The Voyage of Spectacle

We arrived in Tortola yesterday (on time!) after a low-drama, almost uneventful passage.

As gloriously uneventful as this passage was, there was one thing that was decided out of the ordinary.

At around 4:00 yesterday morning we both had to be awake to begin navigating our approach to Tortola through the various out islands in the way.  The sun came up around 6:45 and created some beautiful views, of which we have extensive pictures.  We bisected Hans Lollick Island and Great Tobago Cay and entered the relatively shallow (150 feet or so) and protected “bay” (is that what you’d call it?) to the east of St. Thomas, the north of St. John, the west of Tortola and the southwest of Jost van Dyke.

At around 7:30 a.m., I was looking down at the chartplotter, doing some navigation work.  Melissa was standing up on the port bench, looking out over the dodger.

All of the sudden, she said, “Whale …… Whale!”

“Whale?” I said, not really looking up.  OK, dolphin, maybe…

“WHALE!!!” she nearly shreiked.

I jumped up.  I had missed it.  She pointed.  “There it was, and it’s going that way.”

We followed the path.  About 45 seconds later, the whale surfaced again.  It was a full-grown humpback whale.  It had to be 40-50 feet long.  It didn’t breach, but it spouted air and we had a fantastic view of its back and fluke (which was totally out of the water).  Pretty amazing stuff really.

We will be making lots of repairs here in Tortola, so it’s hard to know how much time we’ll have to really go see the area.

I have never seen the movie “Free Willy.”  Given that it was made for kids, I always assumed that the villain’s planned calamity for Willy was something like being sold to a third-world water park where he wouldn’t receive the same pampering treatment that made him such a loveable scamp at his current performing home.

Only now, after perusing imdb.com, do I realize that in fact the villain intended to KILL Willy and collect the insurance money.  Wow … that’s pretty dark for a Disney kids movie.

Had Disney gone with my plot line, Willy would have been sold to Ocean World.  It’s basically Sea World without Shamu – various creepy dolphin exhibits, some sea lions, a fake beach – you get the drift.  Ocean World also gets pretty low points for creativity in branding.  Did you think of that name all by yourself?  Do you serve the “Big Mick”, just like McDowell’s?

Somewhere along the way, Ocean World got the idea to open a marina.  This wasn’t a completely crazy idea, as this particular part of the world (the northern coast of Dominican Republic) has no marinas in the neighborhood.  We previously had been unaware of Ocean World (as it had just opened in December 2006 and was not in any of the books we had), but we decided to check it out once our tribulations at the Old Dock reached the point of multiple shipping boats cutting our anchor rode.

After the 30-minute trip over, we approached and three golf carts with about nine staff members zoomed up to greet us.  I thought, “What service!” as Melissa threw them dock lines.  They stood there holding them, dumbfounded.

“You want to tie up the boat?” I queried somewhat sarcastically.

Apparently, no.  They stood there holding the lines until we got off the boat and did it ourselves.

That sort of sums it up.  This is a very new, very expensive and very crappy marina – the Ishtar of marinas.  They have spent millions on it, and they are going to lose their ass.  They’ve only been open for three months and, already, they have a wide-spread (and well-earned) reputation for having a ridiculous surge even on the far inside of the breakwater – that’s a death knell for a marina.  Indeed, nearly all our docklines are all ruined by chafe.  And, oh yeah – it’s 50% more expensive than any other marina we’ve visited.

As the pictures make clear, this is a ridiculous place.  There is no end to the tacky aquatic décor — fish couches (the picture of Melissa is on one of about ten different such designs), preposterous over-decoration, weird frescoes, a bar shaped like an octopus, etc., etc., etc.

The main building is pretty calamitous.  On the ground floor, there are two awful restaurants, which were totally empty unless a caravan of pre-paid, packaged tour guests happened to roll in for some cheap buffet food (the smell of abusively overcooked lobster permeates the entire marina).  On the second floor, there is a small and decidedly mediocre casino (although it had the loosest Texas Hold ‘Em game I’ve ever seen – it was like taking free money, which paid for much our stay).  The third floor is home to “Bravissimo!” – their “Vegas-style” show.  Never ones to pass up a chance to view unintentional comedy, we bought our tickets.  Wow.  It shatters the Unintentional Comedy Scale.

