Deja Vu. That’s how it felt sometimes in the days leading up to my sister and my niece’s coming arrival aboard the sailboat.
It was less than a year ago that I had spent two weeks exploring the coast of Belize aboard the 44’ sailboat Maiatla II, under Captain Andrew Gunson with Adriane and Stephanie.
And now I was back. But this time my co-workers husband Owen was coming. “It’s on my bucket list,” he had told me. And I was thrilled. Not only did Owen have enthusiasm but he is an experienced boater, and the fact that he could play a guitar and sing was a bonus. Live music concerts in the cockpit! And you never know if we fall into hard times…a little busking beer money.
It was these thoughts that helped occupy me through the three flights to Belize City. We checked into the Global Village because it was inexpensive, close to the airport, and had large clean rooms, with a store and Chinese restaurant across the street. Plus Andy’s sister had recommended it. And she was right. It was a well-earned rest stop, and despite our celebratory beers the night before, early morning found us ready to go.
We had originally planned to meet Andy and his sister at Cucumber Marina, but the wind was not cooperating, so Andy arranged for ground transport for us. Normally, we would have caught the short jumper flight to Placencia but as we were packing lots of bags and it was cheaper to get a ride. Pus we wanted a chance to see some of the interior countryside.
Deon and Crystal of DC Private Transporters picked us up in the morning and it did not take much to persuade them to take the scenic although longer route via the Hummingbird Highway. This did not disappoint as we passed through lush fields and mountains. They told us about the Food Forest they were growing and harvesting seaweed. “You have to be a Jack of all trades,” said Crystal who moved here from Calgary after the couple fell in love. It was late afternoon when we were arrived at Placencia. This is a favourite spot with tourists featuring lovely beaches and funky bars with names like Tipsy Tuna, and Pickled Parrot. It was also the scene of my fall from grace last year but that’s another story.
We caught up with Andy’s friends Shannon and Chris who had moved here from Newfoundland. It was a quick stop for a drink and some dinner and then we were back on the boat with Andy eager to get moving.
The next morning the engine had a few hiccups that had us anchoring a little earlier then planned at Elbow Caye while Andy quickly swapped out the fuel pump with a new one.
I didn’t think that I would have the opportunity to visit Tobacco Caye again. It’s funny to think that 10 months ago Andy, Adriane, Stephanie and I had come here after visiting the Great Blue Hole. We were starving and went to shore where we managed to snag the last two meals at Reefs End bar. And here we were again having a beer on the deck and watching the sunset.
Except this time, we had time to snorkel and explore this beautiful off grid resort.
And while Andy and Jackie gave the snorkeling a “good” rating, they have years of experience snorkeling and diving in many places, I was over the moon to see such an abundance and variety of barracuda, damsels, parrot, and squid along with countless fish I did not know the names of but had left me oohing and ahhing into my mask.
The next day’s light winds found us sailing and motoring towards Lighthouse Reef. The shallow waters were 28 C. The quiet night was a perfect time to turn on Starlink and do some work. It was a flood of relief when I connected to my office and was able to work remotely. I think I am going to like this view, I thought to myself as I took in the light blue waters. The real challenge would be tearing myself away from the million-dollar view.
But along with play comes some work, so the next day after a quick morning swim, I went back down below to work while Andy, Jackie and Owen went for a snorkel along the reefs. A few hours later and we were headed to explore Half Moon Caye and to purchase the park permit to visit the Great Blue Hole.
I sadly watched them leave and feeling like a martyr I returned to my laptop. But after an hour of sitting below with sweat trickling down my back, I could no longer resist and having the boat all to myself I stripped down and went skinny dipping. I was enjoying the feel of the warm waters buoyant embrace and closed my eyes. I was in the Caribbean, and I could see the edges of the Meso-American reef — the second largest in the world. And there was no one else here. It was a surreal moment that vanished as fast as a bottle of Belizean rum, when the thought of what would happen if the ladder bounced off (as the hooks sometimes do) leaving me with two options – swim to half Moon Caye or tread water for hours — all while naked. I climbed back up and retreated to my rocking office.
