Travel Reference
In-Depth Information
Chapter Eight
Sailing to St.Maarten.
While in Rome.
Meeting Tam again.
Darleen.
Nudist colony.
Gavin embarks.
Tape measure man.
It was with these nostalgic memories swimming through my mind that I pulled up the anchor
from Martinique and began my first, serious, solo sail. Predictably, my depression lifted,
and my spirits rose with the morning's golden sun. The beaten, coppery sea reflected the sun
in its ripples; the scene was breathtaking and timeless. The morning air had a hazy, moist
feel to it as the day unfolded.
Déjà vu had a reef in her mainsail and the largest of her Genoas was set all full, white, and
flying. The self-steering system, fondly named Dove after the novel by Robin Lee Graham,
was ably steering the boat on a reach bound north-northwest to St. Maarten. Frigates and
terns wheeled about their business in the crisp, morning sky reflecting my carefree mood. I
had made a hearty breakfast from a can of ham and two soft boiled eggs on a thick slice of
buttered bread. My large mug of sweet, hot coffee sat safely within reach, and life was good
again. Presently, I swung down below and retrieved my trusty, old guitar.
Perching on the edge of the cockpit seat, I settled down to play and felt happy enough to
sing out loudly and without inhibitions as there was not a soul about to hear. Indeed, I took
great comfort in the soothing sounds of the guitar; it was an easy and healthy escape, and it
would always raise my spirits. Here, out at sea, it transcended to a spiritual place in my heart
and soul that nurtured and inspired me.
I was suddenly jerked out of my musical trance by the violent flogging of the large Genoa.
The wind had swiftly strengthened from an invisible and treacherous white squall that bore
down on the unsuspecting boat. Déjà vu reeled heavily to leeward, and the flapping headsail
was deafening in my ear as I shook off the belayed halyard on the mast and hauled it down
to the deck. Upon dowsing the sail, the boat eased up from its heeling but it was now off
course, swinging hastily around into a dangerous gibing position. I had to act quickly or this
would bring the boom crashing dangerously about on the new tack.
I leaped down into the cockpit to alter course and, as I laid a hand on the tiller, the boom
swung violently across the cockpit, narrowly missing my head. The stays shook, and the
mast shivered with the impact. I looked fearfully at the rigging wires for damage and men-