Next to the main building is some sort of ersatz “fort.”  This may have gone up because they stumbled upon a discount sale on cannons.  Apparently all marinas need a fort to defend them (see, e.g., Marina Fort Louis).  Needless to say, that French fort has actually been in battle and doesn’t have an empty “supermarket” on the ground floor or golf carts parked in front of it.

However, Ocean World did have an air-conditioned room with high-speed internet, a nearby, off-premises mini-market that sold cheap, cold, large Presidentes, and a few helpful staffers (especially Jolise).  We also got to see a sea lion do the meringue – it’s not every day you get that chance. What a ridiculous place.  More Pictures 

Episode I – Fiasco Autopilot

“If you had told me two years ago that I’d have a tranny-adjacent, Bahamian auto-pilot repair man who shares my name climbing around on my bed (that’s where the access to the autopilot is), I’d have suggested you get your head examined.”

At long last, the long-promised first installment of “Tale of the Twin Fiascoes” has arrived.  Given its length, we’ve posted it on a separate page, which you can find here.

Episode II — Big Wind = Not Fun

At one point, Erik was wretching over the starboard cockpit combing, and I was puking away over the port cockpit combing.  Only Melissa emerged unscathed.

Again on its own separate page, you can find Episode II of “Tale of the Twin Fiascoes” here. 

Episode III — The Thrill of Victory and the Agony of Defeat

So as we bashed upwind through the night, I thought about the apologetic phone call I was going to have to make to my mother in which I was not only going to have to explain that Erik wouldn’t be home for Christmas but that the reason for this was that the boat had no engine and was losing power.  I’m sure just having two of her sons out sailing on the open ocean already had my mother replaying  Ordinary People in her head.

For the latest in our continuing saga, check out Episode III here.

Episode IV — Christmas Really Is a Holiday in the Turks and Caicos

“Get the flares,” I told Erik.  We proceeded to shoot two flares at this plane.  We waved our arms in a distress motion.  We couldn’t possibly have been more obvious in trying to convey that we were indeed the boat for whom they were looking.

Why are we shooting flares at planes?  Read on to Episode IV, which you can find here.  

Episode V — A Retrieval With “Flare”

Of course, after firing off 5 cannon flares, 4 pistol flares, all sorts of smoke flares, self-firing parachute flares, an assortment of handheld flares, and plenty of duds — well, after all that you begin to feel like you know what you are doing.  You also get trigger happy.

For the exciting conclusion of “Tale of the Twin Fiascoes”, click here.

Our original plan, made some 12 months ago, called for a stop in the Dominican Republic around now.  Although this stop was later revised out of existence (until, of course, we ended up halfway needing to stop), I still remembered that baseball season was in full swing in late January.

Upon our arrival in Puerto Plata, I immediately checked the internet to see what the beisbol happenings were, and I was pleased to see that we were just a two days away from the beginning of the Dominican championship series between Licey and Aguilas Cibaenas, the two most storied teams in the Dominican Republic.  This is a major rivalry – trust me and this two-year-old article from the S.F. Chronicle (although they are dead-ass wrong about who the “Yankees” are).

Aguilas is the “new money” club.  Although they have been around for 70 years, eight of their 19 titles have come in the last 12 years.  Of the two, they have a richer owner and a more mercenary attitude – a bit like the Yankees. 

Licey is the more “old-school” of the two clubs.  In existence since 1907, Licey also has 19 titles, but most of theirs came back when the Celtics were good at basketball.  Licey also has a reputation of being much more community friendly and having a stronger interest in developing young talent.

The winner of this series goes on to play in the Caribbean World Series, an annual tournament between the D.R., Mexico, Puerto Rico and Venezuela.  The Dominican champion has won six of the last 10 Caribbean World Series titles, so one could make the argument that the Dominican championship series is the “real” Caribbean World Series.

It would be hard to find something more “up our alley” than this.  Obviously, we had to go.

This is a best-of-nine series, and Game One was played at the 18,077-seat Estadio Cibao in Santiago, about a one-hour drive from Puerto Plata.  Given the insane nature of automotive transportation here, we opted to pay to have Roberto (our “fixer” – more on him and his family later) rent a car, and he came with us to Santiago.

