The British Virgin Islands

Quote: Face

But on certain occasions, all my college training comes rushing back. As long as I'm active and engaged, I can go hard for an unbelievably long time. And go hard we did. Every. Single. Day. I even surprised myself XD

Yes, a few years ago I chatted with a former Ranger who after various battlefield and training injuries re-invented himself as a civilian contractor who had an entire company of Rangers as his personal body guard as he was sent to various places for specialized tasks. Once his position came under attack, his personal computer was the only data or voice link getting anything out and he found himself at middle age in the bottom of a cold dark trench at two in the morning field stripping an M-16 or something in the dark. It all came back to him. What to do, how to do it, and how to keep on doing it and doing it without rest. You were fortunate to learn the skills in the field of sports, he learned it on the battlefield, but its the same "I am not a quitter" lesson.

...

But , please... onto merrier topics from that sea I can never remember how to spell.

Quote: Fleastiff

But , please... onto merrier topics from that sea I can never remember how to spell.

Caribbean. There's a local beer called "Carib", and "bean" is a whole word. Just put them together. That's how I remember ;)

Day 5 coming up...

"The charm of fishing is that it is the pursuit of what is elusive but attainable, a perpetual series of occasions for hope." - John Buchan

Day 5

Somehow I was back up and at 'em before 9a. Somehow I had went to bed without getting sick, and somehow woke up in good spirits. Everyone else was again already up, and I had breakfast being shoved at me before I even got settled above deck. This vacation stuff was something I could get used to =)

There was a little something in the air. It wasn't anything as serious as actual dissension, but it was perhaps that first barrier of being with the same people for five days without a single moment to yourself. There wasn't the same flow, the same vibe of 6 people on the same wavelength. It wasn't bad, not at all. It was just... scattered. But about the time we were back under way and at full power, that all fell away and we were right back at it.

The plan had been to get up early and sail across the open ocean way up north to Anegada. To do so with enough time to ensure we snagged a mooring ball, the time of departure was set at 6a. Obviously, due to the night before, 6a came and went with us still sleeping. By the time we woke, ate, and shoved off, we could count 16 boats well ahead of us making their way north to the island.

Since one of our members was nervous with the full jib and the keel over it caused, it would've been a 5-6hr sail to get there. And if we did all that to find the island full, it was a full day round trip of nothing but open water sailing. Rather than risk the disappointment and waste of a day, we decided to head back southwest and spend the day in Camanoe. With a sea turtle leading the way, we swung back out of Malone bay and headed south.



We passed the private island and mansion of Virgin Records' Richard Branson on the way. I couldn't imagine having something like it. It was like your own personal resort, on your own huge island with nothing else on it. I couldn't imagine the solitude one could have with that.

Once near Mosquito Island and back into Sir Francis Drake Channel, The Fed decreed I was ready for a promotion and put me behind the wheel. It was a very different experience, but it was all very intuitive. Just feel the wind and maneuver the boat to lean into it. Simple. A few corrections here and there as the wind changed so the jib didn't go slack and tangle, but other than that, it was just like motoring. Just go with the wind. And when the wind drove you too close to an island, just loose the jib, tack, and set it going the other way. It was kind of a fun challenge, reading the wind, planning the tacks around islands while having to give and take right of way from all the different kinds of ships in the channel. I liked it. I could get used to it =)

We ended up losing our lifesaver on the way as The Fed knocked it loose while trying to fish. It's funny the level of stress that little thing caused. We had to retrieve it, yes, but you would have thought a child fell overboard. Rushing to pull the jib, shouting to a crew member to keep an eye on it, yanking tackle this way and that... I was just behind the wheel, cutting the throttle and putting more wind in the sail to keep it tight. Finally I just yelled for everyone to cut the shit. It was just a float, it was right there in the open, and everyone was too sober to be stressing this much over a very simple issue. And with that, everyone got quiet, easily loosed the sails, and I made a lazy about, heading right to the float and snagging it on the first try. Lol...I am the voice of reason ;)

We wove our way to The Dogs where we moored up in a very quiet bay and went for a dive. Ash and I stayed together for most of it, diving hand in hand, which was a nice sort of make up from our previous bad night. The dive was cool; I managed to get deep and check out a number of things. There were several trumpet fish present, and these were one of my favorite. They're super skinny and super long and they'll suspend at weird angles, sometimes straight up and down mimicking coral or plants. There were also fish I haven't yet identified. They would lie on the bottom motionless, their skin the exact mottled sand color of the floor of the ocean. Pectoral fins splayed out, upturned eyes gazing at the surface, they looked pretty weird. I was able to swim right down to a couple of them for close ups. I actually never saw them and would have missed them entirely, but Ash spotted them and pointed them out for me. That girl =)





