The Mystery

Everybody is worrying about where they’re going to go
When the whole thing’s done
But no one knows for certain and so it’s all the same to me
I think I’ll just let the mystery be.

-Iris DeMent

Our good friend, Bob asked if cruisers should cruise to the Caribbean or stay home next season. Bob is on the Salty Dawg Rally team and he is their Port Captain for Antigua. Since the pandemic has affected the entire world, the same question could be asked more generally. Sally Erdle, publisher of the Caribbean Compass monthly asks how to entice cruisers back to the Caribbean. Ironically, if there is any place not affected, maybe that would be the last place cruisers would be allowed in.

However, cruisers will cruise, and the Caribbean is an ideal place to do so. Specifically, the Eastern Caribbean. The islands are a unique bubble; far enough to sail for a good “blue water” adventure yet close enough to easily get back home if needed. The weather is ideal if you enjoy summer beach days. The only thing cold here is the ice cream. And beer. And rhum drinks. Even the people are warm and friendly! The constant Trade Winds keep everything light and breezy. And there is enough besides the beaches to keep you occupied for days, weeks or years.  

I needn’t duplicate the islands’ tourist brochures or post pictures that are absolutely stunning as they would do a far better job than me. But I will comment on what I mentioned above: the bubble.

Inside the bubble, time moves at it’s own pace. Yes, island time is a real artifact. Cruisers usually encounter that the first time they clear into Customs/Immigration/Port Authorities on arrival. Once the initial adjustments are made and accounted for most cruisers realize that time is relative. You’re in the bubble. It contains all the elements you would expect of a tropical paradise and rarely fails to please the adventurous.

The bubble, however, is not like Disney World or a big amusement park. These islands are not manmade pseudo-replicas of reality unless you are in an all-inclusive resort. And if you are, why did you cruise here? Maybe it’s just me, but the islands’ natural beauty and landscapes are not enhanced by these large resorts. However, the fact of the matter is that they are inevitable.

They are inevitable because the bubble is not self-sufficient. The last time they were, if ever, was before Columbus “discovered” them. The Amerindians didn’t have resorts to accommodate visitors and it took over 400 years and a very tumultuous history to arrive at the present status. I highly recommend looking into that history to really appreciate today’s bubble.

Today, the islands rely on tourism and services for 70-80% of their economy. Trinidad is the only outlier. Besides an economy about 20 times the size of the other islands, services in Trinidad only accounts for 43% of their economy with tourism a small part of that. This translates into islands that need to open their arms as wide as possible to welcome visitors and yet keep the islands looking like “the islands”.

Then the pandemic came. Yes, the cases that were here obviously came from outside the bubble. As elsewhere, the fear of being overwhelmed forced a lockdown and barriers to enter. They have been successful as the virus did not overwhelm the islands, mainly because the tourist trade ceased, and they took social distancing, masks, lockdowns and curfews seriously. The timing of the virus’s arrival was nearly optimum. As the owner of Spice of India here in St Lucia told us, it came just as the season was winding down. The real test of survival will come in a few months.      

So the mystery is how will they accept tourists but not the virus they may bring? The islands are in a better position to control that then most other tourist destinations. Could Paris, New York, a small town in Italy really control it’s visitors? Grenada did a good job allowing cruisers in but required a quarantine. That system could not work for the general tourist season. Quick reliable testing at point of entry seems like the main way that could be done. That, or until vaccines that might arrive early next year are universally available, seems like a viable system.

Will that be the way these islands open? I think it may unless the mystery is solved some other way. Relying on good luck to stop the spread doesn’t work. There will be a great desire and demand to escape the restrictions of the last 5 months by everyone. The inducement to come may lie in demonstrating how safe it will be. Everyone is hoping that the bubble doesn’t burst.  

For now, I will just have to let the mystery be.

First Wave, Second Wave, Third Wave, Go!

Anyone who has spent time at an ocean beach knows that the big waves come in groups, or wave trains. Five is usually the number that seems about right. I learned that empirical fact in my early teen years every Sunday at the Riis Park ocean beach in Queens, NY. That was important since I loved to body surf. I also learned my capabilities of surfing, absent board or floatation device, and how to avoid the tumble in the curl or the bottom scraping in the shells that accompanies a less then perfect ride.

When young and inexperienced, I took the first big wave that came along. This gives a fair ride, as there will be enough water after the curl to keep you off the bottom and a fair run up to the berm. I told myself to keep the arms out front, keep the body flat and as stiff as possible. The hands act as forward foils and skid pads. That was important, to keep my chest from looking like the back of a just recently flogged pirate. I would also be out of the water when the following bigger waves roll in.

