March 22, 2007 - Las Aves, Venezuela

This morning, as the first step in getting ready to leave for Bonaire tomorrow, we moved over to the anchorage near the mangroves. Sten wanted to try surf casting half way down the windward side of the island, and I was interested in exploring ashore. Lenore was just glad to improve her bird-stalking vantage point. It is like a scene from the Hitchcock movie around here - the sky is filled with birds and the trees are full of their nests. If only they would humor Lenore and actually land on the boat, then she would really be beside herself.
As we approached the break in the mangroves that was marked on our chart as a dinghy landing spot, we were surprised to find ourselves face to face with a small phallic monument comprised of a vertical stone flanked on either side by two round horizontal stones.

Had we stumbled across an archaeological site of some ancient phallus worshiping society? As we strolled to the windward side of the island, we came across more of their monuments, in what appeared to be a ceremonial site. We know that Las Aves has never been populated. Perhaps this was a sacred place to which these ancient phallus worshipers traveled.

All kidding aside, as we continued our explorations we were amazed to come across ground nesting birds that would allow us within a few feet of their nests before taking flight. There are no natural predators on the island, and they haven't learned to fear humans.

Sten caught a few more of the black and purple spotted grouper, which he decided were too pretty to keep. After lunch we did some snorkeling and saw giant parrotfish and queen angle fish. This is really is a very special place, and we both feel blessed to have had the opportunity to spend a few days here.

This morning, as we were anchoring in this new anchorage, the windlass acted up. It had been a bit wonky ever since the Grenada rebuild. A few days ago, Sten tightened up the motor, which seemed to fix things. When I gave him the news that it was misbehaving again, he was nonplused. My comment that "Bonaire was a great place to work on a windlass, since they make us take a mooring (Bonaire has strict regulations to protect the coral)," was greeted with a grunt, and a "no place is a good place to work on the windlass." Well, the windlass must have been listening, because this afternoon as he was putting the snubber on it quit completely. As Sten commented, it is much better that it happened tonight, rather than at 4am tomorrow morning as we are trying to leave. It turns out that a pin had sheered when we had been (unknowingly) operating it with the loose motor. Sten machined a new pin with the dremel, and reinstalled it. I make it sound easy, but I can assure you that nothing about working in the anchor locker is easy. The good news is that we have a functioning windlass again, which, when we're regularly laying out and picking up 100 feet of 3/8ths inch chain and a 65 lb anchor, is very important.

This afternoon, I ceded my position as resident mast monkey and hauled Sten up to the first spreader to tighten the upper intermediate side stays. While up there, he noticed that the running back stays had been rubbing against the spreaders, making them quite sharp. Before they had a chance to eat through our new main sail, he filed and sanded them down. We did a few other boat chores today. Sten shortened the reefing line that was almost chafed through. Every week or so, the shower drain stops working and we have to clean out the filter for the pump. Sometimes it is an easy fix, others, when the pump loses suction, not so easy. As Sten just muttered from a kneeling position on the galley floor with his head in the engine room, "This is not my day." Unfortunately, we're taking our typhoid vaccines this week, so I can't even offer him a sundowner to sooth his pain.

March 21, 2007 - Las Aves, Venezuela

It all started with a sprig of rosemary. I get very excited when I find fresh herbs in the stores, so I buy whatever is available without any plans for them, knowing that they will come in handy. In Grenada I found dill, rosemary, basil and curly parsley. Into the basket they all went. We take creative license with recipes out here. The tzatziki called for mint - it got dill. Curly parsley gets substituted for flat. We use basil all the time. But after a week, I still hadn't come up with anything to do with rosemary, other than lamb, which was a non-starter - the only lamb on board is buried in the bottom of the ice flow that is our freezer. Then yesterday's bread baking provided an inspiration. Focaccia. Rosemary caramelized onion focaccia.

Then we were trying to figure out what to do with the jack Sten caught yesterday. If we were having focaccia, it should probably be Italian. We tend to lean more towards Latin flavors than Italian, when grilling. Sten initially suggested grilling the fish in foil packs with tomatoes and onions. That would have been fine, but not really interesting. It took some flipping through cookbooks before inspiration hit - pescado a la veracruzana - fish in a briny tomato sauce. For the same reason that a Portuguese fish stew is the basis of one of the classic dishes of Malaysia - waves of colonists and immigrants bringing the flavors of their homeland with them - the cuisine of the Veracruz region of Mexico is more similar to those of many Mediterranean regions than those of Mexico's interior. The ingredients for this classic Mexican dish could as easily be found in an Italian cookbook - onions (sauted in olive oil), garlic, tomatoes, oregano, bay leaves, parsley, capers and olives. It is simple and pungent, and delectable spooned over grilled fish. And a fitting accompaniment to focaccia.

