We have decided to summarize our experiences sailing from Hampton, Virginia to Tortola, BVI in the Caribbean in the form of an email sent to friends and family. We hope it gives insight into the challenges and joys of an ocean voyage in a small sailboat.

November 22, 2004
Photo: departing Hampton November 10. Photos throughout the following text are random shots from the voyage.

Dear Family:
WE MADE IT! After 12.25 days at sea (slightly less than our prediction) we arrived in Tortola at 4:40 PM November 22, 2004.

We had periods of inspirational beauty and serenity separated by grueling days of chaos and near disaster. We are very proud of ourselves and our seamanship, but our quest for adventure at sea has been sated.

In a later report we'll detail various problems (such as breaking all three engine drive belts just after entering the dreaded Gulf Stream and nearly being unable to replace them as Pioneer was being tossed about) but this report focuses on the storm that presented some of the most difficult challenges of our lives. It arrived on day three as a violent cold front -- one much more intense than forecast.

We knew it was coming and had everything reefed down in anticipation. When it hit -- well it's hard to describe the maelstrom. It started with a disorienting and instant 60 mph blast of wind from the opposite direction, one that made us happy we had a new mainsail. The old one would have been shredded. It quickly reached a point where, in the pitch black of a moonless night, we faced torrential squalls and huge waves crashing into the cockpit, drenching everything and everyone, hour after hour. It was relentless, tapering off only on the third day. Conditions were much too difficult to take pictures, but we will forever carry the images in memory.

The worst part was not being able to see the waves at night. Whoever was at the helm had only the compass (lit by a flashlight, as the compass light chose that moment to fail), and was forced to furiously turn the wheel back and forth, responding to and trying to anticipate the thundering slam of waves and the violent blasts of wind. It was exhausting beyond belief, both mentally and physically, far more intense than any "instrument flying" I had ever done in the Cessna.

We had trouble handling the helm for more than 30 minutes at a time, meaning that we had almost no sleep for days. One wrong turn of the wheel could have turned us sideways to the waves, and they would have been more than happy to knock us completely over.

The storm hit just after sunset, and after a tumultuous night, we were in for another shock in the light of morning as the waves we were riding became visible. Mansion-sized mounds of water caught us from behind every 12 seconds, yawing and pitching the boat wildly as they roared past. Quite often they broke from different directions, smacking us from various sides at once and drenching everyone. There was no shelter, this occurred hundreds of miles from shore.

Down below, it was almost impossible to hang on. The boat was lurching so violently that we were constantly being thrown about. I (Don) knocked a door loose from its hinges - smashing into it with my face and shoulder. Becky, I and our crew of two are covered with bruises. But we were luckier than a woman on another boat who was thrown very hard to the deck against a winch. The doctor later said that if the impact had occurred in a slightly different spot she would have been killed.

The shriek and incessant noise of all this added dramatically to the overall challenge of the situation. Down below, exhausted, I took a moment to try and sleep. Dressed in my bulky foul weather gear and dragging the harnesses used for staying connected to the boat, I flopped athwartships on the floor of the galley, using legs and hands to keep from being thrown about. The sound was that of a tornado in a junkyard. Deck and sail hardware was being violently thrashed back and forth. Ropes were slapping everything they could -- and down below, everything that wasn't jumping out of its rack or storage bin was being slammed around inside them. It was totally remarkable, like something out of a dream. To Pioneer's credit, nothing critical broke.

Three days later the winds were still blowing hard, but then finally settled down -- leaving us, oddly, without enough wind. The first thing I noticed was that some beads Becky had hung from a lamp had, during the storm, deeply marred the wood on the wall and nearby mirror as they slammed back and forth.

Because we were rated the slowest boat of the fleet, we were further north when the storm hit - meaning that we got the worst of it. Then when the winds went calm, we were almost totally becalmed. The faster boats further south had a much better ride, and then sailed into a new wind band before we could get there. So for two days we slogged along, using a little fuel to motor now and then, believing every day that if we just got a little further south we'd pick up the trade winds.

Eventually, at 23 Degrees 30 Minutes north latitude, we did catch up with a consistent wind, and we flew the rest of the way to the marina in Road Town, Tortola, BVI.

In all, we traveled 1,766 statute miles (1,536 nautical) in 294.2 hours.

During the trip, we had two women with us as volunteer crew. One was terrific, an experienced sailor and truly remarkable individual who demonstrated terrific seamanship and unerring professionalism. Her goal is to buy her own boat and sail it to promote AIDS awareness and to help the children of AIDS victims in Africa.