As my confidence grew along with my height and weight, the techniques were similar, but I waited for the bigger waves of the train. Third or fourth waves were the ones to watch for. The later waves might face the reflected backwash off the beach, especially if the berm is high on a steep winter beach. You can’t get a good run with that. The middle wave seemed to offer the best ride. The preceding troughs were getting deep. The height of the curl seemed to jump up. The timing of the launch was critical. The out-wash from the previous wave would try to suck you into the oncoming wall of water so you didn’t want to launch against the strong current. But you couldn’t wait too long and have the wave pass over you. Final launch included a last arm sweep to the side of your body. Head first, your feet and hands trimming like pectoral fins. Body trim was important. A slight concave body form will help. Don’t get too much of a down angle as you will surely tumble, maybe even hit bottom and end up with a head full of sand and shells. You may pop up just in time for the next wave to crash on top of you. Hopefully there is time to take a breath. But if all goes well you land high on the summer berm in inches of water, with little sand in your mouth. You look back, out to the ocean, just as the last wave of this train arrives and smile. Other body surfers may have missed their launch, tumbled or bailed out, but the sand in your suit was a testament of a ride well done.

“Watch for the second wave”. Or maybe the third. How different that means from the time when I was a young teen. The world is on lookout for the pandemic’s second wave. Are they ready to get in position for that ride to the beach? No, not everyone will ride it. Many on the beach will not even get their suits wet. Some of those in the water may tumble and bottom out. Some may not even catch that their breach after they get rolled. Most will make it up to the berm, even with the scars on their chest.

Here in St. Lucia, which is turning out to be our summer residents, the waves are calm. The first waves of the pandemic receded, no doubt due to the early on lock down and social distancing procedures of the country. How did we live with ten days of total closure? On even more days of no alcohol sales? Well, our rum locker was full and we do carry enough food to last weeks, even if that means granola bars and soup. No problem getting toilet paper! For a short time, we couldn’t go swimming by dinghy. The beaches were closed (I have a thing about “closed beaches”. Nobody can literally close a beach. Unless, of course, they drain the ocean or dig-up and haul the sand away. But what would be left? No, you can’t “close a beach”. You can, however, bar people from going there).

But it been almost four months now and most things are essentially open. We went with Narvin and Debra (Liferafts and Inflatables) to the Saturday market in Castries which is open. The local produce, meat and fish were plentiful but absent were the stands of t-shirts and souvenirs. No need to display those as there were no tourists to be seen. We noted that less than half the people had masks on. Since the island hasn’t had any known cases in weeks everyone feels confident that the wave has passed. However, last week the first “outsiders”, i.e. tourists arrived by plane from Miami and there are more to follow. They are “holed up” in all inclusive resorts and under “quarantine” in the resort. I suppose that is better than from where they came from, but the locals have taken note.

Debra (we are getting our life raft re-certified), advised us to move around the island now before the tourists start to arrive. All are concerned with a second wave that could arrive with the visitors. There will be restrictions and protocols and certainly the country will monitor the situation but will this be the next pandemic wave arriving on these shores?

Eyes looking to the States will not find any solace in how a powerful first world country deals with this situation. Well, maybe they do see a lesson in how “doing your own thing” sometimes is not a great idea. The first wave still seems to be racing across the country, even in the warmth of the summer. One can only imagine what the fall will bring. Open-air restaurants and outdoor activities seem to be recommended to limit the air-born spread of the virus. That’s easy to accomplish in places like this, but in cooler weather it is definitely going to be a problem. Schools and work spaces will definitely be a problem that must be solved.

I sit here thinking of the waves hoping that we learn the best way to ride and survive them. Many CARICOM (Caribbean Community) islands formed a “bubble” that will allow freer travel between islands and coordinated responses to help deal with any new waves that arrive on their shores. They hope the bubble will not burst and visitors will return. The big test will be in the fall when the season really resumes. Will anyone tumble, roll or bottom out? Will some pop up and catch a breath while others get pounded again and not be so lucky? There are worse things than getting sand in our bathing suits. We are all in the same water and we all must learn the way of the waves.

For now, the islands are almost devoid of their seasonal visitors. Dare I say that they are in their “natural” state? The beauty is still here, only the visitors are missing. Cruisers that have not sailed away have found their hurricane holes for their boats. They are now scrambling to find transportation off the islands for themselves. As much as it may seem like a more “natural” state, the addiction to the visitors cannot be erased. No doubt they will return, must return, for the islands to resume their economic survival. For the next month or two the islands will take a breather but the waves of visitors will surely arrive.

St. Lucia For Now

It’s the second half of June. Normally we would be in Trinidad by now and Kalunamoo would be ready to be hauled and put on the hard. We would take that opportunity to do some M&R, especially things that needed to be done when the boat is out of the water. We would also fly back to the States to visit family and friends, visit our favorite doctors, and get reacquainted to the hustle and bustle of big city life. Kalunamoo could be worked on by workers without our interference. We don’t have a problem living aboard even when the boat is on the hard so overall that works out just fine. There is a small community of cruisers and locals that we have come to know there so it’s not like our social life ceases. Actually, it is just as active as when we are sailing.