Roberto is a Licey fan.  Given their (1) underdog nature, (2) general “good-guy” role, and, most importantly, (3) lovely blue uniforms, Melissa also became a “Liceyita” after stating “I like blue.”  I, on the other hand, decided to try to experience what it’s like to be a Yankee fan.  I became an “Aguilucho.”

Roberto has been absolutely fantastic, and one reason for this is that he really knows where the good restaurants are.  About 15 minutes outside of Puerto Plata, he pulled off the road and down a dirt driveway.  At the bottom of the driveway was a pile of burning trash and about 25 cars parked in a disorganized jumble.  This is where we’re having lunch, eh?

We walked up the hill to the jam-packed Restaurant Jhony, which was tremendous.  Delicious grilled lobsters all around, cold Presidentes, cheap bill.  Perfect.  Roberto is a wise man.

Eventually, we made it to Santiago, the Dominican  Republic’s second-largest city.  I can’t say I’d recommend Santiago to you.  Puerto Plata has poverty and garbage (we’re not staying at the surrounding Potemkin tourist villages, but its character more than compensates).  Not much character in Santiago.

As we tried to park the car and scalp some tickets, we were absolutely mobbed – and this was four hours before game time.  After we picked up some hats (Licey for Melissa and Roberto, Aguilas for me), it only got worse.  Random men on the street would (good naturedly and always with a smile) make all sorts of throat-slashing gestures at Melissa and offer concomitant comments regarding Licey’s chances.  Trying to scalp tickets in a foreign language is tough enough if you have a seating chart of the stadium; without one, you’re just asking to be ripped off.

Eventually, we convinced some Aguilas officials to let us in to see the stadium so we could figure out the section in which we should buy tickets.  They were very nice, and it was cool to see a bit of batting practice with essentially no one else inside.

We headed back outside, negotiated with about eight different scalpers, and secured three tickets about 20 rows behind the first base dugout for $40 each.  Tickets in hand, we decided to walk through Santiago in search of a pre-game libation.  This proved surprisingly taxing.  In our quest for a beer, we walked over a bridge, looked to the right, were startled, and had to take a picture.  I’ll let it speak for itself.  We ended up at a surprisingly charming car-wash-by-day, roadhouse-by-night establishment, had a few Presidentes, and made it back to the stadium.

Inside, the atmosphere was great.  Melissa took extensive video, and eventually we’ll get some of it up on the site.  Santiago native Jose Lima (yes, that Jose Lima) was on the hill for Aguilas, clearly “representing” for his people, and soft-throwing journeyman (to say the least) left-handed gringo sacrifice Lindsay Gulin was pitching for Licey.

In the top of the first, Lima took his usual histrionics completely over the top, nearly being ejected for arguing balls and strikes.  He then proceeded to set down Licey in order and mostly shut them down for nearly seven innings. 

Señor Gulin didn’t have such a nice time.  Before leaving the game, he faced four batters. Two of them hit home runs and all of them scored.  Aguilas ended up with a 6-0 lead by the end of the first.  Given that (a) Estadio Cibao has 18,077 seats and only one gate, and (b) everyone here is on “Island Time,” the game was essentially over when the stadium was no more than 1/3 full.  These people make Dodgers fans look prompt.  This wasn’t a problem for us.  Roberto had clearly never seen either of these teams play in person.  He was thrilled just to be there, even if his team was getting killed.  Melissa and I were able to enjoy the Aguilas mascot (easily the greatest, most arrogant and aggressive sports mascot I’ve ever seen).  This guy is awesome enough that he has a real chance of being killed in the line of duty.  He taunted Licey batters in a manner that would get him fined/expelled in any American major league sport and placed him well within blast radius of a late-fouled pitch from a right-handed batter.

We also were able to enjoy the Aguilas Cheerleaders.  I will not in any way be in trouble with Melissa for telling you that the women in the Dominican Republic are beyond beautiful.  The Dominican is also a highly machismo culture in which female beauty is overly exalted (not quite like Venezuela, but you get the idea) and other female contributions are mostly ignored.  Given these circumstances, let’s just say that jobs with the top-of-the-dugout-dancing Aguilas cheerleaders are certainly hard to get, and the talent on display reflects this.  If any American Major League Baseball team instituted dugout-top dance teams, you’d think it was stupid, even if the dancers were this caliente.  And, yet, this certainly was not stupid – along with the mascot, it helped create a home-field advantage that you otherwise simply can’t get in an 18,077-seat stadium.  It was intimidating.  Licey was in big trouble.

