St. Johns for the Superbowl

We made the short sail from St. Thomas to Cruz Bay on St. John, shouldered our way among the moored boats next to the ferry dock, and dropped anchor.  Now trying to squeeze five into our sorely overworked dinghy, we insisted on as short a commute to land as possible, even if it meant impinging on the ferry right of way a little.

A quick canvasing of the town and we found the perfect watering hole to watch the Superbowl from.  It was a "pour your own drink" bar.  Just like in an old western movie, the bartender set a glass and a bottle on the bar in front of us and we made our drinks as strong or weak as we liked.  We were still pretty tired from the night before and although we made a valiant effort, nobody's heart was really in it.  I don't even remember who won the game.  Mark is the only real sports enthusiast of the group.  Jenny fell asleep in her chair and was drooling into her lap by the start of the fourth quarter.

(Becca at the helm)

(Contemplative Nate)

(Nate and Becca being annoying)

(Mark)

(Thinking about pooping)

The next day, I stayed in town to answer some emails while the rest of the group went for a hike in the national park.  Another evening out on the town followed, this time playing a game Jenny introduced us to called pub golf.  It was a variation of the traditional pub crawl.  At each new bar, the bartender was asked what the establishment's signature drink was.  Everyone in the group was required to order this drink and then a number was assigned for par.  This was the allowable number of sips to finish the drink.  Score was kept similar to golf.  A shot for example would be a par 1.  Someone finishing the shot in 2 sips would have a bogie.  A frozen daiquiri might be a par 4 or 5, because of the potential for brain freeze.

 

Unsurprisingly, things devolved quickly.  Although I don't quite remember how or why but we were joined at some point along the way by Cassie and Scott, two United Airlines pilots in town on vacation.  For some reason, they thought we looked like a good time.  With our numbers now swollen to seven, shenanigans ensued, but the evening ended earlier than expected when Jenny disappeared.  The first place we checked was the dinghy dock.    We didn't actually look in the dinghy.  Its only 18 inches deep.  We looked from shore at it across the length of the dock.  With no sign of her there, our concerned group divided the town into search quadrants and wandered through the streets calling her name in the early morning silence.  When we finally gave up and reassembled at the dinghy, we discovered Jenny just out of view under the thwart, sleeping softly in an inch of standing water.

Scott and Cassie turned out to be an excellent addition to the group.  They had even taken part in our stumbling search efforts.  As we parted ways at the end of the night, I invited them to come sailing with us the next day. Drunken promises were made and a meeting time and place were set.  The next morning, still half asleep, sunglasses firmly in place, I dragged myself ashore for the rendezvous.  Imagine my surprise when they actually showed up.  They seemed equally shocked to find that I'd remembered as well.  Happy reunion.  They'd brought lunch and beverages.

 

With seven aboard Strolla, people were starting to get in each other's way but, the weather was perfect and the distances were short.  We were headed to Carvel Rock, only a couple miles off, where there was an 80 ft jumping cliff.  We'd been told that there had once been a rock climbing company that led climbs up to the top but now was no more.  The jumping spot was a local secret, difficult to get to, difficult to get up.  Mark, Nate, Jenny, and I climbed to the top.  Becca, Cassie, and Scott took a pass.  However, of the four of us, not one had the guts to jump from the full height.  We all chickened out and scrambled down to lower ledges from which to leap in the churning ocean below. 

 

(Standing on top of Carvel Rock)

 

(Carvel Rock, USVI)

  

After we'd each had our initial jump, I left the others on Carvel Rock and took the dinghy back to Strolla and got my camera.  Bobbing in the waves below, I shouted instructions up to Mark and Nate and Jenny, where to stand, when to jump, in order to get the perfect cliff jumping photos.  They weren't jumping from the top, but the the lower ledge we'd selected was still a good 50 feet above the water, high enough to have consequences and worth recording photographically.  Maneuvering the dinghy outboard with one hand and snapping photos with the other, wasn't easy in the unprotected seas.  It took a long time and the patience of the jumpers ran out before that of the photographer.  However, I assured everyone in the dinghy that I'd gotten some good ones.  

Back on Strolla, with everyone crowded around to see the photos, we discovered that I'd forgotten to put the memory card in.  No one was interested in going back for a second round.

In total, we spent three days and nights in Cruz Bay and all agreed St. Johns makes our top five favorite places of the trip so far.  We made our goodbyes to Cassie and Scott and set off along the coast towards the British Virgin Islands.  Halfway along the north shore, just outside the national park boundary, we ducking into a small inlet protected by reefs.  Our own private cove.  Conch hunting, snorkeling, campfire on the beach, hammock in the trees.  Perfect.

(Mark watches a Giant Conch coming out of its shell)

(Strolla at evening anchorage, USVI)