Culebrita

Our last port of call on the puerto rican main island was Puerto Del Rey Marina in Demajagua Bay.  From there we pushed due east to the island of Culebra where we enjoyed microbrew beer for the first time months, discovered that we'd lost our tolerance for alcohol, and then headed on to Culebrita, our jumping point to the U.S. Virgin Islands.  

 

We were fishing all the way and caught two little Bluefin Tuna in close succession, our first of the trip.  Mark prepared and pan seared the steaks which he served with rice.  Becca suggested we use the leftover smaller pieces of raw tuna to make sushi bowls with more rice, veggies, and wasabi paste.  High living.

 

 

(Celebrating our catch)

 

(Our little tuna did not turn into a prince)

(Chicken of the sea)

Culebrita is Culebra's smaller eastern sister and was hands down our favorite of the two.  It was pristine, uninhabited, and part of Puerto Rico's national park lands.  The complimentary moorings were convenient, if a bit exposed to the swells.  The sea turtles swimming lazily around us as we tied up were fantastic, but what really sold us on the place were the "jacuzzis".

(A wave surges into one of the "jacuzzis")

As one of the eastern most islands in Puerto Rico, the coastal cliffs of Culebrita bear the full brunt of the Tradewind-whipped ocean swells.  Breaks in the rocky shoreline lead to large, protected tidal pools.  The waves, chased by the winds, crash through these natural funnels, erupting into the tidal pools in a roar of white, frothy water.

 

(Cliff jumping into a jacuzzi inlet with the last of the evening sun)

We spent the whole afternoon playing, climbing, and cliff jumping.  The best sport to be had turned out to be throwing ourselves into the middle of the surging inlets and seeing how long we could tread water, holding place in the foam covered ocean waves before being dashed up on the rocks.  A few scraped toes and bloody knees resulted but no real injuries to speak of.  Mark lost a contact lens and spent the rest of the day rock scrambling with no depth perception.  Becca chose not to partake.

(Nate doing some free climbing)

(Mark has an "accidental" wardrobe malfunction)

The next morning broke gray and stormy.  Even in the protection of our rolling little harbor, the wind whined through the rigging.  I was tired and sore from the previous day's activities and we had left much still to to be explored on Culebrita but, we had a date to make on St. Thomas.  With a sigh and a slow start, we creaked out of our bunks and began the process of weighing anchor.  Our mutual friend from our summer in Jackson Hole, WY, Jenny Durham, was flying in to join us for a week and we had to be there to pick her up.

 

The trip to St. Thomas was a bit of a slog, slow and rough, bashing our way headfirst into the same waves we'd had so much fun playing in the day before.  I felt a little queasy. 

(A break in the clouds as we work our way to St. Thomas)

Late that morning, while Mark was in the cabin reading, Nate, Becca and I were up on top, braving the driven spray that swept the deck.  Gazing idly out at the horizon, I spotted a plume of white mist suddenly rise out of the water on our port bow.

"Thar she blows!" I shouted gleefully into the wind before racing forward to the shrouds for a better view.  Everyone hurried to join me, crowding the port rail, staring hard across the white capped waves.  Then, I saw another plume, and another.  We all saw them.  The black, glossy backs of three whales slipped in and out of the steely gray waters.  They expelled two more huge breaths each and, with a final flip of their tails, dove back beneath the waves.  It was our first whale sighting of the trip.  We were still excited hours later.

The clouds burned off by lunch and the sun resumed its blazing fury.  Mark stayed on deck with us to take in some rays.  We were all very excited about Jenny's impending visit, Mark especially.  He had determined that the best way to welcome her to the crew was to present a evenly bronzed backside.  He'd been working on erasing his tan lines since Salinas and limited results are finally appearing.

(Buns bronzing time)

I'll admit, I'd joined him in sporadic sympathy sessions, primarily while snorkeling.  The other boaters at the reefs seemed to appreciate my efforts as well.  Naturally, with both of us racing to put color on our cheeks, a healthy competition arose.  My butt was the bronziest of the two, without question but, Mark was not about to take my word for it.  Nate was conscripted as our unwilling buns judge and color critic.  Becca took to studying clouds.

(Mark summons Nate for an official judge's ruling)

 

In Charlotte Amalie, on St. Thomas, we left the boat at anchor and headed into town to look around.  Nothing but jewelry, watch, and liquor stores (yes, all in one store) catering to the cruise ship crowd.  We didn't make any purchases.  No one needed a $4,000 watch, and we had stocked up on liquor and beer in Puerto Rico.  We spent a lot of time inside anyway.  The stores were air conditioned.

 

(Mark finishes his fruit hammock in time for Jenny's arrival)