We are stars, fish, and sailing vessels,

trees, stones, sand, and plankton,

wind, water, earth, and fire – infinity

May we never forget our sense of wonder in this enchanted world.

Irene, Leda and the Swan

2011-08-29T16:34:00.000-04:00

Andariego after Tropical Storm Irene

Tropical Storm Irene became Hurricane Irene, Category 1, as it crossed the island of Puerto Rico. It is not about what category a hurricane is. It is about the things that come alive around you as the hurricane passes. The water nymph that enlivened the wind infused life on a distant zinc plank. Its new grown wings sent the plank directly to Andariego’s jib. It locked itself around the rope that was keeping the jib taut in its stay during the storm. Like the white skirt of a Turk dancing dervish, it twirled round and round the forestay, cutting and unwrapping its prize, searching for its beloved in the sublimity of nature. The gusty Naiad that forced the plank unto Andariego’s wings went on to other mischief. And the zinc’s lifeless form dropped to the deck, bouncing to Davy Jones’ locker. Andariego was the swan that dropped Leda from its beak, to a final resting place.

Twelve lines kept Andariego from hitting concrete docks and nearby boats. Hull intact, cabins dry, Irene went on to cause chaos on Andariego’s friends, near and far. In our marina, two boats sank and many sustained major and minor damages. All one can do is be thankful and better prepared for the next one, for the next one cometh.

Leda and the Swan

The Sound of Sailing

2011-08-01T23:23:00.001-04:00

Sailing past Cabeza de Perro

Friday, July 29 to Sunday, July 31, 2011. Friday afternoon Marisol, Fabián and I prepared Andariego for a weekend sail to Punta Arenas, Vieques (19 nautical miles). Clean linen, food, water, music, solar chargers, general check-ups and cleaning. We had an early night, to get up early at 6:00 a.m., have a leisure morning and set sail at 8:30 a.m. Sue, the captain of Bona Roba, a beautiful Hans Christian classic, joined us for our sail Saturday morning—three women and a young man.

Marisol on the lookout

We set sail at 9:30 a.m., blue skies with distant thunderheads, east winds from 12 to 16 knots, and a pleasant beamy sail averaging 4 to 5 knots, had us there in 3-odd hours. The wind blew through the fishing rod stainless steel holder and made a gentle whistling sound. The wind was whispering sweet nothings through Andariego. The sound of the wind on the sails, the rush of the water against the hull, and aft foamy crescendos rivaled Mozart’s Jupiter in that allegro vivace first movement.

As we approached Punta Arenas, we found a faulty mooring and opted to anchor nearby on a sandy spot, facing Monte Pirata. A police boat went by twice, perhaps wondering where the men were … ha! On our last sail, we moored on the first try, and later on we watched a sailboat with a French name and 4 men give up mooring after 3 tries. After we anchored, our 13-year-old young man was hungry, and the barbecue was started. Fabián checked the anchor 3 times; any excuse to snorkel further than the 3 feet distance from the sailboat required. Sue made a super salad with mango dressing, and Marisol made barbecued spare ribs. Lots of water, some spirits and Kenny Chesney’s key lime pie song, Jimmy Buffet’s 5-o’clock somewhere, and Martinique’s Compagnie Creole’s k-dance rhythms reminded us of friends not present—Neill, Bob, Brenda, Margarita, Michael, Silvia, Ramón, Tessie, Francisco, … We toasted to us and those unable to share the sunset from Punta Arenas. Dark clouds covered El Yunque rainforest, yonder in the rainy Puerto Rico mainland.

Sue at the helm

As the night drew near, Fabián signed-off early to his cabin (all that anchor watching), and we three females laid down at the bow’s deck to look at the stars; we played Chopin’s Nocturne in B flat minor. A moonless night, we saw infinite numbers of stars and the Milky Way. Sue was at the starboard side, Marisol at the port side, and I was in the middle. Feet towards the pulpit, a choir of crickets joined Chopin, along with the music of the spheres. I was recently reading a book, Song of the Spine: Sound healing and vibrational therapy (2004) by Dr. June Leslie Wieder, in which she states that: “Astronomers have recently discovered that a black hole in the Perseus star cluster emits a B-flat sound wave 57 octaves below the middle B-flat on a piano.” Chopin must have known something. In that primordial B-flat, we were connected to the sound of the universe.

Sunday morning was Mozart’s Jupiter symphony, energizing us to welcome a glorious sunrise. I prepared coffee and we joined the morning in the cockpit, along with distant neighbors, a catamaran, a sloop and a couple of even more distant motorboats. The weather announced yet more distant rumors of a possible hurricane Emily forming, 2-3 days away. We opted to leave at 11:00 a.m. after swimming and tidying up. Marisol brought up the anchor (so proud of her), and everyone took turns behind the helm. A superb sailing team! On the sail back, we were threatened by 4 squall-like fronts, which we luckily avoided swiftly. As we approached our bay entrance, the wind died down, and we were running at 1.8 knots. A sailboat named Adagio passed us. Adagio is a slow musical piece, appropriate for our finale. No hurry, but for that looming black cloud I wished away as we approached the dock. Molto allegro, Jupiter’s fourth and last movement, very happy, sums up the sound of sailing.

Bliss at 13 - Fabián

Sailing in the New Planet

2011-07-23T09:55:00.000-04:00

Capturing Sunset from Palomino Island--Fabian and Brenda

July 18-20, 2011. The planet is changing. To some, it has already changed, and we must adapt. In Bill McKibben’s book, Eaarth: Making a life on a tough new planet, we are reminded that, “it suddenly rains harder and faster than it has ever rained before … global warming is no longer a philosophical threat, no longer a future threat, no longer a threat at all. It’s our reality.” In Puerto Rico, it has been raining since spring, unheard of before, and as I write this, there’s a thunderstorm outside.

Testing the Cobb BBQ

Monday afternoon, Marisol, Fabián and I went to Andariego at Isleta Marina to get ready to sail early next morning. We drove in the rain. We aired the sailboat as we prepared cabins, galley, and checked the engine, rigging, hull, and so on down the checklist. As the evening approached fast, we started the Cobb BBQ, finding a niche for it on the helmsperson’s seat, under the bimini. I’ve used the Cobb before for sailing, but this was the first time in Andariego. I bought this grill in a West Marine in Connecticut many years ago. They don’t sell them anymore, but they are available directly from the South Africa/Florida website. They’re very good on a boat, because they don’t get hot in the bottom or sides, and they use very little charcoal. We used local vegetable charcoal from Adjuntas. Marisol was the chef on this trip, which she performed exquisitely. We barbecued three times in our overnight sail to Palomino.

Selkies--Marisol and Brenda. Palomino's hill

Early next morning, Brenda joined us. There were overcast skies, but it was clearing up in the east, and we set sail at around 8:30 a.m. It was a bit blustery and choppy, so we reefed the main. Three women and a child (well, a 13-year-old young man), we zigzagged into the wind to Palomino. Fabián was a little seasick, but by the time we moored, at about 10:00 a.m., his cheeks were rosy again. We grabbed a mooring, first try, right behind Palomino’s mountain for protection. We had ALL the Palomino moorings to choose from; one of the advantages of sailing on a weekday. Fabián spied, using binoculars, a big pelican in a nest high up on the hill. S/he was magnificent on her perch. We saw turtles and their favorite treat, jellyfish. There were seagulls, brown boobies, plus the chickens and roosters on the hill. A large fish remained under Andariego for the length of our stay. We threw breadcrumbs overboard and fish came by, but not in the profusion they came when I was younger, when it was actually scary to be surrounded by such a large ball of fish. The planet has changed: “We need now to understand the world we’ve created and consider—urgently—how to live in it.” McKibben’s message may sound depressing at first, but as we understand and embrace the reality, we just might learn to live with and not against nature. He further states: “Maturity is not the opposite of hope; it’s what makes hope possible.” I see hope in Fabián’s eyes. He was another sea creature in the water. We joined him in the fun. We basked on Andariego as seals on rocky mounds. Selkies rising from the sea to assume women forms on land.

Andariego uses a solar panel to charge and start the engine. We use small solar lamps after dark, and charge our cell phones with solar and wind chargers. Somewhat un-tethered from land oil-based energy sources, weaning from oil seems difficult but not impossible. I say somewhat, because Grendel, the engine, still uses oil and diesel. There are hardy sailors out there who have rid themselves of the engine on board, living aboard and sailing on wind and solar power.

Tuesday night it rained, but just past midnight, the moon peeked in through the hatches, as if telling us that there is still beauty in the tough new planet. We must also become tough, but with a gentle heart.

Wednesday morning we sailed back unto the darkened, cloud covered Yunque rain forest. At 9:30 a.m. we were back at Isleta. Brenda had a land appointment. She made a comment on how smoothly and quietly we docked. Everyone had an assigned task—bow lines, aft portside lines, starboard spring lines, with me behind the helm. Calm under pressure is a call for the new planet. McKibben notes: “This is the current inventory: more thunder, more lightning, less ice.” It is important to learn about this new reality from books, but it is equally, if not more important, to witness it and live it directly with nature.

Last barbie bites

An Unexpected Sail

2011-07-17T20:35:00.000-04:00

Fabián's First Sail

Friday, July 15, 2011. It’s been raining so much, with lightning, thunder and heavy winds that it has been hard to squeeze in a good day’s sail. I decided to take some engine parts and equipment to the sailboat anyway, under the rain. I asked Marisol and her 13-year old son Fabián to help me with the stuff. When we got on board, at about 2:00 p.m., the plan was to turn around and get back home before 8:00 p.m. The sun peeked out and beckoned. And then I thought, why not shake the sails out, go for a little spin, and the wind beckoned.

Fabián had never been sailing. Polito was near the dock. He joined us, why not? Andariego beckoned. We went out, just to go out, shake the sails, and come back. We passed green can #3, raised the sails, rainwater oozed out of the canvas covers. There was very little wind. We laughed as we close-hauled at 1.5 knots. Fabián went up to the pulpit and played Titanic lover boy with arms spread. We laughed at his excitement. He explored Andariego, touched this, asked that, and I loved seeing a 13 year-old’s first sailing experience.

When it comes to sailing, there are those who love it and those who hate it, and no in-betweens. Fabián loved it. We couldn’t just turn around, so we sailed to Icacos Island. We anchored. He used my snorkeling equipment and discovered the keel, checked the anchor, and checked out the fish as he swam around Andariego I don’t know how many times. The water beckoned.

On a beam and a broad reach, we sailed back. I showed Fabián how to fix on a land point, the compass, the wind marker, the tell-tales, how to focus and yet look around. I let him have a feel for the helm, thinking he’d give it back in no time. He not only took us back to the bay’s entrance, but he sailed like a natural. I was amazed at the depth of concentration of a 13-year old boy on his first sail ever. Pure magic. We made it back home close to midnight. Sailing beckoned.

Grendel and Grendel's Mother

2011-07-07T12:18:00.000-04:00

Uruguay and assistant

Grendel and Grendel’s mother were misunderstood monsters in the Anglo-Saxon epic poem, Beowulf, considered among the oldest literary pieces in the English language (Old English). Those misunderstood, mysterious creatures that delve in caves, dark and underground, surfacing only when they cause problems, most often provoked by humans, which can lead to danger or even death. I think of Andariego’s propeller shaft as Grendel, and the engine as Grendel’s mother, both intertwined as Grendel.