Of course, this year it’s a little different since the pandemic has “’locked down” much of the world. Even though a very small percentage of the world’s population has been stricken, the stealth, unknowns, lack of treatments or cures, lead most countries to be very cautious in letting the virus spread. That is understandable. It is also understandable that people’s empathy for others is not unlimited.

As of now, only a very few island countries have allowed cruisers like ourselves to enter. Most airports are closed to passenger flights and most seaports are closed to boats like ours. The two countries that many cruisers in this part of the world usually head for to avoid hurricanes or do their annual M&R is Grenada and Trinidad. Grenada is not really out of the hurricane belt but in the last few years has successfully encouraged cruisers to make Grenada their “hurricane hole”. Encouraging tourism is very important for them and so they opened their border, only for cruisers a few weeks ago, subject to a 14-day quarantine and testing. They actually organized a good system specifically to handle cruisers which will pay off in attract future business. Commercial flights in and out will resume in a few weeks (as of now).

Trinidad, on the other hand, still has closed boarders for all and it looks like it might be late July before cruisers will be accepted in. Trinidad is still our preferred destination (plan A) for a number of reasons despite their lack of concern for their marina and cruiser business. At this time, we will wait here in St. Lucia (plan B). St. Lucia itself has closed borders but internally there are few restrictions or problems staying here. At present we are at anchor and could go back to the marina if a hurricane comes this way or if we just want to be on the dock again.

We could have sailed back to the U.S. (plan C) but that would not have solved the pandemic! In other words, leaving the East Caribbean would be a decision by itself and not based on the pandemic. We will eventually return with Kalunamoo but just not yet. But the future, as we all know, is written in sand. Well see what the next wave brings.

Life aboard is quieter as there are not many cruisers around. We have come to know a few but the “social distancing” has impacted happy hours! Maureen has joined the resumed Ladies Friday Luncheon and we’ll see how long that will continue. Our daily routines have not altered that much except that sailing and moving the boat around is severely curtailed. We have much more time to read and watch videos.

Just as no man is an island, no island is a complete world. We still believe Trinidad will open but in the meantime we will remain here indefinitely. Flying out when any airport opens is questionable and flying back is even more uncertain. Eventually the whole world will have to learn to live with this virus and adjust accordingly. In the meantime, Zoom, Facetime, video messages, and email are still pandemic free and, for now, keeps us connected.  

On the Hook

Three months alongside at Rodney Bay Marina in St. Lucia came to an end. The dock lines were thrown off and we made our way out of the lagoon, down the channel to the wide bay and dropped the hook in the clear warm waters of Rodney Bay. It was good to get underway again, even if only for a short time. The weather was fine and the fair winds made the journey all that was to be expected. Twenty minutes after leaving the dock we were securely anchored. A new view and new neighbors, although there are only a few boats out here.

On the way to the bay!

No doubt we are getting old. Time seems to fly by. Three months seemed like a few days. Difficult to remember exactly what we did during that time. Read a number of books, saw many YouTube videos, watched Netflix and Amazon, went swimming, did some M&R, ordered take out, saw fellow cruisers from 6 feet away, video chatted with family and friends and tracked the spread of a pandemic in real time. And watched the news from around the world.

Deja Vue all over again. Wasn’t it about 60 years ago we watched rockets blast off into space while demonstrators marched in our cities? Street fires blazed and riot police filled the TV screen. Only now we watch it on computers and telephones. How far have we progressed? Our inhumanity remains, only the space suits look better.

So, we set the hook in the rocky bottom of the bay. It looks well set so I don’t foresee Kalunamoo  wandering off in the middle of the night. We can still go ashore for provisions and takeout. More restaurants are opening with limited seating. The pandemic still looms hidden while our masked faces shield us from an uncertain fate. The fact that the stealthy virus can spread undetected and that most people will not be unduly affected really tests our ability to show empathy to those we don’t know. Protocols are followed lest we become the bearers of other people’s misfortune, or maybe, even our own. The rewards of virtue go unrewarded, but as my dad told me years ago, virtue is its own reward. The hook secures us to the seabed, tethered, if you will, to a world that shrugs at our plight.

Places are Opening!

That hook is no match to tempests that brew over the horizon. The last blog laid out the recent history of hurricanes in this area. It may have had much more information that you wanted! But much like the virus, only a small percentage of all the inhabitants may be affected. But what precautions and what arrangements are made by all! I suppose that is because there is a history that goes back to before recorded history. It takes a lot of repeating to get humans to really learn the lessons of life.

We will seek out a safe harbor before such a tempest comes forth. The marina here actually welcomes  boats back seeking shelter if a storm targets the island. Rodney Bay Marina is well protected in the lagoon with new floating and fixed docks so it could be a good place to stay if a hurricane does come.

We still plan to go to Trinidad, eventually, but they are being very conservative in opening their boarders to outsiders. Unlike the other islands down here, Trinidad has a much larger population, about 10 times as large as East Caribbean Islands, and doesn’t rely on tourists for foreign income. Most boats going to Trinidad, in fact, do so not because they are “tourists” but because of the marine facilities and services provided. I expect that by the end of June we should be there. Hopefully, air flights would resume sometime in July. In any case, the question of the future path of the pandemic is really an unknown so we will just have to wait and see.

