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Tuesday February 27

Today's cruise will be to the island of Jost Van Dyke.

The yacht is gone. The previous night seem surreal. Was the yacht really there? Was it as big as we remember? The people we watched were from another world, faceless, voiceless, unknowable.

Today's voyage is our longest, from Virgin Gorda to Jost Van Dyke. It is clear-cut, however. The wind is at our backs. We tack infrequently. During a lull in activity I read, stretched on the prow. The sun is mighty. My foot grows hot and I worry that I will burn. Without being able to swim, it is a hot day indeed. Although we follow a virtually straight course, steering requires constant attention. Kim takes a long turn but yearns for relief. I provide some, but I lack the confidence for a sustained effort. Ian, low on energy for much of the trip, finally takes a turn. He is a natural, providing a steady hand and surprising stamina.

At long last we near Jost. We sail into White Bay for a mooring. Though we strain our eyes we see no free moorings. We reverse course and sail back to Great Harbor instead. Kim does not like anchoring, but we must anchor. Bob navigates carefully to avoid reefs. Kim and I take positions at the prow, awaiting the command to drop anchor. Although we spot balls that look like moorings, they are not. We conclude that other vessels are anchored.

Bob maneuvers slowly among other vessels, searching for a sufficiently large gap. We wonder what takes him so long. We are sure several times that we could stop and anchor, but Bob continues moving. I am content to wait, but Kim wants to know what Bob is doing. She calls to him but gets no reply. From the prow we cannot hear much from the cockpit. Finally, Bob is satisfied, stops moving, and gives the order to drop anchor.

Trouble

We begin to drop the anchor, but for some reason, need to pull it back up. I press the “up” button on the hand held control too long, and accidentally slam the anchor into its slot on the prow. The chain yanks tight. Now neither of the buttons on the hand control work. We check to see whether the chain is jammed, but we cannot use the “down” button to let out any chain. We summon Bob, who brings a tool to manually turn the anchor winch.

We will have to drop the anchor by hand. Before we drop it completely, we verify that the "up" button on the hand control works. We let out the chain carefully. It is heavy and grimy with wet rust. I make a second mistake (I don’t recall how or why). The anchor chain is no longer wrapped around the winch, making the “up” button useless. As a result, we will need to wrap the chain around the winch before we can pull up the anchor. This will be difficult.

Kim soon becomes worried that the Eucalyptus is drifting, dragging the anchor. Bob scans the shore, and is immediately certain that we are not drifting. A vessel anchored in moving water naturally floats back and forth around the anchor. We have GPS evidence of exactly that phenomenon (see http://www.flickr.com/photos/peahayes/423060559/). Such movement can hamper efforts to quickly ascertain that a boat is not drifting. Kim and Bob enter an uncomfortable dance of "is" and "is not". I believe Bob, but know that Kim must arrive at the same belief by herself. I ask her how she might quantitatively measure whether the Eucalyptus is drifting. She has no answer.

Bob and Ian choose different methods of measurement. Bob convinces Kim to go below deck. He wants to pour her a drink in order to calm her. Kim will not be calmed by drink, however. We all agree that we will do nothing until an hour has passed without the Eucalyptus drifting.

I join Ian in his cabin while Kim and Bob talk in the main cabin. We have our own conversation, but the door is open. Words from Kim and Bob's conversation penetrate sporadically. I worry that Kim is angry about my mistakes. Instead, she focuses on what she needs from Bob. I relax, but feel badly for them. They talk for a long time. Ian and I finish our conversation. As I leave his cabin I see Bob hugging Kim.

I go up top. Using Ian's method, I verify that we have not moved in over an hour. Kim is still unhappy, but no longer says that we are moving. It has not been easy for the arguing couple, but I like the way they talked until they made peace. I also like the way Bob seems to take care of Kim. Their relationship appears loving, even in a time of tension.

A Better Evening

Kim’s face is inscrutable. The argument is over, but she has not relaxed. Bob has urged her to have a gin & tonic. Perhaps she has had one. But she still works towards trusting Bob’s word that the Eucalyptus is safely anchored. She and I dive into the water for a swim. As we tread water, I compliment her on how she and Bob have handled their dispute. Her brow wrinkles ruefully.

We dress for the evening and motor ashore. It is not yet dark. The road along shore is crowded with little tourist shops. We follow a sidewalk away from shore. A grocery and a bakery appear to be closed. I am curious about the bakery. We ask some women whether it is really closed. A little girl says, no, it is not closed. She leads me inside. The lighting is dim. A display case offers scarce pickings. Four thick squares of chocolate cake are marginally appealing. I tell her I'd like to buy some cake. She asks me how much I would like. I say "All of it". A look of wonderment crosses her face. She repeats "All of it?" I reconsider, countering "Well, maybe just two pieces. I'll leave some for other people." She carefully places two slices of cake into a paper bag. I lay two dollars into her outstretched palm, thanking her.

We return to the beach road. It has grown dark. We drift towards “Foxy's”, a popular open-air beach bar. Memorabilia covers the ceiling and walls of Foxy’s. US license plates are abundant. A waiter ushers us to a table near a small stage. A wiry man picks out lazy blues chords on an electric guitar. Behind him sits a bizarre brown mannequin with a leering grin clutching a guitar. We order cocktails and conch fritters. I enjoy the reverberating chords. I want the musician to be good, but his chords are repetitive. Ultimately, he progresses to other chords and I am relieved.

Afterwards we wander onto the beach. A hammock, previously occupied, is vacant. I sink into it contentedly. Bob says that he and Kim will fetch the dinghy from another dock. We move to follow them, but he waves us back, explaining that he’ll bring the dinghy to Foxy’s dock. I swing in the hammock. Blues chords still vibrate from the bar. I jump up, deciding to tip the guitarist. My smallest bill is a ten. I wait forever at the bar, only to get two fives in change. In a hurry to catch my ride, I tip the guitarist five rather than asking for smaller change.

Bob is our chef for the evening. He heats curry and boils rice. He sets the cockpit table with dinnerware and wine glasses. The evening is peaceful, unlike the previous night. We enhance our meal with red wine. The food is simple, but tasty. We relax under the stars for a long time.

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