Bananas=Chaos

I wrote the following three days ago while anchored up in Monte Christi. It took us a lot longer than anticipated to get to Luperon but we are here finally. We got in early this morning and spent most of the day getting arrangements with the harbor guys, customs, immigration and just got done having rum and cokes with our new amigos from the agricultural office. They didn't bother confiscating our limes since we were slicing them up and putting them in the drinks. Enjoy the long ass blog I wrote. We were anchored up for so long in the wind and I couldn't go ashore without a dinghy or getting checked in to customs so I got a little carried away writing. I am headed in to the Pueblo Blanco Marina to some jam session that the cruisers (people who live on their boats who do what Brian and I are doing) are putting on.

2-16-08 2:17 PM Friday

I have a new enemy. I am now officially boycotting bananas. More on that later. We just arrived into the anchorage of Bahia de Monte Christi, two days and lot of chaos later. Bound for Luperon, in the Dominican Republic, we left Provo on the 14th around one in the afternoon and made our way west to get to the cut through the reef between Provo and West Caicos. The plan was to get through the Sandborne Channel into the Caicos Banks and make our way southeast to Luperon. The Caicos Banks is unbelievable. It is one of three (two natural, one man made) features of the Earth’s surface that astronauts say looks incredible from space. The other two are the Sahara desert and the Great Wall of China. Guess which one was man made? It is approximately 60 nautical miles across at the widest point and for the majority of the area the depth is no more than twelve feet but in several areas it is less than a foot deep. Imagine being able to see the bottom out in the middle of the ocean, that’s this place. Very beautiful, the water is a rich turquoise color and when we crossed there was little wind and no swell. All throughout the banks it is peppered with shoals, reefs and rocks just slightly under the surface of the water. The keel on Rum Boogie is only 4’ 2” at it’s deepest but I was still uncertain about taking her across these banks at night. We have an excellent book on board that covers the areas we are cruising through and it basically says you NEVER cross during night. He says drop anchor and wait. When you have daylight you can see the dark spots of these hidden reefs and other dangers as you traverse the banks. We got a late start due to customs taking their time to come clear us out. Brian asked three different times for the marina to contact them and have them come. We should have left right at sunrise. We got to the Sandborne Channel at about 5:30 PM, not ideal. The channel is a cut ½ mile wide through a reef that is several miles wide and is the only entrance to the banks from the Northwest. While I steered the boat through it my confidence soared about our night crossing as I noticed a large salvage ship being towed off the reef by a tugboat. No way I would screw up like those guys right? As we started through the banks I was glued to the depth sounder, GPS, and radar as we were treated to yet another spectacular sunset. Just before the sun sank into the ocean I heard a buzzing sound. Took a second but I realized that we had a fish on one of the trolling lines. I reeled in the, as of yet, unidentified fish. It was decent size, silver in color with a very distinct yellow tail. It had the same body as a trevally so I’m pretty sure it was not a yellowtail. Brian had just finished making us a big dinner of chicken, rice, salad and corn, so I released the fish. The fact that I didn’t know what it was also didn’t lend itself to me wanting to risk getting sick from some fish you aren’t supposed to eat. Never know down here. After dinner, we discussed our options and we had good wind and Brian was anxious to get to the DR so I set the sails on a southerly course to minimize the amount of time we were in the banks after dark. I checked all the charts and confirmed on the GPS that if I kept the boat on the line I had it on we could sail straight down the line used for shipping through this area. We were out of the banks and entering the 90 mile wide passage between Caicos and Hispaniola (DR and Haiti are on this island) a little after eight that night from taking this shorter path.