We wound up with a feast, fit for celebrating the fantastic place that we've found ourselves.

March 20, 2007 - Las Aves, Venezuela

This place is spectacular. When Sten first stuck his head into the cockpit this morning he was awed. About an our later, I went on deck for the first time of the morning and was stunned. Picture yourself, alone, in paradise, whatever your version of it may be. This is ours. And we are beside ourselves.

When Suzy visited last month she was bemused by how unimpressed we were with the eastern Caribbean. We would enter another postcard pretty harbor and be more interested in how the anchor was set, whether there was any decent provisioning nearby, and whether the French cruiser or charter boat that came in after us was seriously going to drop anchor so close to us, than the environment around us. After a while, all of the islands started to seem like variations on the same theme: more or less arid, more or less verdant; piles of conch shells on the shores, but no live conch to be found in the water; settled by the French or English or both, if the former the provisioning would be better; peopled primarily by the descendants of the slaves those colonists imported; spending Euros or EC dollars; drinking Presidente, Caribe, Piton, Carlsburg, Kubuli, or Haroun. We had become blase.

Las Aves has knocked us both back on our heels as we try to take in the beauty around us and come to grips with how lucky we are to be here.

This morning, we were joined in our solitary spot on the reef by a flamingo. A single pink flamingo in the wild. I've never seen one before that wasn't the plastic lawn ornament variety. As we explored the mangroves in our dinghy we were surrounded by blue and red footed boobies. They see so few people, they haven't learned to fear us. We were able to observe nesting boobies with tiny little hatchlings in their nests, just a few feet from our boat. We spent a few hours this afternoon snorkeling. The coral life and fish life is both diverse and thriving.

This morning, when I started to pull out the ingredients for baking bread, I asked Sten to fire up the generator to heat the engine room so that the bread would have a place to rise. He soon noticed that there was a saltwater leak. Very quickly we went from a relatively tidy salon to a work zone as Sten moved the companionway ladder aside, removed the panel that covers the front of the generator, and started mopping up saltwater. My yeast was already proofing, so we worked around each other. He diagnosed the problem (a hose connecting to the saltwater cooling pump inlet was leaking), fixed the problem (pulled up some slack in the hose, cut it back an inch and reattached it), and had the mess cleaned up and the generator restarted, heating the engine room, before I was done kneading the dough. What can I say, the promise of fresh bread will make the man do marvelous things.

The local fishermen came by this afternoon again, this time asking for cervesa. We gave them each one, and a loaf of the bread that I had baked this morning. They didn't have any fish for us, but they asked for rum anyway. Sten managed to get across in his limited Spanish that we would like some lobster or fish first. "Manana," they said. Manana. We'll see.

After they left, Sten went off to surf cast on the windward side of the reef for dinner. He came back with a blue runner and a jack and a report that "on the first cast half the ocean converged on my lure. By the time I reeled in the lure it had been hit at least 4 separate times and had lost its tail. The next cast resulted in a similar phenomenon, and a missing lure. I switched to a orange surface popper, a larger lure than before, and soon landed several small, spectacularly beautiful black grouper with purple spots. I threw them back because they were too small. I eventually ended up with a blue runner and what I think is a horse eyed jack. I lost a good sized grouper that had been swirling at my lure for about 10 casts before I hooked him. He dove back into the reef and was gone, luckily giving me back my lure." He had a great time, and came back grinning from ear to ear. Lenore had the trimmings, and we had the runner in a cumin, coriander, salt and pepper dry rub with a variety of sides for serve-yourself fish tacos.

March 19, 2007 - Los Roques to Las Aves, Venezuela

We had another rolly ride as we made our way west from Los Roques to Las Aves, the westernmost islands off the north coast of Venezuela, this time sailing under jib alone (no pole) instead of main only. Every few minutes we would be rolled by a swell and the jib would collapse. We would lose half a knot of boat speed each time. It would take a full minute before we would be back up to speed. We are going to have to do a better job of getting the boat to move dead down wind before we get to the Pacific.

The highlight of our sail was a rainbow around the sun. Really amazing, but we didn't have the photographic equipment to do it justice.

