Navigation error—I was out about thirty miles. There were other factors, but that was the principal cause. The westerly drift of half a knot that is usual there, has been Easterly for two weeks—rare, but that alone would hardly amount to more than a couple of miles. We were simply in the wrong place. On the beach, and close on. Three steps to dry sand after the tide went down, and at the top of it only 18 inches of water and some foam.
Sails secured, Lines organised—pitchdark—we could see nothing of the shore—Al's investigation by flash light showed a steep coral and coral sand beach headed by flat bushy country stretching away from a two foot bank. What now? Four AM—adrenalin leaking out all over. Stay with it at least til daylight. Came dawn, we unloaded immediate needs of clothes. Rain and broken clouds early clearing presently. Al walked East to the visible end of land. Nothing. Where the hell are we? I guessed Anageda from what I've heard, but who knows? I tried a lattitude shot of polaris from the beach but by the time I could see the horizon the stars had faded out altogether. Bfst, cooked aboard at 55 or 60 degrees, Eaten on the beach. Al and I walked together a couple of miles west to a pole with a crossarm aloft—long hot walk in soft sand, or hopping on the wave packed sand to avoid the waves. Nothing there but a camp—no humans. Al walked on while I went back to the boat. He went on and on and on—on an almost road, more than a path though. Perhaps 3 or 6 miles. Found an airport, attended by a Captain Smith—ticket agent for BVI Airways and Resident Commisioner of the Is. Capt Ira Smith turns out to be a lovely guy, very helpfull to us, more than kind. Drove Al back as far as the Landrover could come, gave us what info we needed, and promised to come back for us in the afternoon. Al walked the coupla-three miles back to the boat. We considered everything we could, put a line ashore, so the boat would not be legally abandoned, took enough food and water out and put it up on the bank to last us a couple of days. Tools too. Now What? No way we could ease the boat. Seas are not beating it now, but the wind must pick up again. No barge mounted crane could get across the reef to it—at least not without dead flat calm and high tide, and doubtful at the best one would hope for. Encouraging black locals, very friendly, suggest a military Helicopter from PR. Captain Smith tried the coast guard in STT, who'd come and take us off if we were in imminent peril, but felt that property loss on foreign soil was beyond their call of duty. There's no heavy equipment on the Is. that could possibly handle the weight, and if there was, no reasonable place to handle it to. Now what? Little or nothing we can do here on the boat. Better we should call it quits, pick up what we can fly home with, and abandon ship—and don't pick up too much—it's a long walk, and may or may not be met by the obliging Capt Smith.
Big job to sort out—leave anything wet— But nothing is dry, really—don't carry any weight—it's a hot dusty walk down a long sand beach and a longer dusty sand road. The airport may be only the beginning. Pack we did. I throw out everything dear to me. Simplest possible clothes—no books, no tools, no heavy clothes at all except hat and mittens—I would have brought a set of long johns but they were wet. Airport to Belmont trip may be miserable but at worst an expensive taxi ride. This undertaking across Anageda cannot be solved with money—not any amount within reason at least. Al insisted on carrying his bag full, his airoplane bag and his ditty bag of tools. I had a zip duffel and my now BDA brains.
OFF. Al took Pictures. Trudge trudge trudge. rest Trudge again. Last look at LC, mast pointing south and very low. Me too. Left the beach following a very scary (to me) path through the knee-high bush—barely discernable scratchy and stumbly, for not being able to see the actual ground to walk on. Al insisted, and was right, 50 or 100 yds further on it led us to a road—A magnificent two goat highway—not to complain, it was easier than the soft beach. Much of it was parallel to the beach, and there was much of it, and after much, much more of it .. Even Bad things have to end—we think it was an hour and a half, it surely felt like four. Al was tired. I hadn't expected to be able to keep up. I was being desperately carefull of my bad knee—keeping it exactly straight. Trudge, trudge and rest when we couldn't go any further. No shade either We did have a couple of brief showers that were pretty welcome, and one that lasted long enough so that it's welcome was long gone and we were as wet from the outside as we had been from inside. Trudge heavy bag on right. Trudge heavy bag on left trudge. Rest. After an eternity we got to the ROAD. Exhausted. Flop. Al figured it was less than half way to the Airport (his 2nd trip too) find this time with heavy packs that had neither handle nor harness. I was quite able to flop with him, no objections. Lucky us, Capt Smith comes tootling along in his Land Rover. He has called Immigration and US Coast guard. He took us to his house (which is also seat of Govt, telephone and Air BVI!) for calls to immigration and my insurance co. Immigration was inclined to be sticky—Where did you enter BVI—on your beack.—NO No What port of Entry?—ON YOUR DAMN BEACH—No No this is not a port of entry You can't enter here!! It might have gone on all day, Capt Smith put in the word that we could be sent back to Tortola to enter at Beef Is, Airport. He apparently thought of us as invaders . It seems that customs and Immigration is much concerned with people coming in to be sure they have means of departure and with departing for a $3 departure tax.