The dive complete, it was time for lunch. While it cooked we began fishing, and The Fed and I were killing it. Granted, they were just little tropical fish, but we caught tons and of all kinds. Weird little things that looked like grouper, their skin almost completely liquid brown but with tiny, bright blue dots on them. Others with the same mottle sand coloring. Still others with yellows so bright it made you squint. We probably caught 20+ fish in a half hour between the two of us.





The fishing done, we moored in Low Bay on the southern end of Great Camanoe and Marina Cay. Upon mooring up to the ball, I saw a giant fish, either a 'cuda or a tarpon, basking right at the ball. Man, but did that get me excited! I tied that sucker up so fast and nearly ran for my gear, immediately flipping giant jerk baits into the clear blue bay. A half hour later and I had caught nothing and the crew was ready to head inland for some shopping and drinks. I began to stow my gear when I had an idea. The fish are right there, why not set out another strip of that fish and let it float? What's the worst that could happen? So I cut another 2" x 10" strip of fish, slanged it on the hook, and set it out to float. That done, we hopped in the dinghy and headed to shore.

We checked out the store, Ash trying on local garb while I just browsed. I almost bought a pirate flag for Captain Jax's Sparrow, but decided to maintain my record of refusal to buy souvenirs. After shopping we hit up the local beach side bar, downing beers and Bushwackers and rum punches with reckless abandon.









Upon our return, fight #2 began. I was drunk and more worried about dinner than anything, so it was The Fed who checked the pole. And sure as shit, BAM! Fish on. I saw the rod holder had spun and knew it wasn't no tropical fishling. And wouldn't you know it, dude reeled it in to find a 'cuda on the other end. He couldn't get it in fast enough, and as soon as he had it in hand, he pointed to himself and claimed "point for me!!"



I argued incessantly. It was my idea. It was me who cut the bait. It was me who rigged it up. It was me who set it out. He reeled it in and unhooked it, but it was me who jumped in when it floated and sat reviving it for 10 minutes. But in the meantime, some locals showed up by dinghy selling local vegetables, and they had green peppers. We were both just talking about how much we were dying for green peppers, so the 'cuda went forgotten and that battle was left unsolved. (pssst... MY point =p)

So we ate and drank and whatever, blah-blah-blah. I just wanted to get fishing again. I wanted a tarpon. So I had my gear from home, my big stuff. My medium/heavy rod with my unbreakable braided line on it. I had a few giant hooks I used for catfishing as well as a number of wire leaders. I tied the line through both a hook and the leader, and then put another hook on the end of the leader. That way, I'd have two, 10" strips of fish waggling a foot from each other, kind of like a mini fish school. The Fed did the same, but with just one hook. And we just dropped it off the back of the boat with not 5' of line out. We got them out just as the sun began to set, turned, and dove into the beer.

It wasn't that long before something happened.

I was sitting on the swim deck when my rod just went "BAM - BAM!" I didn't know what happened. The sound reminded me of when someone tripped over a rod and it whacked into something. But the rod was up in the holder. I just looked at it, then looked at The Fed. He was wide eyed and just exclaimed "Shit! You see that?!" It was a fish, no doubt. But I ain't never seen a fish hit like that. I've caught 9lb bass, 10lb trout, 35+lb king salmon, and I ain't never seen nothing like that. So I rush to grab my rod, find it limp, and reel in nothing but a frayed line.

Frayed braided line. Line I pull trees in with. Line I'll snag a rock and straighten a hook with. Line that I've never in my entire history of fishing have ever snapped. I could not believe it. That was a tarpon, no doubt. And a monster, by the evidence. And I. Just. Missed it.

I was simultaneously pissed and thrilled. They were here. I knew how to catch them. I missed one, but I will have my tarpon. I retied my rig, this time foregoing the stinger and just tying on the leader with a hook on the end. Tarpon don't have teeth, but their mouths are super bony and they're strong. I could see that line on their mouth ridges being cut like a knife with their strength. Well, they ain't cutting no wire leader. So c'mon with it, let's try this again.

I set it back out. I grab another beer. I'm bitching to The Fed non stop about how I'll not be denied, I'll not have one opportunity and blow it. And... "BAM!"

