US East Coast to the Caribbean - Pacific Crossing Notes: A Sailor's Guide to the Coconut Milk Run - page 173

Mayaguana to Jamaica: Three Days / 338 NM
If our passage to Mayaguana was something of a tedious ordeal to be endured, the three-
day downwind run to Jamaica was a gentle walk in the park. Any misgivings about the
master passage plan now gave way to satisfaction. An ominous-looking series of squalls
turned out to be relatively benign, especially with an ENE wind abaft the beam and only a
minor swell. Gone were the days of hanging from handholds and clinging to every inch of
easting by the skin of our teeth; this was the kind of Caribbean passage-making we had
hoped for! The main challenge came on the second night, when we nervously tiptoed an in-
visible line between mountainous Cuba, tinted orange-red by the setting sun, and the Wind-
ward Passage shipping lane, dotted with the lights of freighters. To my relief, it was a night
of little action on both fronts.
Cuba's low mountains remained in view for most of the next morning, and we even caught
a glimpse of Haiti's lofty Massif de la Hotte far to the east. These impressive heights were
a welcome sight after months along the relatively low-lying U.S. East Coast. At the same
time, I imagined the three-dimensional world invisible beneath us: the sea floor rising and
falling in mountains, plateaus, and dramatic valleys. Although it seemed as if Namani was
barely crawling along, a look at the speed log revealed five to six knot progress under
poled out genoa alone. It was Thanksgiving Day at sea, and the setting sun colored the
scattered white crests of waves with its red hues: yet another beautiful sight to be grateful
for on a long, full list.
Our third dawn at sea lit the breathtaking sight of Jamaica's aptly named Blue Mountains
ahead. As Namani closed with the coast, we were enveloped by the exotic scent of a rich
and humid forest. While wind and seas came to a crashing halt on Jamaica's north shore,
we ducked through a narrow side entrance into the perfectly protected inner harbor of Port
Antonio.
If Mayaguana was our solitude interlude, Port Antonio was our taste of city bustle on a
small, walkable scale. Nowhere did we find evidence of the dire warnings we had received
about Jamaica, only friendly and helpful people in what is known as the safest (if rainiest)
corner of the island nation. From the accommodating customs officials and staff of com-
fortable Errol Flynn Marina, to the street vendors and local populace, we felt warmly wel-
comed. The town was a bustle of activity and reggae music, and the rooftop “Tip Top Res-
taurant” was the perfect perch from which to take it all in.