"Hey, You're Going the Wrong Way!"

Isla Saona, off the southeast corner of the DR. A beautiful national park.

Geography can be hard. The largest land masses, the seven continents of North and South America, Africa, Europe, Asia, Australia and Antarctica……I had all of those solidly nailed down by the 6th grade thanks to our American public education system. 

I gave in to the teaching that Europe and Asia are considered two continents when in fact, they look pretty darn much like one huge land mass to me. Hmph. Go figure. And who got to decide that Australia was a continent but Greenland was too small to make the cut? Was there a vote? If so, Greenland and some other island nations needed better representation, but I digress. 

Puerto Bahía Marina, Samaná Peninsula, DR

Frankly, until only a few years ago, I was quite content to live my life without giving the smaller chunks of land sticking up out of the oceans any thought whatsoever. All of those thousands of smaller lands, the islands— their very existence occupied an embarrassingly small amount of gray matter in my head. 

Far from our usual marina experience, this is the most
elegant marina we have ever seen.  Inexpensive, too.

I confess this now only to put the readership at ease.  If for example, you have ever been one to surreptitiously dig out an atlas (or to Google) to see where we were while in Trinidad, Grenada, Bonaire, Curacao and now the Dominican Republic, as far as I am concerned, that  is no cause for shame. 

The town of Samaná, on the northeast side of the DR. Home of the Bridge to Nowhere.

Up until a month ago, we had no intention of being in the Dominican Republic right now. Why? Because it’s way north of Bonaire. And when we were in Bonaire, we were really pretty close to South America. Our plans (written in sand, as my husband is wont to say) were to sail to Colombia after the winds settled a bit, later on in April/May.  

Riding a 4 passenger motorized bike

From Colombia, we were to go on to the San Blas Islands (off the eastern Panamanian coast), then to Panama proper and perhaps further north in Central America for the hurricane season where we would have left the boat for a visit back to the U.S.

Our driver, a real ham. Made ambulance
siren sounds much of the way to the
Bridge to Nowhere.

I don’t know whether anybody else has had this thought, but one of our FB friends commented the other day, “Hey, you’re going the wrong way!” Now that guy knows his geography. Indeed, we have moved away from South America and toward the U.S.

Bridge to Nowhere--a resort project that
was abandoned.

For a variety of reasons, we decided that we were not inclined to sail on to Colombia and Central America at this time. Many of our sailing friends have already sailed there and onward. We love seeing FB reports of where they are and what they are doing. We would certainly have enjoyed sailing with them there, but that didn’t happen at the right time.  About a month ago, we looked around and realized that nobody had a gun to our heads saying “You MUST sail on to Colombia from Bonaire” and so we just decided not to.

At the far end of the Bridge to Nowhere

Call us whimsical; call us changeable, tumbleweeds blowin’ in the wind, or simply sailboat vagabonds, but we are heading back to the East Coast of the U.S. for the hurricane season. As you may recall from previous posts, our marine insurance policy requires that we remove our boat from the hurricane zone between June 1 and November 1. 

Paintings sold at the base of bridge

If Northern Star were to remain in the heart of the hurricane zone and was then damaged in a hurricane, she would not be insured. So, our options from Bonaire were: 1) go on to the coast of Central America, 2) return to Trinidad {below 10 degrees latitude N} or 3) move the boat above the Florida/Georgia border. We chose #3. (You and I know that hurricanes hit the U.S. coast north of the Florida/Georgia border as well, but the boat insurers came up with this arbitrary line on the map, so….there you have it. Somebody voted on the geography again).

My first piña colada served
in a pineapple

We still have ~2000 kilometers, or 1079 nautical miles, or 1242 statute miles to get from our current location in Samaná, DR to the Florida/Georgia border. We will bypass about 700 islands (no exaggeration) before then. We will go through the Turks and Caicos, the Exumas and the Ragged Islands and finally the Abacos. We’ll stop at a few of them to explore, rest and to snorkel. 

The Dominican Republic lies east of Cuba and is not pictured above.

