sailors who are tired of waiting in Boqueron like to point out…it's a
long period swell. Ocean waves that come all the way from the cold
fronts that are pounding the Bahamas have time to spread out and
smooth out by the time they arrive in the Caribbean. So, it should be
OK to head into the open waters with that itsy bitsy 4 to 5 foot north
swell, shouldn't it?
We motor out of Boqueron Bay, Puerto Rico at sunrise. This first part
is easy because the bulk of the island and a large reef protects the
southeast coast of the island for miles out to sea. The winds are
quiet, still feeling the effects of the night lee we don't expect to
sail for a few hours. Our plan is to arrive at Mona Island and anchor
behind the small reef on the west end of the island. We should have
the 45 miles under the keel before mid-afternoon. Just in time to
explore this completely isolated desert island perched in the middle
of the Mona Passage - the bit of water that separates Puerto Rico and
the larger island of Hispaniola.
Sure enough the winds pick up as we head for Mona Island. The swell is
quite a bit larger than advertised by the weather forecast. More like
6 foot SE wind chop meeting the six foot north swell is what we are
getting. This is not uncomfortable, but it does make me wonder about
conditions in our intended anchorage. Voyageur C takes the north coast
route around the island and we head along the south coast. As we hit
the ridge and the water shores up to about 50 feet, the color change
is mesmerizing. Bluer than blue and bright. Beautiful, but certainly
not much calmer than out at sea. We meet up with our companions at the
entrance to the anchorage. The large swell is breaking on the shallow
waters in the channel. Not good. Big rollers are pushing up onto the
beach and they are sometimes submerging the markers on either side of
the reef. Nobody is going into that anchorage today.
Plan B is to keep heading for the Dominican Republic. None of us have
been to the south coast of this island before, and now we'll be making
our arrival at night. More accurately, it will be in the early morning
hours of a new moon. Why don't they just call it NO moon, as in pitch
dark which is what it will be for the bulk of the trip. We get to
alter our course slightly which makes the wind come around to a very
agreeable direction. We've got the sails up and we're moving along
across the second half of the Mona passage. The waves seem to smooth
out too, so we settle in for the additional 10 hours of the journey.
Sailing is good until about 15 miles from the anchorage. We've been
moving along the coast for a few hours and our destination of Isla
Saona is coming into view on the radar screen. The night has been
peaceful for the most part. We did almost run over a fish trap once
we reached the shallower waters off the coast of the island. But we
changed course, moving a bit further from land for the remainder of
the trip. Traveling in the dark makes any lights very easy to see.
Voyageur C's running lights showed them within a mile or so of us. One
green light behind us showed another sailboat moving along about four
miles away. But from the shoreline, nothing at first and then we spot
two lights that look like they might be onshore at the anchorage. We
track them as we venture closer to the tip of the island.
We're coming into the calm waters behind the island and still we see
nothing of the shoreline. It is so dark. At night, usually, the sky or
land is slightly darker than the other making for a slight visual
demarcation between the two. Not tonight. First we drop the main sail
and then I go forward with the flashlight to make sure no fish traps
are strewn along the way into the anchorage. I can see that bluer than
blue color again in the beam of the flashlight. I can also see a whole
lot of wildlife. Fish that are illuminated by the light leap up in
fright. Birds taking advantage of the well lit prey swoop in for a
quick nighttime snack. I get all distracted, shining the beam on the
nature show, and Roy is wondering what the hell is going on. He's
confident the two lights we can see are other boats close into shore,
but how close? Soon I go back to the cockpit to report on the
wildlife. Sill no sight of land we slow down and I get ready to drop
the anchor. The chart plotter indicates that we are right on the
anchor symbol. I can hear waves lapping on shore and finally I see
some dark areas. Anchors away, we watch as a flying fish, with wings
extended, swims about a foot under the water right by the anchor
chain. I let out the usual 100 feet of chain and we pull back to make
sure we are hooked in. Current must be running here because we sit
sideways to the chain. This is disorientating, but we are too tired to
worry much about it. Voyageur C is the only other boat near-by and
they are experiencing the same thing. Stopping is so great after
making a long passage. Roy and I cheers ourselves with a victory beer
and fall right asleep. Here we are in the D.R.!
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