-Last weekend we made the trip to St. Thomas for some shopping. Long story short, we messed up the ferry schedules and didn't arrive until noon. Our ferry back was at 3:30, giving us only about an hour an a half to hit Super K-Mart, Office Max and the McDonald's once you factor in taxi time. Needless to say, we had to skip the Mickey-D's to make it back to the docks on time with our truckload of crap. Stace had to sit on my lap in the front of some guy's truck, with the bed of it laden with our goods, for a ride back to the ferry dock. A miscommunication led him to drive us to the complete wrong side of the island. All the while, Stace was battling the flu and I had my usual shopping demeanor. It was not a fun trip, but we did get a much-needed rug. It really ties the room together, man.
Stray dog and Stacy.
-I've landed two tarpon. The 2nd one was chased by a 7ft shark as I reeled it in.
The baby...
and the big sister...
-We went out on a boat with Chris and Jeremy and Chris's father last Sunday. They stayed on St. John and paid us a visit on Thursday night. We checked out the infamous Bomba Shack. Alas, we didn't consult the lunar cycles and it wasn't time for a full-moon party, but the atmosphere was still very interesting. Chris and Jeremy were the first visitors to our humble abode. We offered them the 2nd bedroom and all of our cardboard moving boxes as shelter for the night but they took the couches instead. We'll get a futon someday... They also hand-delivered my handy-dandy new underwater digital camera. I had it until Sunday before the seals failed and it died... These are two of the only 4 pictures that it ever took.
Constructed from driftwood and broken surfboards, perched on the edge of the sea.
-The actual snorkeling of our Snorkel Club was cut short due to poor visibility on Tuesday, so we played a single-elimination tournament of ROCK. A 6th grade girl was eventually crowned as champion.
-I did something stupid and got bitten by a shark. Luckily, it was a small one and I saw him coming.
more embarrassing than painful.
-Stace and I were suckered in to participating in a Halloween Parade at a fundraiser for the school. We were part of a foursome who dressed up as Scooby-Doo characters. We actually took the grand prize for the group category. Last year's Slash and Axl costumes would have blown these out of the water.
Prisoners here have the best view on the island, supposedly.
Missing: Mystery Machine
-Thanks to our tour-guide\librarian Ryan, we reached the summit of Mt. Sage at 1,709ft. It is the highest peak in the Virgin Islands and is surrounded by the only old-growth forest left on the entire island of Tortola. It was very interesting to hike through the rainforest flora for a few hours. During the days of the sugar cane plantations, the entire island was clear-cut to plant cane. Only a few dozen large trees remain. When I say 'reached the summit' I mean we drove to the top and walked for 10 minutes to the highest point.
Welcome to the Jungle.
-The winter swell seems to have arrived. Massive waves and surfers have replaced the original placidity of our front yard with thunderous surf in the 4-6ft range. The sound is deadly if you ever lay down on a couch. You'll be asleep before you know it.
Early morning full moon setting over Jost Van Dyke as seen from our porch.
It was a challenge, but we've finally found a place to call home, and I'm proud to say that our home comes complete with no wicker. For about two months we've been our own version of Island House Hunters. I managed to con Matt into giving up precious fishing hours to cruise around the island with various landlords, real estate agents and a professional looking tablet in which I scrawled indecipherable facts and figures, complimenting the homes while secretly thinking “those yellowed lace curtains look like they were striped off a corpse” “I would be scared to sleep in that bed” “eww... there's a cockroach crawling around in here” or “I wouldn't be able to live with myself if we chose a spot that housed salmon and teal colored walls with 3 versions of pastel flower motif in the same room.” We had seen so many places that our real estate detective skills began to falter and we ended up looking at a couple of the same houses twice... by accident.
The up side of all of the housing stress was that we were able to check out every nook and cranny of the island. Real estate agents would drive us around for hours, showing us places, along the way, sharing their knowledge of the island's “little secrets”. We were taken to hard to reach beaches, and handed connection after connection. One thing we've learned from our trials is that everyone is connected. Tortola is a small world, or maybe just a very small island. Every one is connected in some way shape or form and everyone is very willing to lend a helping hand. For instance, a random man who scolded us for lifting the hood of his car that said FOR SALE by the side of the road, then proceeded to make a couple calls to check on availability of cars that would suit us. When our car overheats going up Joe's Hill, a hill so steep and long that our car needs “a breather” when trucking up it, at least 5 people stop to ask if we're ok within 5 minutes. A waitress serving us some delicious conch fritters and life saving smoothies ends up giving us some numbers for places to check out. Everyone seems so willing to lend a helping hand.
Captain Erdosy scoping out the tarpon situation from the front porch.
Watching Matt snorkel from our kitchen.
Our place is in Carrot Bay, which is on the North-West Side of the island. Of course, the reason I chose Carrot Bay is because Ginger Island is undeveloped, uninhabitable and buying an island is simply not in our price range. Carrot Bay has an 'old island' feel. It's not a touristy spot. It's a little fishing village with one church, a couple of hole in the wall bars/restaurants and amazing panoramic views. It's a 5 minute drive in every direction to amazing swimming beaches and it's on one of the only roads on the island that is actually flat and, believe it or not, has a name.
