The Sun-splashed SPANISH VIRGINS
PUERTO RICO’S RESILIENT TROPICAL ISLANDS AND STEADY CAR IBBEAN BREEZES ARE A SAILOR’S DREAM COME TRUE.
AS OUR PLANE DESCENDED TO LAND IN SAN JUAN, PUERTO RICO, MY DAUGHTER, LILY, CHATTED WITH THE MIDDLE-AGED FELLOW SITTING NEXT TO HER IN THE WINDOW SEAT. IT WAS HIS FIRST TIME FLYING, HE SAID WITH A DRAWL. HE WAS A CONSTRUCTION WORKER, AND HIS BOSS HAD DISPATCHED HIM TO THE STORM-RAVAGED ISLAND TO TACKLE A FEW JOBS. AS THE LANDSCAPE CAME INTO FOCUS, TALK TURNED TO ALL THE BLUE TARPS THEY SAW ON THE ROOFS BELOW, AND LILY JOKED THAT IT MIGHT BE A WHILE BEFORE HE GOT BACK HOME.
From my aisle seat, I strained to look over their shoulders, but all I could see were lush green hills, cloud-shrouded peaks and an insanely blue sea behind us. Welcome, then, to Puerto Rico.
Honestly, Lily and I had no idea what to expect when we boarded the plane at the crack of dawn on a late-april Saturday morning in Boston. Most news accounts from San Juan had been dire ever since Hurricane Maria struck the island last September. Heck, just a few days earlier, an errant heavy equipment operator had briefly plunged the entire U.S. territory once again into darkness when he struck a power line.
Still, when my colleague Dave Gillespie and I ran into Sail Caribe Yacht Charters owner Jim Veiga earlier in the year during the Miami International Boat Show, he told us that life was actually getting back to normal. Storm damage had been widespread and repairs were ongoing, but the out islands and beaches were intact, stores were stocked and open, the trade winds still blew and his boats at Puerto del Rey Marina in Fajardo were in the water and ready to sail.
So that’s just what we were heading there to do: jump aboard a Sail Caribe catamaran and explore the Spanish Virgin Islands, arguably among America’s most overlooked gems. It would be my first real vacation in some time with Lily, who had recently finished grad school. She had a friend, Maddy, joining us, and Dave brought along his wife, Sandy, and their son, Andrew. Talk about an all-star crew.
Our plan was to meet at the San Juan airport, hop into a van sent from the marina and stop for provisions on the way to the charter base. Sandy had even worked out menus and a shopping list, though all for naught, it turned out, after her and Dave’s flight was delayed for several hours. Whatever. Four of us found our ride, then winged it at the market, filling three carriages with supplies for the week. Meals might be unscripted, but no one was going to go hungry.
The drive to Fajardo, on the island’s east coast, took about an hour. Our driver, who’d lived for many years in the States, had been at his home near the marina when Maria hit. Afterward, though their home was damaged, he and his wife refused to return north. Post-storm, life on the island was challenging, but still good.
Along the road, some shops appeared bustling with business, others not so much. It dawned on me that after Maria, carnage and recovery went hand in hand in this part of the Caribbean.
With 1,000 slips, storage racks ashore and multiple on-site businesses, Puerto del Rey Marina is a sprawling complex, one of the largest in the Caribbean. Our van pulled into a loading area shortly after dark, where the driver corralled a couple of large metal carts for us to fill. When we were ready, these were hitched onto a golf cart that delivered cargo and crew to Azulita, a 2018 Lagoon 450 tied up on the outer docks.
By the time we put away the food, stashed sea bags and had a cold can of Medalla Light in hand, Dave and Sandy arrived. After a welcome toast, we walked up the dock and grabbed dinner at La Cueva Del Mar, a waterside bar and restaurant that served up ample portions of live reggae and delicious fish tacos. The tropical night air was as sweet as the sound of tree frogs peeping along the shore.
As promised at check-in, Capt. Jose Bernard arrived Sunday morning and walked us through Azulita’s many systems, including watermaker, air conditioning and genset. We went over the navigation and safety gear, the anchor and windlass, and then our attention turned to the charts. The waters between Fajardo and the islands we would visit — Culebra, Culebrita, Vieques and Palominos — contain a fair share of reefs, and there remain areas that are still off limits from the days when the U.S. Navy used them for artillery practice.
Forewarned and vigilant, we decided it was time to go. The
THAT NIGHT WE WERE SURROUNDED BY DARK HILLS TO EAST. TO THE WEST, THE TWINKLING LIGHTS ON PUERTO RICO WERE JUST LOVELY.
captain took the wheel and deftly slid Azulita out of its tight quarters (Better him than
me, I thought.) and motored to the fuel dock across the channel. The last task was to raise and drop the main. Then, with a handshake, he departed and we were off. The channel out of the marina seemed narrow. Or maybe the Lagoon’s 25-foot-9-inch beam seemed wide. Either way, I took it slow, recalling the captain’s advice to favor the seawall as we turned the corner to head to sea. Abruptly, the wind picked up and we pounded into ocean swells hitting us square on the nose.
Given our afternoon departure and the fact that our anchorage for the night was 10 miles dead upwind, we decided that rather than start our sailing vacation with a sail, we’d go motorboating instead. We found a relatively comfortable cruising rpm, but it was still a wet ride. The girls, with sunbathing on their minds, didn’t last long on the cushioned foredeck before they were soaked and back in the cockpit drying off.
