The beautiful islands of the Azores and their welcoming people kept us here for four days. As we wandered and explored Horta we met people we knew only from the airwaves. Everyone had a story to tell: twenty days with no wind; heavy winds and seas for those who came from the north; engine fires; broken auto helms; and a cracked hull. It made our 13 day crossing look like a party (which it was).

It’s usual to tie up three deep in European marinas and this one was no different. We were fortunate to have five guys from Newfoundland raft to us. They kept us laughing at their witticisms. They painted their boat name on the dock wall and it quickly turned into a comedy sketch as the five decided what to include in their creation. The artist however, objected to smiley faces and beer bottles. One night, I was reassured that I was not the only boat bitch when I heard their captain strongly admonish the crew for leaving their shoes on.

We had many comments about our collection of gerry cans. But after the Bermuda to Azores leg there was nothing but admiration for the difference a bit of extra diesel can make to your time. Even Tom from Canard Azul relented and took some of our diesel cans for their next leg.

We had a wonderful time catching up with people and finding out where they were going next. Gibraltar, England, Sweden, Spain and Portugal were on the agenda. We were losing our cruising buddies, just like high school graduation. We asked weather guru Herb for a Saturday departure and as usual, he delivered.

I quickly finished our painting on the famous wall, a badge of honour for all who sail here. We pulled out after a pizza and beer lunch (probably not a good idea) and into rough waters. For two days we experienced closed hauled sailing conditions. The weather continued to improve and soon we had near perfect conditions with wind on the quarter. It stayed like that for most of the passage. We maintained our position just ahead of the weather front. In fact, coming into Portugal was near perfection with sunny skies, flat water with long swells, and a great breeze.

Position: 4021.053N, 2051.138W, Steve and Ian decided to swim in three-mile deep water. Chuck slowed the boat to 1.5 knots and they jumped overboard. A quick photo and back onboard before an imaginary fin cut through the water. The only creature that evaded us the whole trip was the shark and yet every so often he made his presence known. Chuck trailed numerous Heineken cans on a line to attract fish to his two fishing lines. The can would disappear leaving a clean cut on the line. Even the black fin tuna he caught was a fishhead by the time he reeled it in.

The 900 miles flew by, we celebrated Chuck’s birthday and many books were devoured. Filling in the log was mandatory at the end of each shift and the following are some of the entries… “Alter course to north to pick up wind; Alter course to south to avoid winds; Received weather on SAT phone by e-mail from Bill; Two freighters passed to starboard; Bright, bright stars; Snuck up on a sleeping turtle; Moonrise, easily confused as a sailing vessel on the port side. Did not respond to hails on 16; Spectacular sunrise again; We saw the green flash; Bad propagation on SSB radio. No copy on Herb; Received UK weather faxes, surface analysis looks good; Pilot whales jumping; Land ho! 11:40am.”

On final approach to Portugal we had to regain the sharp lookout skills that turned to mush during the days with nothing in sight. Even a game of ‘I Spy’ seemed too much of a challenge. “Land ho,” yelled Steve, causing momentary excitement until he said it was six more hours to dock. The marina was a welcome sight, resting among high cliffs and a town dotted with rows of white houses. Mike, the dockmaster, waved us in and we tied up beside another Mason and only the second time we have encountered a sister ship.

The next day, two crew abandoned ship for some well-deserved shore leave. Steve and I stayed onboard to prepare for the haul-out. Sails were flaked; oil changed; cabins scrubbed; excess stores jettisoned; water tanks drained; diesel tanks topped up; lines washed and stowed; gerry cans tucked away; and decks swabbed. Whitestar will receive a well-deserved rest and refit on the hard. She took us safely through miles of lakes, canals, rivers and ocean, six countries and many many latitudes and longitudes… a larger than life adventure.

Overheard on the crossing…
“Don’t you just love life, it’s such an adventure.”   -Steve Delong, Captain.

“You don’t have to floss all your teeth, just the ones you want to keep.”   -Chuck Cherry, Oral Surgeon.

“Next time we do this let’s tow an overboard line with an alarm that sounds below.”   -Ian Delong, Inventor (comment made while wearing a lifejacket AND harness).

