Month: May 2019

May 19-20, 2019

Shit!…

The Arrivals/Departures display screen on the wall of the Owen Roberts International Airport in Grand Cayman was not reassuring us that this would be an easy trip to Washington State.

The ticket booking with American Airlines was Grand Cayman to Dallas/Ft. Worth with only a one and a half hour layover, followed by a flight that put us into Seattle just after midnight.  We’d have to get a hotel near the Sea-Tac Airport until morning when the shuttle service resumed that would take us a couple of hours north to Anacortes, WA where Kris’ mom lived.

Only, the screen was now saying that our departure from Grand Cayman would be an hour and a half late.   With only an hour and a half layover, it already wasn’t looking good.

“Maintenance issues” was the official line… a good excuse.  In my opinion, one of the only things worse than a delayed flight was “a flight with maintenance issues that wasn’t delayed.”

The attendant standing behind the counter at our gate confirmed the obvious.  “It doesn’t look likely that you’ll make the connection.”

The next question seemed a bit odd.  “Do you have to get to Seattle?”

Amused, I replied, “Not necessarily on that plane.  But unless you are offering roundtrip tickets to Europe or something like that instead, I think we’ll have to stick with Seattle as our destination.”

After a pause, she looked up from her computer screen and said, “I can get you to Seattle, but it may take three or four days.”

Less amused, I replied, “We’re definitely gonna have to come up with an alternate solution.”

And to this hard working woman’s credit, she did just that.  After at least a half hour of talking on the phone, as well as comings and goings from the desk, she had delivered the goods.

Keeping our current reservations (“just in case we made up enough time in the air or the connecting flight was delayed”), as backup she had also found and booked another flight to Seattle leaving Dallas/Ft. Worth shortly after noon the following day.  When I inquired, she assured us that, if we missed the connection, American Airlines would cover the hotel there.  

We thanked her profusely.  It turned out she was the diamond in a company many would argue is largely full of shit.

Though it came as little surprise, even without checked luggage, in the huge Dallas/Ft. Worth Airport where we had to take a train to get us from one terminal to another, we ended up missing our connection by only about three minutes… damn!

However, as we nonchalantly wandered over to the American Airlines Customer Service desk,  we were stunned to find ourselves at the end of a line comprised of about two hundred people… two hundred really pissed off people.

Evidently, a rash of violent storms had delayed or cancelled upwards of fifteen hundred flights that day, and we were looking at part of the aftermath.  People were being told it could take days to sort out their connections; and, because it was weather caused, were not being offered up free hotels.  

In fact, the only free things being offered were fruit, vending machine chips, and drinks.  Except, they were completely out, and now only empty baskets teased the already hostile mob.

We quietly waited as the line slowly inched its way back and forth, zig-zagging through the maze of retractable belt stanchions, all the while watching the dozen or so Customer Service employees desperately trying to wade through and placate the angry customers, some more successfully than others.

We eventually reached the counter and were meekly told, “Good evening,” by the employee on the other side of the counter.

I replied, “Seems like a much better evening to be on this side of the counter than that side…”

She seemed to take that as a bit of reassurance that she was not about to be yelled at again and smiled a bit more.

We explained our situation, which made her even happier.  Our replacement flight had already been booked, and the “maintenance” status of the delay meant she could make us smile even more by providing us with a complimentary hotel voucher that included breakfast, round trip taxi service, and two $12 vouchers we could use at any restaurant in the airport… sweet.

As bonus, while we’d been at the counter, the snack baskets had been re-filled so we got to stock up on snacks as we were leaving.

The taxi drivers, both to and from the hotel, couldn’t talk enough shit about American Airlines.  “Every day there are over-bookings, delays, missed flights, cancellations.  Nothing but problems and angry customers.  These American Airline vouchers are as common as twenty dollar bills here.”

I joked that maybe they should change their name to Un-American Airlines.