After a few innings, the only Aguilas player not to have a hit was Miguel Tejada.  Yes, THAT Miguel Tejada – 2002 American League MVP Miguel Tejada.  This was Major-League caliber baseball (with at least 8 Major Leaguers on the field), and these fans know what they are expecting to see.  By the 8th inning, Tejada rectified the situation, golfing an ankle-high fastball over the left-field wall for a two-run homer that put the game out of reach.  Aguilas ended up winning the game 9-3 and winning the series five games to two.  Damn Yankees.  More Pictures

We had not planned on stopping in the Dominican Republic so when we landed at Puerto Plata, we had no idea what to expect.  As Andy mentioned, the engine had been losing revs.  We held our breath as we motored slowly (with periodic engine coughs) through the reefs with breaking waves on either side, and steered past the exposed remains of a wrecked ship that failed to heed the chart’s advice regarding the narrow channel.  Furthermore, nobody ever answered our radio calls.  Usually, boats can call a harbor master, marina, another boater, somebody, on VHF channel 16 to get information on how to proceed and what to expect.

As we approached however, it became clear that dock workers were in fact waiting for our arrival.  A tug boat traversed the channel entrance and lots of guys stood on the closest point yelling instructions for us (in Espanol, but pointing and arm waving worked fine too).

Coming around the bend, we noticed that all of the smaller boats were med-moored, just as our onboard copy of Reed’s Caribbean Almanac indicated.  We were a bit nervous, having never performed this procedure before, but we read up on it and made a plan of attack.  Luckily, the dock workers gestured that we should land any way we possibly could … which we did.

Almost exclusively for commercial use, the old dock is basically a concrete slab — no marina, no mooring balls, no floating docks, no finger piers, no pilings, no nothing.  Way too high and only sporadically brandishing some old tires for protection, this dock is not well suited for a boat like ours.  Spectacle stuck out conspicuously among the fishing boats, tugs, and freighters.  Plus, we quickly realized why most boats were med-moored … a significant surge in several directions depending on tide and time and day.

Nonetheless, the dock workers helped tie us up with multiple lines, including spring lines which are docking lines that help stabilize the boat’s movement.  For instance, an “after bow spring line” attaches near the bow, runs aft, and attaches to the dock preventing the boat from surging forward.  Another example: a “forward quarter spring line” attaches to the quarter of the boat, runs forward, and attaches to the dock near the bow of the boat preventing the boat from surging backwards.

About this time, we met our all-purpose “fixer,” Roberto, who will be described in more detail later.  Roberto promptly hired a night time boat-sitter for security purposes (the boat-sitter frequently had a humongous gun) and to watch the lines.

The next morning, we awoke to a loud crash towards the bow that sounded like another boat had hit us.  We jumped out of bed to find that the surge had pounded us into the dock.  Luckily, it was the bow anchors that were hitting, causing the sound to be worse than the pound, but still, we were a little confused as to how we could be hitting the dock even with the huge surge.

In any event, we sprang into action to tighten several lines and lessen the swing towards the dock.  It was a difficult task because of the tremendous load on the lines, so coordination and finesse were required as the swell periodically, but only briefly, slackened the lines.  In the mean time, we attracted an audience of French Canadian tourists waiting for their deep-sea fishing expedition to begin.  Several were actually videotaping our little drama unfold, and since we had just jumped out of bed, we were both in our underwear (be watching for us on “Montreal’s Funniest Home Videos”).

After the significant effort to tighten the lines, we realized that the night time boat-sitter had rearranged a strategically placed and vitally important spring line.  This error is what caused us to surge forward (incorrectly slackening the other spring and dock lines) and consequently, bash into the dock.  To add insult to injury, the just completed fixes rendered the replacement of the incorrect, but still necessary, spring line impossible.  The surge kept growing stronger and stronger.  Finally, it caught us just right, smashed us fairly hard into the dock, and damaged the rub rail.  At this point, Roberto the “fixer” suggested a med-moor situation, which he seemed confident to be able to achieve even with our flaky engine and shaky electrical system.

