Sunday, November 13, 2005

Welcome III arrived in the lovely archipelago of Bermuda yesterday at around 8:30 p.m. Atlantic time after five and one-half days at sea. Jay was excited to raise both our Bermuda flag and the yellow quarantine flag required to be flown until a boat clears customs. We checked in with Bermuda Harbor Radio on VHF channel 16 as local protocol requires. We approached Bermuda from the north, but the mandatory entry to clear customs is St. George's Harbor on the south side. Huge coral reefs surround Bermuda. Heavy seas, high winds and and our lack of familiarity with the navigation lights made entry somewhat treacherous. Danny, running Bermuda Harbor Radio, followed our entry on radar and maintained constant radio contact with us giving us precise directions for entering the harbor. He also asked us a lot of questions which seemed designed to test us, such as whether we were northeast or southeast from various flashing buoys. Michael did a superb job of driving, Ann was in charge of visual navigation, Jay and I reviewed the Nobeltec charts on the PC and conversed with Danny from the cabin.

Customs is on Ordnance Island. We were met by Bernie, who directed us to shift our fenders and docking lines to the other side and to dock on the port. He took our docking lines and helped us with lots of advice about docking in a thick accent. He told us to remove the flare guns from the boat and to go inside. As we climbed off the boat, we saw a recently deceased and squished flying fish on our deck. We stumbled along the pier, still rocking after so many days on the boat. We became silly with our joy of arrival. We walked around still wearing our foulies and life jackets. The fellow who stamped us in at customs and confiscated the flare guns did not seem amused by our hilarious comments. A shocking lack of humor. Perhaps the fumes from an unwashed crew deprived him of his senses. More likely, we were just being fools. But, it does seem universal that the people who join the customs services in every country are required to have dour personalities. When we exited, Bernie asked us where we were staying and we asked for advice. He gave us a card for Captain Smokes Marina down the harbor a ways and hopped in his car to meet us there, since everyone else was "out partying." Promised that there would be showers there. Turns out that Bernie monitors Bermuda Harbor Radio and runs down to greet boats and direct them to his marina.

Captain Smokes Marina sits at 32 22.688 N, 064 40.934 W. We arrived at the darkened marina consisting of about seven other much larger sailboats all backed into a cement wall. Bernie shouted from shore that he had a line to pass us to tie to our bow as we backed in and we should grab our boat hook. We learned that Neptune stole the boat hook offshore, and Bernie needed to physically pass the line to us. As most sailors know, sailboats are not meant to back up. If you have an engine, the boat generally backs to port. Never straight. Plus, the boat is influenced by currents and wind. Take it slowly. Ann and I put out lines. Micheal jumped on the next boat with a line to help maneuver and fend off. Jay brought the boat back flawlessly. As the boat now sits with three lines off the stern. How to exit? Well, one literally has to walk a plank from the stern rail to the cement wall above. Since we did not have any balance left, we were all petrified to cross the ten foot span on an eighteen inch board. However, motivated by the promise of showers, we braved the plank to discover one shower in this luxury marina. One more than we had seen in almost a week, we were happy. And, at last, clean.

We celebrated our arrival with wine and pistachios and calls to spouses. We joked about how nice it was going to be to use a toilet without both legs braced against the wall and hands holding tight to rails as it rocked beneath us. Despite our pleasure with the new watch system of 90 minutes, we were thrilled to be off watch and for the first time, all four bunks were used for a solid night's sleep for all.

Bernie was at the stern of the boat this morning, claiming that the plank had dropped in the water overnight, but he had put it back. Bernie was born on the island of Bermuda, and is in his seventies. He has done a lot of off shore sailing, and was quite willing to address whatever questions we might have about laundry, breakfast, chandleries, etc. Asked for a recommendation for a breakfast place, he gave us directions to Goals Club. A long walk but worth it for a good English breakfast of bangers. How long a walk? Maybe seven minutes or so, he thought. On the way, Ann explained to the vegetarians among us that bangers are a type of sausage. Climbing the hill to breakfast, turns out that Goals Glub was actually a golf club with a restaurant named Mulligans. Despite the fact that none of us have ever eaten at a club that had good food, we ventured forth for a surprisingly satisfying meal.