Still, in the end, we really had very little to bitch about.  We arrived at Kris’ mother’s house only about six hours later than originally planned, and we got a free hotel in Dallas instead of paying for one in Seattle.  In addition, we got complimentary breakfast, taxi fare, snacks, plus an airport Bloody Mary and Long Island Iced Tea thanks to the $12 vouchers to top it all off.

Had we been one of the weather affected passengers that didn’t get shit, we would have come out with a very different taste in our mouths.  Had we not been helped out by the very conscientious and dedicated woman at the gate in Grand Cayman we would have been screwed.

Sometimes you just have to go with the flow… 

Even if it’s not what you thought, it is what it is.

 

May 18, 2019

I feel a bit guilty taking photos of Exit tied to a marina dock.  She seems sad.  It seems so undignified, kind of like taking a photo of someone sitting on the toilet… not how you want to be seen.

We had spent three nights at West Bay in Grand Cayman, just south of Grand Cayman’s famous Seven Mile Beach.  Cruise ships in and out every day, jet skis, never-ending swell.  We had finally figured out the subtleties of rigging and setting a swell bridle to alleviate the relentless rolling, but the traffic was unfixable. 

We had to move to North Bay to get access to Barcadere Marina, where we had decided to put Exit under house arrest during our return to the States.

The reunion with our Scuba Junkie colleague of old – Nicola, or Island Nic as she was known on Mabul, had been fabulous.  It had been over five years since we had worked together in Borneo.  Especially after the catastrophic news we had received about the passing of another Scuba Junkie family member, Rachel (FUCK CANCER!), it was an exceptionally poignant reunion.   

We had intermittently maintained contact with her, but there is nothing like a hug, smile, and catch-up time in person.

Our timing was perfect in that Grand Cayman’s annual Carnival Parade was scheduled for the weekend before we left.  Even better, Nic was a participant.  An afternoon in the bar awaiting the arrival of the parade, which passed just in front of the bar, and then a get together at the beach afterward made for a thoroughly festive day.

Our trip back to the States revolved around two things: 1) the desire to see friends and family back home at least once a year, and 2) my parents’ announcement that they were planning on selling the lake home that they had owned for nearly thirty years on Lake Pend Oreille (pronounced “Ponderay”), Idaho.  

We had a number of boxes of stuff left over from when we had left the States in 2008 still at the property; so we wanted to get them moved out, as well as offer any assistance we could to my parents in the selling process.

We considered waiting until reaching Guatemala before returning to the States, but there were just too many uncertainties regarding leaving our boat for a month there.  Plus, better to get lake house sorted out immediately so the selling process could be helped instead of hindered.  It just made sense.

Though hurricane season for 2019 in the Caribbean would officially start with the arrival of June, we felt confident that we were okay leaving Exit where she was.  Our insurance didn’t mandate that we be out of the area until July 15.  Furthermore, Barcadere Marina was tucked in a tiny bay at the shoreline of another giant bay with depths less than fifteen feet, inside of a barrier reef with only a few small cuts running through it.  The back corner of the marina in which we were placed seemed to be nearly completely isolated from the outside wind, as demonstrated by the scorching temperatures and stiflingly still air  around us as we prepped Exit for our departure.

With the comforting reassurance that Nic would kindly come and check on our baby occasionally, we headed for the airport.

May 14, 2019

The hundred nautical mile distance between Grand Cayman and its two smaller sisters meant we were traveling in International waters while we were in transit to Grand Cayman.  Not a big deal, but it put into play an Immigration/Customs confusion that, in the end, all we could do is put up our hands and recite one of our recurring responses to baffling situations… it is was it is, even though it’s not what we thought.

Before departing Cayman Brac, we had to clear out with the Customs and Border Control; and we would have to clear in again upon arriving at Grand Cayman.  Though our passport visa was valid for thirty days and would have to be renewed, the CBC Officer assured us that Exit was authorized to be in the Caymans for six months.

Unfortunately, the passage to Grand Cayman was reminiscent of our previous passage from Jamaica… namely, insufficient wind that was coming from behind us and too much swell directly on the beam.  The wind barely touched over ten knots the entire time.

