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Monday February 26

By the time I awake Kim and Bob have been ashore for a weather briefing. We hope to sail to Anegada, the north-most Virgin Island. The distance from here is 13 nautical miles, or 15 “statute” miles. The trip would necessitate decent conditions over two days. Kim has spoken of Anegada with reverence. She indicated more than once a desire to sail directly there and stay all week. Anegada is lightly populated, and few people clutter its pristine beaches.

Kim and Bob learn that conditions will unsuitable. We could sail, but strong surf would prevent snorkeling and make sleeping onboard unpleasant. After breakfast we ferry our trash ashore. We slip our disposal fee into a slotted box. Because we cannot recycle, we generate voluminous waste. Back on the Eucalyptus Bob ignites the engine. We chug across the Sound to anchor near the Bitter End Yacht Club. Our plans for the day are few. In the evening we will shower, have some cocktails, and grill Mahi Mahi. Our day is free.

Beach Walk

After snorkeling with Kim, I consider my options. I settle upon a walk. Through binoculars I scan Prickly Pear Island. Despite numerous obstructions I observe a narrow strip of beach. Ian wants to join me. Since we will be stranding Kim and Bob when we take the dinghy, Bob sets the Eucalyptus and hand-held radios to the same frequency in case we must communicate (see http://www.flickr.com/photos/67126329@N00/428682772/).

I have not yet operated the dinghy. Ian demonstrates. I am a tentative driver, motoring slowly. Several times I push the rudder in the wrong direction. As we near Prickly Pear, it appears that we can avoid the reef by aiming at Saba Rock and then turning inland. Ian coaches me through the shallows. We land skillfully, drag the dinghy far up the beach, and tie it to a tree.

Ian still moves very slowly. The day is hot. Mangrove trees sometimes force us into the water (see http://www.flickr.com/photos/peahayes/424394500/). The slight chill is a relief. We come abreast of an inland rise in elevation. Flat scrubby terrain gives way to rocky hillside foliage. From a distance the islands seem to be a woolly, uniform green. Close-up, variation in the foliage becomes apparent. Cacti grow alongside a variety of shrubs. Each contributes its own shade of green.

The sun comes and goes. A driftwood shadow on sand fades before I can photograph it. Sailboats, motorized yachts, and a schooner or two begin to drift into the Sound for the evening. Before long we must return. We identify a few landmarks we might recognize from the Eucalyptus. But by the time we return, numerous boats block our view.

The Bitter End

In late afternoon we motor ashore to shower at the public bath. We buy tokens for the shower. We follow a beautiful path to the baths. Although the wild island hills are lush with foliage, a gardener with a keen eye has been at work here. A lovely and multitudinous assortment of plants are combined and arranged to please the eye. We pass smiling, well-dressed tourists.

Since Ian and I share a bottle of shampoo, he lets me shower first. Kim and I find two stalls in the women’s shower. One token is worth four or five minutes of water. The shower I choose runs cold. I turn it on just enough to get clean. Kim's water is warm. Before I am ready, my water shuts off. I am glad that Kim got the warm shower. She has been looking forward to showering. I am simply happy to have clean hair. I turn the shampoo over to Ian and warn him about cold showers.

I find Bob in a wooden lounge chair on the beach. As we converse I discover that we share some similarities. We are both impulsive but married to deliberate spouses. I am happy to commiserate with someone who understands the impulsive perspective. Impulsive and deliberate personalities do not easily change. While I have learned to respect Ian's style, I will never adopt it.