“Which one of you arseholes splashed on the toilet seat?”   -Deirdre Farrell, Chief Cook and Bottlewasher (for the Atlantic passage only).

Our rest stop in Bermuda turned into a 10-day holiday. During that time, Steve stuck his head down the hole and discovered the engine was overheating due to a leak in the heat exchanger. He ordered a new part to be shipped in from the US. Meanwhile, we explored the town of St. George and took a bus trip to the capital, Hamilton. Many an evening was spent in the Whitehorse Inn where sailors sit and wait to cross the ocean.

The Marion to Bermuda Race was in progress and we saw a variety of sleds manned by solo sailors as they came into the harbour. We saw only one motorboat, a Nordhaven, that made the crossing to the island. Bermuda is a sailboat haven as most motorboats do not have the fuel capacity to reach here. The most interesting boat we encountered was a 60’ racing boat, Tokio 11, one of two Whitbreads built. Tom, an Austrian, was waiting on the rest of his crew to arrive to take her to the Azores and mainland Europe. This bare bones boat is capable of reaching speeds of 40 knots (not fun – frightening, according to Tom) and needs a crew of linebackers to operate the winches. I guess they’ll whiz by us along the way.

As beautiful as it is, Bermuda is expensive. Everything is imported. Provisioning for food was not an issue for us as we had once again stocked up in Marathon, Florida. A lot of sailors were provisioning here but at $6US for four oranges that looked past their shelf life, there was a lot of grumbling. All I needed was some fresh vegetables and bread. Even the imported bread like ‘Wonderbread’ was $4.99US. Steve and Chuck went on the hunt for more yellow diesel gerry cans. They came up trumps at the local hardware store and bought the last six on the island. The extra cans mean our fuel capacity is 250 US gallons (130 in the tanks and 120 on the deck). Canard Azul unjustly accused us of looking like the Exxon Valdez. Jealous, I’m sure.

By Tuesday we were ready – fueled, watered and a new heat exchanger installed. We checked out beside the newly arrived monster cruise ship and were underway by noon. It was a beautiful day and we settled back to enjoy the sail in light winds and relatively calm seas. Tom, Jean, Dick and Conner on Canard Azul left shortly after. Steve chose the Great Circle Route, the shortest one at 1,770 miles.

Every day at 4pm, we listened to Herb’s weather predictions on the single sideband radio and I would take great delight in charting where we were in location to other boats. As usual, Steve thought the race was on. We were steadily gaining on the boats that left a day ahead of us. Before long, we passed Julane, Dream or Two, and Marigold. Sail joined the pack coming from the north. We left our friends on Canard Azul behind but promised to keep a few seats warm in Peter’s Sports Bar in Horta. We make great speed seldom dropping below 6 knots. The average sailboat takes from 17 to 21 days to sail this passage.

The weather was near perfect with 15 knots on the quarter. However, we did encounter one 30 knot squall that required rousing the crew at 4am to reef the sails. Whitestar thrives on these conditions. At one time, she was surfing down 10’ waves at 8.4 knots until a spoilsport ordered us to reef the jib.

We saw a few freighters on the horizon and as we neared the Azores one appeared out of the haze, five miles away. We chatted for a while. It’s funny what you see pass you by. Trash is plentiful but for Chuck it meant fish hiding beneath. Steve and Ian saw an oil drum with its top sticking out of the water.

Keeping a sharp watch pays as we spotted a whale blowing air just 50 feet from the boat. Luckily, he didn’t want to play with us. One morning we were enjoying tea on deck when we spotted a hundred porpoises chasing fish in the distance. Suddenly they swerved and came racing over to Whitestar. What a sight – they were having a great time, jumping out of the water high into the air trying to outdo each other as they jostled for position under the bow. They kept pace, occasionally dropping alongside to make sure we were watching. Later during the night they came back and called for Ian through the hull. He was sitting on the head at the time.

Crossing the Atlantic is a different kind of passage than any. One of the challenges is that you can only predict weather for five days ahead. After that, you take whatever comes. It usually is a 17 to 21 day journey.

We arrived in the Azores in record time. We were 13.5 days at sea. What an achievement. Steve is convinced this is a record for a Mason sailboat. We were the first of the boats to reach Horta from the group that left at the same and ahead of time.