Let me digress for a moment. As I stated in my last blog, I went out the night before we left. Now, my intention when I went out was to talk with some of the other boat cruisers and captains and get a clear picture of crossing the banks and the passage from the banks over to the Dominican Republic (DR). As per usual when I go out with the intention of having “a few” and “taking it easy”, I ended up getting back to the boat well after 2 AM but that’s beside the point so shut up whatever you are thinking in your head. During my stay in the Tiki Hut that night, I learned quite a bit from local captains and cruisers who have passed through several times. All day on the 13th, we had steady winds above 20 knots coming from the east southeast. These are the tradewinds in this area. That night as I sat drinking and talking with these guys the consensus was the same. Just wait kid. Hang out til the weekend, no reason to push it. Weather is supposed to continue to blow like hell until Saturday. Leave Provo on Saturday, go anchor at Salt Cay and wait for the passage to lay down from the big winds all week. Huh. Makes sense to me. It was probably 12 Jamaican Red Stripe beers later when I wrote the last blog and let’s just say it’s a miracle I made it back to the boat that night. Here is some free advice if you ever make it down to Provo. If you drink in the Tiki Hut and decide in as much infinite wisdom as I did, to go out drinking with E-Z (his name is Izzy but with his accent he sounds like he is saying EASY so hence, E-Z) do not, I repeat do not drink the dark rum shot he hands you in Danny Boys in Grace Bay. Not only do they cost twelve dollars each but he will follow that with the challenge that you cannot drink more than two. I can’t drink more than two? Ha. He doesn’t know who he is talking to does he? Doesn’t he know that a dozen beers and I am invincible? Silly E-Z. I showed him. Ninety six dollars later we had drank four each and it was obvious that I broke a cardinal rule of drinking. Never try and keep up with a bartender when it comes to drinking. Needless to say, my last clear memory is talking to some chick in a wheelchair. Although there are flashes of the ride home with E-Z wildly driving down Leeward Highway in his Suzuki Samurai. I think the combination of being retard drunk and the fact that they drive on the wrong side of the street forced me to yell at him several times that he needed to get over because he was driving on the wrong side. That and his high speed passes of other cars on blind curves made for about as harrowing a ride as the cabs in the DR driving with no headlights (they believe it saves electricity from the battery) during heavy rainstorms. Somehow I survived and managed to scramble back onto Rum Boogie without falling in the water. The next day when Brian woke me up and wanted to leave I didn’t really even have my wits about me enough to pass on the info I had gathered the night before regarding our waiting to leave. He was ready to go. I washed the boat and got the engines checked out and prepped the boat for sea all the while shaking off the cobwebs of the mysterious dark rum shots (I shiver as I write about them). Hindsight is indeed 20/20 and as I sit here typing from this anchorage I can assure you that I should have voiced my findings to him from the night before, prior to getting stuck on stupid. Back to exiting the banks…

Now one of the first rules I learned in sailing was that the wind will always blow from the direction you intend to go and of course, it was no different on our tack to Luperon. From where we exited, the rhumbline (straight shot) would have been just over 90 nautical miles. Now this catamaran hauls ass under sail, easily reaching and maintaining speeds over 8 knots. Given this, I figured we could make it in just over 16 hours (we would have to tack over for awhile and beat into the wind which would inevitably slow us down). Oh how cute and naïve I am. For a while things were ok. 15-20 knots of wind and moderate seas, maybe 6-8 foot slow rollers that we easily climbed over. We made just over 7 knots for a couple of hours. About 20 miles from where we exited I started to get my first lesson in the effects of the equatorial current as well as the reason at the bar in Provo they call this “bashing” into the trade winds. The seas continued to build up until I was forced to alter course to due south just to keep the boat from being beat to death. Brian had long gone to bed as he usually crashes out pretty early. It was about 9 PM and the fun was just starting. I had a nice course set to the south and figured we could tack back across the wind sometime around 3 in the morning when the wind lays down. Think it just might have been a good thing to know that in this area, the wind in fact DOESN’T lay down, who knew? I set the auto pilot, had a quick bite and a Gatorade, set the radar alarm for anything within 6 miles of us and I got comfortable on the port side to take a little nap. I set the alarm to wake me every hour to check everything. I think I was about twenty minutes into my nap when I heard it. The unmistakable sound you hear moments before you are about to get drilled with a lot of water. We were headed south, taking the rollers on the port beam (as suggested in my reading thank you) but because the wind blows so steady and the current is so fast, the swells are literally right on top of each other. So as we surfed sideways down a fairly large swell (10-12 feet at this point) the next wave was taller and was already cresting when it hit the side of the boat and completely soaked everything, including yours truly, snoozing away all warm and comfy with my blanket and pillow. As I type, the blanket is still drying on the stern of the boat. I hopped up to find the wind blowing fiercely and the swells continuing to increase in size and intensity. I got my harness, EPIRB and radio and went to the bow to put the second reef in the main. For non boat nerds like me, that basically means reducing the amount of sail you have up to slow the damn boat down and give you or the auto pilot more control at the helm. I had put the first reef point in prior to laying down for my siesta. As you can imagine, I got hammered on the front of the boat. I was already soaked from the wave that woke me so it didn’t bother me getting drilled by every third wave crashing over the side as I literally had to hug the mast not to get thrown off from the wall of water rushing over me. After twenty tough minutes of work on the bow I got the sail secured (it’s really fun pulling a gigantic sail down in 30 knots of blistering wind, I highly recommend it, really) and the boat slowed some and the bucking from the swells improved substantially. As I scrambled back to the rear something didn’t seem right. I looked around for a moment and realized, oh shit, where the F is the dinghy? We had been towing the dinghy (yes, again even after the motor debacle from our Rum Cay passage) and while I was up getting damn near drowned on the bow, the tow eye from the front of the dinghy simply pulled out of the hull and our little tender boat drifted away helplessly into the rage of the sea. I had no idea how long it had been gone and trying to find it was going to be about as useless as me trying to close the deal with some ass when I’m six shots deep on Jager but, as I would with the Jager, I had to try anyway, just the principle of the thing you know? I fired up the engines, rolled the headsail and dropped the main as quick as I could. I tried to motor back on the drift that the dinghy could have possibly taken but after a good half hour of searching, we were unable to find it. Brian had woken up and came out to inquire why I was staring like a monkey into the darkness. As I informed him of the unfortunate demise of our means of travel to and from the docks, he again laughed it off. I hope I’m half as cool as this dude when I’m 64. I went back to setting the sails and he crashed back out.