The weather forecast was strong winds and with a treacherous path dodging boonies – coral heads in shallow waters — it did not look like Jackie would get to cross off seeing the Great Blue Hole off her Bucket List. For three years Andy had been trying to get his sister to the GBH. But it seemed that the curse would continue. This was really bothering him as his sister was the one who introduced him to diving when she got her PADI many years ago.
But the next day, the sea sirens must have taken pity on her, and lifted the curse, offering a quick weather window. And with Owen standing at the bow, armed with Maiatla’s new state of the art headset, watching for boat tearing coral head, Andy was white knuckling the helm.
We made good time and arrived just as the Aggressor, a dive charter boat, was leaving, allowing us to slide into the giant sinkhole – one of the world’s wonders and a UNESCO World Heritage Site. And best of all we had it all to ourselves. Andy had dived the GBH last year with my niece Stephanie while my sister and I waited anxiously. This place has taken many lives with divers so enamored by its beauty and deep visibility that they had lost sight of the depth, time, and ultimately their lives. Nitrogen Narcosis is deadly and divers are advised to stay within 130 feet or risk injury.
I felt truly blessed to here and to be able to return a year later. Owen and I are not divers so instead we joined Andy and Jackie in a snorkel around the rim. Soon a barracuda attached itself to me but after a while I slyly positioned myself on the other side of Andy. He would put up more of a fight, I told myself justifying my cowardice.
It was another magical day on the boat with all of us feeling the thrill of GBH for hours afterwards.
The predicted wind arrived later that night at Drowned Caye. I laid awake listening to the wind’s howls and the dancing halyards and rain washing the decks. A feeling of deja vu washed over me. We had visited so many of the same places in Belize so far that I had visited last year. I was enjoying Jackie and Owen’s company, but I was also counting down the days to my sister and niece’s arrival.
When morning broke, we could see that one of the catamarans in the anchorage had dragged in the gale. It laid sideways amongst the mangroves. The owners were nowhere to be seen.
We tidied the boat, keeping busy while waiting for the winds to subside. It was already afternoon, but after watching a boat leave, and not hurry back with its tail between its legs, Andy decided we’d make a run for it.
It would prove a long hard ride with rolling shallow seas that made navigation tricky. Our eyes were always on the depth sounder and the terrifyingly shallow waters. There were moments when we were reading inches under our keel and I was bracing for impact which thankfully did not happen. There is a reason why this is cat or multi-hull country, and mono hulls are an oddity here. And Maiatla is a big girl with a bowsprit that brings her to 50′ and a 6′ draft.
The winds kept howling so we made the decision to carry on into the night to Caye Caulker. Normally we avoid coming into anchorages at night, but Andy had been there a few times already.
Exhausted we blew in on a dark fierce wind. Our rule is that we always had eyes on whoever was on deck, so it was I that watched Owen climb up on the cabin to drop the mizzen and saw him shrink in pain as his knee made an ominous popping sound. Not good I thought to myself watching Owen limp back, his face twisted in pain.
Andy was about to anchor when we lost our motor, again. Surrounded by shallow waters and eel grass made options limited in the dark and crowded anchorage.
“That guy is in my spot,” he grumbled pointing an accusing finger at the trimaran ahead.
There was nothing for it but to drop the hook and take our chances. It was only a few minutes before we started to drag and we reset the anchor. It would be a long night until morning came. Andy had set his drag alarm, and I laid in my bunk, fully dressed in case we had to spring to action.
Dawn brought continuing winds and torrential rains and in the early light we discover that we had fuel pump problems plus we had sucked in the prop a line from a fender that had been stowed on the stern. It was a good thing that Andy is an accomplished diver and had that resolved quickly. The engine was continuing to give us grief with dirty fuel forcing filter changes every few hours.
The worst part though was that Owen was in pain and barely able to move, while in many ways, this trip was just starting.
The kindness of strangers was in full force in Caye Caulker. While Owen worried about his medical insurance, I was preoccupied with how to best get him off the boat. Climbing down a ladder into the inflatable dinghy required some fancy footwork, even when you weren’t injured. And I feared it would exacerbate his injury. It was decided that it would be best for a water taxi to pick him up and get him to shore. A social post detailing our dilemma quickly brought responses from the small island community. Mr. Lee would pick us up at 10 am and take us to the fuel dock,
As I reached for my wallet, Mr. Lee just waved it away. No charge, he said with a smile, wishing us luck.