The dock lines were secured, the life preservers stowed and the beer poured. Nelson, the security guard dropped by and admonished us gently for being three hours late. “You were expected at 10 pm.” We laughed, silently reflecting on the last 13.5 days alone at sea. Yet, we were never truly alone. Our fellow sailors were within miles and would divert if necessary. The understated bond of sailors at sea seems to strengthen with every degree of isolation. When we gathered in Pete’s Bar at the end of the passage, the exuberance of the celebration reflected each individual’s achievement.

The lady with the green eyes favoured us, again.

Received  this text message via the satellite phone today June 26:

WE ARE AT 38 04 N 46 33 W PLEASE POST ALLS WELL

We left Marathon on Saturday morning at 10:30am and into the Hawk Channel. Tropical depression Barry was passing to the north and left winds of 25 to 30 knots from the southeast. The storm blew for the three weeks previous before organizing itself into a cyclonic tropical storm in the Gulf of Mexico. This made for a choppy sail but we were keen to take advantage of the southwest quadrant of the storm and a great weather window for the next five days. During the afternoon, Steve and Chuck spotted a large structure sticking a few feet out of the water. Steve called it into the coastguard as a hazard to navigation.

We exited the Hawk Channel at Alligator Rocks and out into the Straits of Florida and the Gulf Stream. We enjoyed speeds of 8 to 9 knots with a following sea and winds of 15 knots (lovely). The only company we had that day was a huge school of dolphins who stayed close to Whitestar for a long time. Later that day, we left behind the Gulf Stream and cut through the Bahamas via the Providence Channel.

The next morning I came on deck to relieve Chuck of his watch and settled in to enjoy the peace of the morning. Suddenly the line on the fishing rod took off at lightening speed. I yelled for assistance as a dolphin fish (not the flipper variety) jumped out of the water. Steve fought valiantly with this beautiful yellow and blue fish and Chuck gaffed it onboard. A quick spray of alcohol ensured the 20lb female fish was stunned. I tried not to look as Chuck finished her off. He then filleted and bagged enough meat for three dinners.

We made a variety of meals with the fish we caught during the week. We baked and enjoyed them different ways – with poppyseed dressing, Italian style with basil, oregano, scallions and olive oil, and Chuck’s secret sauce which included cayenne and orange peel. We had a big one that got away and it was at least 30lbs, honest. We caught one the next day exactly the same size and with the same fight marks. He must have stayed with the boat the whole time.

Steve made contact with Herb Hellinger, a weather guru from St. Catherines who broadcasts on his marine ham radio. He is renowned for his predictions of forecasts in the Atlantic. We listened as boats all along the eastern seaboard and those crossing to the Azores, tuned in each day to hear about the weather in their area. At one point, he asked one captain his position and after his response said, “Oh dear.” The crew chose not to take his previous advice about a low pressure system moving into their path. I suspect an ‘oh dear’ from Herb is not a good thing and wonder how they made out…

We saw one other sailboat, Canard Azul, with Tom, Jean, Dick and Barbara. They hailed us, delighted to have company. Steve told them the race was on and the last one in had to buy the local drink – dark and stormies (black rum and gingerbeer). They accepted the challenge.

We had a great week of sailing averaging 6 knots but the winds slowly died as the tropical depression moved on. On approach to Bermuda however, the winds picked up between 25 to 30 knots. The day started with overcast skies and waves building to 9-12 feet. Every so often a 15 foot wave would loom beside Whitestar before lifting her up and surfing her along. It was a challenge to prepare food or even sleep, despite the lee cloths Steve had rigged before we departed.

Our engine overheated at the end of the week and we had to rely on sails for the last leg of the journey. Conditions were too rolly for Steve to stick his head down the engine. It was during this time that Canard Azul passed us. Jean later told us that she could see this white star in the night sky while on watch and had no idea that it was in fact our anchor light. They reached the custom dock one hour before we did early Sunday morning. The barometer was still dropping as we blew into St. Georges Harbour to the anchorage. We were greeted by the sight of about twenty boats of all sizes, some who would be making the crossing with us.

