We’d slipped through the drawbridge at the entrance to Simpson Bay Lagoon on the southern shore of St. Maarten at the 1030 opening late last March, bound for the island of Dominica, some 170 nautical miles more or less due south. My old sailing buddy Hank Schmitt’s well-found Swan 48, Avocation, was headed for the second annual Yachting Festival in support of PAYS (Portsmouth Association for Yacht Security), a recently formed group dedicated to serving cruising sailors calling in the island. It sounded like a cool event, but what I was really savoring were the overnight sails to and from in the steady easterly trade winds. It had been a while since I’d spent a night at sea.
The derivation of the word “posh” is supposedly from British passengers who booked tickets for steamships bound for India. They were happy to pay a premium price for staterooms on the shady side of the vessel, which meant to port on the way over and to starboard on the way home (POSH: port out, starboard home). But the word also described our passage down the trades, a port tack (wind coming from the port side) heading south, and a starboard tack on the return trip to St. Maarten.
We were closehauled on the voyage south, and it was a bumpy ride, but there were some definite highlights. Off St. Barths, we caught a glimpse of the fleet of superyachts competing in the annual St. Barths Bucket regatta. At sunrise, we enjoyed a respite from the relentless easterlies, sluicing down the lee of Guadeloupe. The last 17 miles were sporty, but Dominica was straight ahead, the light at the end of the tunnel. Exactly 26 hours after passing through the bridge, we picked up a mooring in the coastal town of Portsmouth on Dominica’s northwest coastline.
It was a good, hard sail. The one back to St. Maarten a week later was even better.
As it was a relatively short passage, Hank did not set up a watch schedule, and I took the opportunity after our departure to hit a bunk for a few hours. I wanted to get the full night-sailing experience. And man, did I ever.
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I popped up on deck at exactly midnight and was greeted by something I really didn’t expect: the Southern Cross, sitting pretty above our transom. Who knew it was visible in this part of the Caribbean? The moon had not yet risen, and the sky was brilliant, a virtual planetarium full of stars, including many a shooting one. It was mesmerizing. The rising of the three-quarter moon dimmed the light show a bit but was also magnificent.
We had to point a bit higher to skirt the windward side of Montserrat, but the wind had freed a little, and once around that volcanic isle, we were able to crack off a few degrees onto a powerful reach. I’d grabbed the wheel and was in no hurry to let go. The sailing was as good as it gets. The gusty trades fluctuated between 15 and 22 knots, the absolute sweet spot for a thoroughbred like Avocation. The boat was locked in at 8.5 knots of boatspeed, with the occasional burst over 9 and even 10 knots. We were definitely hauling the mail.
There’s never a better place to catch a sunrise than on the ocean, and with St. Kitts on the horizon, it was a pretty great one. We shaved a couple of hours off the trip on its return leg, and precisely 24 hours after departing Dominica, we dropped the anchor off Simpson Bay to await the next bridge opening, with plenty of time for a refreshing swim.
I’ll always recall with fondness the lush island of Dominica, but what I’ll really remember is sailing through those Caribbean nights.