If it wasn’t for the worry, we would have enjoyed the ride to the clinic. I sat in the nearly empty waiting room, drinking cold water from the cooler and admiring the tiled offices. It wasn’t long before a tall, handsome doctor came out. He examined Owen, asked some questions then wrapped up his knee. Owen had brought all his paperwork with him but there was no need. The doctor kindly said, there would be no charge.
We were stunned and deeply relieved. A traveler’s worse nightmare is getting injured in a different country. Owen made a cash donation to the clinic, and then we headed off to get some lunch and meet up with Andy and Jackie who had stayed on the boat to do more work in the ever-demanding engine room. This time an engine mount had cracked, and we found Andy ashore at the fuel dock, The manager had kindly allowed him to plug in his welder. He was well into the repairs, so Owen and I decided to make good use of our time ashore and called our friendly cab driver back. He knew exactly what we needed, and dropped us off at Sip & Dip, one in a series of beachfront bars.
Luck would have it that it was also happy hour, or should I say hours, leading to much glass clinking and liquid courage. So much so that I succumbed to the entreaties of Michelle and her missing-toothed partner to have my hair braided. It was not a good look for me, but it kept the hair out of my eyes when we were snorkeling. At my age, I have learned my priorities.
By the time Andy and Jackie joined us, it was getting late and both Owen and I were not feeling any pain. Another round of drinks and then we headed to the beach to watch the rays come to shore. I was watching kids laughing and playing with the gentle rays in the water when I heard my name called, followed by “Take our photo,” It was coming from that good-looking doctor at the clinic. His smile made me yearn for a bodily injury myself. Alas it was time to head back to the boat to my lonely mid-ship bunk.
The next few days, we rode out a series of squalls and made plans to check out of Belize and head to Honduras.
In order to legally leave the country, we had to do the paperwork in San Pedro. A ferry ride would get us there. Normally that would not be a problem, except we now had our injured crew to think of. A series of phone calls led me to a sympathetic customs manager that promised us they would accept Owen’s passport with the doctor’s script, and he did not need to come. This was just another example of the kindness and consideration we were afforded throughout our time in Belize.
I had heard that San Pedro was a popular party town, so I was looking forward to the trip. A very bouncy ferry ride and we found ourselves weaving through rush hour traffic with bumper to bumper golf cart taxis congesting the narrow streets. As we navigated our way to the office for Customs and then Immigration, I walked with my arms pulled tight to my side, fearing that even an inch infraction would result in bodily harm.
It was hot and after the quiet friendly island vibe, San Pedro was just too big, with too much noise, and too many people, so we were happy to finish up our legal business and hop on the ferry back home. On our way there we had met Doreen who was a bookkeeper from Alberta and has been traveling solo in her camper for the past 10 years. Andy, always quick to spot a potential crew member, exchanged contact info, and Jackie and I tag- teamed her selling her the idyllic sailing life. It felt a little like a time-share sales pitch which to me did not make sense as I would jump at an opportunity to sail offshore.
Apparently, our sales pitch may have worked as she contacted Andy a month later saying that she was thinking about joining the boat along the journey. Andy is working his way on a circumnavigation, from when he left Ladysmith, British Columbia, in 2012, but he is in no hurry. Newly retired, he has the luxury of extending his stays as he seems fit, or as Poseidon often dictates.
We had left Owen on the boat with instructions to rest, elevate his leg, use compresses, and manage his pain. Instead, we returned to a well-scrubbed boat inside and outside with dinner on the go.
However there was one little problem. While zealously cleaning the decks he had leaned over and watched his prescription glasses go plunk into the water. So now our crew was not only lame, but also half-blind. Thinking quickly, Owen had thrown a float to mark the spot the best he could.
It worked, actually it worked almost to well because when Andy dove down to retrieve them he found the weight about an inch away from his glasses.