Gun Creek

Kim has read about a “quiet” bar called “The Last Stop” at Gun Creek, a village on Virgin Gorda. Gun Creek is some distance from the Eucalyptus. A detour on our way to Gun Creek would bring us close to a magnificent topsail schooner that has anchored in the Sound. We motor for about ten minutes just to reach the schooner. She has three masts. The two front-most masts have five horizontal spars. The rear mast is shorter, with fewer spars. Her sails are taken in for the night. We gawk openly while shooting photos as the dinghy circles her prow. See http://www.flickr.com/photos/peahayes/424407510/ See also http://www.flickr.com/photos/67126329@N00/428682659/

We motor for another fifteen minutes to reach Gun Creek. As we near the harbor, we strain to see where to land. I think I see a building labeled "Bar". But as we draw close it appears to be deserted. We correct course and aim for a small dock. I grow skeptical as we close in. I see a real village, not a tourist destination. I do not wish to intrude. I would rather turn back than insert myself into a place where islanders find respite from tourism.

We dock and climb ashore. There are a few tourists, but I am unsure. I notice last night’s platinum-dyed woman from Saba Rock. She must live here. My first impulse is to exclaim with pleasure “I know you!” But that would be preposterous. I do not know her. I am one among thousands she has encountered while working. This is her home. She speaks with animation to a friend. I slip quietly by.

We climb steep stairs up to the bar. There is no seating. An old man reclines on a wall of stone. A petite woman waits quietly behind the bar. The prospects seem grim. I feel out of place. Kim and Bob speak with the woman for a few moments. They order ginger wine. One taste reveals a biting but delightful flavor. I order Cruzan rum instead. Later I realize I should have ordered ginger wine. Locally made, Cruzan is common in the islands. Ginger wine would have been a treat.

We return to the dock with our drinks. A local woman sits on a wall behind us, reading. As we talk, she interjects with a question. She becomes part of our conversation. Her manner of speaking confuses me, though. She asks a question, listens for few moments, and interjects again. I try to participate, but give up. Kim and Bob continue the conversation. I am mellow with drink and too lazy to negotiate these waters. I can’t imagine what about our lives could interest her.

I listen, however. She tells us that there are 7,000 inhabitants in her village. She tells us about patterns of rainfall. I now understand the presence of cacti. Although Kim describes the beauty of our home, I don’t believe the woman is interested. I turn my attention to Ian, and we talk privately. I make the Cruzan last. My eyes wander across a green hillside. The proportion of foliage to roads and dwellings fills me with pleasure. I am grateful to be here watching islanders attend to their business. The woman speaks with pride, and I see the truth of her emotion.

The Yacht

I am on grill duty. Bob rigs a “Smokey Joe” grill onto a railing. A spirited breeze thwarts my attempts to ignite a small bundle of charcoal. Bob offers paper kindling that yields immediate results. In the dimming light, the breeze-fueled fire is dramatic. Based on experience, I have little confidence in my grilling abilities.

When the coals are ready Bob brings me a platter of raw Mahi Mahi steaks. I carefully move the fish onto the grill. Within ten minutes we have a savory entree. Bob prepares the cockpit table with wine glasses and dinnerware. We anticipate a quiet, congenial meal. As we begin to eat, Bob notices a droning sound. A large yacht, anchored much too close, is running its generator. We scan the yacht for signs of life, but see none. I might have tuned out the sound had Bob not become mildly enraged. We dine and converse, but Bob cannot ignore the double insult. I understand his feelings. Although I don't share them now, I have in other circumstances.

We enjoy the fish and finish a bottle of wine. Bob occasionally punctuates our discourse with a burst of outrage about the yacht. After our meal we begin to watch the yacht. There is little to see at first. Then people begin to exit an upper level door, only to re-enter on the lower level. I imagine these people sliding into a hot tub full of laughing friends. Later Bob tells me that the lower level is probably servants' quarters.

After dinner we brainstorm acts of retribution we might take. The worst are juvenile. Finally Bob shines a very bright light at the yacht. Soon a jaunty older man appears, taking a good long look at us. We stare back until he re-enters the yacht. Bob surmises that he is the skipper. We begin to believe that he has recognized his error, and that the yacht is moving away from us. However, after a long while we see that nothing has changed. Everyone on the yacht retires early, in stark contrast to other neighbors.

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