Las Aves get their name from the thousands of birds that nest in the mangroves along the coasts of these islands. As we approached the south coast of Aves de Barlavento, our fishing lures drew the notice of some boobies, and Sten called me back to the stern rail to help him reel in the lures before we caught a bird. With the luck we've had lately, we would catch a bird rather than a fish. We're now officially 2600 miles without a mahi mahi. Sheesh. A girl could go into sushi withdrawal around here.

We rounded the southwestern corner of Isla Sur around 3pm and picked our way to the easternmost anchorage (back out towards the reef we just rounded) through the coral in decent light. No sweat. After Los Roques, we're much better at reading the water. There are three visible wrecks, one is the upside down hull (what is left of it) of a 30+' dual inboard fishing boat, another is a smallish sailboat, and the third is around the corner to be explored tomorrow. Deep into this maze of reefs, I wonder what kind of weather caused the carnage.

There are no stores, houses, or gas docks in Las Aves. There is only a lighthouse and a small fishing camp in Aves de Barlavento. On the other Aves, a dozen miles west of here, there is a small coast guard station. Other than that, there is no development on these islands. They are pristine. There are only four sailboats here now, including us. We chose to drop anchor away from the others, which are all tucked in by the mangroves. As soon as we were anchored, Sten was off to a magazine perfect flat to see if there were any bonefish around here. Unfortunately, there weren't. He returned with a conch, then decided to try his luck at snorkeling for lobster. He returned, looking downright dejected, so I guess it is conch fritters for dinner. Yum.

As Sten was cleaning the conch on the fillet table on the stern rail, a local fishing boat came charging up. They asked for cigarettes and bread, but we didn't have any of either. I ended up giving them some super preserved hamburger rolls that we bought about two months ago in Guadeloupe. They were thrilled and promised to bring fish tomorrow. I may have to get off my duff and actually bake some bread.

The water here is crystal clear, and it varies in shade from dark aquamarine in the deeper parts to the palest of teals in the shallows. Sten reported that the snorkeling was the best he'd seen since our honeymoon almost three years ago in French Polynesia. There is a large variety of good sized fish and vibrant coral life. We both feel so privileged to experience this unspoiled location; but, we wonder what our impact is on it - from the conch we took for dinner to the dish soap and shampoo that flows out of our drains.

March 15 - 18, 2007 - Los Roques, Venezuela

Los Roques is magnificent. It is as beautiful as Barbuda or the Tobago Cays, but much more remote. Take the number of boats in the Cays, subtract all of the bareboat charters, almost all of the crewed charters, all of the boat boys, and 75% of the cruising boats, then multiply the number of anchorages 10 fold, and you have a picture of the cruising scene here. Most of the tourists are from mainland Venezuela, but there is a smattering of Italians, and many of the posadas (guest houses) are run by Italians. The streets of Gran Roque are covered in sand, and the buildings are very colorful. This is the first spot in our trip that we've seen a Spanish influence in the architecture. There is a striking old lighthouse that one could hike up to at the top of the hill behind town, but by midafternoon I was suffering from the effects of too little sleep and too much sun and heat, and neither of us could imagine going anywhere but back to the boat.

As it turns out, if one wants to spend more than 48 hours here (legally) one should first stop in a proper port of clearance, such as Isla Margarita. Needless to say, we didn't do that. We were permitted to stay for two days, as a "barco in transito". It was so late when we got back to the boat after clearing in with Guardacosta, Guardia Nacional, Inparques and Autoridad Unica (based on the bureaucracy alone, you would think that Venezuela had been colonized by the French rather than the Spanish) and attempting (and failing) to buy fuel from the weekly supply boat, we spent our first night in the most popular anchorage, Francisquis.

We did a lot of things wrong at Francisquis - (i) the sun was quite low, so our ability to read the water was reduced and we ended up way to the right of the entrance cut with less than 2 feet of water under our keel, (ii) it took us a few minutes to realize that our position as displayed our chart plotter wasn't accurate, so we couldn't rely upon it to navigate our way through the reef, and (iii) we initially tried to anchor in a weedy area, when we know that the CQR won't bite into weed for love nor money - but we ended up anchored in quite a nice little spot in the lagoon. We celebrated our passage from Grenada with one of the bottles of wine that we brought back from France, almost seven years ago.

Sten did a little fishing in the morning. Afterwards, we moved the boat about a mile south to the lee of Namusqui, so that we could dink into the harbor at Cayo Pirata for lunch. The local fishermen harvest a lot of lobster around here. Cayo Pirata features a lobster shack in the middle of a fishing camp. We asked about the price and if they accepted USD. They did but it was not cheap (Sten thinks that the exchange rate we were being quoted was wrong, so if you come, come with the local currency) so we elected to go for two smaller lobsters (approximately 1.5 lbs) instead of a single behemoth.

