Sing a New Song...
Deadman Bay, Peter Island, BVI
N 18 degrees, 21.384 minutes
W 064 degrees, 34.290 minutes
Steel drum bands always remind me of my mother, for whom they bring great happiness. Nobody enjoys a steel drum band more than she does. But the band at the fancy resort off whose pristine, palm-lined, white sand beach we are anchored is, at this moment, also reminding me of my sister Rose, as they are doing a creditable version of an ABBA tune!
Rose has been on my mind all day today, as she had been training for the Boston Marathon. It's almost 8 PM, so it's safe to guess that she has finished the race by now and is deep into Bryce and Margot's Easter candy, which she probably didn't feel she could eat yesterday. I'm frustrated because I want to know how the day went: At what mile did everybody congregate to watch? Was it hot or cold in Boston today? Rainy or sunny? Did Rose have to walk or run backward at any point? Did she have an Uta Pippig moment, and did she carry it off with the same grace as Uta? Did she wear her name on her shirt for tailored encouragement (advice I forgot to give her)? Did my mother do the water handoff again near Heartbreak Hill, and did everybody "back off" for her?
We are not anywhere near a payphone, and this is the second time I've been out of town for a sibling's marathon debut, only this time I can't watch it on TV or follow along on the computer. And I had hoped to make a surprise call to Anita's yesterday in order to get a dose of extended-family-party chaos, but I wasn't able to get to the Internet to call over Skype. So I guess I am a little homesick today. I'll give you that. My consolation is that today was yet another day in paradise (go ahead and hate me; I know you want to).
The wind was pretty light today, so Dean and I plodded along under sail at about 2 knots from Virgin Gorda to Peter Island. We had stopped in Spanish Town again yesterday because we had heard the town was having a festival, but all we got out of the festival were heavy wakes left by the parade of speedboats approaching and leaving the town dock at 4 am. And when I write speedboat, I'm not talking about some piddling boat with a single outboard that might pull a waterskier or hit 30 knots on a plane. I mean dual 300s. If you know what that is, you are suitably impressed (and wondering what illicit border-crossing purpose these boats might serve). If you don't, just know it'll travel over water faster than most of you drive.
In any case, we did not have far to go to reach Deadman Bay. We anchored just after lunch, and then snorkeled over toward the reef at one end of the bay. The coral was not fabulous, but there were some interesting fish, and we also watched a sea turtle for about five minutes as he ate grass from the seabed, rose up for air, and then looked at us with one big eye as he settled back down near us. I was delighted to learn that he wasn't the only turtle in the bay. When we got back from snorkeling I sat in the cockpit all afternoon and watched turtles swimming around the boat. We are anchored in 27 feet of water, but the water is clear enough here that, from the surface, you can make out a turtle feeding on the bottom, then watch him make his way up toward you for air.
It was right in the middle of this idyllic afternoon that Dean reminded me that we have some serious cleaning to do before Bridget and Devin arrive on Wednesday. They, for instance, might not LIKE the smell of sulphur that has been emanating from the galley sink for weeks and getting worse every day. Dean had the pleasure of disconnecting the hoses, and I had the pleasure of cleaning the sludge from them. What in the world makes that stuff? Whatever it is, I hope the turtles like it.
N 18 degrees, 21.384 minutes
W 064 degrees, 34.290 minutes
Steel drum bands always remind me of my mother, for whom they bring great happiness. Nobody enjoys a steel drum band more than she does. But the band at the fancy resort off whose pristine, palm-lined, white sand beach we are anchored is, at this moment, also reminding me of my sister Rose, as they are doing a creditable version of an ABBA tune!
Rose has been on my mind all day today, as she had been training for the Boston Marathon. It's almost 8 PM, so it's safe to guess that she has finished the race by now and is deep into Bryce and Margot's Easter candy, which she probably didn't feel she could eat yesterday. I'm frustrated because I want to know how the day went: At what mile did everybody congregate to watch? Was it hot or cold in Boston today? Rainy or sunny? Did Rose have to walk or run backward at any point? Did she have an Uta Pippig moment, and did she carry it off with the same grace as Uta? Did she wear her name on her shirt for tailored encouragement (advice I forgot to give her)? Did my mother do the water handoff again near Heartbreak Hill, and did everybody "back off" for her?
We are not anywhere near a payphone, and this is the second time I've been out of town for a sibling's marathon debut, only this time I can't watch it on TV or follow along on the computer. And I had hoped to make a surprise call to Anita's yesterday in order to get a dose of extended-family-party chaos, but I wasn't able to get to the Internet to call over Skype. So I guess I am a little homesick today. I'll give you that. My consolation is that today was yet another day in paradise (go ahead and hate me; I know you want to).
The wind was pretty light today, so Dean and I plodded along under sail at about 2 knots from Virgin Gorda to Peter Island. We had stopped in Spanish Town again yesterday because we had heard the town was having a festival, but all we got out of the festival were heavy wakes left by the parade of speedboats approaching and leaving the town dock at 4 am. And when I write speedboat, I'm not talking about some piddling boat with a single outboard that might pull a waterskier or hit 30 knots on a plane. I mean dual 300s. If you know what that is, you are suitably impressed (and wondering what illicit border-crossing purpose these boats might serve). If you don't, just know it'll travel over water faster than most of you drive.
In any case, we did not have far to go to reach Deadman Bay. We anchored just after lunch, and then snorkeled over toward the reef at one end of the bay. The coral was not fabulous, but there were some interesting fish, and we also watched a sea turtle for about five minutes as he ate grass from the seabed, rose up for air, and then looked at us with one big eye as he settled back down near us. I was delighted to learn that he wasn't the only turtle in the bay. When we got back from snorkeling I sat in the cockpit all afternoon and watched turtles swimming around the boat. We are anchored in 27 feet of water, but the water is clear enough here that, from the surface, you can make out a turtle feeding on the bottom, then watch him make his way up toward you for air.
It was right in the middle of this idyllic afternoon that Dean reminded me that we have some serious cleaning to do before Bridget and Devin arrive on Wednesday. They, for instance, might not LIKE the smell of sulphur that has been emanating from the galley sink for weeks and getting worse every day. Dean had the pleasure of disconnecting the hoses, and I had the pleasure of cleaning the sludge from them. What in the world makes that stuff? Whatever it is, I hope the turtles like it.
posted by S/V Delilah | 8:18 AM
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