Log 23 June 2008

We left the anchorage on Cubagua at daylight sailing to the south west corner and then turning south, sailing on a beam towards Point De Araya, the tip of the mainland South America. Crossing the channel we came across fleets of small fishing boats. At first we thought they were working together using a net but we realized they were drift fishing using lines and throwing their rebar anchors out of the bow to hang to the wind moving with the current. Occasionally high speed ferries and freight barges would pass us running the route between Cumana to Margarita. By the time we made the point of the Araya peninsula we were working every ounce of sail as the sea breeze had dissipated. At the point we made a 90 degree turn to port with us now running down behind the coastline of the Araya towards the mainland.
All the wind was now coming from shore and being energised by blowing across the long heated coastal plain. About a quarter mile along we got hit by a blast with way too much canvass so we headed the boat up into the wind rolling in the jib and while luffing dropped the mizzen and threw a reef in the main then bore off letting out half of the jib and were quickly rolling along at 7 knots under reduced sail. This was about as fast as Seacycle will move unless surfing downwind. While we were doing this Vagabond blew right by us and had put some distance between us while Gladys not dropping any canvass was right on our stern. Trouble was we could see Geoff’s chest puffed out and a big beatific grin holding on at the helm obviously delighted that he was going to blow right by us. Gladys was a new boat for Geoff and Kathleen and they had been a bit cautious in the earlier part of the season but now with a few months under their belts and some time spent learning how to power up the cutter rig boat it was damn the torpedoes time. Trouble was in taking us on our windward side we were being forced down too close for our comfort on a small fishing fleet that also seemed to sense the danger and were giving us a group stare. In the end we turned right down into a run and ran off on an angle to clear them until Gladys was safely by. All this happened right off the old remains of the fort which had been built by the Spanish to ward off Dutch raids on the massive salt flats that are on the lowlands of the peninsula. In the end nature took care of the issue by destroying the flats with a hurricane. Today a crumbling mud adobe fort is all that remains and there are security warnings not to stop in this area as there have been armed boardings.
The shoreline here consists of a flat wide coastal plain that stretches up into a creased folded coppered coloured hillscape that separates the Caribbean from the Golfo. The hills are very dry looking with only scrub, basically desert terrain. It is the end of the dry season so we are not sure how green it gets in wet season but it can’t be much looking at the landscape. Just south of the fort the land starts to rise up into the hills choking of the wind and bringing us to a sudden stop. We rolled in the jib and fired up the engine. An hour later the city of Cumana came into view with our first view of the Andes high up behind it. At Cumana there is a channel of a couple of miles width that leads into the Golfo. Vagabond being bigger and faster went right up to the southern shore and skirted along the city’s edge while we and Gladys hugged the centre of the channel.
The wind now had picked up funnelling down through the hills into a steady breeze. Our destination was Laguana Grande but the waypoint lay dead on the nose as far as the wind direction. It was around noon and with less than 10 miles to go we decided to spend the afternoon sailing so we shut the engine down and rolled out the jib. There was no fetch so we had great wind but no seas to speak of and we spent the next four hours tacking back and forth across the eight mile wide Golfo chasing the wind. We soon were accompanied by schools of smallish dolphins. The word must have got out because soon we could see dozens of them coming from a mile off.
Other than once off St.Vincent we have never been surrounded by this many dolphins before. Around four we found we were still far off the entrance to Laguna Grande with a lot of wind dead on the nose still between us and the entrance to the lagoon. We rolled up the jib again and turned on the engine for the last couple of miles into the anchorage around five finding Gladys and Vagabond riding at anchorage.
We tidied up the boat stowing the sails and coiling the lines as the sun went down trying to take in the stark beauty of the place. The next three days we spent relaxing. While still concerned about security the consensus was that it was a lot safer here rather than anywhere else between here and Margarita. Never the less we clear the decks and lock everything away at night including ourselves. We also had a mystery when everynight we could hear splashing on the shore and going up on the deck to check could see nothing. All three boats reported the same thing but nobody could figure out what was making the noise. A little discerning when you have one ear cocked listening for trouble.