Because picking up the anchor and the anchor chain would be extremely difficult without the electric windlass, Roberto and Andy headed to the hardware store to pick up some lighter weight anchor rode.  They were only gone for about 30 minutes, and in that time, a spring line snapped like a piece of thread under the massive load.  Luckily, I was able to replace it without another crash into the dock.

With the confidence and leadership of a true Captain, Andy put on his negotiator hat telling Roberto exactly what needed to be accomplished, how much it would cost, and who would be ultimately responsible for the result.  When all parties were satisfied with the agreement, Roberto and his team went to work to med-moor Spectacle, and Andy and I went to lunch.  Upon our return, Spectacle was in a much safer situation – stern perpendicular to the dock, two anchors off the bow keeping us off the dock, two stern lines keeping us close enough to the dock, and two stern spring lines to keep us from swinging too far laterally.  Disaster averted.  Or so we thought …

Being at anchor, med-moored, in a significant surge, against a concrete slab, is not exactly conducive to a good night’s rest.  After awhile though, we relaxed and realized that Spectacle was pretty stable.  The likelihood of both anchors dragging was low especially since the sea floor sloped sharply and a loose anchor would simply drag uphill and easily re-bite.  Furthermore, Roberto admonished the night time boat-sitter and checked the lines personally.

Several days later, I woke up early, started some coffee, and began to enjoy another beautiful sunny morning in the Dominican Republic when I heard the unmistakable sound of an anchor dragging across the ocean floor.  I ran up on deck to find an approximately 60-foot-long, beat-up, third world, commercial cargo boat attempting to slip in to the dock beside us and dragging our anchor with it.  I yelled and gesticulated frantically, confirmed that the other anchor was still intact, and grabbed Andy out of bed.

At first, the crew on the cargo boat stared at me blankly wondering why I was acting like such a crazy person.  Then, a guy emerged from the cabin wearing a speedo (that was threadbare and white, yikes) and donning a mask.  The swimmer dove several times, coming back up for air and providing updates in Spanish.  Another guy came from the cabin and handed the swimmer a butcher’s knife.  The next thing we saw was a different guy splicing our anchor line back together.

Needless to say, we were absolutely livid.  If both anchors had dragged, we probably would have been up against the dock with few good options and precious little time.  Roberto talked to the Captain who said that they “didn’t see the line.”  We found that pretty hard to believe for a number of different reasons: a) both anchor lines are conspicuously colored bright red; b) every boat at the dock is med-moored so obviously there’s gonna be anchor lines off the bow; and, c) they landed at the only available dock space without a rafting situation (so they wanted to be directly on the dock to unload their cargo and they didn’t really care who or what was in their way).

Now some of you might be saying to yourselves, oh Melissa and Andy . . . don’t be so crotchety . . . accidents are bound to happen and I’m sure they didn’t do it on purpose!  I thought that too for about one hour when the next cargo boat to come in did the exact same thing … ran over the anchor line, dragged the anchor under their boat, cut the line without asking, spliced the line back together, haphazardly reset the anchor, and called it all a huge accident.

 It was then that we decided to move to the closest proper marina as soon as possible.  As much as we were enjoying Puerto Plata, the safety of the boat needs to be the first concern and we worried about the surge and the next round of cargo ships to land.  Plus, we knew that after the two incidents, it was back to sleeping with one eye open and being exhausted all of the time when there was still much work to be done.  So we informed Roberto of our impending departure and said goodbye to our new friends as we researched other places to park our floating condo.

We originally thought that Luperon was our closest option.  Famous among cruising types, Luperon is one of the best naturally protected harbors in the entire Caribbean and many cruisers spend all of hurricane season anchored and well sheltered there.  Unfortunately for us and the inconsistency of our electric windlass, Luperon is mostly an anchorage area.  One marina has only about ten slips (and I never was able to find a working phone number for them anyhow), and another marina is still under construction.  That’s when we learned about Ocean World – the two-month-old marina, casino, and marine adventure park only about 10 miles away.  And Ocean World could not be more different than the old dock.  More Pictures