We were headed to Punta Tamarindo, on the west side of Culebra. Nearly all the marked anchorages around the islands have mooring balls. Officially, they are for day use only. Unofficially, grab one and stay as long as you’d like. When we arrived at Tamarindo, we tied up to a ball on the north side of the point, well sheltered from the southeast wind and swell, and shared the anchorage with just one other boat.
Culebra is a mountainous island, and much of its west and north coasts are undeveloped. That night we were surrounded by dark hills to east. To the west, the twinkling lights on Puerto Rico were just lovely.
Monday morning, Dave and I took the dinghy ashore and found a dirt road that rose steeply into the hills. We hiked to the top of the first one and were rewarded by spectacular views of the deep blue ocean on one side and the lush green valleys of the island’s interior on the other. It was already hot, so back at the boat, we dug out masks and fins, and everybody went for a swim. We’d been told the snorkeling was good on the point, but the current there was strong. Instead, Lily, Maddy and I swam back along the shore, where we spotted a few fish and a sea turtle. There was coral too, but it had seen better days. Midmorning, a tour boat full
of snorkelers arrived, followed by a dive boat that anchored farther north along the shore. It was getting crowded! Time to go.
Flamenco Bay, on the north side of the island, has a spectacular beach that Dave and Sandy remembered from a previous trip. That was our next stop, right after another upwind motorboat ride.
Culebra’s rocky coastline turned into a series of bays with white-sand beaches once we rounded the top of the island. Flamenco was one of the first we came to. Swells crashed onto the reefs on either side of the U-shaped cove as we entered, but the deeper in we went, the calmer it got. We anchored in about 15 feet of water, launched the dinghy and headed ashore. The beach was, indeed, stunning. At the eastern end there was a resort near where we waded ashore through the surf. There were a few people sunbathing, but most of the activity took place at the other end, where there was a picnic area with several shops selling food and drinks. Flamenco is not far from Dewey, the main town on Culebra, and it seemed a popular spot, even on a Monday afternoon.
From Flamenco, we motored in the center of the channel that runs between Culebra and Cayo Norte until we found the pass through the reefs just outside the entrance to Bahia de Tortuga, the main anchorage on Culebrita.
The small island is a wildlife refuge, and undeveloped except for a few well-maintained trails and El Faro, an abandoned century-old light atop its highest hill, 300 feet above the water. On that afternoon, a couple of dayboats sat bow to the beach, and three or four other sailboats were anchored or tied to moorings.
We were still wrestling with our lines and mooring ball when suddenly the cockpit was filled with bees. It was only when we were all cowering in the saloon with the hatches shut that we noticed only one other boat had people on deck; everyone else was either
WE HAD NO SOONER GOT THE HOOK DOWN IN THE LEE OF CAYO REAL WHEN A TREMENDOUS SQUALL DESCENDED ON THE ANCHORAGE. IT RINSED THE BOAT AND SET OUR ANCHOR, IF NOTHING ELSE.
inside or on the beach. Weird.
Eventually, Dave and Andrew ventured out and launched the inflatable without getting stung. Emboldened, the rest of us ignored the bees too, and found the foredeck breezy and insect free. Our friends were gone by the time cocktail hour arrived, and didn’t return again. As I said, weird.
It happened to be my birthday, and that evening, Lily and Maddy made a merry time of it by decking me out in party finery that they brought for the occasion. It was the first of two birthdays aboard. Andrew would celebrate his on Thursday.
Tuesday was the third day of our sailing vacation, and we still hadn’t gone for a sail, a problem we planned to resolve after lunch. But first, we hiked to El Faro, a relatively easy 20-minute walk. Atop the hill, the views of Culebra, St. Thomas and the reefs to the south were nothing short of breathtaking.
Later, we followed our GPS track back past the reef at the bay’s entrance and hoisted the
main. Conditions were perfect for a long beam reach in deep water across to the north shore of St. Thomas and back. The breeze built throughout the afternoon, from about 12 knots to a very sporty 20-plus, before we returned and grabbed the same mooring for another night. We capped off a perfect afternoon with a walk along the beach and across rocks to the Baths, which are tide pools on the northeast side of the anchorage where ocean swells pound through holes in the boulders in a splash of foam and bubbles.
Bright and early Wednesday, we set off for Ensenada Honda, Culebra’s deep and protected harbor. Along the way, we stopped at Puerto Manglar, a lovely bay lined with villas. Inside it, we followed a tight channel close to shore to pick up a mooring and go snorkeling on the shallow reef at Las Pelas. We stopped again for lunch at Ensenada Dikity, an anchorage behind the reef at the entrance to Ensenada Honda, and from there continued in and anchored just off the town dock in Dewey. Coming up the harbor, we spotted a spattering of blue tarps on homes, and on the downtown waterfront, the prominent Dinghy Dock Restaurant and Bar was closed for repairs — both reminders of Maria’s visit.
Every cruising guide we picked up recommended cocktails at Mamacita’s, located on the narrow canal that runs from Ensenada Honda to Bahia Sardinas, on Culebra’s west coast. When in Rome …
Dave and I hit the store across the canal from the restaurant for ice and a birthday cake for Andrew, dropped the supplies at the boat and then joined Team Azulita on Mamacita’s waterfront deck. Their signature drink, the Bushwacker, was as good as advertised, topped only by the sunset we were treated to on a dinghy ride afterward.
Thursday was our day to knock off some miles. We were headed for Vieques, the southernmost of the Spanish Virgins. We had a 10-mile, three-tack sail across open water, and then another