After we ordered, we sat down with a pair of Polars, the local brew, to wait for our meal. Around us the fisherman were carrying on their work on either side of the small shack that we were seated in. One of them had a gun visible under his shirt, and there was a cockfighting rooster tied up to a stake about 20 feet from where we were seated, which crowed throughout our meal. The whole scene had an undertone of menace, but as soon as the food arrived we were completely distracted. It has apparently been too long since either of us have had garlic mashed potatoes.

The presentation was simple, but lovely (particularly considering our location) and the sides were nice with the garlic mashed and a good cole slaw. The lobster itself was much better than we had last year in Anegada in the BVI but it was still not nearly as sweet and tender as New England lobster. It will be interesting to see if we develop a taste for southern lobster as we head towards the Canal.

After lunch we decided to move out and anchor on the barrier reef that shelters these cays. We anchored on a shallow shelf between Nordisqui and Isla Vapor (you've got to love the Spanglish names for the islands around here) and fell back into deeper water. Sten doesn't believe me, but I swear that when I dropped the anchor it was so shallow under our bow that the shank of the anchor was actually sticking out of the water while the flukes were on the bottom. We were the only ones anchored off of this island all night.

Before sunset we went ashore to explore Nordisqui, which is uninhabited. There are big piles of dead coral "rocks" washed up along the shores of this island, and some interesting shells, including sea urchin shells that are tinted purple and green.

Overnight the wind came up to steady 25 knots and the weather shifted into conditions that we have not seen before down here. The visibility has dropped - something akin to the smoky southwesterlies that we see in Rhode Island. It may be dust blowing west from the Sahara (this is not made up - we recently read about Saharan dust effecting the BVI in the NOAA weather forecast out of Puerto Rico), but we're not sure.

After lunch we headed back to Gran Roque to officially clear out. The process went a lot smoother this time, now that we know the magic words "barco in transito." There isn't a lot of provisioning to be done here, but I did pick up a loaf of bread from a bakery before we headed west.

We had a very anxious sail over to Crasqui, where we were planning to spend the night. With the inaccuracy of our position as displayed on the chart plotter, we had an awful time figuring out which island we were approaching, even cross referencing the cruising guide and a paper chart of the area. As we got closer to the island, a reef became visible between us and the island. We turned the boat away from it, and ran along next to the reef trying to figure out where we were. When the carcass of the burned out wreck of a Venezuelan navy vessel appeared on the shore ahead of us, we figured out that we were skirting along the eastern side of Noronsquis. We rounded the northwestern tip of Noronsquis and approached the anchorage on the western side of Crasqui. Of the half dozen boats anchored behind Crasqui, there were several sport fishing boats and some smaller motoryachts. Crasqui is a great spot to anchor in a strong easterly breeze, and the locals know it.

At my second firm in Boston, we had a tradition among the corporate associates of going to Falefel King for lunch on Fridays - and Falafel Friday was born. Some weeks, when things were particularly bad, Falafel Friday would come early, like on Tuesday. This week on Mata'irea, Falafel Friday came a day late; but we were both in need of some fried goodness to sooth our stomachs after that short but stressful sail. While Sten went off fishing in the dinghy I whipped up a middle eastern feast, and a tribute to the best group of co-workers a girl could ask for. Hummus, tabbouleh, tomato and cucumber salad, tzaziki dressing and falafel. To say the least, I have a well stocked larder and a Cuisinart.

While I worked on dinner, Sten did finally manage to catch a 4 pound bone fish with spinning gear but not on the fly, so that remained his challenge for the morning. Sten has been fascinated with the huge amount of aquatic life here. There are periodically flurries of bait around the boat and invariably some airborne fish or bird in hot pursuit.

In the morning, Sten fished from the beach while I walked, waded, and tried my best to get pictures of the ungainly pelicans feeding on the plethora of minnows that inhabit the shallows around here. Sten pointed out to me that "without the minnows, you wouldn't even know the bone fish are even in the shallows. The sandy bottom here appears white, but when covered in shoals of minnows, it appears slightly off white, almost grey. So when a bonefish crosses in front of you, you see not the fish itself but the moving, white colored spot where the minnows have made way for the predator. As for the flyfishing, it appears to be a case of too much of a good thing. Why would you eat an artificial gummy minnow when the water is loaded with the real deal?"