Andariego hauled out at Isleta Marina

Tuesday, June 28. Andariego was making a strange bumping noise when accelerated gently in reverse or forward. It was hauled out for a check. The bushing and PSS (packless sealing system) in the propeller shaft, Grendel, were replaced, and the problem solved. The propeller shaft starts, as an umbilical cord at the end of the engine’s dark cave in the sailboat’s gut and travels deep underwater as the monster’s long arm, ending in the propeller. While hauled out, Andariego was in Salomón’s care, as he said, “…con amor y cariño” (with love and care). Andariego’s bottom was cleaned, and the sides shined. It’s pending a super deck wash, due to little water pressure in the marina. In the epic poem, Beowulf cut off Grendel’s arm, provoking the wrath of Grendel’s mother. No need for such drastic measures.

Broken transmission dipstick
and filthy filter

Saturday, June 25. Grendel’s mother, the engine, so attached to her child, had her periodic maintenance. No need to wait for her to attack. The pre-emptive measures were: oil and diesel filter changes, gaskets, oil change, impeller, and replacement of a broken transmission dipstick. Two hours later, the engine mechanic, a very savvy old timer, Uruguay (nicknamed after his country of origin), asked me to start the engine. He stood there listening, as I stood behind the helm watching him and wondering why he was taking so long. He was listening. After a pregnant moment he said, “Suena bien.” (She sounds well.). How sweet the sound! If I could only learn to hear Grendel’s subtle sounds, like Uruguay! He is truly an engine guru.

A little TLC (tender loving care) may appease the monsters for sometime. We’ll visit their dark realms again some 300 engine miles from now, or in a year, whichever one comes first. Or then again, before, if they decide to attack.

Grendel appeased

Sailing with Friends

2011-05-13T20:15:00.001-04:00

Brenda and Eva

My friend and work colleague, Brenda, joined Marisol, Polito and me for a Sunday sail to Icacos. We were lucky to find a mooring, just as another boat was leaving it. It was one of those lazy Sundays where we mucked about in the sailboat, splashed in the water, talked and enjoyed the silence of contemplation.

We left Isleta Marina at 11:30 a.m. and returned at around 5:30 p.m. (4/23/11). A wind from the east, 10-15 knots, and seas 4-5 feet, made for a pleasant Caribbean blue seascape. Andariego blended with the wind and the sea, and we merged in the aqua-blue rendering. The Tao of Sailing (1990) by Ray Grigg, describes the silent power of the sailboat. “The sailboat itself is an image of this special way of being. It is resourceful, adaptive, silent. From the silence of its weight and shape comes a power that is peaceful and strong, serene and exciting, a belonging that does not trespass or counter the breathing wind and sea. So the ship moves in accord with the energy that is attendant, affirming itself and its harmony with the Great Mother.” We belonged.

Andariego at Isleta Marina

Here, there be monsters!

2011-05-07T23:29:00.000-04:00

To all sailing mothers, Happy Mother's Day!

“Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness, that frightens us most. We ask ourselves, ‘Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, and famous?’ Actually, who are you not to be? You are a child of God. Your playing small does not serve the world. There is nothing enlightened about shrinking so that people won’t feel insecure around you. We were born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us. It’s not just in some of us; it is in all of us. And when we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others.” (Maryanne Williamson. Used by Nelson Mandela in his 1994 inaugural speech.)

"It's fear of the unknown. The unknown is what it is. And to be frightened of it is what sends everybody scurrying around chasing dreams, illusions, wars, peace, love, hate, all that -- it's all illusion. Unknown is what it is. Accept what is unknown and it's plain sailing. Everything is unknown -- then you're ahead of the game. That's what it is. Right?" (John Lennon)

"Nothing in life is to be feared. It is only to be understood." (Marie Curie)

Viento en Popa

2011-03-26T14:10:00.000-04:00

There are basically seven points of sail. Each one is determined by the direction of the wind with respect to the direction of the sailboat. Where is the wind hitting the boat and how do I adjust my sails best to catch the wind? Viento en popa is Spanish for, literally, wind on the poop. According to The Oxford Companion to Ships and the Sea, the word “poop” is from the Latin puppis or stern. Now, it is used to mean a raised deck in the aft (stern) part of the boat, where “the master normally had his cabin.” As a verb, “a ship is pooped, or pooping, when a heavy sea breaks over her stern.” Picture a tidal wave hitting your sailboat from behind. You are pooped!

Andariego
wing-on-wing

In English, viento en popa is known as a run. You are running with the wind. You and the wind are going in the same direction. It is like that Irish well-wishing expression, “May the road rise beneath your feet and may the wind be always at your back.” That was true for ancient mariners who, with their square rigging, could only sail on a run. They had to have the current and the wind going in the same direction as the sailboat; basically they had one good point of sail.

Sails went from square, to lateen, to the Bermuda rig, and the latter happened right here in the Caribbean. The Oxford states, “The ultimate development of the fore-and-aft rig was the introduction of the Bermuda rig, first developed in the West Indies at the start of the 19^th century and brought to Europe for use in sailing yachts in the years just preceding the First World War (1914-18). It is now the most widely used rig in all sailing yachts, and during the last twenty years has been significantly developed on aerodynamic principles to provide greater driving power with a smaller overall sail area.” How cool is that, right in our own backyard.

Polito, Marisol, Eva (me)
Silvia took all the above pictures.

Friends joined me in Andariego to celebrate the changing of the season. Spring is just around the corner and northerly swells blend with eastern trades. After a lovely day in Palomino, we returned to Isleta Marina on a run. A beautiful way to catch the wind on a run is by setting the sails wing-on-wing. The jib and the main are juxtaposed, and Andariego is an egret (garza) gliding, white wings fully spread, chest proud, mates joining in the eternal sound. The ancient mariner in the Spanish Main yet calls out: ¡Viento en popa!

Egret or White Heron (La Garza)
wing-on-wing

January Seascapes

2011-02-23T17:51:00.001-04:00

Me (Eva) at the helm

One would have thought that after acquiring the sailboat, Andariego, I would have been writing more, not less. The fact is, I have been working on Andariego’s upkeep and sailing. In between sailing and upkeep, there’s been my university teaching work, research, writing, and added community work with Puerto Rico’s Sierra Club chapter. I know, it’s not an excuse. Following are some highlights of sailing Antilia (my mystical name for Puerto Rico). My virtual sailboat is no longer virtual; his name is Andariego. January was a month filled with visits from friends and family. The first half of the month Jeanine stayed at my home, visiting from Las Vegas, Nevada.

Jeanine is my soul sister from Avignon, with whom I’ve spent wonderful days with family in Provence. She went sailing with me. To those in Provence I say: Je pense souvent a vous avec tendresse. Je n’oublie pas votre merveilleux accueil et les bons voyages que nos avons fait ensembles. J’espère pouvoir vous accueillir un jour à Puerto Rico de la même façon. Jeanine gave Andariego a French version of his name, le Vagabond de Mer. I love it.

January 6-7. Jeanine and I stayed onboard Andariego. She slept in the forward cabin. I slept in the aft cabin with its three portholes opened. I did a full self-reiki session (60 minutes) before sleeping. As I sat in easy pose looking aft, I could see the harbor lights dancing in the water. I was comfortably rocked to sleep by gentle dock waves at Isleta Marina.

January 9, 2011 (1330-1730). Ramón, Silvia, Jeanine and I sailed Andariego. We sailed to Icacos and Palomino, and passed close to Ramos Island. NOAA’s weathercast was 9-14 knots, waves 3-5 feet, with isolated showers. Ramón and Silvia were impressed with Andariego’s sailing performance. Jeanine doesn’t sail. In fact, she doesn’t even swim. She wore a life vest at all times. She sat on the port side of the boat as we raised the sails soon after leaving port. Her expression of awe as the white wings went up is unforgettable; an audible in-breath and in the out-breath, “My god, they are so big. They are so beautiful. Take a picture. Take a picture.” And I saw Andariego’s sails, again, for the first time.

Upkeep. Andariego’s head (toilet) pump stopped working properly. I have had to buy a new kit to replace the pump. Installation is pending. The present pump works in dry bowl but not wet bowl. The third-world-technology remedy is to bring buckets of sea water to clean the head after use. No fun. The joys of sailboat ownership.

Jeanine and Sylvia

Just before Jeanine flew back to her home, Sylvia arrived from England. She is my husband Neill’s sister. She had never been to the tropics. She could not believe the noise the crickets and coquis made at night. I gave her a coqui pin as a souvenir. She had seen palm trees before, she said, in Italy (yeah, right). She had never been sailing, though she’s been on motorboats and ferries. Her son lives in a houseboat on the Thames River.

January 23, 2011 (1130-1600). Ramón, Silvia, Sylvia (Sam), Neill and I sailed Andariego. The seas were choppier due to north swells, according to NOAA, and the wind was gusting around 15 knots. Sam is an excellent swimmer. She sat in the starboard stern perch seat. She never once complained but I could tell she was feeling a little queasy. She did all the right things—sight on the horizon, drinking water—and managed not to get seasick. I wish it would have been a bit calmer for her. She still enjoyed the sail and the company. We sailed a similar route as on the Jan. 9, but we spilled more air from the sails to keep the sailboat from heeling more than 15 degrees. It was a bit tricky to do, but we managed it. Around lunchtime we did a heave-to near Palomino but because of gusty winds and following seas, we were still moving a little over one knot towards Isleta Marina.

Ramón, Neill, Eva, Silvia

Upkeep. While sailing, Neill noticed that the portside inner stay was wiggling like a snake while we were sailing on a beam reach port tack. I was shocked to see that. The stays hold the mast up. They are defined in the book, Sailing Fundamentals, as “Shrouds (sidestays)—wires that run from the masthead (or near the masthead) to the sides of the boat to support the mast and prevent it from swaying.” (p. 35). The headstay and the backstay, plus the two sidestays make up the four stays that hold the mast in place. We tacked to a starboard tack and sailed back to Isleta Marina.

We ordered a tensiometer ($80.) from West Marine to fine tune the stay. None were available in local stores (not a hot ticket item). In the meantime, Capt. Michael is our tensiometer. He tightened it with a screwdriver and a pair of pliers, hard-shaking the stay after tuning, to adjust up or down. I re-taped it after he put back the two clips that hold the tension adjustment. Sailing Fundamentals states: “The shrouds, forestay, and backstay support the mast. The strong metal fittings that attach these wires to the mast are called tangs. The other end of each shroud and backstay is attached to an adjustable device called a turnbuckle. The turnbuckle allows the shrouds and stays to be adjusted to the proper tension.” So, if I understand correctly, I taped over the tang and turnbuckle clips that hold the stays in place.

There’s a linguistic metaphor here. The stays are violin strings on a mast that vibrate to the touch of the wind. They play ethereal music to Ocean’s rhythm. Birds provide piccolo tweets, gusts percussion on sails’ skins. Dolphins dance to Andariego’s pas de deux. But who’s that playing pizzicato on the stays?

Leonardo di Caprio?

Getting to Know You: December 11-12, 2010

2010-12-27T15:53:00.000-04:00

On Saturday, December 11, my son drove me from San Juan (N) to Ponce (S), so that I could join Richard in Andariego’s delivery voyage to Isleta Marina in Fajardo (E). The north to south drive crosses the Cordillera Central, a spinal chord of mountains that traverses Puerto Rico from west to east, coastal valleys at both ends. There was heavy fog this morning in the mountains dividing San Juan and Ponce. As the Sanskrit maya (illusion) curtain, the fog lifted as we approached Ponce.