I got thru to the Insurance agent in Damariscotta-They had to get thru to the Boston office who would call me back.Nope. Three hours waiting and no call. We abandoned in order to get the last plane out at 5:13. Next chance Monday AM. Disaster dogging us there too—Only one seat left. One foot and t'other foot over chartering a flight at $135. Capt Smith did some juggling and sold us two seats on the full flight. When it came in the big black flamboyant pilot—obviously good at his job and confident—jollied Capt Smith about overselling (W'd been issued 19$ regular flight tix) Even though he knew there was only one seat open, But the pilot offered to call in a returning flight from Gorda, I think—Couldn't do it from the ground (regulations) so he circled the airport after takeoff, and wiggled wings and flashed lights that all systems were go. We are delighted w Capt Smith too- Had sold us the tix. Approaching dark. Wait with Capt Smith. Finally see the plane approaching way north of the runway—missed altogether, circled twice w/landing lights hunting for it—came in the third time, still a bit north, Corrected at last moment , flop down and charge over to the waiting place- "Say you two have to be the luckiest guys alive to got picked up at this airport after dark. Do you know that? Don't you ever tell anyone how dark it was! Fond thanks to Capt Smith and Off. Beef Is in 13 min. Hazy, almost in before it showed but another airport lit up as we passed over it—Gorda I guess. All my charts are in Anagada so I can't check it out. Immigration and customs gave us the entrance and departure going over no real difficulty, but forms filled out for both ways.
10 PM plane for San Juan PR. We were the only passengers—pilot and copilot very friendly. Marched us in thru Customs and Immigration and agriculture in the employees line—our bags were inspected by the passing of hands and very lightly! And faster than we could walk down the goat highway.
As I write we are in PR. We were desperate tired, stayed at the airport hotel—pilot pointed out that the San Juan hotel might be cheaper but that the taxi would sat up the difference—we didn't question—42$ for the room, no towels, no phone-service, no air condition but the window was sealed shut. We did find a draft after a bit. Tired. Achey—we'd been sitting on the boat for a month, almost entirely on port tack too, and suddenly a big hike carrying awkward heavy bags, a long day—4 am to midnight—not enough jazz left for anything but flop. We did. Phone in the AM. Sue first. We beat on her to change her mind and come. She did change, coming tomorrow.
Breakfast. After a hot shower and and a beard wash for Al (he'd showered before bed) Airport Cafeteria—not particularly cheap but solid food, and we ran the gamut of what was available—Pancakes, bacon and eggs, danish, two coffees and home fries. First food that wasn't candy bar since the oatmeal on the beach. I haven't much good to say about candy bars, but it beats all get out over nothing at all.
OK What now? Sue has been called. I have to call of "my people". And there was a great lump of hesitation that isn't hard to understand now—But then—Cold light of dawn and clouded vision—I had real trouble picking- up the phone. I'd managed so far to hold together, keep calm, chin up, adrenalin flowing as necessary. (except for a brief cry when Al got back from his long walk on the Beach.) I had no problem calling the insurance people, on the Commissioner's phone, that was part of my job. I had to notify. Now to pick up the pieces of the life I'd smashed up, and try to do something worth while with them—Who to call? Obvious, but not at all easy. All beloved, but the phone just seemed too heavy to pick up. 1,2,3,go—Janie at 5 to 8. In tears for most of it, and once started they flowed happily—catharsis at work. Bob was a lot easier—no drain at all. 0K I'm intact, have notified. No HURRY—that's been a catch word between Al and I. I kept saying it to him till he exploded (mildly) and now we do it to each other—banter. Money is not a big problem. I have few obligations and no responsibilities at all. I left Maine and Boston to avoid cold. Why go back? Time is on my side, no Hurry.
Catalog