4/15 07:30am… The hour is near.
The men prepare to transform into sailors. To be consumed by “Arawa”. She waits.
Pure patients. Anticipation metaphysically communicates through captain and crew. The seas lie motionless. Caged vessels in the Christiansted harbour are “confused” as I pass by, leaving my wake as they cry.
12:00-12:25pm… We wait.
Along comes the captain, female aside. She bids him farewell with rations in plastic bags; beer, cheese and bread, hugs and kisses.
We’ve filled, checked, cleaned, fixed, and double-checked. “Arawa” is bristoled and ready to lift her wings.
06:45pm… Away.
The islands mix with and turn into clouds as the sun dips into the abyss. The new Arawak tribe pushes on, to conquer and claim with “green-flash” confidence. Old and new sea stories abound, technology and brains hold us true. Our lines drag beckoning our freshest kill.
One sleeps…
Preparing for the dark curtain that’s punched with holes to show us the way. His pleasure is all’s. “Arawa” is dwarfed by the sea and space. “Celestial navigation” is near. The stars are coming, the stars are coming, THE STARS ARE COMING!
10:05am 4/16…Night crossing.
A spec in the ocean we sail, under falling stars, false Southern Crosses, Dippers, and electronic eyes. We play dodge ball with cruise ships whose passengers sit on top of an “enormous light bulb”. They’re distracted from Heaven on Earth by the bright-bright, bling-bling, ring-a-ding, while we sing.
The cradle rocks us a bye-bye. Others sleep sideways, caressed by the waves we slice. The sun comes up in our eyes, while Saba rises before our bow. Instant grounds brewed and mixed with the rum cream “Cruzans” love so much. Mmmmm coffee.
Will Saba pass us by?
We will win!
02:35pm 4/17… Home.
An “engineering endeavour” successfully runs throughout the day and night.
01:10am= 36 hours from dock to anchor.
Lots of yelling and screaming, drinking and cussing has begun. Sailing.
Engines off, anchor and rode unleashed, the Skipper calls for rocks and grain to be drained from the barrels. He and crew relax and reminisce of their passage. Sound sleep will soon satisfy until quarantine is relinquished.
08:00am 4/17… We are among antiquity.
Classic yachts parade as our alarm this fine morning. Rum cream starts our engines. We mingle around the starting line, while “Tall Ships Youths Trust” controls the horizon.
“Arawa” makes her presence felt when captain and crew step ashore to have drinks and clear customs. A.K. and Jeff bristol, while listening to the “radio” for information and loud music…The beginning of our first harbour spectacle.
On the hook, front row and in the way, the two friends are greeted by the Committee Boat and others; on shore, on-board, and dingy tied. All shouting, “Move your boat!” “We’ve been hailing you on the radio!” The crew replies, “We’ve been listening to the radio! Ha, ha, ha, ha” …not VHF. With a scramble from stern to bow and back again “Arawa’s” engine runs. Back and forth, round and round “Arawa” swings, while new captain and crew try to figure the glory of a “windless” anchoring system. Low and behold Jeff discovers function, and an extra line attached to the anchor. Just as that beautiful parade of sailboats comes down the harbour mouth. Longing to get back to their respective parking spots and rest.
“Arawa” decides to give the stage back and everything is smoothed out like soft harbour mud. “Arawa” takes “Captain” and “First Mate” around the block between incoming and on the hook vessels. Looking for a nice place to land becomes reality when “Arawa” cleans her belly. She sticks with a gentle caress in six feet of harbour love. “Oh shit!” the captain exalts, as he eases her into reverse and out she comes. “How about over there?”
Hook dropped.
Beer consumed.
Sandwich devoured…again.
Captain DeCluitt, returns with a, “Job well done. I knew I wouldn’t have had a problem with that parking spot until I got back.”
The “last supper” is enjoyed after a day of exploring. The “Vikings” eat, drink, and make their mark setting social order and dominating those on the path. The battle is soon, and the anxious warriors must bid their leader farewell until his return.
Days have passed while lost in the “Alcoholic Antiguan Fog”. The three with the keys make “Arawa’s” presence felt until the Captain and Crew rendezvous for upcoming war. With maintenance and care “Arawa” stays sharp. Worldwide travellers cross paths where the infinite intersections meet. Sailor style in isles on the edge.
“No sun, no fun.” That’s our motto as we danced in the rain at the local disco tec.
“Arba-abra-cadabra”
“Something dark and sweet” is born. Both, Raquel and the “Arawa Daquiri” tempt sailors desires. Crewmembers sample “local cuisine” and are never quite the same. And that “fakn-durt, maa-shmellow, pitbull Pete, “smokes butts, drinks beeas” and butts heads with any and all that stand in the way. “Oh shit.”