Richard

Richard, Andariego’s best friend for five years, was at the yacht club (Club Naútico de Ponce) waiting. Here I was, staking claims to the sailboat, contemplating that I could become as good a friend to Andariego as Richard. He knows so much about the sailboat, every nook and cranny; and me, I’m just getting to know him.

Him? In English, all boats are “she.” In Spanish, and French, sailboats are “male” (el bote de vela, le bateau à voile). The noun, andariego, means ‘male wanderer’ in Spanish. The female version would be ‘andariega,’ that would be me. Accustomed to referring to boats as female, Andariego has become somewhat hermaphroditic with some friends and family. I cannot but think of him as a companion wanderer, bearing with me in my initial clumsiness. As in ‘Bearing Witness,’ the Collective Soul song, Andariego, “I’m bearing witness to you … I’m just gathering all my eyes can see … you’re my destiny … every day I conquer, with your love …” Getting to know you, I am.

Me, sailing past Caja de Muertos Island, near Ponce

We set sail from Ponce at 9:10 a.m. and anchored for the night in Bajos de Patillas around 4:30 p.m. We were moving east with east winds, so we motor sailed with the mainsail. I was introduced to Sinbad, the auto helm. I had never sailed the south side of Puerto Rico. It was breathtaking to see the full Cordillera Central in an eye-full, as Taino-Arawaks coming to Puerto Rico from South America may have seen it from their canoes, an island-cemí, with its three cardinal points. We sailed past Ponce, Juana Díaz, Santa Isabel, Salinas, Guayama, Arroyo, to Patillas. I wrote in my journal: “Bajos de Patillas is a well secluded anchorage. Andariego is such a friendly little boat. The sun is setting fast as I peacefully watch four sailboats anchored nearby. Behind them, a row of palms covers a strip of land that juts out from the hills in Patillas. Beyond those hills, the mountains of Maunabo. Me, I am sitting in Andariego’s cockpit listening to small waves crashing the shore and the coquis and crickets coming alive at dusk. It is becoming more difficult to write as everything turns grey. I am peacefully happy with Andariego. I hope that he’ll be happy with me also.”

Are sailboats alive? Robin Hobb wrote a trilogy, The Liveship Traders: Ship of Magic-1999, Mad Ship-2000, and Ship of Destiny-2001. A fantasy saga with living ships that think, feel, and act on their own volition. People become part of the living being of the ships as they live, cry and bleed, becoming symbiotic and one with them. The liveships are sentient beings built of wizardwood. Andariego’s heart of glass, fiberglass that is, feels no less sentient.

Sunrise in Bajos de Patillas

On Sunday, December 12, the sun rose behind Patillas’ palm trees and fellow sailboats. Maunabo’s mountains rose majestically behind Patillas. The Cordillera de Luquillo, with easternmost El Yunque, peeked behind, and guided our way past Yabucoa, Humacao, Naguabo, Roosevelt Roads, and Fajardo. We went past Punta Tuna, Caribbean waters nearly 2,000 ft. deep, the depth sounder stopped registering. Unusually favorable currents and seas dissipated our worry of arriving after nightfall. We docked at Isleta Marina at 1:30 p.m. A baptismal light rain enveloped Andariego’s new berth. Richard and I, along with family and friends, toasted to new and old friends. I went back alone to check docking lines, seeing a little bit of me looking back. Getting to know me.

Swimming with Dolphins

2010-12-08T09:25:00.000-04:00

North Swells

November 26-28, 2010. Thanksgiving Day was spent with family and friends. Early on Friday morning we set sail to Vieques to spend a weekend with sailing enthusiasts. Four ships were sailing but at the last minute 8 of 16 people had to cancel and our fleet was reduced to two vessels, Bebe and Bebe II.

I was aboard Bebe with Bob, JJ, and Diego (10 years old). Bebe II’s crew was Angelo, María, Iván, and Marie. Fajardo’s public parking lot was full, and I had to park in a field, apprehensive that if it rained a lot, I might find my car buried in mud three days later.

There were gray skies and very windy conditions. NOAA had a small craft advisory; NE winds, 15-20 knots, north swells, and waves 4-6 feet, with isolated showers. The sea was very choppy, making it difficult to load gear on the ferry to Isleta Marina. An old salt on the ferry said it was not a good day to sail. That did not help. NOAA stated that this pattern would prevail for the weekend. I had thoughts of joining the 8 who had cancelled.

Dolphin fin

We sailed east to Vieques, double-reefed. Early on our young guest suffered mal-de-mer. We arrived at Punta Arenas, Vieques, at 3:30 p.m. Diego’s challenged spirits awakened to Monte Pirata’s green, a quiet anchor and four visiting dolphins. They were playing and frolicking with a young dolphin between us and Punta Arena’s shore. You can just make a dolphin’s fin captured by my camera lens, posing centerfold under Monte Pirata’s watchful peak. Diego and I speculated how the mountain got its name. We envisioned buccaneers rushing into this safe harbor after pillaging Spanish crown ships in Puerto Rico’s mainland, hiding their prizes in this secluded waterway. The dinghy, kayak, swimmers and snorkelers joined the dolphins. Bob claims to have heard them singing underwater as he snorkeled to check the anchor.

I prepared Margarita’s curry chicken with coconut milk and rice, with María and Marie’s help. Everyone enjoyed their meal, accompanied by an orange-pink-lavender sunset and Ottmart Liebert’s nouveau flamenco guitar. We rafted our sailboats for dinner and an evening of sail talk, sprinkled with comments on our diverse land jobs (law, medicine, linguistics, business entrepreneurships). The stars hushed our chatter. The number of stars visible overwhelmed our newer sailors. I played with my iPhone’s Distant Suns application; identifying Orion here, Jupiter there, and the all time sailor’s favorite North Star, centerpiece of the counterclockwise star performance. We un-rafted for the night, and drifted into sleep under the quiet resonance of our starry night.

Marie and Iván

Come Saturday morning, we rafted together again for breakfast and, as a team, decided the day’s agenda. We opted to stay and spend a water fun filled day at Punta Arenas. We saw a large turtle swimming near the sailboat. Some went to explore the shore’s colorful reef, the beach, the flora and fauna. There was good chemistry in the sailing team, though 6 in the team I met for the first time on this cruise. Something about sailing attracts kindred souls together.

I noticed that there were no fish around our sailboat as I snorkeled. Not long ago, I had seen many while anchored here. At the far end of the sandy point there is a distant underground cable and tower. I wondered about its correlation with the lack of fish present. The reef explorers saw the usual reef tropical fish. Younger generations like Diego may not know the feeling of diving into these waters from a sailboat and being surrounded by fish schools. It saddens me to witness Jacques Cousteau’s 1960’s predictions on the depletion of our ocean’s fish from overfishing and pollution. I recently purchased his documentary collection from TMC (Turner Movie Classics) and plan to share episodes with my students. His message is still timely. We did not listen then. Now we need to listen and act.

Diego and JJ

JJ was in charge of the Barbie (Barbecue)—hot dogs, hamburgers and salad. I heaped on the salad. The rainclouds hovered above Puerto Rico’s distant mountains, while we basked in Vieque’s sunshine. An afternoon of water sports and messing about with boats, we readied for yet another spectacular sunset and starlit skies.

Sunday’s return was as predicted, with north swells and windy conditions. We started off with a reefed main and no jib. Midmorning the winds subsided and we unfurled the jib. We arrived at Isleta Marina at about 4:30 p.m., with graying skies and squall threats, but we managed to miss them.

A lesson learned in this cruise is to become greater advocates for the sea. Nature does not end at the shore. What happens at sea affects our land survival, and vice versa. Something as simple as switching from individual disposable plastic bottles to a refillable stainless steel glass is one small step towards walking the talk, or should I say, sailing the talk. I wish for young generations to know fish and to be able to swim freely with them and dolphins. Just for today, I am thankful.

Angelo and María

Retro Sail – 1979

2010-11-06T15:56:00.000-04:00

I once lived in Greece. Sailing the Greek islands, hence there is a Greek flag flying aft in the 1979 picture. I was 28 years old and my son Gene was 4. In the photograph, we are sitting together on the port side of the sailboat, the right side of the picture. I was so thin then, 108 pounds. I worked at the Hellenic International School, teaching French and English. In the Greek school system women could not wear pants, only skirts below the knee. Heather, also in the picture, was the music teacher and her husband was manager of Cape Sounion Marina, where the temple of Poseidon still stands. She had two children and we would all sail together whenever there was a sailboat available to deliver or test. That’s where the sailing spirit seduced me, and has faithfully stayed with me in good times and bad times.

Cape Sounion Marina

Oftentimes I have asked myself how a young girl from the green highlands of Naranjito ended up so enamored of the blue sea and sailing. Julia de Burgos, a well-known Puerto Rican poet says it best in her poem, Ronda sobremarina por la montaña. This title has been translated into English as, Supersea Stroll through the Mountain, in the bilingual book, Song of the Simple Truth (1996), where one can read her complete poems.

--Almamarina… Almamarina…

Eso me dijo el viento cuando le di la mano en la montaña.

…

--Almamarina…

Eso me dijo el viento ruborizándose en mis ojos,

nerviosos,

enamorándome.

(--Seasoul… seasoul… /That’s what the wind said when I gave it my hand in the mountain. …

--Seasoul… /That’s what the sea said blushing in my eyes, /nervous, /courting me.)

Temple of Poseidon

Poseidon, zealous god of the sea, kept Odysseus lost at sea for 10 years after the Trojan war. He eventually sailed home to his wife Penelope who waited for him in the island of Ithaca. The Temple of Poseidon still keeps a watchful eye over the god’s realm. The marina, at its feet, is still a humble reminder of human courage. Greek men (and one woman that I know of, Atalanta) dared to explore this realm on floating islands, challenging fears, risking life and fortune, defying Poseidon.

I sailed the Cyclades, a string of islands southeast of Cape Sounion. As we approached an island, the whitewashed homes with aqua blue doorframes painted the hillsides. The port areas were sprinkled with tavernas boasting outdoor tables and chairs, intertwined with boating shops, souvenir stores, ferry boats, buses, lots of people and noise. The children couldn’t wait to explore the shore, find the ice cream shop, and run around in town. Trying to save a little money on dock fees, we would anchor out and dinghy to shore. An adult stayed on the boat to keep watch. I often volunteered for this task, which made everyone happy. After so many hours at sea, everyone wanted to go ashore. These were my moments of freedom. Illusory in retrospection, naïve at best, I felt free. I’d stand open-armed like Da Vinci’s Vitruvian Man, facing the wind and singing, screaming, dancing, and laughing out loud. It was a sense of freedom, not so much from people, but more so from social norms, proper behavior, and lady-like roles. I was Atalanta with the Argonauts, looking for the Golden Fleece.

The Cyclades or Kycládes form the plural of Kyklás, from kíklos, meaning circle or ring. My Greek sailing experience was the beginning of a new ring in my life’s spiral. A mother bird’s push unto the open sky, and the young bird soared with open wings. I feel that same feeling every time we motor out of the marina, when we raise the sails, and turn off the engine. The instant the engine is off, and the wind presses on the sails, I soar.