We assembled the dinghy ‘Realt Ban’ (Whitestar in Irish) and putted over to the town of St. George. The town with its narrow winding roads, flowering hedges and pastel houses reminded me of a typical Irish town. The abundance of palm trees and tropical flowers was the only contradiction. The welcoming atmosphere of the White Horse Inn beckoned us. This is a popular meeting place for sailors and it was here we finally met the crew of Canard Azul and some of the other boats in the anchorage.

We will stay for a few days while we rest, refuel, provision and prepare for the next leg, Bermuda to the Azores.

The next few weeks were busy as we prepared the boat for the big crossing. We were to lose a crew member and our salty dog; Aubrey and Chance were returning to Southwestern Ontario. It had been a wonderful six months cruising together and time for both to be with family and friends. We celebrated with our first McDonalds Big Mac in four months.

Mechanic number eight John, finally fixed our engine problem. He installed a new fuel injection pump. It was a beautiful moment as we sat in the cockpit listening to Steve throttle Mr. Diesel Sir, up and down, up and down. He was so happy he restarted it three times. I had to ask him to stop, as he was interrupting the tranquility of the evening.

There’s a lot of preparation before you sail large water, particularly this passage. While I returned to Ontario for two weeks, Steve worked steadily on installing new navigation lights, jack lines for harnesses, lee cloths in the bunks, sealing hatches, painting dorade vents, securing lifelines and replacing lines.

Our current insurance carrier did not cover Atlantic crossings or Europe. A survey was needed for the new insurance. Steve had Whitestar hauled out for a survey. The assessment concluded the boat is in excellent condition and needed minor upgrades. The rigging inspector said he had never seen such a well rigged vessel before.

Seventeen gerry cans of diesel were hauled onboard and lined up along the rub rail. We were now carrying 185 gallons of diesel, enough for six days motoring with no wind.

Chuck identified all available weather broadcasts and set a schedule for listening. He programmed his satellite phone to receive text messages while on route. A single sideband account was set up so we could use ship-to-shore communication through shipcom.com. This meant messages could be relayed to us enroute. We also had access to another weather routing resource with Herb Hellinger from Southwestern Ontario. He is the expert in Atlantic weather forecasts.

My biggest job was to provision for 44 days. I took stock of food onboard and what we would need for the journey. Even though we would stop in Bermuda, it was best to provision here in Marathon. Chuck checked my spice cabinet to make sure we had the ingredients for all the fish he was going to catch.

Every night before bed, I would read “Survivor” over Steve’s shoulder. I wondered at how people survived long periods of time on the ocean after a shipwreck. Our new life raft was delivered in a neat little white canister and stowed on deck. We got a free red emergency supplies floating bag with the purchase of another EPIRB at West Marine, one of Steve’s favourite stores (after Canadian Tire). The bag was soon full of flares, fishing line and hooks, and medicine. I think Chuck was secretly impressed with our range of medicine. As he looked it over he said, “that one (antibiotic) is for when you don’t know what’s wrong with you.” We also packed protein bars (the ones with the highest caloric intake), VHF radio, batteries, extra EPIRB, flashlight, medical kit (including a suture kit containing 5-0 nylon, 4-0 gut and 3-0 silk… in case Chuck and Ian had to perform surgery on the high seas). Oh, and books in case we got bored bobbing around in the raft. It’s so well equipped I hope we never need to use it.

It’s been blowing 20 to 30 knots every day for the last three weeks. Lots of sailors are sitting waiting across the Caribbean and Florida to go to Bermuda. We planned to leave anyway on June 1st and thankfully our weather window appeared again by magic for Saturday June 2nd. We are ready. Watch this space for an update from Bermuda.

As we pulled out of Kay West we shared the channel with the majestic Disney “Magic” cruise ship. She serenaded us with a blow of her horn that funnily enough, sounded like ‘dippedy do da dippedy day…’

After a beautiful sail, we turned toward Marathon and on approach hit a shallow sand bar in the middle of the channel. George and Ali, passing in their fishing boat, yelled to favour the left of the channel and then noticed we weren’t going anywhere. They turned back and offered to help us get off. We threw a line and George gunned his engine as we gunned ours. Suddenly we were moving again – woohoo! Unfortunately our engine died during the process. We dropped our end of the line at the same time that Ali dropped their’s and we watched as it disappear under the boat. Steve later retrieved it from its hold around the prop. George skillfully docked us at Burdine’s fuel dock and we shared happy hour… happy to have reached our destination.