Back on course I continued to bash across the seas, constantly trimming sails and altering course slightly to adjust for the wind and swell combos. As I plotted the course I watched helplessly as we smashed and fought our way south, and against the plan, we were making slight southwest progress instead of southeast. As I calculated where we would end up at the rate we were going, I was shocked to find that we were going to be 80 miles to the west of Luperon, our intended destination when we left. Navigation skills right on point as usual. Now I knew we were going to be at least 40 miles off due to our south heading but because I’m so smart I just knew that we could tack back and make those miles up by running hard northeast against the trades and then once we had a good line, tack back across the wind to the southeast and bam, hello Luperon. As it turned out, I beat and bashed this damn boat into walls of water and wind until just before 6 AM when we were just about 30 miles from the coast of Haiti. I had decided earlier in the night that even though we would be drastically off course, I was going to sail the boat on the line that was easiest for her to handle. We probably could have made a better heading but I think it would have broken something, possibly torn a sail or something worse, so being that far off was the consequence of trying not to push the rig too hard. Brian had woken up around 6 and offered to take watch for a bit. I headed down to get some much needed rest. About 7:30 or so, he woke me and asked me to take down the sails. I hadn’t slept much from the ruthless onslaught of the swells pounding the side of the boat during his watch and with every wave I cringed so I wearily got out of the bunk and headed topsides. I checked the GPS and saw why we were making such slow progress. Brian had tried to alter course to take us really tight to the wind and therefore give us a better, straighter shot to DR. Problem is, Rum Boogie slows WAY down at this point of sail and the direction of the swells would beat us to death this way. I had forgot to tell him that before I went below. The wind had slowed considerably so I rolled the jib and went forward to drop the main. As I continued to fight with the halyard, I futilely tried to pull the sail down a little at a time. So like a typical firefighter, I kept tugging away until I finally thought, huh, something must be wrong. So I stepped back and saw that the halyard (rope that pulls the main sail up) was caught about 45’ up on one of the spreaders off the mast. Perfect. I tried everything I could think of, pulling the main back up, letting it down again, tacking the boat back and forth, loosening other lines around it, anything to get that damn halyard free but it was all to no avail. Only one choice and Brian was less than excited by that prospect. I was going to have to put a harness on and he was going to have to raise me up the mast in the wildly pitching swells on the spinnaker sheet, a rope that hasn’t been used in at least two years and looks like it wouldn’t even work for a tire swing at the river. He protested but there was no other choice. I convinced him because one way or the other we needed the line loose, we couldn’t raise or lower the sail without it. Of course, we don’t have a Bosuns chair (used to safely raise someone to do high work) on board so I had to use some old rescue systems skills and I made a waist harness out of a chest harness we had on board. All I can say is I’m glad that ropes and knots are something I am really good at. He started cranking me and I did my best to stay as close to the mast as possible. With the 15-20 foot swells that were blowing down on us coupled with over 20 knots of relentless wind, just keeping your balance on the deck can be a challenge. Try it 30-50 feet above the deck. The mast threw me around like a rag doll. I smacked off the spreaders, crashed into the radar, bounced off the sail and got wound around the wires and sheets. Not to mention it was painfully slow progress to get to the spot I needed to reach and to make it more fun, the harness I made managed to just about eliminate any further aspirations I may have had about fathering children. Once I reached the spreader I couldn’t budge the line. The wind pressure was so immense, I had to literally hug the mast and use BOTH feet to leg press the freaking rope off the spreader. Finally done, I yelled to be lowered. I managed to hit less objects on the way down although I did manage to sprain two fingers on my right hand after a particularly violent lurch threw me around and back into the mast at high speed. Once I reached the deck I just lied down on the deck breathing heavily, sweating profusely and unable to make a fist from hanging on so tight. No amount of rock climbing I’ve done (albeit, not a whole lot) has ever been that tough. I got the sail down and did some checking on the charts. Brian came out sweating heavily from having to winch me up and down the mast. We had a great exchange.