When we wake up in the morning we can crack our windows, open the double doors and listen to the waves crash as we work through our $8.00 box of corn flakes.
It's quite hot here as of right now, so come 8:30pm you will probably find us strewn on the couches in our hybrid living-kitchen-room, watching The Wire (because Matt misses Baltimore desperately), zapping mosquitos with a battery operated electrified badminton racquet. If I had time, I would write a post strictly dedicated to my obsession with purging these blood suckers from my existence... but i'll save that for a rainy day.
Anyway, our search is over, we are settling in, and to my embarrassment, getting excited to hit up St. Thomas (which was recently called “The Detroit of the Islands” by a co-worker) for a K-mart run so that we can add a bit of color and perhaps get a small table so that we don't have to sit the desk top computer on our spare tire.
-Stace
On the fateful day of the sinking, the captain of the Rhone, then Robert F. Wooley, was slightly worried by the dropping barometer and darkening clouds, but because it was October and hurricane season was thought to be over, he and the Conway stayed put in Great Harbour. The first half of the storm passed without much event or damage, but the ferocity of the storm worried the captains of the Conway and the Rhone, as their anchors had dragged and they worried that when the storm came back after the eye of the storm had passed over, they would be driven up onto the shore of Peter Island.
They decided to transfer the passengers from the Conway to the "unsinkable" Rhone; the Conway was then to head for Road Harbour and the Rhone would make for open sea. As was normal practice at the time, the passengers in the Rhone were tied into their beds to prevent them being injured in the stormy seas.
The Conway got away before the Rhone but was caught by the back end of the storm, and foundered off the south side of Tortola with the loss of all hands. But theRhone struggled to get free, as its anchor was caught fast. It was ordered to be cut loose, and lies in Great Harbour to this day, with its chain wrapped around the same coral head that trapped it a century and a half ago. By this stage time was critical, and captain Robert F. Wooley decided that it would be best to try to escape to the shelter of open sea by the easiest route, between Black Rock Point of Salt Island and Dead Chest Island. Between those two island lay Blonde Rock, an underwater reef which was normally a safe depth of 25 feet (7.6 m), but during hurricane swells, there was a risk that the Rhone might founder on that. The Captain took a conservative course, giving Blonde Rock (which cannot be seen from the surface) a wide berth.
However, just as the Rhone was passing Black Rock Point, less than 250 yards (230 m) from safety, the second half of the hurricane came around from the south. The winds shifted to the opposite direction and the Rhone was thrown directly into Black Rock Point. It is said that the initial lurch of the crash sent Captain Wooley overboard, never to be seen again. Local legend says that his teaspoon can still be seen lodged into the wreck itself. Whether or not it is his, a teaspoon is clearly visible entrenched in the wreck's coral. The ship split in two and cold sea water made contact with the red hot boilers which had been running at full steam, causing them to explode.
The ship sank swiftly, the bow section in eighty feet of water, the stern in thirty. Of the original 146 aboard, plus an unknown number of passengers transferred from the Conway only 23 people (all crew) survived the wreck
As we moved towards the rocks, wreckage became visible in the depths. We could see some beams of steel, some ribs of the hull and a massive propeller. Diving down close to the wreckage, you could see inside of smashed hull and more of the structure became visible. We made the dive to the bottom and scouted out the insides of the sunken ship. Some of us then down down and swam through a passageway in the wreckage, underneath a chunk of hull and twisted metal, and out the other side. Seeing this enormous, broken ship, remembering the history that transpired on this very spot back when she actually sank, and thinking of the hundreds of people who died in the waters we were swimming was one of the most profoundly awesome experiences for us in the BVI to date. Surfacing and looking around at the other empty mooring balls at this usually popular dive spot, we realized how lucky we were to have this place all to ourselves.
After that, we headed to The Bight on Normal Island, one of the most sheltered harbors in the BVI, to board a boat called The Willy T, and get some lunch. To board the Willy T, just moor your boat along side and climb up. They have a restaurant and a bar.
Returning to the boat, we headed to our last destination of the day: The Indians. These islands are so named because from Tortola, they appear as an indian headdress sticking out of the water. They are nothing more than exposed pillars a rock emerging from turquoise waters between Norman and Peter Island.
The Indians in perfect light.
Stace goin' for it.
This was, hands down, the best snorkeling we have experienced so far. The coral formations were huge, colorful and healthy. We saw a sea turtle, some fish never seen elsewhere by us, and Paul and Tim spotted a shark.
Stace in 40ft of water near the Indians.
Clint and Michelle return to the boat.
After spending a good hour exploring this incredible place, we hauled our tired selves back onto the boat, Stacy took the helm and steered us across the channel back to Road Town and Nanny Cay Marina.