The following morning as we prepared to leave, staff from the marina came onboard and presented gifts of dogfish, bananas and guava. They proceeded to make a delicious breakfast including a mame fruit milkshake. Luckily we had some Celine Dion, their favourite artist, on our ipod and we suffered through a few songs while breakfast was served.

We pulled out of Marina Gaviota early afternoon and hugged the Cuban coastline to take advantage of the night lee. We would wait to cross the gulf stream in daylight. The breeze remained gentle with a little wave action as we crossed the centre of the stream.

As we navigated the Straits of Florida we were amazed at the amount of freighters criss-crossing the waters. It’s quite disconcerting in the dark when you see lights in the distance. It takes a few minutes to see which way they are heading. One time we were on a collision course with one. We radioed to let him know we were altering our course and he never acknowledged. That has been typical of this trip – these beasts seem to view smaller boats like irritating gnats. It reminds me of the Gary Larson cartoon showing a freighter captain sticking yet another sailboat sticker on the side of his bow.

Apart from dodging freighters, our 225 mile journey was quite uneventful. Dawn saw the port of Key West in the distance and the most amazing shades of blue in the water. On approach we called customs and were told to dock and walk three blocks to their office. We tied up at the fuel dock of Bight Channel marina and headed into Key West. It’s a very happening spot with tourists milling around everywhere. On arrival at customs we were searched and let in. We cleared and asked if they would be inspecting the boat. No was their response. We were so used to being searched in Cuba that it was almost a disappointment.

Later Steve and I were enjoying a beer on the deck when a motorboat pulled alongside and Munroe offered to tour us around. We jumped onboard leaving a sad Chance behind. Munroe’s dog Tinker, didn’t want him on her boat. We roared around at the speed of sound taking in the sight of waterfront condos, bars, and mega yachts. We spent the next day enjoying the easy laid-back attitude of Key West and partied until we got kicked out of the bars. The drinking age in Florida is 21. Aubrey is five years too young!

We made a lot of decisions the last few days we were in Grand Cayman. One is to cross the Atlantic to Spain and leave Whitestar at Jackie and Bill’s place near Alicante. We would have better access to our little ship if she was docked there. It would be sacrilege to leave this beautiful blue water vessel on dry dock in Florida until we were ready to cruise again. We also decided to sail back to real life … and work. Jackie announced her retirement and would have plenty of opportunity to get to know Whitestar as well as we did. Our initial plans to go to Little Cayman and Jamaica were revised. We needed to reach Florida to prepare boat and crew for the crossing in early June.

We provisioned and prepared to leave Grand Cayman saying goodbye to new and old friends. Chuck and Monica were heading to Little Cayman and on to Columbia. They would join Monica’s family and have repairs done on their trawler. Chuck surprised us by announcing he would love to cross the Atlantic. We promised to meet up in Marathon at the end of May. Steve’s son Ian, always ready for a new adventure, signed up as crew too. We left Grand Cayman early evening to sail the 275 miles to the west tip of Cuba. This was the fastest route and for once, we would sail downwind. The crossing was perfect although someone didn’t take her Sturgeon in time and was quite queasy. I wondered how I would be sailing across a vast ocean.

As dusk fell and the first stars appeared, we saw a baby dolphin frolicking around the boat. We thought it unusual for him to be on his own but when I checked the bow, there was a whole pod of them riding the bow wave. They pushed and jostled each other for the prime position directly under the pulpit. The night passed uneventfully. Sunday morning was the same with Aubrey, Chance and I relaxing in the cockpit until a huge wave broke over us, soaking us to the skin. Even Steve who was napping below caught some of the salty spray that went down the hatch. The wind did not die down until late afternoon allowing us to breaking our 6.5 knot average. We had one reefed gib, one cutter sail and a reefed main working for us and, during the night, we clocked 7.8 knots. Later that evening we had more guests riding our bow wave when two six foot porpoises stayed with us for a long stretch. They were very animated and chatted with us in a high pitch squeal and loud clicks.