All of the above islands are part of the Commonwealth of the Bahamas which is scattered over an area of 100,000 square miles of ocean. Most of these islands are so small that you may have difficulty finding them on a map. And this might be a brain bender for some—the Bahamas are not part of the Caribbean. What? Yes, it's true. The Bahamas are not on the Caribbean Sea. They are in the Atlantic Ocean. See, it’s that geography stuff again. Geography can be hard.

Leaving a Best Friend Behind

Norfolk is on the shore beyond

Today we arrived in Hampton, Virginia by sailboat.  While 99% of all the boats on the ICW (IntraCoastal Waterway) were going south, we were going north to Hampton for the start of the Salty Dawg Rally. Two nights ago, when we stopped in Coinjock, the dockhand deadpanned a question…”You know you’re going the wrong way, don’t you?”  

Lying low and trembling

good stiff wind on St. James River

Today was not an especially good day for Jax.  While he loves being in close contact with his human pack on Northern Star, he does not love it when the boat is heeling or when we are plowing through waves causing the bow to pound up and down.  

Jax loves extra attention when it's a bumpy ride

He was trembling most of the last 10 miles owing to a 35 knot wind pushing significant waves at us as we went up the St. James River.  

At the start of our sailing life, 2015

Jax in NYC.

Jax on ICW

Jax picks a comfy spot

Jax wasn't crazy about stand-up paddling

Jax has been, in our opinion, a remarkable boat dog.  A more accommodating, tolerant and patient dog than we could have hoped for.  

Jax has never learned to like brushing

A leeward pee

Early morning on the water

Among his most notable achievements are the ability to pee off the side of the boat, often times choosing the preferable leeward side. If he does make the mistake of aiming into the wind, he’s fastidious about his own hygiene.  

Happy day onboard for Jax

When we are unable to make it to land for bowel movements, he does his preparatory back and forth trot from port to starboard and back again before carefully placing his stool up on the bow, next to the wash-down pump. 

A preparatory trot before stooling on bow

Carl and Jax.  

Many sailors with dogs have admitted they are envious that our dog has these two skills. When they ask how we taught him to do that, it’s a perfect opportunity for a chuckle about the difficulty of demonstrating such skills inter-species. 

Hmmm....an animal that doesn't move, and no odor.  How odd.....

When we're at a dock, Jax knows that when one of us jumps off the boat to walk somewhere nearby, he is not allowed to jump off without permission to do so.  

Waiting for a walk

He will position himself on the bow or wherever he finds the best vantage point to observe us from a distance, even when that means waiting in the hot sun.  He will obviously take advantage of shade when available.  

Good vantage point to people watch

He waits patiently for his leash to be hooked up after we’ve gotten off the boat to go for a walk.  He waits again to be unhooked, before jumping back onto the boat when we return. 

Jumping up or down to the dinghy.  No problem.

He does not require the ideal circumstances for jumping on and off the boat, which is great because rarely do we have the ideal conditions. 

Jax will pick the best spot from which to jump.

Nine times out of 10, he is obligated to figure out where he should jump to find the shortest distance to the dock and whether he should scramble under the bottom lifeline or jump between the two lifelines on his return.

Jax kept an eye on me from the bow

This summer while I was sewing under the covered pavillion in front of our boat, he spent hours watching me.  Carl would bring a sandwich out to me mid-day and we enjoyed calling him to come join us while we ate lunch.  “Jax, Come.”  

He appreciated having a shade canopy.

At that invitation, he leapt off the boat and ran headlong to us with tail wagging and a big dog smile for us. 

Jax helps recycle.

Oh, there was a time or three, when he just couldn’t wait to be invited and out of the corner of an eye we saw him slink toward us, tail hanging down and head low.  

On the bow of the dinghy in the Bahamas.

Clearly, he banked on our forgiveness for breaking the rule. I swear he  thought he could perhaps arrive unnoticed if he made himself smaller.  One of us would return him to the boat, and after he boarded, we could then invite him properly to join us.

Striking a pose in Annapolis

Jax loves riding in the dinghy.  He claims the bow of the dinghy as his domain, often placing himself upright on the tube where he has the best views and best sniffs, no doubt.  He has introduced us to more people than we could have ever met on our own.  This he does without even trying.  “Oh, what a pretty dog!  What kind of dog is he?” And the conversation is underway.  