--Almamarina…

Hubo luego, en silencio, como un desplazamiento

de una niña de agua en la sed de los valles,

La voz sobremarina se irguió sobre los cerros,

y partió para siempre con la niña en el talle.

(--Seasoul… /Later, in silence, there was something like a surge / of a water-girl in the thirst of the valleys, /The supersea voice rose over the mountains /and left forever with the girl on its waist.)

As I fast approach 60, the rings in my spirals are narrower, but they still soar, in Puerto Rico’s easternmost islands, circling, like the Cyclades off Cape Sounion, Fajardo’s lighthouse.

Atalanta-detail in Rubens painting

Bebe II

2010-10-13T21:54:00.001-04:00

Log: Sunday, October 10, 2010 (0900-1530). Sailboat: Bebe II. Winds: S, SE 9-15 Knots. Seas: 2-5 feet. Weather: high 80’s, very hazy, cumulus clouds to the east.

It has rained so much in the past two months. Hurricanes have passed north of Puerto Rico but their elongated spiral arms have caused copious rains, flash floods and numerous thunderstorms in the island. Tropical depressions and waves followed suit, with only moments of sunshine in between.

Sunday morning was such a moment, with a break in the clouds. The sun peeked through the haze and my sailing mates, Ramón and Silvia, agreed to go sailing. I drove to Fajardo, to the Isleta Marina ferry dock. This islet off Fajardo is Bebe II’s new home.

I had not sailed Bebe II since August’s St. John adventure. I was the first to arrive at the dock. Seeing her there all alone was like seeing a dear old friend. As I went onboard, like old times, I opened her portholes and hatches and I started cleaning heads, sinks and counters. Do you know what the first rule of sailing is?

The science fiction movie, Serenity, came to mind. Captain Mal answers his question to the new pilot: “Love. You can learn all the math in the ‘verse, you take a boat in the air that you don’t love, she’ll shake you off just as sure as the turn of the worlds. Love keeps you in the air when she ought to fall down, tell you she’s hurt before she keels. Makes her a home.” It felt like coming home.

We sailed and sailed. We were not interested in docking, mooring or anchoring. It was all about feeling the wind in our face and in the billowing sails. Listening as the water rushed by her sides. Tasting the sun’s fire in our skins. Watching sun sparkles in the waves and in our reddening shoulders. Breathing in the scent of salt.

Seven Nights at Sea (August 7-14, 2010)

2010-10-12T18:22:00.000-04:00

WE CAN DO IT!

Saturday: Puerto del Rey, Fajardo to Tamarindo Beach, Culebra. Hazy skies. Moored. (see picture).
Sunday: Tamarindo Beach to Botany Bay, St. Thomas. 3 squalls (the 1st hit us, 2nd was avoided, 3rd was skirted). Anchored.
Monday: Botany Bay to Charlotte Amalie, St. Thomas. As we arrived in the bay, a thunderstorm hit. We went around in circles in the bay until it passed. Got ice, refilled water tank. Anchored.
Tuesday: Charlotte Amalie to Maho Bay, St. John (via Christmas Cove). Rain showers on the way. The most beautiful passageway imaginable; a pre-Columbian view of the Caribbean. Moored.
Wednesday: Maho Bay. Got ice, coconut rum and ice cream (decadent). Same mooring.
Thursday: Maho Bay to Christmas Cove, St. Thomas, by Greater St. James Cay (circumnavigating St. John). Well worth coming here again. Moored.
Friday: Christmas Cove to Dewey, Culebra. Got ice and ice cream. Moored temporarily. Then we moved to Luis Peña Cay (the side facing PR). Moored.
Saturday: Luis Peña to Fajardo, PR. Sunshiny but no wind. Sunbay Marina to fill diesel tank. Docked in Isleta Marina.

WE DID IT!

The previous paragraph sounds so mechanical. A sailboat meandering midst Spanish, U.S. and British Virgin Islands. Three souls onboard taking it all in, awed, apprehensive, delighted, with child-like grins of “this is fun.”

It was technical. Planning routes and waypoints with Navionics in my MacBook. Comparing notes with Bob doing the same with his Garmin. Designing a table in MicroSoft Word to plan meals and shopping logistics. Calculating a gallon of water per person, per day. Provisions, first aid, galley complements, and don’t forget the grill and coffee maker. Anything else, Sue? Checking the boat, water, diesel, oil, engine, sails, rigging, communication equipment, and don’t forget the dinghy. A myriad details and as one is about to leave for eight days, there is the lingering question: Did I forget something important?

It was informative. We calculated ETA’s (estimated time of arrival) and while we were right most of the times, there were changing factors; a sudden squall, changing winds, slower than expected speeds, things that in our usual day sails do not factor in. They do factor in when hours of sail become days. Weather patterns come and go. We were hit by a squall. We learned to bypass them or skirt them later on. We developed a routine for thunderstorms, as in the book, Cruising (with) Class by Stan Zimmerman, where he states: “Mine works like this – pull on my sailing gloves, drop and secure the jib, reef the main, then grab the boots, and don my foul weather pants.” We laughed at the boots in the tropics but we pretty much followed a similar routine.

It was spiritual. I felt closer to Emerson’s One, that yogic union with the universe, gazing up at stars, constellations, the milky way, Jupiter, Mars, and that Angel Brightest, Venus. They were with us all seven nights, and even in the cloudy night skies, their presence was felt.

It was magical. Sailing past Sail Rock (see picture) between Culebra and St. Thomas, you’d swear she’s sailing along with you. Then you think you’ll never leave her behind. Before you know it, she tacks and disappears under rain showers; another island in the mist, like Avalon and Antilia. And you wonder if she was ever there.

It was humbling. Crossing between St. Thomas and St. John, passing Christmas Cove, we were enclosed by green islands and Caribbean blue seas. Not a man-made construction in sight. Our sailboat entered Myron Arms’ Cathedral of the World. Time evanescent, a pre-Columbian Caribbean glimpse. And again, like little children, a sounding sigh, eyes filled with joy, like Christmas day in the morning.

Across the Universe

2010-07-07T16:02:00.001-04:00

LOG: Friday, July 2 (11:00) to Sunday July 4, 2010 (17:30). Sailboat: Bébé (41’ Beneteau). Winds: E, NE 9-18 Knots. Seas 2-5 ft. Weather: High 70’s low 80’s, extremely hazy (Sahara dust). Bluish skies through the haze, at times mixed with cumulus clouds, with an opaque sun shining through.

We planned for Culebra but the wind was against us. So, we sailed with the wind abeam, south, to Vieques. We anchored at Punta Arenas, western Vieques at about 17:00, facing Monte Pirata (988 ft). I had the Beatles’ collection in my iPod (226 songs), which played chronologically until just before the Abbey Road album, where we stopped the music to anchor. We sailed only a few nautical miles from the east coast of Puerto Rico, but we might as well have sailed through waves of joy, across the universe, as in the Beatles’ song by that name.

There were 5 souls in Bébé (41’ Beneteau) and 4 souls in Bébé II (32’ Beneteau). We rafted for an evening of swimming, eating, drinking, talking and witnessing the haziest most spectacular sunset. I later named the sunset after the Italian operatic song, Il mare calmo della sera (the calm evening sea). The Beatles echoed: Images of broken light which / dance before me like a million eyes / that call me on and on across the universe …

Saturday was a peaceful day in the company of friends who love sailing. We motored in our dinghy along the coast, snorkeled, scraped the boat bottom, and floated on noodles around the boats. We had visitors from another Beneteau, who joined us with their black dog, Rocco. The sun was shining through the haze. The Beatles’ song continued: Sounds of laughter shades of life / are ringing through my open ears / exciting and inviting me …

Sunday awoke with a hazy sunrise over Monte Pirata as we readied ourselves for the sail back. We sailed with country and western music by Kenny Chesney; no shoes, no shirt, no problems. The Beatles echoed: Limitless undying love which / shines around me like a million suns / It calls me on and on across the universe …

Feeling the Tug of the Invisible Full Moon

2010-05-30T21:40:00.014-04:00

LOG: Thursday, May 26, 2010. Sailboat: Bébé (41’ Beneteau). Winds: S, SW 9-14, 10-15 Knots. Seas: 2-4 ft. Weather: 87ºF, overcast, showers & isolated T-storms. Barometer: 29.91 (steady). Sky: complete thick cloud coverage, cumulus nimbus. Crew: Capt. Michael, myself and two new sailing students, Kevin and Julie (from the Island of Vieques). Special features: Full moon night, 19:54 moonrise; rendered invisible through thick clouds. Time out: 13:30, 5/26/10. Time back: 16:30, 5/27/10.

It was a dark and stormy night, when the captain said to the first mate, “Tell us a story.” and the mate began, … It was a dark and stormy night, when the captain said to the first mate, ‘Tell us a story.’ and the mate began, …

This is a circular sailing story that connects us to a primal story we cannot even fathom to understand. Such is the power of the sea story on a stormy night. The full moon’s tugging power makes it even stronger because the clouds and rain render it invisible. The tug affects the sea as it affects the fluids in our bodies; our emotions and senses.

We left port under a low-low tide (due to the full moon) and arrived at Isla Piñeros, four hours later, under a high-high tide. In the Caribbean, tides ebb and flood about a foot (down a foot, up a foot, …). Under a full moon, there is nearly a three-foot difference. As we left port at Sunbay Marina, we saw coral reefs’ sharp top edges in rows as shark teeth, where normally they are never seen. We know they are there by studying charts, GPS images and snorkeling visuals. They were visible in strength today because of the full moon.

The wind was blowing from the south and according to NOAA, it would change to SW during the night. South winds do not happen often in the constant easterly Tradewinds region. The normal easterly winds make for uncomfortable sailboat movements during visits and overnight stays at Isla Piñeros. Its coastline is surrounded by irregular shallow coral reefs, another reason why it is not often visited. Prevailing S and SW winds made it just right to overnight by the island.

We approached it as Pinzón could have approached it on a visit to Puerto Rico (Martín Alonso Pinzón was captain of the Pinta. His younger brother, Vicente Yañez Pinzón was captain of the Niña in Columbus’s expedition in 1492.). Kevin was lookout at the bow, kneeling over looking out for uncharted reefs and a sandy spot to anchor. Julie checked the charts and I was following with the GPS, noting the approach. For those interested, you aim at the center of the northeast bay where there is a rocky promontory, at a 205º heading to avoid reefs (exit straight out at a 025º heading).

After we anchored for the night, the winds and waves freshened. Our anchor faced us into the wind, but the current hit the sailboat abeam (on the side), creating a not so comfortable rocking motion. I learned to do a bridle on the anchor. You tie a rolling hitch with the end of a long line to the anchor line at the bow. The standing part of that rolling hitch line is cleated midship to a horn cleat. You give more scope to your main anchor until the bridle moves the bow to the current. The calming effect is immediate. After a BBQ dinner hosted by Kevin and Julie, we slept in the comfort of a gentle sea sway.

On Friday morning, the Captain snorkeled the coast to check the reef area. Kevin and Julie checked the anchors. I stayed onboard and took care of the galley mess from the night before, plus jotted some notes for this blog. Even though the visibility was not great due to the weather, two manta rays and blue tropical fish schools were sighted.