Of the few entries in the log, one read “17:00 – This sucks… shit wind from behind and shit swell on the beam.”  Another read “Genoa getting beaten to Hell.  Ridiculous swell from two different directions bouncing us all over the place.  Can’t keep the sails up.”  

Regardless, we arrived at Grand Cayman the following day after twenty one hours.

But instead of taking the dinghy ashore to go to the CBC office, or being visited by an official on our boat, we were instructed to follow the escort of the Harbor Patrol boat to a government dock were we would meet the CBC Officer.

I mentioned in an earlier post that, in my opinion, the construction of a dock is a direct reflection on how much the person who built the dock values your boat.  In this case, it couldn’t have been much.

The dock was composed of a giant slab of cement without a single rail, bumper, or post built right next to a giant rock that we were supposed to tie up to.  Maybe okay for a tug boat equipped with an army of truck tires hanging off the rail; but for a sailboat… really?

During the hour we were there, the constant swell (and wind, which had finally picked up) threatened to pound us into the cement, despite having four large fenders deployed.

We were also informed that, though Cayman law allowed a boat to be in Cayman waters for six months, they only issued thirty day permits to coincide with the duration of our Immigration Visa.  Contrary to what the Cayman Brac official had told us, we could easily get an extension stamp on our passports but would have to apply for an extension for the boat in writing, and pay $100 for each additional month… arrrrrrrgh!

CI CBC, WTF?… Cayman Islands Customs & Border Control, What The Fuck?

But at least we had made it… apparently to cruise ship heaven.

May 13, 2019

This is Cayman Brac Traffic Control, calling to welcome the third largest tanker in the world to Cayman Islands.  How is everything working onboard and what is your current latitude and longitude?

I’m confirming type of cargo onboard and destination port… You are carrying Iraqi crude oil, is this correct?

Roger… and is that light crude oil?

Copy that… light and ultra heavy Iraqi crude oil.  Those are stored together, correct?

And confirming you have 27,100 metric tons of oil onboard, correct?

Your crew is Greek, correct?  How many crew onboard, twenty five?

Copy that… 26 crew members… six Greek senior officers, nineteen Philippino crew plus one Romanian engineer, correct?

And your destination is Argentina, is that correct?

Is this the Captain I am speaking to or the First Mate?

By this time, Kris and I were literally rolling on the deck laughing.  In the interest of full disclosure, some of the actual data may be factually inaccurate and only represents one side of the conversation, but it conveys the spirit of the conversation rather closely.

More importantly, we were now in the know, which is what made it suddenly so damn funny.  We had just finished clearing out with Cayman Brac Customs and were underway, making for Grand Cayman when the above  conversation took place over the VHF.

*****

We had been listening to the distinct voice identified as Cayman Brac Traffic Control on the radio multiple times every day since we arrived in the Cayman Islands nearly three weeks ago.

The level of detail he seemed to know about passing ships implied that he was researching these vessels online as he spoke with them on the VHF.  At times, it appeared he had information that the person aboard the ship speaking on the radio was not aware of.  The amount of information he requested from each passing ship was amazing, more than we had ever heard before.  The interest he demonstrated went well beyond what seemed to be typical port authority depths.

For us, it was far more entertaining (not to mention far more enlightening) than any television show could have been.  We started monitoring his working channel on the VHF just to hear the next conversation.  It became the recurring source of big smiles for us when we would hear his voice break across the airwaves of Channel 16, inevitably asking the ship to change to Channel 11 so he could grill them for information and pass on his apparently vast wealth of knowledge.

We couldn’t tell if this was a security measure to verify they were who they claimed, or a government agency with an unfathomable amount of data logged regarding every passing ship, or just a passionate individual who took his job very seriously…

Sometimes the ships didn’t reply to his hails at all.  We thought this very strange.  

Sometimes the exchanges were rather short… not typically.

Sometimes it seemed the exchanges followed a pattern; sometimes the most random tidbits or the least relevant details were the focus of attention.

Sometimes it seemed the flow of information would never stop… 

This is Cayman Brac Traffic Control calling cargo ship just west of Cayman Brac.  How are you reading me?  