Making friends with puppy on Bahama beach

He excels in the dogly graces of mutual sniffing and engaging other canines to play.  Rarely has he met a dog he doesn’t like.  

He’s gentle with puppies and offers corrections promptly and patiently when an overly rambunctious yearling leaps all over him. 

Jax calmed this guy down a little 

"Is it really necessary to climb on my nose?"

Jax is a healthy 13 year old dog.  Devoted and smart and funny and lovable to all humans who like dogs, barring small children. He is one in a million, in our book.  And that is why our decision to leave him behind when we go to the Caribbean is so hard.  

Late afternoon on the ICW

Jax, the stick-chaser extraordinaire.

We’ve spent months thinking about this.  We don’t feel right about asking Jax to take the long (10 to 20 days?) ocean voyage with us.  We know he would be miserable but for the calmest of days.  He doesn’t eat or drink or pee when the boat heels.  We just cannot do that to him.  Getting to the Bahamas was an easy 36 hours in great weather.  No one can predict the weather and sea state for 10 to 20 days in advance.  

Jax off the coast of Massachusetts

If he were to get sick out there, there is little we could do for him but suffer along with him.  Arriving in the Caribbean poses other problems. Each country has their own regulations about bringing animals into the country.  We do not want to risk him being quarantined ever. For a dog that is so watchful of his pack, that would be the cruelest thing to do to him.  

Jax walks by his human's side, as if on leash.

Because the boat will not be returning to the States for at least two years, Jax would essentially be trapped in the Caribbean, and obligated to stay behind when we fly back to visit family for a month or more. Again, too cruel to do to him.  

Sad face outside a closed door.

"Do you need me to jump in there to save you?"

Jax survived the hot summer and fall in Oriental but we were able to use the A/C on the boat and Jax reliably chose the coolest spot on the boat to lie down. We would rarely have that option in the Caribbean.  He would become “that black, furry and very hot dog” that everyone in the Caribbean would feel sorry for, especially Carl and me.  

Jax, ever attentive to his humans

Jax has been invited to live with some dear friends who live in Washington D.C..  They offered their home before we thought to ask and for that we are so grateful.  They know Jax well, and know that they are signing up for black dog hair that will inevitably turn up where it is not expected.  They love Jax.  And he loves them.  We will be renting a car to drive Jax up to Washington D.C. this weekend.  It will be the hardest return trip we will likely log from visiting friends.

Jax will love his new home. We will miss him so.

The Post-Hurricane Plan

Northern Star sail with identifying number

It’s time we share with our friends and family the (bold?) decisions we have made and our general plan for the next ~two years.  As anyone who reads our blog probably knows already, we have never been good at being able to tell people what we’ll be doing, or where we’ll be more than a month out.  This has made it difficult for potential visitors to plan airline flights very far in advance. 

A chart plotter course at night

Sorry to say, that aspect of our lives will essentially remain unchanged.  We can promise to be no more reliable in predicting our exact whereabouts than we ever have.  However, and this is a big exception, we have narrowed down our planned latitude and longitude for mid to late November 2017. 

Our voyage will begin from here—-> Lat: N37*01.041’ and Long: W076*20.615’

And we fully intend to end up here-> Lat: N17*00.729’ and Long: W061*46.292’

Dennis Johnson on left.  Carl on right.

I am purposefully delaying naming these locations for the benefit of those nerdy geography buffs who enjoy looking up Latitude and Longitude on a map of the world.  You know who you are.  GO! 

Now may I distract you with a few well-placed photographs--merely a few moments of dilly dallying while the map aficionados check the Lat and Long. (There are only so many ways to build up suspense in the context of a brief blog post.  I’m doing my best.) 

 Duluth friends:  Emily & Ken Steil, Phyllis & Dennis Leschishin

So, these are photos from our visit to friends and their dogs in Wilmington, NC before Hurricane Irma.

Carl and I at Atlantic Beach with Leschishins

Here we are with friends from Duluth, having brunch in New Bern, just up the road from our boat in Oriental.

Here we are again with friends at the ocean, in Atlantic Beach, NC. 