Geoff and I decided to hike up into the hills and explore. We had noticed boat loads of people being dropped at the head of the bay but only the drivers returning. Also we had seen men doing something at the beach drop off but couldn’t make out exactly what they were doing other than carrying bags back to their boat. I was curious about where the people were going and what was in the bags, thinking salt maybe? We knew of one machete attack on a catamaran here the season we came down seeing the captain with a face full of scars in St. Marten. I decided to bring a flare gun and a couple of shots with us as a precaution not wanting to carry a machete and thinking we wouldn’t stand much of a chance against some Yoda of the sword who probably had used one from the cradle for everything from gardening to shaving. The climb was short but intense and we walked along a ridge for three hours looking out north over the Caribbean to Margarita, Coche and Cubagua and south to the mountains and Cumana. We spotted a trail following some electric lines the people must have used from the beach drop off spot to walk to the other side of the ridge hopefully to a road. There are no roads in this area of the Golfo with all traffic being by boat. By the way gas here is three cents a litre. Yes shake your head. That’s 12 cents a gallon so travel is cheap. The bags turned out to be sand. We found screens that they had built to sift out the stones. The pictures tell the story. One afternoon we were approached by some young boys looking for gear so gave them our older snorkel gear. We were rewarded the next day when they returned with their grandmother bringing us fish as a gift.
We had received a message in Grenada from both Neriea and Audrey Paige who were both in Puerto La Cruz telling us they might be in the area cruising but after three days there was no sign. We got together with Gladys along with Otto and Lily on Vagabond to say our goodbyes over dinner. We had travelled together for three months but now they were headed to Bahia Redonda and we were headed for
Medregal where we were going to leave the boat for the next five months. Sometimes this is the hardest part of cruising. We left at eight the next morning and found Medregal around noon going in to introduce ourselves to Jean Marc who was expecting us. We booked the following Tuesday for haul out. This gave us five days to get ready to haul. On Thursday around 11 am while searching on the internet for plane tickets home we found an email from the day before and discovered that the two boats had pulled into the lagoon later the day we had left. We sent an email telling them we were coming knowing they would pick it up on the sat phones sooner or later, technology we don’t have. We got there around 4pm and had two great days with another big hike into the hills. We had not seen the boys in a year and Audrey Page since Trinidad after the Orinoco River months earlier. While here we solved the mystery of the nightly splashing. Sitting on the bow late one night Deb and I were having a nightcap and soaking up the cool air. We noticed the water was phosphorescent and we could see the green throbbing light under the water when the fish moved kind of like an ET call home moment. Well out of nowhere a pelican dove straight into the water totally spooking us. Evidently they use the nightly markings for hunting. Fish don’t stand a chance if they are moving.
Finally we left on Sunday morning wanting to be at the haul out a day before scheduled. The others said they would drop in before heading back to Puerto la Cruz. They wanted to explore more of the Golfo. The lift at Medregal is different from the standard it is more of a combination of a lift and railway driving into the water and pickup the boat.
The yard is big and well organized with work huts with benches. Well both Neriea and Audrey Page showed up a day later as the anchorages on the south side of the Golfo were not inviting. We had managed to purchase tickets for the 16ht of June so we just had two weeks to get the boat out and ready and then find our way to Caracas’s. The idea was to take a fishing boat across the golf and take one of the big air conditioned bus overnight to Caracas arriving at 6am. Our flight wasn’t till 11:30 pm so we would have to kill the entire day in Caracas. Jaime didn’t like the idea of us wandering around Caracas and insisted we come back with them to PLC and then fly out late in the afternoon arriving in time to catch the flight. It was agreed to get our boat ready by Saturday and then head back to PLC which we did over nighting at Islas Caracas and Cieneguita on Chima Grande on the way. We ended up spending 11 days in PLC and got the lay of the land for when we hoped to return later on the trip. We got on the Air Canada flight at midnight and touched down in Toronto at 6am. While getting off the plane I chuckled to myself about the Venezuelans all dressed up looking like the Michelin men for the cold. We were still dressed like a couple of beach bums, after all its June right, cusp of summer. We were staying with Eileen on the Danforth and she was the only one who knew we were coming since we hadn’t told the kids hoping to surprise them. We grabbed our knapsacks and hit the TTC bus to the subway arriving during the worst of rush hour. Froze the whole way home and ended up sick for the next week.
To be continued....