Ready for underwater gardening

Sitting in a marina or even sitting on the hook for extended periods of time (measured in weeks) allows marine growth to really take hold on the under-water body of the boat. Even with anti-foul bottom paint, sitting still turns the bottom into a marine farm. At anchor, weekly wiping down the bottom keeps it clean (just like mowing the lawn except you do it underwater). When in the marina, I generally don’t like to get into the water. Besides the questionable water quality, it is usually not very clear so that visibility is very limited. After 3 months in the marina I could only imagine what the bottom looked like. On the way to anchor you could tell by boat speed that there was substantial growth. I was surprised when I dove on it at anchor that it wasn’t as bad as I imagined. The propeller did grow oysters and there were big barnacle patches, but I’ve seen worse. A thin grass line at the water line was the only grass. A month in Falmouth Harbor, Antigua produced more growth. Well, a few days of exercise and the bottom will be good to go. Literally.

In the meanwhile, the breezes at anchor temper the increasingly warmer air. The sun has been north of here for almost a month now, not to retreat south until the middle of August. That means we had to shift our sunshades to the port side of the boat. With wind always out of the east, the boat faces east at anchor. The sun, May to August therefore transits the sky to the north of us on our port side. Life returns to life on the hook.

Where oh Where Will My Hurricanes Be

As mentioned in the last number of posts, we are still in St. Lucia as the pandemic has locked down all East Caribbean Islands (ECI’s) for inter-island and international travel. They are starting to “open up” as I write this as the spread of the virus has been blunted by the lock down and controls of the islands. Grenada just opened its border to cruisers from other islands seeking safe haven for the hurricane season. We anticipate that Trinidad will do the same, hopefully in June.

The official hurricane season is June 1 to November 30. This is declared by the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration (NOAA) and covers the time period for the vast majority of hurricanes for the year. NOAA also gives these storms names so that the public can follow them easily. Tropical Depressions and Tropical Storms, which proceed or follow the evolution of Hurricanes carry the same name. In other words, systems that are tropical in nature which could develop into hurricanes, whether they do or not, are named.

Needless to say, boats and ships try to avoid these destructive “named” storms. Insurance companies don’t like them either. Most insurance coverage explicitly spells out that there is no or limited coverage during the “season” in the specific hurricane “box”. No wonder then, that boat owners move away from where hurricanes and named storms tend to gather in “the box”. So where oh where will my hurricanes be?

That brings up the crystal ball forecasts that NOAA and many others issue regarding the Hurricane Season. “It’s going to be an above/below/average season, with such and such storms”. A full-throated justification with all sorts of detailed theories, reasons, analysis, percentages etc. of why this will be so. Interesting but what use is it? How should I react knowing that we will get 16 storms (maybe) rather than an average of 14? All it takes is one to ruin your day.

Hurricanes and storms spawn and exist in an area from Africa to Mexico to New England, in other words, a very big area! Compared to that area, the area of an individual storm is really small. Some are larger than others and can affect large areas. In any case, you cannot discount the destruction if you are ever near one. Fortunately forecasting the track, intensity and time frames for individual storms get better each year. And that is much more important than what the “season” will bring. There is no way anyone can forecast months in advance when, where, how big or much of anything about these storms. At best, maybe two weeks before initial development, something might be noticed. And even then, where its heading or how strong it will be is not certain at all. But we can look at history.

NOAA has great public records of all weather forecasts (to verify how accurate they were) but what I was interested in was the actual track of the hurricanes and named storms in the ECI’s (Virgins to Trinidad) over the last 30 years. NOAA publishes a track map for each year which I studied and then compiled the table below (you could also analysis how accurate their forecasts were).

The data needs some explanations. The table lists only NOAA’s named Tropical Depressions, Tropical Storms, Hurricanes and Major Hurricanes. Hurricanes go through stages of strength and organization and so these are the classifications of the “named” storms. There are also tropical waves, subtropical and ex-tropical systems, heavy squalls etc. which may offer sever weather but were not included. I wanted to concentrate on the named storms.

Each storm listed crossed over or between the island chain (Leeward and Windward plus Trinidad – ECI’s) on the date indicated. Don’t assume that winds and destruction only occurred on the islands mentioned. It is only the center (eye) that was noted, neighboring islands would also have experienced effects of the storm. This is especially true of the small islands like Saba, St Kitts etc. Storms evolve over time and therefore become stronger or weaker as they churn their way from the east to the west. You may note that a storm is notated as a Tropical Storm, but you may remember it as a Major Hurricane. That is because it was only a Tropical Storm at that point. Storms that did not pass thru or were not close were not listed. Storms that only hit Puerto Rico, DR and north were not listed. I only looked at the last 30 years. Data goes back much further if a true climatology study was to be done. In any case, this is just a look at the last 30 years, I don’t intend it to be anything more than that.

