Thanksgiving in Tortola

Reporting from 18 22.918N, 64 42.350W. Thanksgiving in Tortola. 900 miles after Bermuda and more than 1,600 from Boston.

The Welcome motored the last 36 hours of our voyage in variable winds ranging from zero to five knots south, right on the nose. The crew conferred about whether it would be better to arrive in the middle night or early morning, and whose watch would be improved. We decided that a little sleep prior to going through customs would be preferable, and revved the engine to 2500 RPMs. The risk was that we would run out of fuel, since consumption increases with higher speeds. We had filled our 37 gallon internal tank in Bermuda, and carried an extra 10 gallons on deck in two five gallon yellow jerry jugs. We added the extra diesel to the main tank the last day, and placed bets about whether we would have sufficient fuel to motor to our destination. Wagers were taken about how much fuel, if any, would be left upon arrival. Without wind, our only alternative was to drift to Tortola. We celebrated what we assumed to be our final night at sea with white wine, cheese and saltines. We talked about how wonderful it had been. The final few days at sea erased those hellish days on the first leg. Everyone appeared enthusiastic for another leg. Wine is an amazing thing.

We trailed and then passed another sailboat rocking its way to Tortola. It was named Surprise, from Boise, Idaho. Its home port is a surprise but as we waved, we did not ask the obvious. As we slipped past the port side of the boat, porpoises began to jump around us. It was our first sighting of other mammals in six days. The sun set and we could see the reflection of the lights of St. Thomas and San Juan in the distant night sky. Eventually, the distant lights of Tortola were spotted. Donna slept the cockpit under the stars when Michael came on watch at 2:30 a.m. When she woke up at 3:30, Jay was in the cockpit, and Tortola was visible. Ann came up, and we all offered advice as Michael steered us to our destination. Heavy cloud coverage eliminated the usual moon light. Despite the lack of navigation aids on the charts, there was a blinking white light on shore. Unable to see it with the night-vision goggles and after some debate about whether it was set by pirates
trying to lure us into danger, we left it on port, and saw the anchor lights of resting sailboats in Soper's Hole. We searched for the BVI custom's building, and picked up a mooring. It was 5 a.m. on November 24, 2005, seven days after leaving Bermuda. We could smell the flowers on the island. Dogs howled in the distance. Roosters were beginning their morning announcements. It was very different than the noises of the sea. We all crashed into dream filled sleep, with Ann and Michael sleeping on deck. Our wake up call was rain. Some fellow appeared demanding a fee for using the mooring, but Donna sent him on his way by declaring that the boat had not been there long enough to warrant at fee.

Customs opened at 8:30. We brought the boat to the cement dock about an hour ahead of time. Jay decided to not declare the flare guns unless asked, so he carried them in his pockets. We cleared Customs after paying a $200 duty for "temporarily importing" the boat. No request for flare guns was made, so John Wayne remained armed. We went across the small harbor to the fuel dock, and filled up with 31.8 gallons of diesel. Ann won the bet. Michael offered to pay for a marina berth for the day to help us unload. We all packed our duffels, loaded the extra food into bags, and then called our spouses at the rental house, Jacaranda. Rachel answered and you could hear the scream all over Tortola. Was it because we arrived, or because she won the on land bet about when we would call? Instantly, our spouses appeared. A better landing cannot be imagined.

The next day, we got to the marina early and did a very thorough deep cleaning of the boat. We sailed to our new home. The on shore crew got a taste of how wonderful sailing can be as we beat our way east up Sir Francis Drake Channel. We brought the boat to its winter berth at Penn's Landing on the East End of Tortola. We all agreed that it will be a good place for Welcome to rest. Donna arranged for the stuffing box to be tightened, the bilge pump to be repaired, and the wood work to be replenished. It is a small marina, but it had a number of fine boats in its care, and from what we could see, the care was top notch. Walter at Penn's Landing, went through the boat systems with Donna. The marina staff will be checking systems. Walter , the manager, reminisced about his visits to Boston, and sailing at the Boston Sailing Center, a place where Jay was once the manager and Donna once worked.

One important note about our blog readers, both Admiral Mike (a friend of Kate and Donna's) and Brad (a friend of Ann and Rachel's), respectfully noted that our blog entry about the square mileage of our vista was incorrect. Mike McKenna notes " I cannot, however, let your math problem go by without comment. For a height of eye of 6 feet, the distance to the horizon is about 2.9 nautical miles, not 15. The formula is: Square root of the height of eye in feet multiplied by (about) 1.17 is the distance to the horizon in nautical miles. Square root of 6 = ~2.5; 2.5 x 1.17 = 2.9 nm. Example using simpler number: height of eye 9 ft, square root is 3. Multiply by 1.17 = 3.51 nautical miles. Because of the uncertainties in estimating height of eye, difficulty in doing arithmetic, etc., I usually simplify the process by just choosing a height of 9 feet instead of 6, and multiply the square root (3) times 1.1 instead of 1.17 to get a distance to the horizon of 3.3 nm (3 x 1.1). Close enough for government work. If you want to know how far away you can see a 100-foot high lighthouse on the coast if your height of eye is 9 feet:
Distance to horizon for your eye: 3.3 nm
Distance to horizon for top of lighthouse: 11.0 nm (square root of 100 Distance to the LH when you just can see its top: 14.3 nm (the sum of the two above)
(If you used 6 foot height of eye and the 1.17 factor, you would have gotten 15.2 nm.) No big deal.

You can use a variation of that procedure for estimating the distance to a passing ship which is hull-down (its water line is below the direct path of your vision), using a guess of how much of the ship you cannot see for its height. A caveat: all these calculations are based upon having no atmosphere through which you view the object or the horizon. You'll usually be able to see something like 10% farther because of the refraction of the light rays arriving at your eye. Proof is left to the student."

That means our entry bragging about a 708 square mileage view is SUBSTANTIALLY off, and our view was more like 34 square miles.

After a few days with our spouses in this group situation, we have run out of stories to tell. We are just satisfied with having done something that was personally challenging. We faced previously unimaginable situations, yet situations which were mundane to the many who sailed before us and which became ordinary to us. We stretched and were rewarded. It is now easier to imagine the next adventure. We have been overwhelmed by the support of our shore crew and the interest shown by our blog readers. Thank you all. It really helped knowing that we had a community rooting for us, and wishing that they could do something like this. Our advice: if you have a wish, make it happen. You will not regret your effort. Life is short and you do not know when it will end.

Bon voyage and bon courage

The Crew of Welcome III