We returned with freshening winds, so we reefed the main and changed the genoa to a jib; a smaller sail area. There was some rain on the way back and we wore our rain jackets. It was good to practice sailing under the rain with freshening seas under the expertise of Capt. Michael. The skies never cleared and we never saw the moon, but we felt her presence and inspiring tug.

--Full Moon Unseen--

Feeling moon’s tug on me

Raining wind’s harmony

Sweet music on shrouds’ strings

Shrouds resounding white wings

Cloudy night sky’s high C

Sailing Caribbean Sea

On Tropical Tides

2010-05-03T15:31:00.014-04:00

Monday, March 22, 2010 was a local holiday for some—The Abolition of Slavery in Puerto Rico. Not being a U.S. federal holiday, most people worked. In sailing terms that meant that the usual Saturday and Sunday crowds were gone. We sailed out at about 10:00 a.m. When we arrived at Palomino, we had over 10 moorings to choose from. What a treat! I could not help but feel sorry for the other wage slaves. On such a beautiful sailing day, I was reminded of Jacques Prevert’s line in one of his poems, “N’est-t-il pas con de donner un tel jour a un patron?” (Isn’t it a #@%& to donate such a day to a boss?).

I was captain of Bebe II (32’ Benetau). Two invited friends from Atlanta, Georgia were with me, Jo Anne and Hugh, as well as Francisco, who is highly experienced and William, a new club student with some experience. After mooring in Palomino, Jo Anne and Hugh went for a swim (see picture above). Francisco did some scraping on the sailboat’s bottom. William and I stayed on board tidying up, reviewing sailing notes and relaxing.

As we sailed back at around 4:00 p.m., the wind was behind us. The tide was with us also, so with only the jib on, we arrived back quickly. I find tides to be fascinating movements. Rachel Carson’s chapter on "Tides" in her book, The Sea Around Us (1951), provides an eloquent description of tides and their connections with the moon, currents, flora and fauna in the sea, and yes, sailboat movements. In 1962, she published, Silent Spring, where way ahead of her time, she denounced the future impact of industrial waste. Industry and government, with the help of prominent male scientists accused her as a crackpot, a modern day witch-hunt. If we had only listened. Now Rachel Carson (1907-1964) is revered as a great writer, ecologist, and scientist (see picture below). She has more books, though I highly recommend the two I mention. They are very well written, which makes for enjoyable reading, and they are still informative.

Tides are like the planet Earth’s breathing in and out. Tides in the tropics are smaller than at higher latitudes. They usually average one foot high or low. No dramatic Bay of Fundy here. The tropical tides on the east side of Puerto Rico are easy to follow. They ebb north and flood south. If one looks at the current, without consulting a tides table, it is possible to determine the tide. We flooded right into the marina with the tide. Freedom!

Night Sail

2010-02-18T20:55:00.010-04:00

On Sunday, February 14, 2010, I joined Captain Michael from the Caribbean Sailing School & Club on board Bébé (41’ Beneteau). He was conducting the practical component of the ASA 104 class, where students go on a night sail. The students were two young couples—Kim and Brian from Rhode Island, and Eugenia and Gerd from New York. I had done this night sail on a full moon night previously. This night there was a new moon (no moon), and on a pitch-black canvas, we sailed into Palomino Island.

We left Sunbay Marina at about 4:30 p.m. The students were busy working on the navigation to the island, without GPS. With the aid of navigation instruments (a good chart of the area, parallel rulers, dividers, pencil, eraser, magnifying glass, calculator, timer), they calculated our route, tracks, estimated time for tacks, compass degrees, and all taking into consideration the sailboat speed, wind direction and currents, while avoiding coral reefs and sunken vessels. Their calculations were very accurate. They would take turns navigating and helming.

At about 8:30 p.m., we approached Palomino. At that point Gerd and Eugenia went forward with a boat hook and flashlights to search for a mooring and warn the helmsperson (me) of any dangers, such as approaching vessels without lights. It was so dark it was impossible to see where the water ended and the land started. As we made our approach, a dinghy without lights, not even a flashlight, passed by us. There were a few lights on the southern part of the island. There were also three anchor lights from moored sailing vessels, and a few lit motorboats. They were like dots of light on a black canvas. I felt so blind behind the helm, begging for someone to light up a mooring that I could see and aim to. Though apprehensive, I never felt fear. I had confidence in the team’s knowledge and work.

Finally, we saw a mooring to our starboard side, not far from one of the moored sailing vessels. I followed the directions of those at the bow pulpit holding the light on the mooring and with the boat hook ready to grab the mooring line. Capt. Michael shone a powerful hand-held spotlight on the mooring for the aid of those at the bow and behind the helm. It was a beautiful sight to see that white mooring ball floating in the water. After securing the mooring, Brian and Kim took charge of the BBQ, and we grilled fish, veggies, Polish sausages and hamburgers. We toasted to our accomplishment, teamwork, talked a lot of sail talk and readied ourselves for a well deserved rest and relaxation. We drifted to our cabins and berths under Orion’s watchful eye, peaceful seas and 78º F. Who could ask for anything more?

On Monday morning, February 15, 2010, Gerd and Eugenia treated us to a breakfast of scrambled eggs with veggies, mango salsa and biscuits. As they finished their cooking, Capt. Michael moved Bébé to a mooring closer to the beach. After breakfast, there was swimming, boat bottom scraping, cleaning up, and planning the day’s circumnavigation of Palomino. Small sea creatures and plants love the Caribbean as much as the larger creatures, and bottom cleaning sessions must happen much more often than up north.

Circumnavigating Palomino Island was a special treat for me. I had never seen the other side of the island. It was like visiting the other side of the moon. As we passed Palominito Island on the south, avoiding the extended shoal, we turned north, making sure to leave red nun #2 to our port side. We aimed at the house in Cayo Lobos. This white house is the only construction on the island and it is claimed to belong to Ricky Martin. We sailed past it and towards Las Cabezas de San Juan on the northeast corridor of the Puerto Rico mainland. The big island was covered in a white mist from the Montserrat volcano ashes.

The students practiced man overboard with a tack and heave maneuver. It is a simple and effective move that practically brings your sailboat to a stop next to the “victim,” in this case a roped boat fender. We returned to Sunbay Marina at about 4:30 p.m. with the ebb tide. Two of the students were reluctantly flying back to snowy New York that evening. The other two were staying for more lessons before returning to their home state. I drove back home to San Juan, midst Montserrat volcano grey-white ashy skies. Somewhere up above Orion was watching.

Sailing with Yuquiyú [joo-key-‘joo]

2010-02-08T16:59:00.002-04:00

LOG: Sunday, February 7, 2010. Winds, S, 5-10 Knots; Seas, 3-5 ft.; North swells; Pressure 29.85 and rising.

We left the Sunbay Marina dock in Fajardo at 11:00 a.m. Ramón and I sailed Caribbean Sailing School & Club’s Bébé II (32’ Beneteau). We island hopped all afternoon, first to Icacos Island. There weren’t many people out at sea, perhaps because of the super bowl. I’d rather be sailing!

The wind was indecisive; swaying from the south, then southeast, then east, and back through the cycle again. Ready to meet the challenge, we adjusted sails at every turn. From Icacos, we headed to Cayo Lobos (Ricki Martin’s island), to Palomino Island, and then to Ramos Island.

During the course of the day, dark gray thunderheads over El Yunque rainforest changed to cumulus clouds, normally associated with fair weather. As we headed to Ramos, I took the picture of El Yunque seen here. At this distance from shore, it barely reflects its 3,500 foot elevation. One can only imagine the bromeliads, impatiens, wild orchids and giant ferns in this spectacular national rainforest. On a mystical level, the Taino people designated it the throne of the good spirit, Yuquiyú, who protects the Island of Puerto Rico from the malevolent spirit, Huracán. Declared or not, to me it was, is, and always will be one of the world’s natural wonders. Imposing, breathtaking, grandiose and commanding, even from a distance.

We returned at 4:30 p.m. to the usual chores of coiling lines, adjusting dock lines, hosing the sailboat, scrubbing soiled spots, connecting to shore power, covering hatches and sails, leaving the sailboat in as good or better condition than we found it. Tired to the core, but re-energized for the week ahead, we had lived the dream of sailing the Caribbean blue sea alongside Yuquiyú’s green rainforest.

The Power of Suggestion

2010-02-02T17:40:00.005-04:00

Sunday, January 24, 2010. The sky was mostly clear with a few scattered clouds. The wind was hardly blowing. My sailing day had a rough start. At the marina, I had left my car keys in the car, along with all my sailing gear, cell phone and money. I had to borrow a cell phone to phone home for help. My son and husband came to the rescue and an hour later opened the car; we exchanged goodbyes and thanks and good days. My sailing friends—Ramón, Silvia, Carlos—waited for me onboard Lolita.

I received a text message from Glory Days’ captain, already at sea, saying there were hurricane winds blowing. NOAA’s weathercast was good, but they had predicted a small craft advisory for Monday, the following day. I remember wondering if the weather had arrived early out at sea, though not yet at the dock area. As I boarded Lolita, I shared the content of the message. We reefed the main and put up the jib instead of the genoa. As we motored out around noon, we hoisted the main and set the jib. The sailboat practically floated in place, alongside a small group of Brown Boobies (Bobas, in Spanish).

It then hit me that the other sailboat’s captain was being sarcastic, and that in jest he meant the opposite; there was no wind. Aside from a proper name for a bird, the word boba in Spanish has another connotation—silly or fool. I felt as one alongside my feather friends. I was a victim of the crew’s teasing for the rest of the afternoon. In the calmness of the Caribbean Sea, they would hold on to the rail and the mast to avoid being blown by the “hurricane” winds.

The Brown Booby, according to H. Raffaele’s Guide to the birds of Puerto Rico and the Virgin Islands (1989), is “seen virtually everywhere in the Virgin Islands, but in Puerto Rico the best places to look for the bird are at Cabo Rojo Lighthouse and Las Croabas. … Their leisurely flapping and gliding flight, low over the water, is characteristic, as are their spectacular dives into the sea in pursuit of fish and squid.” This Sunday, they were floating, with some light fishing.

As we sailed on, rather putt-putted along, Ramón and Silvia changed the jib to a genoa. The bigger sail gave us an additional one and a half knot. Carlos helped with the main. I was behind the helm, taking it all, and joining in the occasional laughter. Glory Days sailed by us midway and took a picture of us in Lolita with the Fajardo Lighthouse in the background. Idyllic.

It was still a good sailing day, and as we returned around 4:30 p.m., the wind freshened some, but not much. There was a lesson in there somewhere. However, at the end of the day, if one must err at sea, as one will eventually, it is best to err on the side of safety.

Merry Christmas & a Happy New Year!

2009-12-25T14:58:00.002-04:00

May you have fair winds and following seas in the new year!

Once Upon a Blue Moon, on a Winter Solstice Eve

2009-12-21T12:48:00.006-04:00

Once in a blue moon, there comes a day when you may have the clearest skies, in-the-groove sails, perfect tide, proper wind, following seas, and you feel a part of the best sailing team ever. Yesterday was such a day.

I woke up at 5:00 a.m., and as I readied for yet another Sunday sail, I checked the marine weather on my iPhone. There was a small craft advisory in effect until 6:00 a.m. I wondered what the implications would be for the day. What is it like immediately after the advisory ends?