Butterfly eating nectar from flower

Butterfly photo captured 

while hiking 
Goose Creek State Park, NC.

And here we are racing in the Oriental Cup race which was last Saturday!  We raced on a boat called Quixotic and we all benefited from the racing experience of the elderly gentleman (mid to late -80's) in the green shirt.  

Raced on Quixotic in the Oriental Cup.  Carl & I were rail-meat at this point.

Quixotic received the Award for 3rd place in the Oriental Cup.   The Awards Breakfast was Sunday morning.

And now for the plan.  In about three weeks, we will be moving our boat from Oriental, NC where we’ve had quite a pleasant summer, up to Hampton, Virginia.  Going north as the days get colder? Yes. But only until on or around November 2nd.

Across the river from Hampton is Norfolk, home of the enormous Norfolk Naval Base.

Hampton is the site of the start of the Salty Dawg Rally, an annual event of some 50-80 sailboats (maybe a few big trawlers) that will sail from there to the Caribbean.  

Harbor of Hampton, Virginia

Prior to Hurricane Irma, the Salty Dawg Rally was scheduled to sail to the British Virgin Islands. Irma brought that plan to a screeching halt. The BVI’s, as we all know, were devastated by the largest hurricane that the Caribbean has ever experienced and that the U.S. has ever seen.  For some days after Irma, we didn’t know if the Rally would take place at all.  Was there an island along the northern perimeter of the Caribbean that could withstand the onslaught of 50-80 cruising sailboats?  

Sunrise on the Atlantic

At first we talked about sailing to the BVI’s to offer our help there.  We thought we could help by bringing supplies with us to the islands.  We could help repair buildings, or whatever was asked of us, given our limited experience with building structures, anyhow. Then we realized that we would become a burden to the islands rather than a help.  We could only carry so many supplies beyond what we need for ourselves, and if we developed boat problems in the crossing, there would be no functioning infrastructure there to help us out.  

Early morning south of New York harbor

Better for the onslaught of small sailboats to stay away from the BVI’s as they initially organize and rebuild and take our tourism dollars in the short term with us to islands that would be able to handle visitors.  From there we can move on to the more southerly islands of the Caribbean.

Nearing sunset on Atlantic Ocean

Our destination, therefore is an island on the far easternmost rim of the Caribbean islands, Antigua (ahn-TEE-gwah). It’s closest neighbor to the north, Barbuda, was hammered by Irma.  Our landfall destination will be Falmouth Harbor on the southern coast of Antigua.  After a rest up there, we will explore the Caribbean.  

Night sail on Atlantic

By going directly to Antigua, we will be bypassing all of the Bahamas, Cuba, the Dominican Republic, Puerto Rico, the American Virgin Islands, the British Virgins and the northern Leewards, all of which saw more hurricane action than the more the southern Leeward Islands of the Caribbean. In addition to Barbuda (which we are bypassing) and Antigua, the remaining Leeward Islands include Guadeloupe and Dominica.  

Sailing under a brisk wind, ~25 knots

South of the Leewards begins the Windward Islands: Martinique, St. Lucia, St. Vincent and the Grenadines, and all the way south to Grenada, off the northern coast of Venezuela.  (We shall not be venturing anywhere near Venezuela.)  Heading west from Grenada there are the islands known as the A B C’s.  Why?  Because it is easier to remember than the Aruba, Bonaire and Curacao Islands. From the western shore of Aruba, it is a mere 75 nautical miles to the coast of Colombia, South America!  

Late afternoon on the Atlantic

Now, back to those words above— “~next two years.”  Once in the Caribbean, we anticipate that Northern Star will not be returning to the U.S. for a while.  To ride out the hurricane season of 2018, we will take the boat south of the hurricane zone, ie. Grenada.  We do expect to come back to the States during the next two years, but by air rather than by sailboat. By sail, it would take months to work our way back north to the U.S.

Approaching Bahamas last winter

There is so much more to tell you about—the Salty Dawg Rally, boat preparations, our crew and other important decisions we’ve made, but that will have to wait for another post.  For the next few weeks we are still in Oriental.   More to follow.