Anchor DRILL Spinach BITES
These spur-of-the-moment morsels were easy to put together and very tasty. They required some chilling before baking, but no worries, mon. We were on island time.
It was late afternoon, and we were anchored in Great Harbour off Jost Van Dyke in the British Virgin Islands. It had been a great day of sailing. There were eight of us aboard our chartered 39-foot catamaran: my wife, Sue, and I along with six of our best sailing buddies from the Chesapeake Bay. We were contemplating happy hour when trouble approached.
A powerboat packed with a boisterous, all-male crew was headed our way. It slowed, then circled. We caught a glimpse of the name on the stern: Playboy.
The boat drew up parallel to us, slowed, pulled ahead of us, and dropped the hook way too close. There was sudden activity aboard; the guys splashed their tender and piled in. We realized with alarm that everyone from the boat was preparing to go ashore.
“Skipper!” our friend Dave called out. “Excuse me, but I think you’re anchored just a little too close.”
“Nah, we’re fine, thanks,” a well-lubricated fellow replied.
And then they zoomed away, dinghy pointed toward shore and, no doubt, Foxy’s Bar & Restaurant.
“Let’s hope he’s just dropping people off and will be back,” Dave said.
No such luck. It soon became apparent that we’d need to stay aboard to keep an eye on the boat till they returned.
We were all boat owners and active Chesapeake cruisers. Sue and I have a Cape Dory 36. As a group, we regularly charter together farther afield. So far, we’ve sailed the San Juan Islands in the Pacific Northwest, Greece, and several other places in Europe. For East Coast sailors like us, the BVI is easy: Getting there involves a short flight, and the islands are welcoming with a common language. The sailing is fantastic from Peter Island to Virgin Gorda and Cane Garden Bay on Tortola, where, earlier that week, we had happened on a rum distillery that sold local rum (maybe moonshine?) in a 7Up bottle.
On this trip, we’d chartered a catamaran so we’d be fast enough to visit Anegada, as well as have comfortable accommodations for the eight of us. It didn’t point too well and wasn’t particularly speedy, but the boat was comfortable, and we were on the water in a beautiful part of the world. We had a terrific crew. Anegada could wait.
No trip to the BVI is complete without stopping in at iconic places such Foxy’s and Sidney’s Peace & Love restaurant on Jost Van Dyke, as well as the Bitter End Yacht Club on Virgin Gorda. And there’s always entertainment on the water, such as watching “duels to the death” between boats vying for the last mooring at the Baths on Virgin Gorda.
After our anchor mates abandoned ship in Great Harbour, we planned for a light happy hour and finger-food “dinner” aboard with a cautious sampling of the local rum/moonshine. I went to work in the galley, mustering up a hot appetizer I’d planned to have later that week: baked spinach bites, a legacy from my mother. They were easy to put together and very tasty. They required some chilling before baking, but no worries, mon. We were on island time.
As dusk approached, we went on high alert: Playboy was drifting our way. Before long, the stern was uncomfortably close to our bow, and by then, it was almost dark. Dave started the engine and had us in neutral gear; the rest of us grabbed fenders and prepared to fend off. At just that moment, the island gods smiled on us: The lights went out ashore in a power outage. With Foxy’s out of commission, Playboy’s crew returned. The relatively sober captain realized his error and apologized profusely. Then they weighed anchor and headed for parts unknown. Finally we could relax again.
We gathered in the cockpit with our spur-of-the-moment meal, toasted the quirky island power grid, and decided that island life, even with rowdy playboys and anchor drills, was pretty damn good.