I dive for my pole, and it's slack again. MOTHER^%&$#!!!. I reel it in to find the wire leader completely blown apart. Wire leader. BLOWN APART. This just can't be happening. How does a wire leader exploded like that?! I CAN'T MISS CATCHING ONE OF THESE! And stupid me still reset's my gear, ignoring the deep sea gear right next to me with it's heavy duty leaders and 100lb test weed whacker string. I set it out again.

Then The Fed's pole blows up. BAM! The deep sea rod bends, the holder comes loose, it was a row. He lunges for it, sets the hook, and fish on.

Sure as shootin', it was a tarpon. And that thing explodes everywhere. Flipping, flopping, thrashing this way and that. Rocketing out of the water, smashing into the boat, it went absolutely ape shit. He caught it but 5' from the boat; it still took about 15 minutes to get it in. But get it in we did =)



It was a monster, and I was beside myself. I already should have had two, now this son of a biscuit has the only one. And he let me know, constantly lol. So there I sat, sipping my beer, watching my pole, well into the night. Juvenile needlefish were everywhere and I managed to snag one by hand, losing it when it spazzed out and wriggle out of my fingers. But no matter how long I waited, the tarpon would not return. I went to bed angsty that night, vowing to catch one before returning home.

I had to.

I must.

"Exhaustion is a product of being alive. I'll rest when I die." - Face

Day 6

Everything finally caught up with me on the morning of Day 6. I was beat. My hands and arms were noodles from pulling rigging and tying off. My legs were blasted from all the diving. I was cut and scabbed from head to toe from various run ins all week; toes and fingers ran raw from the rough beach landing, a big gash across my shin from tripping above deck and smashing the wire catch fence around the ship, a big knot on my forehead when I forgot one of the hatches had been closed due to rain. I ached. I was oozing and scabbed from a hundred different wounds. Every movement was met with what I call "beef jerky feeling". Ever pulled on beef jerky? It's just muscle, but instead of the suppleness of raw meat, it just tears along the fibres? Well, that was what my everything felt like. Every movement felt like my muscle fibres tearing from each other. I was whooped.

But it brought a sort of calm, mentally. There was nothing to do. Nothing to think about. Nothing to worry about. It was day 6 and I still hadn't received a lick of sunburn, had not a wisp of hangover. I was on the water, it was 80* and sunny, maybe I'll just sit here and relax. And that's exactly what I did.

We sailed from The Dogs over to Little Harbor (Garner Bay) in Jost Van Dyke. And I did nothing the whole way there. Didn't fish, didn't eat, didn't talk. I just sat in my own little bubble of exhausted serenity, and watched as the world floated by.











By the time we arrived to Little Harbor some 4 hours later, I was back to normal again. We settled deep, deep into the bay, about as close to shore as we could get. Goats were everywhere on shore, and someone was blasting reggae at maximum volume from one of the houses up on the hill. I took one look at the patchy, discolored bottom and knew I had to get to fishing.

I started right up catching those same, bright yellow tropical fish as the day before. A few locals buzzed out to collect our mooring fee and invite us to their establishments for dinner and drinks. And about the time the last one left and reached shore, my pole blew up.

I had no idea what I hooked. All I knew is it didn't fight in bursts and spurts; it put its head down and it was just gone. My drag scream out one steady buzz and it gave and gave and gave line. And I was worried indeed as I had almost no slack to give. I hadn't respooled my reel in years and was already dangerous low on line, not having even a hundred feet. I tried to get it to turn, to stop, to do anything except the balls out sprint it was currently doing, but nothing worked. I had no choice but to clamp down on the drag and hope.

And it worked. I got enough pressure to stop the fish and stop the feeding of line, but now the fish was on. My pole bent in twain as the fight raged on. I had no idea whatsoever of what I had on the other end. I knew it wasn't a shark. Despite the humongous fight it had, it wasn't that big. And it headed right for the bottom as opposed to rocketing out of the water, so it wasn't no tarpon. All I knew is it fought but hard. There were a few times I stumbled, at least once when I had to hold on with two hands. It fought like a monster. I had not a clue what it could be, I just knew I had to get it...







It was a damn trunkfish! The Fed had the gaff ready and everything, and it was just this bitty little piglet. But I'll tell ya, that little toad pulled harder than any trout I've ever caught. Despite it's frumpy sort of shape, that thing went like a rocket. I had a ton of fun trying to get it in, and hoped for more surprises in store, but the day's fishing only found more and more of those bright yellow buggers.