The western most tip of Cuba had once again a confused sea, and we battled a tidal current before pulling into Marina Gaviota around 1pm. We went through a thorough inspection, even more thorough than the previous one at Marina Hemingway. Our oranges and apples were poked and prodded and eventually our boat was pronounced clean. I thought we looked a right sight after our 44 hour crossing. We settled in for a relaxing afternoon before crashing for a well deserved sleep.

The focus of the next day was preparing for the next leg of our journey; Cabo San Antonia to the Florida Keys. Chance had a wonderful time. A typical salty dog, he jumped into the water at every opportunity. Of course he loves to share, and shook over whomever was standing nearby.

The Cayman Islands are made up of Grand Cayman, Cayman Brac and Little Cayman, and are still a crown colony of Britain. A contradiction: sophisticated and stylish, they boast the fifth largest financial centre in the world; yet enjoy a laid-back Caribbean pace of life. Although their location in the western caribbean puts them out of the general hurricane belt, they are still cleaning up after Ivan in 2004. This hurricane, the first significant one to strike since 1932, devastated most of the island. You can still see signs of rebuilding everywhere.

On Saturday morning we were hailed by immigration to dock and clear customs. The norther was moving in as Steve motored into a tiny dock. It was about 60 feet long and could accommodate one boat. The dock ended at a sand beach and a huge coral rock sat right in the middle of the small harbour. There was little room to manouver and we were glad we came in on the weekend; avoiding the monstrous cruise ships and their shuttle passenger boats which make this a very busy landing spot. We rode in on six foot swells and as we prepared to dock, the immigration officer yelled that we should take the papers, fill them in and bring them back another time as “it’s too rough here for you guys.” I wonder why they requested us to clear in the first place. It was too late. We were committed and threw him our lines. While Steve cleared customs, Chuck’s friend Rob came on board to help us navigate our way to the canals beside his home. Aubrey and I worked on keeping the boat from crashing up against the wall with every surge. Steve, aware of the increase in the wind and waves, jumped on board, ordered us untied and threw the boat into full reverse, hoping the catamaran waiting to take our place would stay well out of our way. I really don’t know how he kept us from being driven up on the beach just a few feet ahead.

Relieved to be in one piece, we headed around to the north side of the island and into very rough seas. Rob, a boater too, jokingly asked where his lifejacket was. He directed us to the entry of the bay and we surfed in between the reef and into the man-made canals and his home. Our deep draft kept us from docking right at his house and we left Whitestar beside his other property a few canals down. Chuck and Monica with their shallow draft, motored their boat right up to his dock. We spent Easter weekend enjoying Rob and Juanna’s hospitality. On Easter Monday we moved into the Seven Mile Beach Resort which is also managed by Rob.

Seven Mile Beach is known as the most expensive beach in the world. If you have $2.9 million to spare, you can buy a two bedroom apartment at the Ritz. After being in Cuba for two months we soon realized we would have no problem spending money here. The isolation of these islands does not prevent the flow of British and American goods, for which you pay premium price. I was estatic. I found Strongbow cider at Fidel Murphys; Rowntrees Fruit Pastilles in the liquor store; sliced bread; Burger King; and even a Royal Bank of Canada. Restaurants are plentiful and we dined greedily. One night Rob’s friend Bruno prepared our Cuban crocodile at his restaurant. He created a delicious assortment of green curry, blackened, and sweet and sour croc. We were fast putting on the pounds so Chuck bullied us into dusting off our running shoes to work for breakfast at the Ritz. Running three miles to the hotel in this heat is crazy. Thankfully it was too hot to run home and we slowly sauntered back along the beach to the resort. We also checked out the many pubs around the island, too many to mention.

There was plenty to see and do here and our time filled in easy. Aubrey and I learned to dive and achieved our PADI certification. On dive three and four, Steve came along to experience some of the best diving for which the Caymans is reknown. I fear we were spoiled with our first experience. We descended to 60 feet, headed around the reef and almost bumped into two baracuda stalking reef fish. It’s an amazing feeling when you can reach out and almost touch a turtle as he glides by or watch a stingray rise out of his hiding place in the sand. But the most amazing and eerie sight was the 30 huge tarpon fish sitting suspended under the reef shelf, waiting on night to fall to hunt. As we swam within six feet, not one of them moved – they just watched. The reef is abundant and the coral more vibrant than when you view it from the porthole of a submarine. The tourist sub however, is was worth doing and we descended 100 feet and saw the great Cayman shelf, shipwrecks, amazing sea life, and even a mermaid.