What did I find? The number of named storms in the Atlantic, 1998 to 2019, totaled 431. Of that, only 59 crossed over or through the East Caribbean Islands (ECI’s). That is less than 14% of the totaled named storms. Of these ECI’s storms, 6 were tropical depressions, 34 tropical storms, 10 hurricanes and 9 major hurricanes. Meaning only 19, 4.4%, of all Atlantic named storms during that period were hurricanes that hit one or more ECI’s.

The official season is June 1 to November 30. However, Atlantic named storms did occur from April to December. One storm, hurricane Alex in 2016 tracked from January 12 to 15 in the central Atlantic.  In the ECI’s, all named storms only occurred during the official season. In 4 of the years there were no storms at all in the ECI’s: 1991, 1992, 1997, 2003.

Of the 59 ECI’s storms, the majority, 76%, were Tropical Storms. Hurricanes accounted for 42% and Tropical depressions were 11%.

Where were they? This became interesting. It is popularly believed that Trinidad has no storms and as you go north from there the numbers, and therefore the chances of getting one, increase. Looking at the numbers however (last 30 years only) shows that Trinidad had 5 storms: 2 Depressions, 3 Tropical storms (no hurricanes). Grenada had 11 storms: 1 Depression, 9 Tropical storms, 1 Major hurricane. All the way up north, the Virgin Islands had 10 storms and 7 were hurricanes. Between Grenada and the Virgin Islands the range varied from 5 to 8 storms each, almost even distribution. The take-away is that Trinidad did indeed have the lowest number of storms and that Grenada is not as immune to storms as believed. In fact, Grenada is only second to the Virgins in number of storms. The most other islands had considerably fewer but not as few as Trinidad. It is noted, however, that the strength of the storms increased as you go north from Trinidad to the Virgins. The Virgins had 4 hurricanes and 3 major hurricanes.

Other interesting points. All storms formed east of the ECI’s and traveled westward except 3: Sebastine 1995, Lenny 1999, and Omar 2008. All 3 had a track with an easterly component. Both Lenny and Omar were major Hurricanes when they were in the ECI’s. Lenny was also interesting because just a month before, Hurricane Jose tracked the same path but in the reverse direction. Iris in 1995 has the record for hitting all islands between Martinique and St. Martin when it tracked up the chain. 

Finally, what was the trend overall of storms during the last 30 years? The below graph indicates that named storms in all the Atlantic trended up. Storms in the ECI’s may also show that trend but not as pronounced. Storms per year ranged from 7 to 28. Twenty-eight in 2005 was off the chart! The average number for all storms was 14.3/year (13.8 if you delete 2005). ECI’s average was 2.

Series1 = ALL STORMS, Series2 = ECI’s STORMS, Series3 = TREND

A popular often asked question are storms getting bigger or stronger. That is beyond the scope of this review although you certainly can get data from NOAA to get some idea. Actually, that question is much more difficult to answer and there is no definitive answer…yet.

So, where oh where will this year’s hurricanes be? TS Arthur already formed, nowhere near the ECI’s. All I will say is that, yes there will be hurricanes and storms this season. And Lord knows where they will be.

Where Are We Going?

The sun rose this morning, much as it has since I can remember. It’s dark and then there is light. As a kid growing up in Brooklyn, the first inkling that I had that it would soon be light was the sound of the milk truck. It woke me as it stopped in front of the house. The clinking of milk bottles being deposited into the milk box on the back porch signaled the end of night. The sky brightened, and another day began. I was on my way.

A few years later, my mother’s voice, alarm clocks or my older sister’s scurrying to get dressed for school took the place of the milk bottles. It was time to get going. Get dressed, have breakfast, off to school, to the beach, to the park, to college, to a dance, to work, to a wedding, to a funeral. We were on our way.

As the family grew, so did the destinations of the day. The standing orders of family life directed our efforts to provide destinations to those we cared for the most. Competing destinations, conflicts of paths, objections, both rational and irrational, surfaced. But there was always that sense, if not perfectly clear, that we all were on our way.

When the family blossomed into families of their own, and when destinations could be unhinged from the constraints of wage earning and parental responsibilities – not due to a lack of love or concern but an acknowledgement of their own destinations – we were on our way.

Sailing took us down south through turbid tidewaters and saltmarshes, across the deep indigo blue sea and over the clear turquoise shoals. Through squalls and sunshine, between the flat Bahama sand banks and the volcanic islands in the Caribbean we carried on. Hurricanes occasionally scar this landscape, but vegetation grows back quickly, covering the gashes and slashes. Human history washed over the islands as well, leaving a patina of mixed races and legacies that also left scars. Time may heal all wounds but sometimes fail to hide the scars. Nevertheless, the continual forward march is unstoppable. They are on their way.