Brian: Man, next time you need to take a VHF radio up there with you.
My dumb ass: Why?
Brian: Dude, if I had a heart attack on the deck you would be royally f@#$ed up there! You would be stuck!
My dumb ass: ………

I got an overwhelming sense that he was right and that I had possibly just gotten very lucky. Then I was overcome with laughter at the thought of me in a brutally uncomfortable nut crushing harness, hanging 50 feet above the deck of this boat, ruthlessly being throw around from the huge seas, 30 miles from Haiti and waiting for an unknown amount of days to see if I would be rescued or if, when the seas calmed would I be able to somehow climb down without killing myself. I can honestly say that doing that is not anywhere as cool as several thousand other things I have done in my life but oh well, it had to be done.

After the excitement, Brian fired up the motors while I started straightening up the boat. Everything was a mess from the rough night and given my theatrics while becoming the mast fairy, everything on my body hurt and I wasn’t ready to try and sleep anymore. Then I heard Brian ask me to go down and check the oil on the starboard (right side, geez just google it) diesel engine. I said sure and asked what was up. He said that when he put it into forward gear we lost oil pressure. I knew the oil was ok but I went down to check everything again. All systems seemed in working order except for the bilge pump in the engine room. There was a decent amount of water, nothing too bad but it needed to be pumped. I didn’t want to risk getting water in the engine so we ran with the port side engine only. At this point, we both were looking at each other wondering what was next. I had been at it for nearly 30 hours straight with very little sleep and now we had a motor out. There was no way I could get down and work in the engine room in the wildly pitching seas so I consulted the books and charts and found that we were only about 20 miles from a small anchorage in Haiti called La Badie. It is about 2 miles west of Cap Haitien, one of the main ports in Haiti. Neither of us were too hip on the idea of checking into Haiti. There is a lot of political unrest there and security is a major concern. If you haven’t, do yourself a favor and read about the history of Hispaniola and the amazing hatred that the DR and Haiti have for one another, it’s fascinating if you enjoy history at all. Haiti is the poorest nation in this hemisphere and has something like 7-9 million people there. I really wanted to go to Haiti when I was in the DR in October of last year but the person I went with was a little too into the bullshit all inclusive resort travel and too afraid to go check out the country so I didn’t get to. Haitians are renowned for their art, music, and literature. Truly, what I have seen has been great. Anyway, the uncertainty of checking in and what rules, fees, problems and possible corrupt officials we may encounter in Cap Haitien, I figured it a safe gamble to nose into La Badie and anchor up quietly so we could try and figure out the motor problem. Everything I read said that La Badie is a tiny village of fishermen and that government clearance was usually ignored here. When I went to the GPS to figure out a course and see if that was the best choice, my decision was made for me. The radar now would not scan. Huh, wonder why. Maybe the 180 pound moron swinging around bashing into it? Yeah. More good news. That made it easy. I reset the sails and it was a straight shot into La Badie. We made it in just over three hours and as we approached we were welcomed with the sight of a large Celebrity Cruise ship. Small fishing village huh? Shit. I put the yellow quarantine flag up as we were stopped by a water taxi carrying security personnel and a large bald black guy looking very gnarly standing on the bow of the boat. Way to go Shane. I was waiting for the inevitable announcement that we were going to be boarded, searched and probably thrown in jail for some bullshit charge that it’s illegal to have a speargun or something when the big boy spoke.

