Local legend has it that in 1648, when the French and Dutch
were disputing ownership of this mountainous island paradise,
which is barely seven miles across at its widest point, rather
than fight they agreed to settle their claims in a more
gentlemanly fashion than was typical of those contentious
times. They each appointed a champion and, on the appointed
day, the Frenchman started walking south from the north coast
while at the same time the Dutchman started walking north
from the south coast. Where they met was to become the
border. Unfortunately for the Dutch, while the French
contender carried with him and drew liberally from a bottle of
wine as he marched, the Dutchman toted a bottle of gin.
Which, being so much stronger than wine, slowed the
Dutchman’s progress considerably, so that today the French
control the northern two-thirds of the island, while the Dutch
nestle comfortably into the southern third.
were disputing ownership of this mountainous island paradise,
which is barely seven miles across at its widest point, rather
than fight they agreed to settle their claims in a more
gentlemanly fashion than was typical of those contentious
times. They each appointed a champion and, on the appointed
day, the Frenchman started walking south from the north coast
while at the same time the Dutchman started walking north
from the south coast. Where they met was to become the
border. Unfortunately for the Dutch, while the French
contender carried with him and drew liberally from a bottle of
wine as he marched, the Dutchman toted a bottle of gin.
Which, being so much stronger than wine, slowed the
Dutchman’s progress considerably, so that today the French
control the northern two-thirds of the island, while the Dutch
nestle comfortably into the southern third.
Once on the island and cleared through Customs and Immigration on either the Dutch or the French side, there is
unrestricted access all over the island. Cheerful signs mark the border between the two jurisdictions, but there are no
checkpoints or guards or controls of any sort. There seems to be no issue with illegal immigration. The currency on the
Dutch side is guilders, and on the French side is euros, but dollars are accepted everywhere. The primary effect of the
currency differences is that, on the Dutch side, items marked in guilders seem a little expensive at first but turn out to
be reasonable after the exchange rate; while, on the French side, prices in euros start out high and then become
outlandish. As an accommodation to the tourists, on the French side many of the restaurants and stores often offer a 1:
1 exchange rate between euros and dollars when paid in cash, which keeps things expensive but not ridiculous.
The Dutch side is quite a bit earthier than the French side, with rustic beach restaurants and nightlife tending towards
gambling casinos and adult entertainment. The restaurants and stores on the French side are decidedly, well,
Frenchier! The main cities are Philipsburg on the Dutch side and Marigot on the French side. Both are dominated by
the typical Caribbean duty-free shopping mix of jewelry, t-shirt, liquor and souvenir stores. The shops on the Dutch
side all seem to be run by ethnic Indians (from India), who are anxious to help you and bargain their prices
aggressively; while on the French side the shops are all run by ethnic French (from France), who are equally anxious
to ignore you while they exhale smoke from their Gauloises pinched between first finger and thumb. Cruise ships call at
Philipsburg, with its open harbor, and from there the visiting passengers spread out across the island to take
advantage of the beaches and duty-free shopping opportunities. The major airport is also on the Dutch side.
While topless bathing is common on beaches all over the island, the French side hosts the explicitly clothing-optional
beaches, on the Atlantic coast. We saw many examples of the adage: “Just because you can doesn’t mean you
should!”
(A brief note and apology to our readers: The preceding paragraphs have been far to harsh in their depiction of the
French inhabitants of St. Martin with whom we came in contact, most of whom were simply the nicest, most helpful
people. It's just that Steve, the principal author of the above, has "issues" with the French that go back a long, long
time. More than 35 years, in fact, dating back to when 9th grade French teacher, Monsieur Chamblin, snorted through
his upturned, Gallic nose at poor Steve's mangled attempts to pronounce "Les bonnes feuilles du mon pichard son,
peut-etre, chacon les pamplemousses, n'est-ce pas?" with a heavy overlay of New Jersey accent. Steve's ego never
really has recovered from that blow.)
One of the island’s major geographical features is Simpson’s Lagoon, a 12 square mile, totally enclosed body of water
on the western side of the island that is shared by both jurisdictions. Entry into the lagoon is via a narrow channel on
the Dutch side, with a drawbridge that opens three times each day. There is a corresponding entry channel on the
French side, but it isn’t maintained consistently at a deep enough depth for boats of much over five foot drafts. The
lagoon is surrounded by marinas, restaurants, and marine services, and hosts an array of boats from small craft up to
100+ foot megayachts. From our berth at the Simpson’s Bay Yacht Club to Marigot on the French side is a 10 minute
dinghy ride, about half of the time the same trip takes by car on the congested roads.