We enjoy the journey knowing full well that there are many other possible voyages. Many other destinations. But here we took pause and then the possibilities froze. In short order, there was no way we could be on our way. Was this how the wooly mammoth felt when the ice and snow descended on their roaming lifestyle? What do the sockeye salmon think when they swim up against a dammed Baker Lake? Totally out of their control, they cast their fate to the wind. We sit and wait for the virus to subside, mask at hand, hand sanitizer at the ready, an eye to the weather, and hope wind is not our fate to challenge. Others rebelled. It was not impossible to carry on. They did go on their way only to find similar circumstances at their destination.

The deep freeze is slowly thawing. Movements are small but encouraging. Businesses are further opening their doors beyond mere take-out. Of the two big summer destinations, Grenada and Trinidad, Grenada has already opened their doors to cruisers, quarantine and tests required. We believe Trinidad will eventually allow us to proceed and, if so, we can haul Kalunamoo and fly to New York to visit. The threat of hurricane damage there is minimal, and the boat will be safe. So that is where we are going, eventually. And we will be on our way. Again.      

The Hurricane Season Approaches

Migration is a natural occurrence. The animal kingdom has been at it for a considerable time. The swallows of Argentina may be the most famous. From their cliff side home in Goya, to the Mission in Capistrano, they are celebrated in song and folklore. Oddly enough, when the Mission renovated their building a few years ago the swallows failed to return. The good people of Capistrano feared their loss and notoriety. After some research and experiments to lure them back they successfully restored their nests in the renovated Mission with a replication of what was there before. I suppose they should have thought of that before they tore down the old nest. But we humans love new digs don’t we?

The Swallow of Capistrano

Other birds migrate. Butterflies migrate. Turtles migrate, Leatherbacks over 1200 miles. Whales, fish, and yes, even fresh water fish migrate. Land animals also migrate. Not as far as the mobile air and sea creatures but many travel many hundreds of miles during the changing seasons.

It not surprising then, that humans also have a migration urge. Of course, it has been considerably repressed ever since we discovered fire. Or more properly, used fire for more than having our wildebeest cooked medium rare. By the way, wildebeest travel nearly 1500 miles a year on the Serengeti. Partly to escape being cooked medium rare?

Which brings me to the migration of humans in our neck of the woods, or sea. The famous Snow Birds that migrate south to Florida from the North East has made the Sun Shine State famous for years. Attracted to the warmth of the southern sun, Snow Birds will never be found in snow. In fact, if it weren’t for those early Snow Birds, Florida would still be a place best fit for reptiles, mosquitos, and pink flamingoes. By the way, none of those migrate. In any case, Snow Birds have the ability to fly, usually in an Airbus 300; move at speeds approaching 80 MPH in everything from Altimas to Winnebagos and in general arrive in their winter nesting grounds in the northern hemisphere winter, returning in the spring.

We belong to a different migratory schema. It is also connected to the seasons but inversely related to the attractive properties of the migratory destination. The islands we sail among during most of the year have marginal temperature variations. It is one of the reasons we are here. Call it perpetual summer or “another boring day in paradise” but the fact is, the change of seasons is generally unremarkable. The additional fact that the actual time of sunrise and sunset doesn’t vary more than hour year-round makes time seem to stand still. Sunset is always around dinner time. (Clarification for Snow Birds: dinnertime is considerably later than any Early Bird Special). At our age, that is not a bad thing.

But there is a migration for those who are mobile. As mentioned above, it is not a move to a more attractive location but one where a thing doesn’t occur. That “thing” of course is the dreaded Hurricane. Known world-wide as Hurricanes, Typhoons, Tropical Storms or any number of other names, they do rather upset the local population when their houses and land blow away. Understandably so, the best way to be prepared for a hurricane is to be where there’re not. The islanders have a distinct disadvantage in that regard as no islands have the capability to move, even only a few tens of miles, to be “where there not”. The destructive force of these things can be such, that moving an island should be considered. Given the advance of technology, I’m sure it may be possible. Remember the TV show Lost? Something the geeks need to work on.

Until such time, we, living on a sailboat, have the capability to move our homestead out of harms way. Hurricanes and boats are not a good combination, much worse than to those ashore. We, along with many other cruisers and visitors on boats here, start planning to head to “where there’re not” about this time of year. For us, that is Trinidad. Since 1850 only 6 hurricanes affected Trinidad and Tobago. North of Trinidad, all the way to the U.S. Coast, hurricanes are not that unusual. Granted, the chance of a particular location getting hit is very small. But it is enough of a concern that many boat insurance companies ban coverage from north of Trinidad to Florida during the hurricane season. That same logic propels people to buy Lotto tickets.

The time to be south of here (St. Lucia) is in the next months. Normally this is not a problem, but of course, these are not normal times. Migratory travel is restricted and so we may be in the same dilemma as those sparrows heading to Capistrano. We know that Trinidad is inclined to find a solution as those in the Mission did. Otherwise, we need to go “where there’re not”.    