Huge guy: Bon jour my friend!
Me: (probably dumbfounded look on my face): Hey, how’s it going?
Huge guy: Very good man! (in perfect English) Can you do me a favor and go around the rear of the cruise ship? As soon as they leave, you more than welcome to anchor in that part of the bay. (Big smile the whole time).
Me: Uh…No problem! (big smile back) Is it cool if I anchor back there in that (south) part of the bay?
Huge smiling guy: Of course my friend! Please make yourself comfortable, if you want to move here later you can, if you want to stay there, no problem. Maybe I see you at the party later, yes?
Me: Maybe, I’m pretty tired bro, been sailing for almost 36 hours straight from Provo. If I get some rest I will kayak in and hang out, thanks for the invite.
Huge smiling guy: Thank you for moving, maybe I see you soon, have a good time in Haiti, welcome!

They sped off, all three guys waving and smiling. Yeah, Haiti is SO dangerous. I felt like a jackass for having any reservation about going there. Later I read more and found out that the West and South parts of Haiti are known for the violence while the North, where we were, are said to be some of the most generous, fun, and accepting people around. I soon found out why they have that rep. We motored in and tucked well back into the bay, got the anchor set. I dove down to make sure it was dug in well and I went about getting the boat settled and ready to set out the next morning early. The whole time I was stowing the sails, rolling sheets and stowing all the gear, people of all ages kayaked or rowed small wooden boats right up to our boat. I greeted all of them but the conversations were usually lots of smiling and hand gestures because most of them spoke French or Creole, a very corrupted version of French. Some even tried speaking in Spanish. I tried my best to talk but only a few of them spoke English well enough for us to understand each other. Most of them wanted to sell something small they had. A painting, a small bottle of honey, a large bottle of some sort of wine, even a fish. I politely said no and even after that most of them offered me a ride into the village. Several of them asked me to come into the village to hang out for the party. Friday night in La Badie, you know that’s got to be going off. It killed me not to go but after dinner, I was wiped out. The engine turned out just to be a bad oil pressure gauge. The radar thankfully regained its’ scanning ability after I messed with some of the connections. I was glad to not have to go back up the mast. La Badie is a beautiful little bay in about 25’ of water. I will post several pictures of the village, the fishermen who set nets at sundown, the old dhow rigged sailboats and the mast of a sailboat that is sticking up about 20’ out of the water where it obviously wrecked on a reef. After we ate, Brian went to bed to read and I made a hot cup of tea and sat on the back of the boat taking in another peaceful sunset, reading, sipping tea and just taking in the amazing scene. Very few lights dot the coastline and the high mountain to the east shields the wind. The moon was big and bright and lit the bay up beautifully. The slight smell from the cooking fires wafts in the air even miles off of Haiti. Some of the pics that I will post you will notice several columns of smoke and that’s what they are. Apparently, the name buccaneer comes from back when Haitians used to smoke a certain type of highly prized meat with these fires high in the mountains and they would sell it to passing ships. The French word for the meat is “boucain” (not sure on spelling) hence they got the name “boucaineers” since they peddled the stuff. Either way, the name was corrupted to its’ current spelling and from what I read I guess they still cook the meat that way today. I finished my tea and debated on kayaking in to the village. I could hear the festive music rising and the sounds of people laughing and singing and I was dying to go. I wasn’t overly concerned with the fact that I would have technically been an illegal immigrant, something told me nobody there was gonna care. Plus, I planned on taking a bunch of candy bars for the kids and a bottle of rum as a gift for the party. Then of course, who knows what devilish booze or concoction they would have that I would no doubt end up hammered from drinking and would feel ten times worse than I already did. On the other hand, Brian really wants to get over to Luperon since I have to leave next week so my plan was to get up before sunrise and get over 27 miles to Manzanillo Bay to get fuel and anchor up before the tradewinds get into full swing in the late morning. I read a lot more in depth in the guide book we have after the ass beating I got handed in the channel and I was resolved to follow his advice and run the island only between midnight and 9 in the morning. So I reluctantly took a shower and went to bed. It was a perfect end to a brutal crossing. After all, this was the perfect place for me to be anchored so how could I miss a party? For 200 years this bay was used by privateers and buccaneers as a watering hole and bordello as they patrolled over 100 miles of coastline between Ile de la Tortue in Haiti down to Puerto Plata in the DR pillaging any ships foolish enough to come near. So I am making a solemn vow that someday I will sail back into that bay and hang for a week or so, cause come on, what better place for me to party?