The other did not enjoy the trip and didn’t seem pleased by much of anything, especially after Becky found she had been secretly smoking cigarettes while underway, in violation of our ship’s rules as discussed with crew in pre-departure telephone conversations.

It was interesting: one crew member had a great attitude and was determined to make the trip the quality and learning experience it was for her, Becky and me.  The other’s approach seemed frequently critical and negative which, predictably, produced an opposite experience for her.

While sailing alone in the ocean at daybreak three days before our arrival in Tortola, we saw the top of a sail on the horizon. We tried calling on the radio but had no response. The boat was going exactly our speed and direction, and its relative position changed little throughout the day.

Finally the other boat called us on the VHF, asking the name of our boat. When Becky said, "This is sailing vessel Pioneer enroute from Hampton to Tortola at 6.5 kts on a heading of 152 magnetic," the female voice at the other end said, "Are you Pioneer of the Two Gypsies website?" 

Becky and I stared at each other in disbelief! The woman said they have been reading our site for years and were happy to be crossing our wake in the Atlantic. Even more unusual, their boat is a Cabo Rico just like ours, but one year newer. It is named "Sweet Carolina."

Other encounters with vessels at sea were more challenging. One night during my watch, I noticed a ship on our starboard quarter. Radar confirmed that it was big, and was closing in -- now only seven miles distant. I called the tanker to learn that it was moving more than twice our speed on a heading of 152 degrees. Our heading was 205 degrees, meaning that our wakes would cross.

The question was whether we would pass in front of or behind this behemoth. The captain of the freighter radioed that he would turn right ten degrees, allowing us to pass behind him. But the geometry of the situation didn't work out so he then turned to port, passing behind us. It all worked out just fine, but an encounter with a ship that could run over you in the dark hundreds of miles from land and not even notice tends to focus one's attention. 

We want to emphasize that there were many wonderful experiences during this trip. The sunsets and sunrises were spectacular...as was a fantastic rainbow at sea. Soon we'll be posting these photos on the website in the Ocean Sailing Gallery.

We first saw the Virgin Islands while still 50 miles at sea. As we grew closer (slowly, as we were sailing against a stiff current) the mountains became green and other sailboats appeared on the light blue waters around us. And now in our first day at Village Cay Marina (we can only afford to stay three days, then we'll find someplace to anchor) everything seems especially bright and beautiful - almost magical.

On our website we said we hoped to find, among other things, insight into ourselves as we lost sight of land. We did. We learned that we can master skills and endure challenges and discomfort that many people would never take on and some might not survive.
When our fresh water pump broke, we had a spare and the experience to install it quickly and uneventfully. When water found its way into a combing vent, Becky had the materials and underwater adhesive to seal it off. When deck fuel cans came loose in the middle of the night and one was hanging over the side, we were able to slither safely up the jackline and secure them. When a winch on the mast broke, we kept it working. In handling these challenges and many others, we built our confidence, our relationship, and our love of life. We have always said viewing life from the valleys as well as the peaks brings perspective. In this adventure the valleys and peaks were formed of the same a salty liquid.

That said, when we return to America we will consider the challenges of this chapter of the Gypsy Wagon Expedition met. With heavy hearts, we will put Pioneer up for sale and move on to other things -- other less expensive and perhaps less physically challenging things. We have put almost all our money, and all our attention and love, into Pioneer -- and she has served us so wonderfully well. Saying goodbye and moving on to something else will be bittersweet.

We just wanted you to know that we had one of life's great experiences. We are proud of ourselves and remain thankful for your unfailing support of our lifestyle.

Our love goes winging out to you from 18 Degrees 25 Minutes north latitude, 64 Degrees 37 Minutes west longitude.

Don and Becky

Although the graphic below is low quality, it does give an idea of the route we actually took.

November 25, 2004 leaving Tortola
Happy Thanksgiving. After having spent a couple of days recovering from the trip and removing salt from everything (inside and out) we’ll depart Tortola this morning for Virgin Gorda (“fat virgin”). We’ll anchor amongest friends on other Caribbean 1500 boats and dinghy back and forth between vessels, sharing an American style Thanksgiving pot-luck.

Good thing we brought so much food. Milk here is $8/gallon and large apples are $1 each. Diesel fuel is $2.95/gallon. Water is 15-cents per gallon in bulk. We used nearly 400 gallons to fill our tanks and wash salt off the boat.

It may be a couple of weeks before we can update the website again -- but keep checking back. We’ll be sure to post some great fat virgin photos.

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