Reading me loud and clear… very good.  How is everything working onboard and what is your latitude and longitude?

Copy that… that places you about 25 miles west of Cayman Brac.  You may be having trouble reading me.  The VHF only has a range of twenty to twenty five miles.  It is a travesty that the United States FCC has limited the range of all VHF radios internationally.

You are currently the third largest cargo ship in the world, correct?  

Roger… what is your cargo and destination?  You are loaded with steel plates bound for Brazil, correct?

Copy that… what is quantity of cargo currently onboard?

Roger…  and what is the average size and weight of each steel plate?

Copy that… 3 meters wide, 6 meters long, 10mm thick, and each plate averaging 1200 lbs., correct?

And what is your current speed?   Copy that… eighteen knots, fully loaded… amazing.  Is that your maximum speed fully loaded?

Roger… twenty knots is maximum speed fully loaded… unbelievable.  That is incredible. 

And your previous port was China, correct?  How many days since you departed?

Copy that… after your delivery to Brazil you will be returning to China, correct?

Copy that… next destination is Australia… that would be Port Thomas, correct?

Roger… are you showing any additional target ships in your area?

Copy that… Cayman Brac has recently lost some seamen that have passed.  We would request that you sound your ship’s horn five times as you pass by your nearest point to Cayman Brac to show your respect for these great mariners.

Roger… the water is very fair and deep near the island so you can pass quite close by… 

Thank you and have a good voyage.

This is Cayman Brac Traffic Control.  I have five other ships currently traveling southbound towards Cayman Brac.  How do you read me?  

[brief pause] 

This is Cayman Brac Traffic Control calling any other ships in the area… are any of you paying attention? 

We were so fascinated by this person, we had decided we were going to hail him as we departed Cayman Brac, just so we could have a conversation with him and sound our little hand-pump air horn five times in tribute to the Brac’s fallen mariners.

******

Sitting in the protective shade of a small gazebo near the dock and boat ramp which had provided us shore access and a place to tie up our dinghy, we filled out page after page of official documents – the clearing out papers provided by the sharply dressed Customs and Border Control Officer sitting to our left.

As I completed what seemed to be page ninety-five of the clearing-out paperwork, copying line for line from the identical form which comprised our clearing-in paperwork (information which had obviously not changed during the past three weeks but needed to be re-submitted in triplicate), Kris asked the Customs and Border Control Officer who the Cayman Brac Traffic Control person was.

Completely deadpan, he looked at us and said, “That would be Mr. Raymond Scott.”

Then, with more of a wince and a bit of a strained expression, he continued.

“Mr. Scott drives me crazy.  He’s a nice enough guy, and certainly very knowledgable.  However, he asks huge tankers and cargo ships to approach very close to the island to pay their respects to sailors who have passed away.  I don’t mean any disrespect, and it’s all well and good until something goes wrong.  

His title of Cayman Brac Traffic Control is entirely self-appointed.  For years, he has been lobbying to be paid for what he does, but in actuality, he has absolutely no authority whatsoever.  Passing ships have no idea, and therefore provide him with all the information he requests and comply with his ‘recommendations’, as he represents himself in a manner that implies he is a government official.

The fact is… HE IS LITERALLY JUST A DUDE WITH A RADIO!” 

(Cue “game show loser music” here… ‘wah, wah, wah, wah’).

Seriously.  The CBC Officer actually said the words, “He is literally just a dude with a radio.”

Our bubble instantly burst.

Shortly thereafter, we departed Cayman Brac bound for Grand Cayman.  Suffice to say, we opted to maintain “radio silence”.  We were sure that at least one Customs and Border Control Officer would smile if he knew…

May 12, 2019

Before Jamaica, the Cayman Islands had never been on our radar.

Located in the Caribbean, apparently world class diving, offshore banking haven for rich people and corporations looking to hide money from the taxman… pretty slim pickins as far as comprehensive information goes.

As it turns out, the Caymans has ended up being one of the most intriguing places we’ve visited aboard Exit after leaving the States.