The wind was S-SE, as opposed to our faithful easterly Trades. The sky was clearer than ever. I mimicked Barbara Streisand, humming the song, “On a clear day, rise and look around you, and you’ll know who you are …”

Bob, Silvia, Marisol and I sailed Bebe II (32’ Beneteau) to Icacos Island from Sunbay Marina in Fajardo, departing at 11:00 a.m., and returning at about 6:00 p.m. There were scattered clouds, dwindling white caps and big breakers on the distant northeast corridor turn by Las Cucarachas. Subsiding waves and wind, the sailboat shimmered across a high-tide peaked current. Mainsail raised and jib unfurled, we couldn’t stop repeating, “What a great day for a sail!” A present to one another—a Christmas sail to remember.

We wandered to Palomino Island, played tag with Glory Days, and at about 1:30 p.m. anchored behind her in Icacos. We were boarded by Carlos, Glory Days’ captain. The boat talk was intertwined by comments on this sailing day perfection. A day so clear, we could see St. Thomas, a good 23 miles visibility, a first time for us, so close to Fajardo. They were all present: Vieques, Culebra, St. Thomas, and the myriad islands and cays in between. The lighthouses in Fajardo and Las Cucarachas shone under the sun.

After anchoring, we plunged into the water, some in some out, pensive, smiling, cleansing body and spirit with sea salted waters. As I floated, holding on to the sailboat by a length of rope on a floating fender, I closed my eyes. I heard the Caribbean Sea singing to me through John Denver’s song, Tradewinds: “I can make you happy! / If I can, I take you away on a wave in my arms / never leave you on the edge all alone. / If you feel like dancing, / rolling like the water across my sleepless night / making me a peaceful place. / All my life to be with you / all I ever want to do / knowing you are feeling that way too / …” Oh, I feel that way too; at one with the sea, sun, sky, sailboat, sailing friends, islands, cays, and my thoughts like shimmering clouds.

A blue moon happens when there are two full moons in the same month. It doesn’t occur often. This month, December 2009, there was a full moon on December 2^nd and the next blue moon will be on December 31^st. We will now have to wait three more years for the next blue moon, on August 2012 (August 2^nd and August 31^st). Anyone for a Caribbean blue moon sail?

A day imbued with magic—a Christmas sail—we said our farewells. All heading home for Christmas, to Houston, Trujillo Alto, San Juan—filled with best wishes and memories of that island Christmas sail. And as I drove back home that night, there was a waxing crescent moon smiling at me, midst two December moons, once upon a blue moon, on a winter solstice eve.

Doing Something Good for the Earth - Around the Americas

2009-11-16T16:32:00.013-04:00

On November 3, 2009 at 11:00 a.m., a representative group of three students from my English courses visited the sailing vessel, Ocean Watch, docked at Pier #1, Old San Juan. The Ocean Watch is presently circumnavigating the Americas. It departed north from Seattle, Washington, across the Arctic due east, down south past New York with a brief 4-day stop in Puerto Rico before heading to Brazil. You can follow the expedition around the Americas, clicking their site under my favorite links.

Dr. Michael Reynolds, Oceanographer in this scientific sailing exploration and adventure invited us to visit and tour the sailboat and kindly made the time to talk to students. Those who were unable to go wrote questions to the crew, which I emailed to Dr. Reynolds. Today I received his answers to the students. Following is a copy of the email.

To: Eva de Lourdes Edwards, delourdes@mac.com

From: R. Michael Reynolds, RMR Co., LLC

cc: none

Date: 2009-11-13, 02:20:33

Subj: Questions from students

Hi,

It has taken me some time after leaving San Juan to get organized so this reply will be a little late. I am going to put these and some other questions into one of my regular reports.

Questions:

Q: In addition to watching the ocean, what other things do you do during the voyage that you may not put in the website? (Jenni)

Ans:

This is a small boat (I have to remember to call this a boat, not a ship) and our crew is only six people. Therefore there are chores we all must share. I cook dinner or clean the dishes sometimes. I help keep the boat clean. I stand watch like everyone else. Do you know what "watches" are? We are divided into two groups. Each watch group will be on duty to operate the boat while the others are free to sleep, eat, or just relax. Here are the hours of the day for watch: day: 06-10, 10-14, 14-18, and night: 18-21, 21-00, 00-03, 03-06. Each group takes turns. As I write you this now it is 2:50 in the morning and my watch is almost over, but I only have three hours to sleep then I have to be back up at 6 am.

Q: What do you think about the contamination problems in the ocean around the Americas? (Yineza and Kenny)

Ans:

I am very concerned about how humans have treated the oceans as a dumping place for garbage, pollution, and human waste. However, it is easy to see when you are out here in the open ocean how we might think the ocean is infinite. It seems so vast. But of course it isn't.

Q: In what moment did you decide to go around the Americas and why? (Janice, José Manuel and Kiara)

Ans:

I work with the University of Washington and one of my colleagues suggested I come to a meeting with some people who had this crazy plan to sail around North & South America in a sailboat. I went to the meeting and met the crew and I realized this was a chance of a lifetime for me. I have traveled a great deal as an oceanographer and I have sailed small boats for fun. But I have always wanted to do blue water sailing offshore. This was my opportunity to sail and do something good for the Earth.

Q: What do you recommend to protect our ocean? (Janice, José Manuel and Kiara)

Ans:

First educate yourself. Take courses, read magazines, and learn all you can. Don't just learn how there are problems; learn all about the wonders of the sea. Second, start doing the little things to change your habits. Never, never throw plastic in the sea and don't be afraid to tell others the same. Drive less; think about how you can conserve energy. All the little things. And third, become political. Join an environmental group, write letters to politicians, and stay informed on local issues. Remember the old advice to think globally and act locally.

Here are two questions that can have the same answer.

Q: What have you seen that you consider amazing? (Frances)

Q: What is the most impressive thing that you have seen in this voyage?

Ans:

We have seen so many amazing things so far: whales, polar bears, huge ice bergs, storm waves fifty feet high and glorious skies full of stars. But the thing I am enjoying the most is occurring right now in the equatorial ocean: the clouds. This is the place where weather happens. Huge towering cumulonimbus clouds rise to the top of the atmosphere then spread across the sky as anvils. These are a joy to watch. Oh yes, the stars at night are limitless.

Q: What inspired you to make this cruise? (Yolady, Irishka, Zuleyka)

Ans:

I have lived a good life. I have a terrific family and my job has taken me all over the world. As an oceanographer I have been concerned with the environment my whole career. But I have not had the opportunity to "give back." At least to my satisfaction. Around the Americas fills my wish. I can meet people and show first hand how important it is to protect our natural world. And it's fun too!

Q: What do you need to travel around the Americas? (Evalyannit and Indira)

Ans:

I am not sure how to answer this question. First you need people with vision; people who have the idea that with this trip we can capture people's imagination and interest. Next after the idea you need money. This is not a cheap trip and so you need supporters who will donate money, time, and gifts to support the project. You need a crew of dedicated sailors. People, and their families, who will take about two years out of their life for this project. And then, you need people like you who take an interest in what we are doing, and, very important, in what we have to say.

Q: What is interesting and entertaining about our oceans? (Cindy and Xiomara)

Ans:

The ocean is a wonderland and the more you look into it the more you can learn about ourselves. Did you know a dolphin can hear your heartbeat in the water? That the eyes of an octopus are much more advanced than our human eyes? That the Albatross travels twenty thousand miles to bring some food home to the family? Read all about it and you will be amazed. Read, read, read.

Q: How does it feel to discover different cultures? Do you like to learn from them? (Pamela)

Ans:

One of the most exciting parts of this expedition is that we are meeting and talking with people of all cultures along the way. We have met Native Americans on Vancouver Island, Inuit (Eskimo) people in Alaska and Canada, and now we are entering the Latin communities from Puerto Rico, South America, Central America and Mexico. We are all thrilled and excited to meet these people and to learn from them their lives. Everywhere we go we hear a consistent story of concern for the changing ocean and the changing climate.

Q: What made you decide to work for the environment? (Ninotchka)

Ans:

You never know where your life might take you. I was born in Dallas Texas and never had too much to do with the ocean until I began graduate school. Actually, I decided to become an oceanographer because I wanted to study Earth science (Geology, Geophysics, or Physical Oceanography) and at that time Oceanography was new. As I studied Oceanography I became aware of the environmental issues and so it was natural to try to share that knowledge with others.

Q: What does your family think about what you are doing? (Lizette)

Ans:

They miss me of course. I always walked our dog Lucy and now they have to do it rain or shine. So I think they will be happy to see me come back.

Q: What has caused you the most fear? (Marisely)

Ans:

The first time I was hoisted to the top of the mast in a canvas chair I was a little nervous. I go up there to tend to the climate instruments. Now I am used to it. Also I miss my family and I fear something bad might happen and I am days away at sea. But I worry far too much.

Q: How can this expedition help nature instead of just being aware of its problems? (Juan Carlos)

Ans:

Our main supporting organization is called "Sailors for the Sea." Their goal is to convince sailors to become protectors of the sea. These sailors will carry the idea from their own personal choices to friends, employees, and politicians. That is one way the message can go from idea to practice. But the truth is that being aware is the first step in actually doing something. We want to stimulate people to begin to learn the issues.

Thank you, Dr. Reynolds, and all the Ocean Watch crew.

Sailing with new sailing students

2009-11-07T17:28:00.003-04:00

Sun 18 Oct 09. 1130-1530. On board Bébé (41' Beneteau) with Captain Michael, five new sailing students, plus Ramón and myself. Weather--Wind: SE 14-18 knots (According to NOAA, small craft should exercise caution). Seas: 3-4 ft. Clear skies. Barometer: 29.75 in. Hg. (rising).

It is always good to sail with students. One always learns something new. Capt. Michael asked Ramón and I to serve as mentors to the new sailors. I learned to take a sailing boat out going backwards. We practiced tacking, knot tying, and docking. We met new friends and future sailing companions.

Dockmanship

2009-09-13T10:21:00.006-04:00

LOG: Sat 12 Sep 09. 1000-1400. Onboard Lolita (30’ Beneteau, 1984). Crew: Silvia, Inés, Hernán and myself. Weather—Wind: E 10-14 knots (We experienced the 10 knots mostly.). Seas: 2-4 feet. Sky: Cumulus white clouds on the horizon to the east and southeast. Barometer: 29.92 in. Hg. (steady). Position: Between Sunbay Marina, Fajardo and the islands of Icacos and Palomino.

There is an excellent little book, Dockmanship by David Owen Bell, printed by Cornell Maritime Press (1992), which is all about docking and undocking a sailboat—berthing, unberthing; arrival, departure; alpha, omega; the beginning and the end of a sailing adventure. Bell states that, “Many people consider good dockmanship to be the mark of a competent skipper.” For many a sail lately, while I have been the designated captain, I have managed to do this task with greater and lesser degrees of apprehension (I’ve a good record so far of not damaging body or property.). The more I do it, the more I realize, it is not about an individual’s competence to manage the task, but rather an individual’s ability to conduct the task, much as an orchestra conductor leads musicians, instruments, environmental acoustics and surrounding audience. Bell says there are three components to any docking situation: (1) elements under your control: the engine, rudder and dock lines; (2) external forces beyond your control: wind and current; and (3) the human factor, partially under your control: attitude, reflexes and perception—yours and those of the crew. Docking to me is orchestrating all these factors at once in a very quick, brief, flashing sacred moment in the craft of sailing. It is sacred, if seen as entering and leaving the cathedral of the sea. Conversations cease, silence rules over occasional warnings, and everyone is focused on the musical overture.