The eleventh minute, of the eleventh day of the eleventh month was two days ago, but Bermuda commemorated its veterans (or really the Crown's veterans) with a memorial day ceremony in the town square today. We happened upon the ceremony as we were walking back from breakfast. It started with the military guard accidently dropping the flag on the ground, and the watching police captain turnign around to hide his laughter. Next came the arrival of the Crown's appointed premier, the governor, and the leader of the opposition party. Lined up were the fire department in their blue polo shirts and baseball caps, the police force in quite wonderful uniforms reminiscent of the red uniforms of the Queen's guards, the navy (20 men), the army (about 25 men and women), veterans ( many older men and one white woman), boy scouts (maybe eight boys) and brownies (ten young girls in drooping knee socks, skirts and yellow sweatshirts). One of the fire fighters keeled over, flat on his face. No one at attention moved. The dignitaries walked among those standing at attention inspecting the troops. A band of overweight musicians played what we assume to be patriotic music. The dignitaries were each given a wreath the place at the base of a memorial statue. A minister talked about our duty to spread the word of god around the world. Colonialism is not dead. The top of the hierarchy walked up the hill to the Anglican church for service and those who were part of the ceremony paraded past us, brownies last in line.

We checked out the local grocery store and were delighted to see a large supply of gin. We were greatly disappointed to be refused the opportunity to buy it, this being a Sunday. Many boat chores were begun, and some even finished. Cushions were thrown outside for drying. Bins were opened to dry. Laundry gathered and put in garbage bags. Drop, wash and fold was not available at the laundromat, so we decided to wait until Monday to get our laundry done. Michael was so disgusted with his dirty clothing that he grabbed the large bucket from the boat to soak all of his high tech synthetics. The odor eating properties of the fabrics had failed. The festering mass required immediate attention. He was so appalled that he did not examine what he dropped into the disinfectant. He traveled the gang plank at various tides to stir his brew. It was not until the end of the day, when he went to dry the clothing, that he discovered he had done Jay's laundry. His remained in a similar garbage bag still festering under a bunk on the boat.

Nothing is open in Bermuda on Sunday, at least not on the east end of Bermuda. We compiled a list for tomorrow's chores and did what we could with tools and parts on board. The manual bilge pump was disassembled to determine why it was not pumping. A small wooden splinter was removed and it now works. The electric bilge pump was removed to ready the boat for its replacement tomorrow. Michael sewed the battered leech of the stay sail, and repaired the casing for the life sling. He has a future as a chandler. Ann dealt with provisions, dumped rotted food, rearranged the food which was still good, assessed needs, made lunch, put many band aids on Michael, and otherwise tried to organize the disorganization below. The lazy jacks for the mainsail was repaired. That involved yet another trip up the mast with Donna in the Bosun's chair. We re rigged the sheets on the stay sail to enable quick release in the event that the storm jib needs to be raised. Jay hung his soaked navigation CDs in an attempt to salvage them. During lunch, we notice that one on the spokes of the steering wheel was broken and the need for a welder was discovered. Bernie offered to drive Donna to one in the morning. Michael and Ann are headed to the Laundromat and cybercafe tomorrow. Jay is headed to the chandlery in Hamilton for a book hook, bilge pump, new block for the running back stay, and who knows what other essentials which will appear between now and then. Donna will try to get the electronics tended to.

The best part of this marina is the other sailors. Everyone is heading south. Everyone has storm stories. Others suffered far greater challenges than we did, despite superior boats. Equipment breakage seems to be fairly distributed. One woman showed me her eight stitches from a fall similar to the one Ann took. Most sailors are waiting until at least Thursday because of two weather systems promising large westerly waves against strong easterly winds. We are still assessing our departure day depending on the weather and repairs yet to be made. We will keep you updated.

The crew of Welcome III.