Comprised of three islands, this British Overseas Territory has a total population of less than 55,000 people.  Grand Cayman is the main population center, with the population of  Cayman Brac (pronounced “Brack”) around 1,500 and Little Cayman a mere 150 residents.

One of our biggest disappointments with both the Bahamas and Jamaica had been that, despite an undeniable beauty above water, below the surface the amazing topography was diminished by the amount of dead coral and remarkably few numbers of fish and other marine life.  To us, this appeared to be the direct result of a rather lax view towards environmental conservation.

One of the truly unique aspects we encountered upon arriving at Cayman Brac was the strictly enforced anchoring policy universal throughout the Caymans… YOU CAN’T.

All three islands have gone to extraordinary lengths to provide what must be hundreds of free public mooring balls that boats are required to use.  There are only a few areas within all three islands in which anchoring is allowed.  And we were warned by the Customs Officer that failure to comply could result in a $100,000 fine… yikes!

Good for them.

Though the Cayman Islands are a major cruise ship destination, a surprisingly few number of cruisers visit the Caymans (the Customs Officer informed us that only two other sailboats had passed through recently).  Hence, the dozens of Cayman dive boats are the primary beneficiaries of these mooring balls, which are largely located at the specific dive sites.

Our concerns were twofold:  1) are the dive shops going to be pissed off if they arrive at a dive site and we’re on the mooring ball, and 2) are the mooring balls maintained well enough to be trustworthy?

The answers:  1) no, the dive shops know we are required to use the mooring balls also and will adjust accordingly, and 2) the mooring balls are regularly maintained.  Though many of them have too small of tackle to be adequate to sit on overnight, there are larger mooring balls with tackle sufficient for the Cayman Aggressor liveaboard boat scattered about.  If the Aggressor showed up, we might need to move to a different mooring ball to give them access to the dive site.  Otherwise, we were instructed not to worry.

Another unique aspect we encountered in the Caymans was their policy regarding the use of spear guns and Bahamian slings for spearfishing… YOU CAN’T.

Upon arrival at Cayman Brac, the Customs Officer politely and promptly confiscated all “spears, slings, gaffe hooks, and things meant for poking, jabbing, or sticking.”  We were informed they would be returned to us when we cleared out.

Though I was becoming quite comfortable with the idea of occasionally and responsibly partaking in the bounty of the sea, my reaction was the same as the mooring ball policy… good for them.

It would not take long to see the wisdom of these policies from an environmental standpoint.

A large cement dock provided shore access for us to wander around the island a bit where we found the people to be exceptionally friendly.  As it would turn out, this would be the only access point to the shore for us between both Cayman Brac and Little Cayman.

We were in the water within an hour of clearing in.  It just so happened that we were moored nearly on top of the M/V Captain Keith Tibbetts, a Soviet Union 330 foot long Koni II class frigate built in 1984 for the Cuban Navy.  The Cayman Islands government purchased it for tourism, scuttled it off the shore of Cayman Brac in 1996, and renamed the vessel M/V Captain Keith Tibbetts after a local businessman and politician.

Resting at at depth of between sixty feet at the stern and eighty-five feet at the stern, with   what had to be around one hundred foot visibility, we could still see everything clearly snorkeling at the surface.  But it was even better diving…

After a couple of days we decided to make the fifteen mile move to Little Cayman so we could check things out there.

Our hope was to be able to stay in a bay that appeared to have excellent protection provided by a reef that fringed the entire side facing the ocean.  However, the only entrance to the bay, which stretched over two miles, was a channel with breaking waves that dropped in depth to no more than five feet as soon as it entered the bay.

We needed either calm conditions at the channel or much better information before we would attempt that.

So we opted to pick up a mooring ball on the west side of Little Cayman at Bloody Bay, which  also just so happened to be the location of the world famous dive site at Bloody Bay Wall.  The island also blocked the worst of the swell coming from the east.

We were in the water within an hour of being secure on the mooring ball; this time just a bit of snorkeling.  Nevertheless, we immediately realized Cayman Brac had been just the warm-up act for the bigger show.

