LURE OF THE HORIZON

Day 3: Why do all of the locals think we’re crazy?!?

 Day three of the trip began with me waking to the sounds of barely audible conversation outside of my tent.  Frank and Hef woke before me and were already discussing the previous night and the day ahead.  Being the morning person that I am (not at all), I unzipped my tent and crawled out grumbling and wearing a scowl that is typically reserved for snowy Kansas mornings and inept waitresses.  It did not take long for that scowl to disappear.  The sun had not yet climbed over the hills surrounding Brewers Bay.  The warm morning air was still as the waves rolled up on the sand twenty feet in front of me.  Frank and Hef stopped their conversation to laugh at me as I ascended from my tent and tried to wipe the sleep from my eyes and take in the scenery.  It was about 6:00 a.m. and I did not want to be awake yet.

I asked them how they slept.  Apparently the soothing sound of waves lapping the shore are not for everyone.  Hef laughed as he said, “If I have another night like that; hot, loud, and uncomfortable… f#ck that.  I’m getting a hotel”.  I knew he had a rough night, but beyond that statement, he had no complaints.  I think we all truly appreciated that we were basically alone on the shore of an amazingly scenic beach in the middle of the British Virgin Islands.  I slept very well and could get used to the sound of the ocean and the full moon as my night light.

I looked down and noticed that Frank, unsurprisingly, had already dragged his boat bag down to the beach and started construction on his kayak.  Hef and I were not quite as motivated to get started.  I dug into my food bag and pulled out a package of Pop Tarts as Hef waded out into the water for a brief morning swim. 

Frank’s eagerness was contagious.  It did not take long for Hef and I to drag our boat bags down to the beach and join in on the fun.

Boat construction was time consuming but went surprisngly smooth.  Occasionally a local or a random vacationer would trundle by.  One particular passerby asked early on in construction what we were building.  We told him our intentions and he gave a perplexed and almost sympathetic smile.  He wished us luck and walked away.  (he could have at least had the courtesy to get out of earshot before he giggled and shook his head)  Later he happened back by, gave a smile and said, “Well, they’re the right shape at least”.  …thanks.

Everything came to a halt when it came time to zip the skins around the frame.  As both a positive and a negative the skins were extremely tight.  Had we more time to test and evaluate the kayaks we most likely would have changed a few things, specifically the zippers that enclosed the poly skin around the frame.  They were EXTREMELY tight.  In fact we broke two zipper pulls just trying to get skin around the first frame.  Thankfully Frank had the foresight to bring a few extra zipper pulls.  I just wished we had not gone through them so quickly!  This would prove to be the most frustrating part of the whole construction process.  Frank would cuss, wipe sweat and walk away.  Hef and I would look at each other helplessly.  If I had not mentioned before, Frank was the brains behind the whole process so Hef and I were hesitant to try anything without being told it was okay.   Especially at this make or break juncture. 

A few local young men were fishing down the beach.  When one of them caught an eel I saw him trying to step on it and pull the hook out of its mouth as he kept saying “Yuck.  I hate eel.”  Not one to shy away from conversation, I walked quickly down the beach to get a closer look.  I had questions about the fishing and he had questions about the aluminum monstrosities that were tainting his pristine beach.  He pointed out to sea and said, “You taking them out there?”  I, somewhat sceptically, nodded.  To which he replied with a laugh, “You’re crazy”. 

Back to the boat.  Things were not going well and we needed a break.  Hef was frustrated, Frank was pacing and mumbling under his breath, and I needed to walk away for a few minutes.  I decided to grab my snorkel gear and explore the bay.  There is something exhilirating about being out in the ocean all alone.  You become in touch with your limitations as a land dwelling mammal when in the ocean.  You are a guest in their world and are subject to the law of the jungle.  …in the water.  After allowing the skins to sit in the sun for an hour they were pliable enough to stretch and with a few minor modifications, the boats were built! 

When I first climbed into the kayak it seemed very unstable.  I paddled out into Brewers Bay to get used to riding the ups and downs of the ocean while keeping my butt beneath me and maintaining balance.  My whole body was tense and several times I audibly cursed as my kayak would rise and fall with an especially large wave or unaccounted for swell.

After the three of us took turns paddling out and around the bay we decided that we would have lunch at camp and then head out around the point and attempt the thirty or forty minute paddle along the northern coast of Tortola to Cane Garden Bay.  It was around two in the afternoon and it was time to refill the tank.  I was hungry!  We all enjoyed another round of canned meat or tuna sandwiches and washed them down with warm water from the plastic gallon jugs.  After finishing off the last of the mystery meat po boys Hef and I paddled out, still acclimating to the art of trying to propel forward while maintaining balance. 

Once out past the mouth of the bay, Hef and I hovered far enough off the coast to be officially out at open sea, but close enough that we still felt relatively safe.  After ten minutes or so we decided that Frank was not coming so we headed back towards our camp.  We saw Frank’s kayak up on the shore and he was up among our tents visibly frustrated.  He was having issues with his seat and struggling to maintain balance. 

An executive decision was made to scrap the Cane Garden Bay trip.  We decided to spend the remainder of the day getting used to the boats.  We would break camp first thing in the morning and head west along the Tortola coast and then cut across to Jost Van Dyke where we would camp.  There was not much of a plan beyond that.  Our trip so far had been a series of alternate plans and punts.  We were taking it one day at a time.   

We needed to pay for our camping so we wandered inland a short distance to the “house” that seemed to be an open air combination bar/kitchen/storage facility/livestock shelter.  A woman was passing by and she asked if she could help us.  We told her that we needed to pay for our campground.  She said that it would be $21.40 per night.  Okay, that seemed like a random number for island pricing, but who was I to judge?  “Per tent”.  Huh?!?  $21.40 per tent?!?  That meant that our three little tents crammed into one small area of sand was going to cost us over $60/night.  We would definitely need to be moving on.  (In hindsight I’m thinking that she probably did not even work for the campground but happened to be passing by when we asked how much it was to camp)

The remainder of the day was filled with an underlying skepticism regarding the direction of this trip.  Yes, we made it.  Yes, the boats were built.  But if we could not load our camping gear on it and stay balanced on top of the water we would be tethered to Brewers Bay.  We were standing at the threshold of the adventure that we had been working toward for a year and could possibly be denied due to our inability to test the boats.  Grrr.  Throughout the evening we all would exchange ”It’ll be fine.” type of comments, but we were all nervous about what the next day would bring. 

I drank alone that night as everyone turned in early under the pressure of the pending momentous morning that was looming over our heads.  There was a new weight to the warm tropical breezes.  The following morning was going to decide the direction of the entire rest of the trip.  Once again the sound of the waves lulled me into an amazingly restful sleep.