After lunch we headed southwest to the the archipelago of four islands at the western edge of Los Roques, which will form our jumping off spot for Las Aves in the morning. We're finally getting used to navigating with the misinformation displayed on the plotter, and we had a reasonably relaxed sail over here, navigating between a half dozen islands and reefs. We had thought that we would anchor behind Bequeve, but during our sail the wind shifted a bit to the south, leaving it too exposed. We decided to head over to the anchorage at Cayo de Agua, as it was more protected in an east south east breeze. We had some anxious moments as we crossed the lagoon, trying to decide if we were sailing over coral or grass. With as much wind as we've been having the past few days, the water is quite choppy, and our ability to read the bottom is compromised. But we did okay, and were anchored up with plenty of time to explore the island.

Cayo de Agua is different from the other islands we've seen in Los Roques in that it features tall sand dunes and a fresh water oasis that feeds a few stands of palms on the island. Because of the fresh water, The island was apparently important to the Amerindians when they populated the area. All of the water holes we saw were dry, but that is probably because we're in the midst of the dry season (infact we have not seen rain in over two weeks).

Los Roques has been a great training ground for us. We've learned not to rely upon our chart plotter as much as we had been and to develop our ability to rely on the clues provided by the geography around us. We've also been able to work on our reef navigation. We're glad that we had an introduction to reef navigation in Barbuda and the Tobago Cays before attempting to navigate around Los Roques, but it is the experiences that we've had these past few days that should stand us in good stead when we reach the Tuamotus in French Polynesia.

March 13, 2007 - March 15, 2007 - Grenada to Los Roques, Venezuela

We had a brilliant passage from Grenada to Los Roques, one of the islands off of the north coast of Venezuela. The breeze was a pretty steady 10-15 knots from dead astern. The rolling motion of the boat when sailing downwind is going to take some getting used to. And we need to get used to it. The conditions we saw on this passage are similar to what we expect to see on the Pacific run, downwind sailing in a swell. We hope that the swells that we get in the Pacific are more gentle, and not the snappy (not snappy as in "he's a snappy dresser," but snappy as in "his head snapped back when the car collided with a bus") swells we experienced on this passage. We both felt fine, but sleeping was a bit tough.

The thing that made the passage so enjoyable, is that we didn't have to worry about Lenore. She has found her sea legs. She ate, used her box, played with string, cleaned her fur, purred when we pet her, shed all over the cushions, and demanded to be allowed up in the cockpit at sundown (when we didn't offer to help her up, she charged up the companionway ladder) while we were underway - pretty much a normal day in the life. She's still a bit wobbly when walking from her favorite chair to the litter box, but at least the hunger strikes seem to be over. We're still planning on flying her home from Aruba (although there has been some debate), but it is nice to know that she's going to be okay on our passages between here and there.

The northeast wind shift that we were hoping for didn't materialize until the second night of passage, about 10 hours before our arrival in Los Roques. For most of the trip we sailed under main alone. The main was too far out to use the jib, as it blanketed it almost completely. Once the northeast wind filled, we were able to use the jib for a few hours and picked up a half knot of boat speed. Our new preventer system worked beautifully. We were able to sail dead downwind with the comfort of knowing that the boat wasn't going to accidentally jibe.

One of our reefing lines has nearly chafed through, so we'll need to shorten that line while in Los Roques before heading to Los Aves.

Sten spent a good part of the passage fishing. In his words, "No fish landed on passage but we did have hook ups with a large Mahi and got a smaller one to the boat. Also lost another lure when something with teeth hit the line ahead of the wire leader on my multiple lure, in-line rig (now retired)." Actually, there was one fish that didn't get away, but it was so small that, after losing his favorite lure, I can see why he has blocked it from his memory.

We were joined by dolphins playing in our bow wake around sunset the first evening of passage. We must have been moving too slowly for them, because they didn't hang around long. Shortly afterwards, we saw our first container ship of the passage, passing within a mile of our bow, which was a little close for comfort. It was a good wake-up call. After that, we paid more vigilant attention to the horizon.

The moon is now just a sliver, and it didn't rise until quite late, so the stars were brilliant for much of the night. Once the moon rose, its light would wash out some of the smaller stars and diminish the light thrown by the ships and fishing boats. Our visibility was actually better before moonrise.

The sunset on our second evening out was beautiful.

We ate very well on this passage. I had made stuffed shells and curried chicken salad before we left, which we had for dinner and lunch. Underway, Sten whipped up a tomato and basil omlette and lattes in our Mukka for breakfast. He's really a man of many talents. For nightwatch snacks we had passionfruit yogurt. We've really enjoyed trying the wacky yogurt flavors in the Caribbean; so far the favorite has been letchi.