After only a short time in the water, we had already seen turtles (green, hawksbill, and even our first loggerhead), an eagle ray, stingrays, barracudas, and a plethora of the most hunted and now least found marine life in the Bahamas – mature conch everywhere, large Nassau Groupers, Lane Snappers, lobsters… it went on and on.  In addition, not only was there the amazing topography that we found in Jamaica, but also diverse and healthy coral covering it.  It wasn’t the Coral Triangle in Southeast Asia, but it was still mighty impressive.

And what do you do if you are a conch less than a foot long with only one foot to move and you fall into a three foot deep hole?  Wait for a snorkeler to come rescue you!

In the interest of full disclosure, it must be confessed that having Exit sitting directly above a clearly visible coral reef (even if on a mooring ball) while we slept took some getting used to.  But it also made for a spectacular view during the day.

We also now had the opportunity to do something, which up to this point, had been a bit too intimidating and logistically difficult for us to accomplish… scuba diving directly from the Mothership.

[Technical difficulties prevented us from posting this video immediately, but stay tuned]

The amazing dive also brought about a situation which needed immediate rectification.  We needed air refills. And this meant we needed to get ashore.  Not a simple task where we currently were, as the water approaching the shore was shallow and strewn with rocks and coral.

Every day we saw locals doing dives from the shore, so we decided to approach one pair of guys who were just climbing out of the water to do some inquiring.  We got the dinghy as close to shore as possible and then Kris swam in to talk to them (a bikini clad woman typically attracts more attention than a dude with a mustache).

Unexpectedly, they pointed to a dive boat in the distance and said, “Talk to them.  They’re the one’s who’ll be filling the tanks.”

When we spoke to the dive staff on the boat he said, “Come around to the bay.  They don’t deliver.”

Not quite the warm reception we received at Cayman Brac.

After three days, the wind had dropped to a level we hoped would make entering the bay on Little Cayman’s east side possible.  At the mooring ball we were currently on, the water was flat.

As we set out, it seemed promising.

As we came around the south side of the island, though the wind was only around 12-13 knots, we were smashed by a six to ten foot swell.

It appeared that the breaking waves into Owen Island Bay were a constant, which took the bay off the table as an option for us.  We summarily decided, screw it… let’s just go back to Cayman Brac and get the fills there.

This time we picked up the mooring directly directly above the M/V Captain Keith Tibbetts wreck.

Quite surreal.

Attached to a sunken warship at the edge of an underwater cliff that stretched down thousands of feet… if the Big Earthquake came and the wreck slid of the edge, we would be pulled down almost instantly.  Dark… but unlikely.

Back at The Brac (as they call it), we once again found the friendly demeanor that we had first encountered.  The very accommodating owner of Brac Scuba Shack would not only fill our tanks for $8 each, she would pick them up from the nearby dock and drop them back off for us.  In addition, we could rent tanks for $10 each.

We decided to rent four tanks and head back to Little Cayman, which gave us the chance to dive Bloody Wall, and then return to pick up the full tanks before continuing on to Grand Cayman.

We never made it ashore on Little Cayman, but after our brief exchanges with the people we did talk to, we concluded we probably hadn’t missed anything.

Despite that, the fifteen days we spent between The Brac and Little Cayman were stellar. The days we weren’t diving, we were snorkeling.  Amazing!

And, the entire time, we beamed at the fact that every time we got out of the water we could have a freshwater rinse for both us and our gear, thanks to our blessed watermaker.

In addition, though to us it was never in question, on May 11 we received an undeniable validation and absolute reinforcement that our commitment to install solar panels on Exit was a wise decision when our generation of electricity via solar power shattered the one million watt marker… crazy!

Though we couldn’t have been more impressed with the incredible success that the Cayman Islands policies of no anchoring or underwater hunting had contributed to the general health of the marine ecosystem, it was time for us to get moving again.

A Scuba Junkie reunion with our old dive colleague Nic awaited.  And we had already booked flights for a return visit to see family and friends in Washington State in less than  a week… the clock was ticking again.