How’s that lockdown treating you? Yes, I know the feeling. I can’t stop this feeling, deep inside of me. Girl you don’t realize what you do to me.  Well B.J. Thomas must have been singing about that girl coVid, only 19 years old, but what a looker. Turns the whole world upside down.

Restless, that’s what I hear. Everybody’s talking at me, can’t hear a word they sayin’. Something about they can’t get no satisfaction. Maybe that mask is a little too tight. Well I see many are moving on up. Up to the north side. They goin’ for a better piece of the pie. Maybe its that country road calling. West Virginia? Blue Ridge Mountains?

Sailing took us away to where we always heard it could be. And it’s not far down. You understand why you came this way. Well, we got stuck in paradise as the virus closed all the doors. What else can we do but have some quality time. Been scraping and sanding, cleaning and sealing, and tossing and turning all night thinking that things just ain’t right. Should we be restless like those we know? For all we know it may be just a dream. But they are sailing on. Sail on, down the line, about a 1000 miles, don’t really want to know. But do wish them well. If I had wings like Noah’s dove, maybe we could fly.

Sometimes it’s the end of a perfect day but we never know it. There were birds in the sky, bells in the hills, and there was music all around, but do we here it now? Time has come today and my soul has been psychedelicized. There’s no place to run, so we sit on the dock of the bay, watching the tide roll away. But are we wasting time? Is that what causes restlessness?

Cold hearted orb that rules the night, although we rebrand it now as super. Can we decide which is right and which is an illusion? Or is it just a brilliant disguise? A big pizza pie? Show a little faith, there’s magic in the night. We were born to be wild, to get out on the highway, Thunder Road lies ahead, restlessness can be cured.

Gotta’ move. Gotta’ keep that big wheel turning. Rolling, rolling, rolling down that river. Start spreading the news, a brand new start, come fly with me, and fly me to the moon, we gotta’ get out of this place. 

But stop! In the name of love.

Just hold on to what we got. And if you got a nickel wouldn’t you lay your money down. Spend time on the corner and hear that happy noise. People come from miles around just to hear that sound Johnny. Up that lazy river, ain’t misbehaving, and just like Jack Horner sitin’ in the corner, don’t go nowhere and don’t care. Lazzy bones, hope the fish don’t bite. Mister nowhere man? The worlds at your command? Maybe, but I’m content ‘causs I got sunshine on a cloudy day. It feels like May, every day. What can cause that? My girl, my girl, I got my girl.

I found my thrill…   

I hope this awoke some soundtracks of recognition (although you may need to be a certain age) in these times of turmoil. Let the songs fill your days and be blessed that you can still sing in the shower, in the clothes you were born with, and with a voice that perhaps only God can appreciate.  

Turning Point

We have been in St Lucia since March 2, almost six weeks. That is not unusual as we have spent similar times on other islands. The unusual part is that since March 20th (just when the engine work was completed) virtually all destinations had been shut down to help stop the spread of the pandemic. The only destination that remains open for us is the U.S. For a number of reasons, we are not considering that at this time. But like the rest of the world, it seems like life is on hold.

St Lucia just came out of a 7 day 24 hour/day curfew with all food stores and all business, restaurants etc.. closed. After this Easter weekend we’ll see how much reopens but expect that food stores with restricted hours and some takeout food will be available. Overnight curfew is still in effect as well as no social gatherings including beaches.

As written about in the last blog, it is that veneer of everyday life that is being removed. But underneath that veneer, the base of a working civilization is being revealed. The medical system is one part of that base and is looked upon for our survival. Maureen, a retired RN, knows full well the extreme stress that these frontline heroes face every day and how it will have a lasting impact on themselves and their patients.

Other workers are also part of that base. Police, firemen, farmers, and the whole food/utility/communication industries that can’t be put on hold or easily peeled away. Add other essential support systems that are invisible and you realize that if life was peeled away and the base put on hold, at best, utter chaos would ensue.

This gives hope to many that it is an opportunity to review what we, the society in general, really desires of society. Where are our priorities; what is important to our (societies) wellbeing? The cynical will always say, don’t let a good crisis go to waste. Is this the turning point in our society or do we only hope to return to “normal”?

The last major social turning point occurred after a catastrophe. The arc of history of the ever-increasing concentration of wealth was last disrupted by WWI and II. Society needed that almost 40-year break to allow the accumulated concentration of wealth to breakdown and to convince the populace that it doesn’t need to be that way. That excess is not necessary. We can decide to have a different future. And it worked for almost 2 generations until the arc of history resumed its economic historic self. Can a few months of a world-wide pandemic be another major turning point?

Historical change stems from the interaction between, on the one hand, the short-term logic of political events and, on the other hand, the long-term logic of political ideologies. Evolving ideas are nothing, unless they lead to institutional experiments and practical demonstrations; ideas must first find their application in the heat of events, in social struggles, insurrections, and crisis. Conversely, political actors caught up in fast-moving events often have no choice but to draw on a repertoire of political and economic ideologies elaborated in the past. At times they may be able to invent new tools on the spur of the moment, but to do so takes time and a capacity for experimentation that are generally lacking” – Economist Thomas Piketty.