With Owen’s vision restored we made plans to leave. My sister Adriane and her daughter Stephanie had already started their flight to Honduras. It would take them two days, enough time for us to get settled in Honduras, with an easy one day sail by Andy’s reckoning.
Except that sometimes things don’t go according to plan.
So what should have been an easy sail wasn’t. As soon as we left the protection of the reefs the waves were unforgiving. It was a big, confused sea with waves hitting us hard on the side and while the wind was good, progress was slow because each blow of the waves would stall the hull. And then the wind slowly died until by midnight there wasn’t a breath. Meanwhile, the waves did not diminish in size and mercilessly kept slapping the sides of the boat.
We motored for a while until Owen came up. “There’s smoke coming from the engine room,” he shouted.
Indeed, a blueish haze hung in the air below. Andy vanished into the abyss also known as the engine room. Jackie was not feeling well and Owen was soon heaving into a bucket — the choppy seas mixed with the smell of the exhaust had done its work, ushering in the bane of all sailors, seasickness.
And now here we were becalmed with no motor, no wind, and nasty waves that warned of gales nearby. I was on the helm watching the stars spin around us as Maiatla gleefully spun donuts. And there was nothing I could do.
Of the beam I could make out the lights of a fishing boat. I wondered what they must have thought if they saw us on our drunken path.
And then it finally got to me. All the stress of the last few days, the constant jostling of the boat, the uncertainly, the discomfort, it all raised up like a fist in my throat, choking me. Why oh why was this happening? Had I made a mistake? I could be home in my bed getting a good night sleep, far from all this craziness. And then just as the tears of frustration were welling, I heard a voice. “Look,” it said. “You are in the Caribbean Sea. There is a bright moon paling the stars.” I sat back in the helm and gave abandoned myself to the moment. I was alone on deck, on a boat that was doing whatever it wanted, and there was nothing I could do about it. For now.
But it was a beautiful night. Uncertainly was replaced with growing joy. I was here. This was real. And I am so fortunate to be a part of this story.
And yes, sometimes I do talk to myself. And sometimes it even makes sense.
For the next few hours I danced at the helm, leaned against the mizzen, admired the sky, and accepted each wave with the joy of a child on a rollercoaster ride. At 3:30 am I felt a gentle caress on my cheek and went below to wake up Andy.
When the wind is steady, it’s easy to sail a boat, but when its so light as gauze, that’s when your skills are truly tested. Displaying remarkable tenacity, Andy harnessed the tiniest hint of wind and got us moving again. One knot, in the right direction.
But the wind continued to build into a brisk gale with the seas getting crankier. One fierce wave hit the boat so hard that I, along with my seat, was flung out of the cockpit and on to the floor. Winded, it took me a few moments to assess whether anything had been broken. An angry 9-inch bruise soon appeared on my right side. But it could have been worse. With a shudder I realized I had nearly rolled down the opened companion way.
By noon we were battered, and the boat was bruise. We had broken a preventor on the mizzen along with a few other things. The gale was continuing growing and we made the decision that tacking the additional hours needed to line the boat up to the entrance of the anchorage in East Harbour, Utila and then to have to sail into an unknown harbor without an engine would be exhausting. And we were already bone-weary. Instead, we’d get a tow.
A phone call to Homer, a friend of Elly’s who had run a charter business in Roatan, with her husband Wayne, and within minutes we were brought in with style by Dan who owns a fuel dock there.
Utila is one of the Bay Islands that just a few months ago I had never heard about, And now here we were. While I was eager to meet up with Adriane and Stephanie, we decided that with the motor not working, and wet and windy weather, it would be best that they get a room at the Roatan Yacht Club and then catch the Dream Ferry to Utila.
But while I listened to the wind whistling through the rigging and the vertical sheets of rain pounding on the decks, little did I know that my sister and niece who I was worrying about were already making friends with all the cruisers at the yacht club. In fact, while I laid in my damp bunk thinking about them, they had coincidentally met Andy’s good friends Joanne and Bill Harris of the boat Ultra and had already discovered the culinary delight known as coconut shrimp.
Two days later, our engine fixed, for now, we would come to the Utila dock to fill our water and fuel tanks and pick up Adriane and Stephanie our new crew.
It was time to start exploring Utila.