As the day wore on, it got hot indeed. Ash and Mrs. Fed went for a dive and Ash wanted me to go with. I wasn't ready, so I told her to go and I'd catch up. The Fed had been messing with my camera, taking pics of his gnarly toe where my conch shell fell and gouged him. And he left it on, so when I went to fetch it, the battery was dead. And in messing with it, I didn't notice that Ash and Mrs. Fed had changed course due to the current and headed the other way. So when I hopped in, I headed out alone =p

It was a neat dive, one I wish I had on video. It began with nothing but a vast stretch of sand with nothing whatsoever to see. Then suddenly, a vast shallow coral reef appeared out of nowhere. It was filled with much the same fish as all the others, but I came upon a shipwreck. At first, it was just a piece, maybe a side board. A big, 4' x 20' rectangle of wood or fibreglass. Then I saw another. Then another. Eventually I came upon part of the hull and stern, and not far from that, the dual diesel engines sitting on the floor just as they had sat in the boat. They were nearly perfectly preserved, all the fuel lines and glowplug cables and everything, just as it had sat in the boat. It was cool to see how it had bashed apart and imagine how it came to be there.

By the time I had reached the wreck, I had been fighting into the current for almost an hour and I was whooped. I turned back towards home and that was a joy indeed. I hadn't realized how strong the current was, and swimming with it was like having a jet pack. I soared over the coral field and through the sand bed like a dolphin. I can easily say I've never went through the water that fast before. It was sort of a surreal experience, and very pleasurable.

Later that evening we headed into Abe's By The Sea, a little beach side bar and restaurant. While tying up, I got a massive sliver right under my nail, almost all the way to the cuticle. I didn't have any way to get it out, and that put me out of sorts but good. Damn, but that hurt >< They had lobster pots on shore for you to pick your dinner from, and I ain't never seen them so big. Head to tail, they were easily two feet long. So big around that you could wrap both hands around them and your fingers wouldn't touch. They were huge. But it came down to a choice; spend $7 a drink and $70 on dinner, or go back to the boat and our gallons of free booze and a dinner cooked by The Fed.

I chose the boat =)

And it wasn't long after that choice that I was full of grilled meat and gallons of beer. As soon as the sun lowered behind the mountain, I lowered myself below deck and was out like a light.

You went diving alone?

Sliver? Remember in the old days of sailing. The Captain caught a sailor trying to force a sliver out of his thumb and told the unfortunate sailor "Wait until Sunday, Son, Wait until Sunday" when a sailor was automatically allowed to attend to such matters.

Remember, if you would like to acquire a yacht somewhat on the cheap there are great bargains in many of the Expatriat Communities in Guatemala and Panama and Belize. People often have expensive yachts down there and then get sick and yet the yacht needs "minor" repairs and estate lawyers in the USA don't have the time to futz around with repairing a winch in a foreign country, so you can often get a Bill of Sale from the estate lawyer and take the boat "As Is, Where Is".

One young girl from Germany flew to Panama to take possession of a boat she had bought sight unseen. Her weekly YouTube repair jobs and her bikini figure have attracted enough subscribers that she is now financially in the plus column even though she and the boat are still in Panama and not yet sailing back to Germany.

Quote: Fleastiff

You went diving alone?

Unintentionally, but yes. It was kind of weird, but I'm used to being alone. Granted, I'm more comfortable in the woods, but I suppose I always carry a sense of "don't mess up, ain't no one gonna save you" everywhere I go.

Quote: FleaStiff

Sliver? Remember in the old days of sailing. The Captain caught a sailor trying to force a sliver out of his thumb and told the unfortunate sailor "Wait until Sunday, Son, Wait until Sunday" when a sailor was automatically allowed to attend to such matters.

It sucked. My nails are cut to the quick, so there was nothing left to cut to reveal the tip of the sliver. So I left it in. Had no choice. It finally grew out enough that I snagged it out some 8 days later.

Quote: FleaStiff

Remember, if you would like to acquire a yacht somewhat on the cheap there are great bargains in many of the Expatriat Communities in Guatemala and Panama and Belize. People often have expensive yachts down there and then get sick and yet the yacht needs "minor" repairs and estate lawyers in the USA don't have the time to futz around with repairing a winch in a foreign country, so you can often get a Bill of Sale from the estate lawyer and take the boat "As Is, Where Is".