Despite the laws around the importation of animals, Chance once again, was the life of the party. By the end of our three weeks here, he had more friends than the rest of us. He even had our condo neighbour Joe sucked in to taking him for walks every day. Steve considered starting a pet therapy session on the beach for tourists who feel bad about leaving their own dogs at home. They could line up for a pat, a hug, or a walk. I anticipate an ncrease in inquiries to customs about bringing dogs next year.

We readied the boat for departure with the help of the only sailmaker on the island. Monica, an ex-pat from Hamilton Ontario, did a great job of repairing the big rip in our gib. As we prepared to leave we reflected on how we have fallen in love with the majesty and beauty of Grand Cayman. The warm hospitality of Rob and Juanna certainly added to the whole experience. I know it will be on our cruising itinerary again in the future.

We rested and enjoyed this little tourist town for a few days. When the ideal weather window presented, we would leave Cuba and sail south to the Cayman Islands. Chuck has a timeshare in Georgetown on Grand Cayman and we accepted his generous offer to spend two weeks there. As we chatted with the Cuban workers at the marina, we were conscious we would soon be leaving this simple and peaceful life behind. For a few more days however, we would soak up what Cayo Largo had to offer. Steve took the opportunity to enquire about a diesel mechanic and we were surprised when he showed up without having to fill in the usual mountains of paperwork. After two days they were stumped. They did however, show Steve how to fire up the engine with a spray of gasoline in the air intake.

One afternoon we went to Hotel Sol Melia to use the internet and noticed none of the guests were wearing wristbands. As we approached the bar, the waiter asked what we would like and promptly served us. We ordered hamburger and fries, our first since leaving the US. We met an old work colleague of Steve’s while sitting in the open air bar. Steve McKeown and his wife Jane were staying at the hotel for one week. It’s a small world when you bump into someone from 20 years ago. They were concerned someone from home would see them on the nude beach. We caught up on events at home and joined the rest of the guests heading into dinner.

The next evening the town square filled up with tourists and staff from the surrounding hotels and we danced into the early hours of the morning. The music outlasted us, throbbing away while people departed back to their hotels and lodgings. On Thursday Steve announced the weather window had moved up and the ideal time to go was that night. A northerner was coming through, interrupting the 20 knot trade winds and promising perfect conditions (a norther in the tropics is unlike one in Canada: it shifts the trade winds ahead from east to north west, providing an opportunity to avoid the usual ten foot swells.) A huge cold front was predicted to move into the northwest caribbean on Friday night or Saturday morning and we needed to reach the Cayman islands before it did. We prepared to leave and cleared with immigration at the marina before heading out to the anchorage to prepare for an overnight sail. The 138 miles would take us 26 hours to motor/sail. While we made dinner, the marina motorboat came out to visit and the immigration officer onboard told us to leave immediately as we had cleared earlier. Two hours later we sailed out of Cayo Largo heading for Grand Cayman.

It was a beautiful night sail illuminated by stars and sparkling fluorescent plankton. As always on an overnight sail, we had two crew on deck at all times. We averaged 6.5 knots, increasing to 7.5 knots later on. After a few hours Chuck’s boat was no longer visible on radar as he motored ahead. Dawn saw a freighter cross our path on it’s route to Mexico. Other than that, nothing until 15 miles from land. Two swallows circled Whitestar heading in the same direction. I spotted a basketball (Wilson?) bobbing in the water and wondered where it came from. Chuck and Monica reached land only three hours ahead as they stopped to fight a five foot marlin on the end of their line. Monica took photos and they released the marlin for another day. Actually, they have no room in their crocodile and lobster infested freezer. As we pulled into the anchorage at Georgetown the engine died. Steve did his usual ‘drop that anchor right now’ routine (Steve aside: much grumbling from the foredeck as usual). We dropped and spent a rocky night in a north west swell.