Such were my feelings and spirits as we left Sunbay Marina for yet another sail onboard my good old friend, Lolita. There wasn’t much wind, but the sun was shining, and after so many rainy days, threats of storms (Erika) and tropical depressions, it was a well-received welcome sail. We sailed towards Icacos and Palomino, never reaching either. As the sailors’ adage goes, once sails are up and you’re sailing, you’ve reached your destination.

We had the company of a new Caribbean Sailing School student, Hernán (see picture), who took to sailing as a natural. After only five lessons, he joined our team where he practiced checking oil, starting/stopping the engine, raising sails, helming with a tiller, doing a heave-to, working knots and ropework, and of course joining in the dockmanship, where he was in charge of the aft starboard line and on arrival the forward starboard line, as well as assisting crew as required in our musical overture’s grand finale.

The Squall

2009-08-10T18:02:00.006-04:00

LOG: Sun 9 Aug 09. 1200-1830. Onboard Bébé II (32’ Beneteau). Crew: Ramón, Silvia and myself. Wind: E-NE 13-18 Knots. Seas: 5-6 feet. Barometer: 29.90 steady. Weather: Scattered clouds, distant thunderheads southeast, NOAA small craft caution. Position: Between Sunbay Marina, Fajardo and the Island of Icacos in Puerto Rico.

I am inspired to enter a log in my entries in the manner that Myron Arms writes his in the book, Riddle of the ice: A scientific adventure into the Arctic (1998). He starts every chapter with a log entry for the sailboat Brendan Isle, as it sails into the icy waters of the Labrador Sea, Davis Strait and Baffin Bay. As it ventures north, he states, “… you are a sailor, moving along with the forces of nature rather than against them. You are a minion of the wind—only partially in control of where you go …”

And so it was on this particular Sunday. We debated whether to go to Palomino or Icacos. There was a large thunderhead behind Palomino. Normally these weather formations travel east toward Naguabo. We moved northeast towards Icacos hoping to avoid it but it decided to travel northward and split north and east (to mainland Puerto Rico). Greek mythological sailors, such as Jason and the Argonauts, would have been convinced that the gods had a hand in it. It came straight to us. We came about and headed back to sea rather than to boat-crowded Icacos. In its imminent approach, we reefed the mainsail. Ramón and Silvia furled the jib just as it began to engulf us into its misty grey. I was behind the helm and felt myself becoming “a minion of the wind” and the blinding cold rain. The water looked like the pocked surface of the moon with multiple little peaks. I started the engine and headed close to the wind, working “with the forces of nature rather than against them,” well aware that our bearing kept us from harms way, if it pleased the gods.

Within five minutes that felt like five hours it passed by and the clouds opened as theater curtains to verdant Palomino in the distant center stage. We were drenched. Tissue papers deep in my pockets were soaked. Silvia said the water was colder than normal rainwater. Ramón added that it was thick and hit the skin like pellets. Me, I was so proud of being part of a team that never once panicked, at least not visibly. We pulled together to keep ourselves safe, our sailboat as steady as possible in the turmoil, and her sails intact. After a well-deserved rest in a heave-to, with Palomino to one side and the Fajardo lighthouse to the other, we sailed back uneventfully to Sunbay under sun-clear skies. Scattered dark clouds headed to Naguabo, some to the distant north Atlantic, perhaps to the Labrador Sea.

Stormy Weather: Extreme Sailing

2009-07-06T21:32:00.005-04:00

July 3rd to 4th, 2009, the Caribbean Sailing School & Club fleet sailed to Punta Arenas, Vieques from Sunbay Marina in Fajardo. The skies were overcast with scattered sunshine. The wind freshened as we approached Punta Arenas. We spent two days enjoying the sea, sand and sun, the company of good friends and the view of Monte Pirata in Vieques (see the slideshow on the right). The sail into Vieques was a little extreme after the R2 nun, but nothing like it was on our return on Sunday. Lolita's mainsail was torn and we had to bring it down while hove-to in very windy and turbulent seas. Bebe's bimini ripped. There was lightning and thunder, rain, gusts and changing winds. Our three sailboats--Lolita, Bebe II and Bebe--made it back safely. There were moments of high adrenaline intertwined with moments of awe at nature's wrath, beauty and changing moods. It is good to be in the company of good sailors and high spirited people.

Three Women at Sea in the Sahara Dust

2009-06-28T14:11:00.007-04:00

In the picture on the left, see the haze of the Sahara dust behind Silvia as we sail Lolita.

Silvia, Inés and myself planned to take Lolita (30’ Beneteau) out for a sail on Saturday, June 27, 2009 (1130-1630). NOAA had issued a warning that there would be Sahara dust in the air and therefore lower visibility. The wind was expected to be from the E, 9-13 knots and the seas 2-4 feet. With a due east wind, we chose to sail north towards Icacos.

Lolita had had maintenance work done on her—a mainsail change (which was to be tested by us) and battery changes. As Captain Michael from the CSSC told us later, someone had played with the forward/aft engine lever and left it on neutral. Much to our ignorance when we left dock, the gear was on neutral and moving the lever forward or aft had no reaction except to rev the engine. I thought something was afoul with the maintenance work and as a team and the help of a fellow sailor on dock, we managed to use the wind (without sails) to maneuver into a dock across ours. We did not harm anything or anyone (thanks to the crew and the goddess of the sea). Once we set the little pinkish-white non-descript switch hidden behind the handle from neutral to engaged, we set sail as planned.

As designated captain, I felt dumb for not having figured it out immediately. This gear had always been engaged and ready to go. It was a humbling lesson that nothing can be taken for granted when at sea. Everything at sea is a never-ending learning experience. As the crew said, now we had learned something new to add to our checklist of things to verify before sailing. We worked well as a team under a stressful situation, fearing hurting anything, anyone or Lolita. Once we sorted out our new position in our temporary dock, we set sail again, adrenalin still pumping but joyous that our all female team had saved the day. As we left Sunbay Marina, we spotted a manatee on our starboard side. As sailors of ancient lore, we saw it as a good omen of approval.

Raising the new mainsail was challenging also due to some stiff reefing line that kept getting stuck but that was managed swiftly with a pair of pliers. No adrenalin there. Someone once wrote that the one thing all gung-ho sailors have in common is a love of problem-solving. Once challenges, big or small, are resolved there is such an uplifting sense of pride and wellbeing, which makes the sailing experience twice as pleasurable. You have to solve the problems swiftly so that you can be ready for the next batch, because it is coming.

The Sahara dust gave a misty look to the Caribbean sky and sea (see pix of Silvia with the surrounding white haze). The sail was spectacular, registering up to 5.4 knots on a starboard tack to Icacos. The small island was packed with boats, mostly motor boats, loud music and no moorings available. We were hungry so we opted to heave-to at a distance and enjoy the

sound of the waves and the wind on the sailboat and, of course, the Sahara dust. After lunch (mesa) and our after-lunch restful conversation (sobre-mesa), we sailed back to Icacos to see if we could identify any of the boats. No one we knew well was there. We hove-to again closer to shore but aware that we were being pushed slowly out to sea, and Inés dipped down in the water just to get wet. (see pix of Inés). We sailed back on a port tack and had a peaceful, uneventful sail and docking—three women at sea. We toasted our sail with Passoa and passion fruit on ice.

Summer Sailstice 09 – Caribbean

2009-06-24T20:09:00.001-04:00

Sunday, June 21^st, 2009 – 1130 to 1830. It is the first day of summer. Our fleet joined a group of sailboats celebrating Sailors for the Sea and the Summer Sailstice (see link). This organization based in San Francisco, California has a mission “that educates and empowers the boating community to protect and restore our oceans and coastal waters.” They had registered over 2,000 sailboats, including our small fleet and friends.

I was Lolita’s captain, and with Silvia, Inés and Ramón, we set sail from Sunbay Marina to the island of Icacos. We were following Bébé, with Captain Michael and Margarita, the leaders of the fleet. The wind was E-SE, at about 12 knots with occasional gusts. We sailed NE to Icacos and were there in no time (about an hour)—a fun sail on one tack and just in time for lunch. We anchored next to Glory Days (47’ Bavaria- see to the right of the pix above and the pix below), where Captain Carlos and Glory celebrated the solstice with their relatives.

We feasted on Lolita with a homemade Greek salad (I lived and sailed 4 years in Greece), French baguettes from Pepín Bakery, and Inés’s homemade Tarta Cubana (Cuban Torte) filled with a guava spread. We toasted with Passoa (a passion fruit liqueur) mixed with cranberry juice and lots of ice. Carlos and Glory swam over and had some Tarta Cubana. It was lovely to have them onboard.

Bébé had anchored a bit further. Inés and Ramón swam over, and then Ramón kayaked back to Lolita to pick up Silvia and me. We spent time with Captain Michael and Margarita talking boat stuff and future sails. We suddenly noticed the greater presence of sailboats at Icacos. Normally there are far more motorboats than sails. Today, there were masts all around us—we were the majority—Sailors for the Sea.

I spent so much time in the water, by Lolita’s stern that my fingertips wrinkled. I had not done that in a long time. I took the two pictures shown while I was in the water, with my Olympus water-proof (to 16 ft) digital camera. Glory Days, from my selkie perspective, looks to be grazing the clouds’ canopy (see pix below). Silvia is high up in Lolita’s cockpit (see pix above). As the evening approached, we reluctantly sailed back into the sunset.

Celebrating the summer solstice in the Caribbean? Isn’t that as much of an oxymoron as a deafening silence? You may ask, if you are from the north or south of the equator. When one is born and raised in the Caribbean, as my fellow crew and I know, the seasons are very distinct. The arrival of the summer solstice is loudly announced by the fiery flamboyant trees, fully covered with orange-red, red flowers. The Reina de las Flores (queen of flowers tree) joins with her lavender clusters, as do the ripening mangoes, and many other announcers. There are the migrating birds stopping over on their way north—heavenly treats juxtaposed to the beginning of the hurricane season. Our Taino native people had Yuquiyú (the god of good) and Huracán (the god of evil). They knew we couldn’t have one without the other.

To many of us, this is the greatest sailing in the world. We love our seas, and as we are learning, there is only one sea. From our Caribbean shores, we are protecting the California kelp, so that it can continue growing one foot a day in the summer. To borrow the quote from the documentary, “The Living Sea”—“We can’t protect what we don’t understand. What we understand most profoundly, we love.” We love our Caribbean Sea and thank the sailors in San Francisco for protecting it. We are all sailors for the sea.

Caribbean Snow White

2009-06-16T16:06:00.001-04:00

White skies, Sunday, June 14, the jib sail is set to heave-to (seen in pix), as is the tiller (not seen in pix). Lolita (the 30' Beneteau) was deep anchored (hove-to) between Cayo Lobos and El Yunque. Silvia, Ramón and I (the crew) had our lunch, and then--Silvia on the port side (seen in pix), Ramón on the starboard side (not seen in pix), yielded to Morpheus (the Greek god of sleep)--the peaceful spell of the Caribbean ruled. I yielded to some muse, jotting down random thoughts on tender moments.