I slept well. I got up and checked the anchor twice during the night and all was well. I got up around 5:30 AM and fired up the motors. I weighed anchor and we were off. The morning was great. Very little wind or swell and the area around the point was full of Haitian fishermen out in 8 foot long wooden boats using oars and setting nets for fish. Really cool. Every one of them waved cheerfully as we went by. As we rounded the point it was 27 mile run to Manzanillo Bay in the DR. We passed by Cap Haitien and threaded the boat in between all the fishermen just outside that port. There is a very old fort built into the hill just west of the entrance to the port. I couldn’t find anything in the books we have on board about what it was used for but I’m interested in finding out. Then we got to see the actual reef that Christopher Columbus wrecked the Santa Maria on. It’s called Limonade Reef and it’s around five nautical miles long and guards the entrance to Caracol Bay. The pics I will post don’t do this huge reef justice. It was very impressive to see the waves breaking on it and the reef is over a mile from shore. I couldn’t help but stop and appreciate how lucky I am to be sailing the same exact waters that they sailed more than 500 years ago, just an amazing humbling feeling to know they did it when it was all unknown and with none of the crazy gadgets we have now. After passing Fort Liberte east of the reef we entered the waters of the DR and discussed what to do. We had great weather and could possibly make another 17 miles to an anchorage I read about located in the Monte Christi shoals. It would put us 40 miles from Luperon. So I added the 10 gallons of diesel we had in reserve and we motorsailed from Manzanillo up into the shoals of Monte Christi. The shoals are interesting. There are several random small islands situated in this area. They have pretty beaches and bring to mind the true definition of a deserted island. This whole area is littered with reefs and rocks as well, big surprise. It also shelfs up so fast from deep water that the current moves unbelievably fast. When I got the boat into the shoals from around the point at Manzanillo, we were headed directly into the increasing trade winds and the current was headed directly at us, of course. We went from motorsailing at 7 knots to doing less than 4 knots the moment we got into the current. Freaking unreal. I zigged and zagged her through the shoals and we arrived here just after 2 PM and anchored about 300 yards off the marina (if you want to call it that) in Monte Christi. We are anchored in ten feet of water but it is good sand and we are holding well. I dove the anchor and went back to getting the boat ready to leave tonight at midnight. The wind has increased steadily all day as the trades do from what I read. The guy that wrote the guide book suggests that you leave here at midnight and use the lee of the island to hug the coastline and make progress towards Luperon. Since we didn’t follow his advice in regards to crossing from the banks and got our asses handed to us, I figure I will listen this time. If all goes well we should be pulling in there tomorrow at 8 AM and sometime tomorrow I should have internet.

You may remember 100 pages ago when I wrote that I am not on good terms now with bananas. Three days ago in Provo, Brian rented a car and went grocery shopping while I slept. Sometime in the afternoon that day, I noticed a fresh, nice looking, brand new bunch of bananas in the basket located in the galley. I smiled and off handedly asked him if he knew about what happens when you bring bananas on a boat. I grew up around some real true salty dogs of the sea. My Dads’ best friend was known as THE Skipper. He spent his whole life on the sea. I’m not sure where the superstition comes from regarding the bananas, I just know that since I was a little kid, you would get crucified if you brought bananas on a boat. I am not overly superstitious but I personally have never done that. Some of you may have heard the story from early last October when I sailed a boat full of my friends over to Catalina for Buccaneer Days. The boat was a 47’ brand new, half million dollar yacht. We had one debacle after another for the first day and a half. From running out of fuel in the dinghy two miles from the boat at 3 AM with 6 guys and 50 lobsters and having to row back to almost wrecking the boat on Indian Rock because the mooring we were tied to literally drug underwater to getting separated and everyone sleeping in different places (including some of the homeys spending the night in the local Laundromat feeding the dryers quarters to stay warm, which sorry guys, is still pretty damn funny every time I tell that story). The morning following the Coin Op disaster I figured out why we were having such bad luck. I glanced down into the salon of the boat and noticed one of the guys that had come along eating a banana. I naturally flipped out and asked who brought the F-ing bananas on the boat. When he innocently said that he had, I promptly grabbed the whole bunch, including what the one in his hand and threw them into the drink. From that point forward, no more problems and we had a bitchin trip and he is now known as Banana Dan. So this freaking novel I just wrote about the chaos that has ensued since Provo is entirely Brian’s fault. He bought the bananas. He brought them on board. I told him when we dropped anchor last night that he should have gotten rid of them, he laughed at me and had some choice words, all in fun. But…there is still one banana left down there. I think it will mysteriously find its’ way over the side tonight while he sleeps.

So, anyone ready to come join us for a cruise? Don’t let the fact that I have bruises on every part of my body and everything hurts deter any of you. Sailing is fun…and easy.

Finished at 9:09 PM 2-16-08