The virus itself is not an economic artifact but look at the economic impact. We can no longer put life on hold than to stop the sun from rising. The peeling away of life’s veneers can lay bare the structure of society. Is it what we think it can be? What we can do is act responsibly and thank those who can’t put life on hold. As far as a major turning point, it may be like the low ocean swell that, to the experienced mariner, foretells storms over the distance horizon and where long-term logic is called for.   

Thin Veneer

I have often commented on the earth’s thin atmosphere, at least the part we breathe, that contain all the storms, clouds, heat and winds that affects our lives. It is thinner, by comparison, to the thickness of an eggshell to the size of the egg. And how fragile that shell is. The thin veneer of human life is no less fragile.

We are on Kalunamoo here in the small island of St. Lucia amidst a world-wide human pandemic. Within the last two weeks, actions to stop, or at least slow down the relentless spread of the virus world-wide have focused on preventing movement and contact between people. This was inevitable since, at present, there is no way to stop it and no cure once acquired. Very much like a computer virus that shows its fangs only after the damage is done. The biological virus is only an active agent inside a living cell. It re-programs the cell to reproduce it. Unfortunately, that living cell is attached to a person that moves around, shaking hands, sneezing, breathing out and possibly shedding bits of that damaging human operating code, now known as Covid-19. Talk of the 85% of the infected people having mild to moderate consequences is of little solace to almost everyone.

Many of our cruising friends live, literally, in two worlds. Six months on a boat enjoying the pleasures of the Caribbean and 6 months (more or less) back on land in their home. This is a hard time for them as the tightening travel restrictions means that the transition from one life to the other could very well be closed. Entry and travel restrictions and conditions have been changing daily if not hourly. Since each island is independent of each other, each had different restrictions, time frames etc. This made island hopping out of here, or flying off island, a nightmare for many – ports were closing, flights were cancelled, quarantine requirements implemented. The difficulties of “getting back home” are, at this time, harder to negotiate than the actual virus and is the main topic of concern. That thin veneer of easy transportation world-wide vanishes as airplanes are mothballed and airports close. The reality of being immobile must be faced.

The situation for us, living full time aboard, is somewhat simpler, although we do spend time visiting family and friends that add up the frequent flyer miles. We hope that by the summer travel restrictions are relaxed enough to allow this. Of course, the hurricane season, is a major concern but by August or September if conditions remain as they are now, hurricanes may not be the worst thing to address.

So, the thin veneer of life is peeled away layer by layer. The glue of social interactions become like Swiss cheese, the holes expand and only essential services keep us together. Arguments can be made that the collective “we” should have been more prepared. After all, isn’t that what distinguishes us from all the other animals? We do now, what we must to avoid being a transmitter and enabler of this virus. Whether we contract it or not, we still have a responsibility not to carry it forward. All are challenged to see how we react to this peeling. I do believe that ultimately the veneer will be repaired. Humanity’s ingenuity will prevail but not without costs. It will take an unknown amount of time, which itself is a challenge, and we all will be affected. Lessons will be learned, hopefully.

So, we are staying put where we are. We are doing all we can to be physically isolated so that when it comes our way it hits a wall. St. Lucia reported 9 cases. All non-essential business are closed. The marina is open with water, electricity, Wi-Fi, security and even a limited amount of restaurant take-out food with many cruisers here. No new arrivals to the island are allowed. Our 6-week visitor’s visas are automatically extended indefinitely. We anticipate that it will be like this through at least April. We can take our dinghy to the bay for some swimming but don’t land on the beach. We keep our 6-foot distance from other cruisers here that we know as social contacts are kept to a minimum. A good time to catch up on reading, DVD’s, Wi-Fi phone calls, and practicing the keyboard. And observing clouds.

The first wisps of a new puff , lower left.

The bright blue sky is dotted with fair weather puffs of white cotton. The small Cumulus clouds streamed westward in the easterly trades. They are only about three thousand feet above me and constantly change shape, expanding and contracting in the swirling vertical drafts that spawned them. From my vantage point they first appear just east of here. Out of the blue, literally, they start as wisps of haze, steadily growing in minutes. The moist air rising vertically is invisible, but these puffs form the cotton balls trailing off to the west. The invisible steam engine puffs away all afternoon. Continuing west the cotton balls evaporate and the sky is again clear blue, oblivious to the human dilemmas below.

Family and friends, especially in the New York City area, are constantly in our thoughts and prayers. Even though health is of primary concern, the realities of jobs, economics, social connections, schooling and plans for the future cannot be dismissed out of hand. Those are the things that make up the veneer of life. In times like this, we all realize how thin that veneer is and how easily it can be disrupted.

And the Good News is that Kaluanmoo is Cricket fee!