That'd be neat, but I'm not sure if I could handle that much adventure lol. I guess the boats we rented are privately owned. I'm told the guy who purchases the half million dollar ship then rents it out to the charter. That way he has his boat, has it taken care of and serviced, but the charter/renters foot much of the bill on the purchase, and he just comes and uses it whenever he wants.

I dunno. I definitely could've stayed there a lot longer than the ten days, but then again, we're sheltered by the islands. You start talking months and the open sea, and I don't think I'd be as eager to participate =)

Quote: Face

Granted, I'm more comfortable in the woods, but I suppose I always carry a sense of "don't mess up, ain't no one gonna save you" everywhere I go.

An admirable sense though one very experienced diving couple once went on a group day charter to The Great Barrier Reef off Australia. And the Captain narrowly survived a Manslaughter charge when he left them there.

Quote: Face

I definitely could've stayed there a lot longer than the ten days, but then again, we're sheltered by the islands. You start talking months and the open sea, and I don't think I'd be as eager to participate =)

Ah, but Blue Water sailors have even more freedom when they leave the shelter of the islands and strike out on their own. Of course one example would be the Nina.

Quote: Fleastiff

An admirable sense though one very experienced diving couple once went on a group day charter to The Great Barrier Reef off Australia. And the Captain narrowly survived a Manslaughter charge when he left them there.

Trust me, it wasn't planned. That "sense" is something to use, not something to shield me from all ills. Despite my sometimes reckless, daredevil behavior, I don't mess around when it comes to big water.

But HEY!! You just made me remember what happened at the end of Day 3! I'll go update that in a sec....

EDIT: Day 3 updated

Quote: FleaStiff

Ah, but Blue Water sailors have even more freedom when they leave the shelter of the islands and strike out on their own. Of course one example would be the Nina.

The Nina, huh? I think my ancestors would argue the definition of "freedom" in that case ;)

But really, I get it. I can see the draw. But it's just not my cup of tea. I remember on day 7 or 8, we had taken the dinghy far from the boat, and I started thinking aloud what it must be like to be stranded at sea. We weren't but 300' from shore, but just the idea was... it was nightmarish. It was very unsettling and made me actually uncomfortable just thinking of it.

I have mad respect for Ellen MacArthur, but her type of adventuring would find me dead within the week. I hero worship Sir Ranulph Fiennes, but his type of adventuring would find me dead within the day. Everyone has their specialty, and mine is certainly within the woods. Forest, jungle, desert, arctic; every one I could probably manage. But there is not a single place on Earth that I'm more out of my element than the deep blue sea.

I think it is only machismo that is preventing me from admitting aloud that I'm actually scared of it =p

Quote: Face

I think it is only machismo that is preventing me from admitting aloud that I'm actually scared of it =p

I'm for sure afraid of the water. I lived 100' from
the ocean for a year in HI, and in Santa Barbara
for 7 years. I learned the ocean is out to get me.
I won't go near it now, I even hate flying over it.
I loathe boats, even on Lk MI. I could give details,
but I don't even like looking at the ocean anymore.
I'll take a mountain view any day.

Quote: Evenbob

I'm for sure afraid of the water. I lived 100' from
the ocean for a year in HI, and in Santa Barbara
for 7 years. I learned the ocean is out to get me.
I won't go near it now, I even hate flying over it.
I loathe boats, even on Lk MI. I could give details,
but I don't even like looking at the ocean anymore.
I'll take a mountain view any day.

I wouldn't go so far to say I'm scared of water entirely. I like fishing too much =)

My local cricks, no problem. I've had my share of scares in them, but the terror is like a 10-15 second ordeal, and then you're just cold. I'm getting pretty used to the Great Lakes, so much so that my fear that I began "Fishing With Face" with is mostly gone. Now it's just awareness and respect, and I'd have no problem going all the way to Canada by way of Captain Jax's Sparrow.

But the ocean...different story entirely. Every bit of it wants to kill you. The big waves, the sheer power, and every single thing in it. Drink it and die. How's that even sensible?

It all comes down to one thing, though - fishing. Every single scare, every single near drowning, every one of them was the result of pursuing fish. This whole trip, even considering the sights and smells and experiences, was, for me, all about fishing. About getting to that water before my own waters thawed.

And based on what I found, I will be back. Fear be damned. The place where my mind goes with a rod in hand and a line in the water is just too attractive to resist.