The skies were white, more than gray, with distant thunder heads. Threats of rain with occasional sprinkles, our rain jackets were square knotted by their sleeves--ready-to-use--in the cockpit area, in the event of the downpour that never came. The bright Caribbean blue waters were more teal-blue, choppy at times, becalmed, bewitched. We should have known when we left port. The flags on the first row of boats from the sea and the entrance sea rocks were flying west. The inner land rows, including our C row, were flying east. Something was sweetly amiss in our consistent tradewinds.

NOAA had no warnings, E winds, 10-15 knots, seas 2-4 feet, with isolated showers. All on their own, these numbers translate to an ordinary sail on an ordinary day. No magic there. Oh, but NOAA has yet to invent the magicmometer to measure Caribbean maritime magic (CMM). On my CMM scale, from 1 to 10, this was perhaps an 8.5, for the Caribbean is filled with much more magic--sea apples, sleeping spells, nirvana awakenings. All in a spell of four hours: 11:50 a.m. to 3:50 p.m. Our thanks to Lolita for all the magic (see Ramón hosing her deck after a well deserved scrub).

The Appropriated Sea

2009-06-01T10:48:00.003-04:00

The wind was blowing E-NE, 12 to 15 knots and the sea waves were 2 to 3 feet high, according to NOAA. The sun was shining with very sparse clouds at the horizon. After all the May rains, Vieques, Culebra and the Yunque rainforest were crispy-clean and visible. The sea sparkled. The crew, Francisco, Ishi, Silvia and myself, followed our scheduled checklist—oil check, bilge, rigging lines, motor water exhaust, sails, radio, chart—and decided our sail plan to be full mainsail and genoa. Our goal was the Island of Icacos. We set sail at 10:30 a.m. from Sunbay Marina.

And then, there interposed a fly, as the line in Emily Dickinson’s poem reads. Boat race markers blocked the sea passage to Icacos. Not sailboat races, but cigarette boat races. Cigarette boats are often in the news for their drug smuggling ventures (check Wikipedia, the name originates from their cigarette smuggling days in Canada ). These killing machines disregard manatees, pollute the air with noise, and leave oil in their wake. The Coast Guard Auxiliary and the DRNA (Departamento de Recursos Naturales y Ambientales) were protecting this race, ensuring that others avoided the race area. They yelled at us to go to shallow waters close to shore, waters too dangerous for sailboats. So much for the CGAux protecting the safety of those at sea. Today, May 31^st, 2009, they were protecting cigarette boats, at the expense of other boats.

This race was not well announced in advance. Very brief mention was made on Channel 16. Our marina was apparently not informed. A CG Auxiliarist jet-ski approached us and in the rudest attitude told us that to go to Icacos we had to go close to shore. Our crew agreed that was too dangerous, so we decided to turn around towards Palomino to circumvent the race. As we tacked and sailed away from the area, the CGAux jet-skier approached again yelling at us to move faster, “más rápido.” Obviously, this CG Auxiliarist in his fancy CG Auxiliary jet-ski knew nothing about sailboats. His attitude was arrogant and illogical. Sailboats can only go as fast as the wind blows them.

Trying to accommodate to their appropriated sea section, from Las Croabas, midway to Palomino, we sailed away from our destination. Yet we were still harassed and sent to dangerous waters by those who should be promoting nature-friendly modes of sea enjoyment. Yet, they were sponsoring and protecting the interests of the most pollutant, nature-hating crafts. I am filled with questions unanswered: Why did they plan this race so close to shore? Why did they select an area known to be close to manatees, turtles, dolphins and humans? Why did they select a busy Sunday when most boaters are out? Are the CG and DRNA promoting the purchase and use of these sea-unfriendly vehicles? Do the CG and DRNA despise sailing vessels? Are they not trained about sails? Do they not know that with an E-NE wind, sending a sailboat close to shore, the wind will push it to the shoreline? What happened to the law of the sea? Can the CGAux and DRNA representatives receive training on how to deal with the law-abiding public in respectful ways? As a passing sailor asked me, “¿Quién autorizó a esa gente a apropiarse del mar?” Who authorized these people to appropriate the sea?

There is a sailing expression that the moment a sailboat is sailing, it has reached its destination. We never reached Icacos but we still enjoyed a great sailing day. We hove-to between el Yunque and Palomino, in 38.1 feet of water, shared our lunch and enjoyed our peaceful conversation and communion with the sea. We just missed our swim to shore in Icacos. We docked at Sunbay Marina at 4:30 p.m.To heave-to is to set the sails and rudder in opposition, where the bow is being pushed in one direction by the sails, while the stern is being pushed into the opposite direction by the rudder. The result is that the sailboat enjoys a moment of stillness in the madness of the maelstrom. The last three lines in Dickinson’s verse say it best: The stillness round my form; Was like the stillness in the air; Between the heaves of storm. The name of the poem is “Dying.” What would Mother-Earth say?

Silvertone-Blue Sunday Sail

2009-05-26T08:34:00.001-04:00

Ramón, Francisco and Silvia joined me on my Sunday sail at 10:00 a.m., onboard Lolita (30' Beneteau), from Sunbay Marina in Fajardo to the island of Icacos. It was overcast with ominous looking clouds SE and fog-covered rainforest mountains inland to the W. There was a small craft advisory. The sky over distant Icacos to the NE was patchy blue, and with an east-southeast (E-SE) wind, we headed NE, away from the gray, unto a blue silvertone sky.

Before leaving dock we prepared Lolita for a reduced sail area, by reefing the mainsail and attaching a jib instead of the genoa. We tacked our way to Icacos, midst conversations about boats, work, relationships, diets and dreams.

We could not find a free mooring, so we anchored and took a dip in the Caribbean teal-blue waters of Icacos, grayer clouds gathering in strength to the E, and SE and the W; away from us, but menacing nonetheless.

We sailed back in half the time it took us to sail to Icacos. We returned, jibing our way towards the hidden rainforest, dark green coast and silvery choppy waters. At about 4:30 p.m. we docked, said our goodbyes (see picture) and our thanks to Lolita for a great sail, a great day and awesome teamwork. We loosely planned our next coastal venture in one or two weeks time, when we may four meet again.

The drive back to San Juan was all rain, dark gray, May showers, wet greens, budding seeds, and silverytone blue skies to the NE.

Sunday Sail

2009-05-04T22:34:00.002-04:00

On Sunday, May 3, 2009, I went sailing on Bebe (41' Benetau) with Capt. Michael, Margarita (in picture), and Ramón. We left Sunbay Marina in Fajardo at 1:00 pm. The sea was calm with light winds and clear skies--a lovely afternoon cruise, with hints of bliss. The east northeast winds were perfect to go to Culebra but we settled for Palomino. We grabbed a mooring, swam around the boat, had lunch, listened to Brazilian music and talked about boats, people and future sailing plans (St. Thomas, circumnavigating Puerto Rico, ...). We sailed back with the genoa sail only. I was behind the helm sailing into the sun setting behind the mountains, with sunbeams in the water showing the way back. The rainforest mountains of El Yunque were covered with heavy rainclouds. We docked after sunset--thankful for a peaceful sail and ready to tack the work week, with the promise of another Sunday sail.

-- Post From My iPhone

The Neverending Sail

2009-04-20T11:08:00.001-04:00

Check out this SlideShare Presentation:

The Neverending Sail

View more presentations from Eva de lourdes Edwards.

The Neverending Sail

2009-04-20T09:00:00.004-04:00

On Easter weekend, April 10-13, 2009, three sailboats from the Caribbean Sailing School & Club set sail from Fajardo to Culebra. I was onboard Lolita (30’ Benetau, cream and crimson colored tiller boat); the other two were Bébé (41’ Benetau) and Bébé II (32’ Benetau). The first day, eleven souls set sail under a small craft advisory, winds from the east accompanied by strong currents and occasional rain. We set sail due east early in the morning. Tacking and tacking, we made little progress and arrived at Dewey in Culebra at night. The second day, we sailed our fleet to Culebrita for an idyllic stay. The third day, we sailed to Ensenada Honda in Culebra, repairing a torn sail in Lolita. The fourth and last day, we sailed back to Fajardo with following winds and sunshine. I was inspired to write the following lines.

The Neverending Sail

It starts in-between somewhere

sailing into Culebra

passageway of the Tradewinds

currents churned to Fajardo

our sails beat winds and currents

to the islands of dreams we dare

Darker than dark our sailboat

Yemayá may protect us

Virgin of Cobre guides us

into light and dark Dewey’s

moonrise reflected waters

cream and crimson, blinded by night, float

Sunrise to Culebrita

filling our sails with whispers

sea songs, lullabies, chanteys

Silencing motors, cities

and other modern slavers

unreal, alien onboard Lolita

The degree, the right angle

that corner in the ocean

when all the sails must dance, tack

to Culebrita’s lighthouse

no signal, no service, bliss

full tango lines or lines that tangle

Captain Bob, soaring eagle

harp strings on vertical wings

Puff the magic dragon kite

caressing corals and rocks

with keel vibes, bubbles and foam

spirit dancing midst cloud and seagull

The lighthouse, the hill, the trees

white beach and gracious palm trees

moment of beauty, Earth sings,

“Love me, don’t disturb me, you’re

embraced in my arms of blue.”

Siren voices greening skies and seas

Predator, victim, Earth shares

life, death, live neverending

interspecies communion

man, woman, turtle, stingray,

barracuda aft sailboat

Do I, do you, does Earth—who cares?

It ends right where it started

same island but wilder side

castle rocks shield the lighthouse

gusty winds on bimini

memories of rainbow flights

sailors’ souls soared while minds just farted

Sailing Tomorrow

2009-04-09T22:09:00.002-04:00

I am packed and ready to sail tomorrow morning. We (Caribbean Sailing School & Club members) are sailing to Culebra from Fajardo where we plan to spend the weekend.

My boat-stuff bag has a life vest, first aid kit, Swiss army sailing knife, binoculars, bits of rope, handheld compass, wind speed measuring instrument, GPS, sunscreen with zinc oxide, fit overall polarized sunglasses, VHF radio with weather band, depth sounder, marine chart, flashlight and 8 extra AA batteries.

-- Post From My iPhone

Sailing, Science and Literature

2009-04-02T11:14:00.003-04:00

On Friday, March 27, 2009, two sailing vessels, Bebe (41' Benetau) and Bebe II (32' Benetau), sailed from Fajardo to Palomino with 12 first-year University of Puerto Rico students and two professors; Dr. Angel Olivares and Dr. Eva de Lourdes Edwards (me). Olivares teaches Biological Sciences and I teach Basic English at the College of General Studies. We named our adventure with students, SCI-LITE (science and literature). Olivares was working with coastal conservation and I with the novel, The Old Man and the Sea, by Ernest Hemingway. Michael Barnick and Felix Garcia, from the Caribbean Sailing School & Club, both American Sailing Association Instructors, captained the sailboats. Prior to this event, none of the students had ever been sailing (the natural mode of transportation used by Santiago in the novel). They sailed to an "uninhabited" island where they were able to witness first hand the human impact on distant coastlines. On September 12, 1950, Santiago sails his skiff off the Cuban coastline, witnessing the onset of industrial fishing, motor boats, noise pollution, over fishing, and in the last scene, tourism. These and other related issues were discussed on the island and midst humming winds and following seas on the sailboats. The event, in a most natural classroom, was sponsored by the Student Support Services Program (Programa de Servicios Académicos Especiales), College of General Studies at the University of Puerto Rico, Río Piedras Campus.