It was October, and Hurricane Maria had just stomped over Les Iles Sainte, devastated Dominica, and was still cooking up 12-foot seas and 25 knots of wind in the Caribbean. Of course, I hadn’t anticipated this when I signed up four months earlier for a delivery charter of a boat that needed to move from Guadeloupe to Grenada. No backing out now.
One-way deliveries can make affordable charters when companies need to move boats to busier bases, and although hard to find, they’re terrific ways to cover lots of miles and test your skills. There are a few catches though: These charters rarely take place when you want them to, they happen on a schedule, and when things go wrong, you’re on your own and will need to get creative, because there’s no assistance once you leave the territory of one base heading to another.
Our cat had been sitting unused for a while, and we all know how much boats love that. Initially, she did well in the lumpy seas and gusty winds that kept us reefed and hauling the mail on a beam reach. The conditions were exhilarating, although one of the two crew spent his time prone on deck feeding the fishes. Periodically he looked up and shouted over the wind, “This wasn’t in the brochure!”
Soon, niggling issues crept in. First, we had to figure out the wonky chartplotter. It took two days, but I learned that it was 30 degrees off. Thereafter, I set the course line directly across each island we passed rather than around it, and we started arriving at the right place. It wasn’t an ideal approach to navigation, but it cost nothing, and the problem was solved.
By day five, something in the starboard holding tank jiggled loose, creating a doozy of a clog. This petrified poo plug that had been baking at the dock, possibly for months, quickly made the boat unlivable. There was just no place to hide from the stench, so when we pulled into Bequia, we attacked the problem from above and below the waterline but to no avail. I like to solve my own problems on the water, but it was time to enlist help. A local who had been circling in his dinghy offered to try a plumber’s snake, and I happily accepted.
We watched him dive repeatedly for a good hour when he suddenly surfaced yelling, “Volcano!” The boat let loose a brown slick making us into the Exxon Poo Valdez. When our helper came aboard and asked for a towel, I told him to keep it. That cost us a six pack of Hairoun and $200.
A day later in Mustique, we woke up to zero battery power. Not even a click of the starters. I had been monitoring the batteries as usual, and the gauge—which I learned later didn’t work—showed 80%.
It was off-season plus a national holiday in the islands, and nobody was around. Except that is, for an inter-island supply ferry docked nearby for the weekend. We dinghied over and I approached the captain to plead my case. For unexplained reasons, my crewman was literally lurking about 50 yards back, having sent “the girl” in to ask for help. It wasn’t a good look, and it didn’t fill the captain with confidence, so I tried smiling.
“We don’t have the same batteries as you,” he told me. “I know,” I said. “But you do have a 12-volt battery in that forklift over there. Can I borrow it?” He didn’t trust me, especially with the lurker in the background, so I smiled bigger. Eventually, he sent his engineer along with the battery and cables. That cost us a big bottle of rum and $50.
Sparse tools and the lack of charter base assistance are the twin mothers of invention. Whether it’s an anchor stuck upside down in the roller, a fish living in the saildrive, a valuable tube of wasabi fallen behind the galley drawers, or a dead battery, creativity will find a solution. Self-sufficiency is highly rewarding, but it takes what it takes, whether that’s beer, rum, money, or a smile.
June/July 2024