Away from the lagoon, the island terrain quickly becomes mountainous, rising to over 1300 feet at its highest point.
From St. Maarten we can see low, flat Anguilla to the north, the mountain island Saba to the west, and St. Barth’s to
the south. On clear days, from higher elevations, we can see St. Kitt’s, St. Eustacia and Antigua.
Getting There
Dianne had spent the day before we left Virgin Gorda talking about our overnight sailing plans to a string of self-styled
“experts” relaxing on the beach at Leverick Bay, all of whom were willing to set down their pina coladas long enough to
make sure she was aware of what a terribly rough trip the sail across the Anegada Passage would be. One of them
called it the “Ohmigod-a” Passage. Needless to say, Dianne was a tad uneasy about the trip, in spite of Steve’s
reassurances that we were leaving with the most favorable forecast of weather conditions that we could expect.
The 90-mile sail from Virgin Gorda to St. Martin took us 16 hours. The wind was just off our nose the entire way, so we
motored with the mainsail up to stabilize the boat. Seas ran about 2 to 4 feet, also right on our nose, and we did well to
average a little over 5 knots. While we pitched a bit, on the whole we had an easy time of it, spotting a few cruise ships
lighting up the horizon and a container ship, none of which came close enough to be of concern. We also tracked
another sailboat that had left Virgin Gorda about an hour ahead of us, apparently making the same trip but taking a
much more westerly track than our heading, leading Dianne to question the accuracy of our route planning and
waypoints. When the morning sun rose we saw that we had overtaken this other boat (which we later found out to be a
Swan 57), and we arrived at or destination about an hour ahead of them.
Having left Virgin Gorda at about 5:45 pm on Thursday, we arrived in Simpson Bay, on the Dutch side, at 9:40 the next
morning. We missed the 9:30 drawbridge opening into Simpson’s Lagoon by minutes. We dropped anchor, brewed up
a pot of coffee, and waited for the 11:30 opening. A dinghy from the Simpson’s Bay Yacht Club met us at the bridge
and escorted us into the tightest slip we’ve ever been in. To get into this slip we motored slowly up the channel, then
turned left and drifted forward until our bow was less than a yard from the stern of the boat tied up across the way from
our assigned slip, watching the eyes of the people that had been relaxing on that boat get wider and wider … at which
point we dropped our anchor. Then, Steve started backing down, swinging the stern to the right until we were
perpendicular to our dock and lined up with our slip. Dianne then paid out anchor chain as Steve backed us into the
slip. Once we were in and safely tied up, Steve pulled out the tape measure to confirm that with, our beam, we had a
total of less than 18 inches of clearance between the finger pier on our right and the boat on our left.
Our Visitors
The Friday we arrived in St. Maarten was the beginning of a four-day holiday weekend, Carnival, with the following
Monday Queen’s Day. On Saturday morning we were joined by our good friends from Coronado, Missy and Lindsey
Cook. They’d flown the red-eye from San Diego to New York, then got a direct flight to St. Maarten, so we walked over
to the closest beach and spent Saturday afternoon relaxing and catching up on all the changes that have occurred in
Coronado since we left there so long ago.
On Sunday, we taxi’d into Philipsburg to join the Carnival celebrations. We were told that the day’s parades were
scheduled to start at 10:00 am, which we thought meant that, on island time, they should get going between 11:00 and
noon. We arrived in downtown Philipsburg at about 11:30 to find the streets roped off but no sign of a parade or
celebrations. In fact, there just didn’t seem to be much of a crowd at all. There was also a dearth of authoritative
information about what to expect, or even which way the parade would be coming from. So, we did the tourist thing,
browsing through shops, lunching next to the beach, browsing through shops, listening to music being blasted onto the
street, browsing through shops, stopping for drinks on the beach, browsing through shops. By about 2:00 that
afternoon we started seeing locals gathering along the street, which we felt was a good sign. By about 3:00 we
watched police cars cruise slowly down the street, apparently making sure it was clear for the imminent parade.
Finally, a little after 4:00, the first parade revelers came into view. Actually, we heard them well before we saw them.
The parade consisted of a procession of groups, each of which took the same format: a large, gaily-bedecked truck,
towering with speakers and with either a live band or a DJ on board, would be followed by a troupe of shimmying and
dancing revelers in bright costumes, generally sharing a theme. The themes ranged from the serious to the frivolous,
from AIDS awareness to cowboys and Indians. The groups seemed to be vying for which had the loudest music, which
echoed through the narrow street; we could feel the bass pounding in our chests. After about an hour we’d had
enough, but then we couldn’t figure out how to cross the parade route to get to where we could grab transportation
back to our boat. Missy took the initiative, waited until the parade stalled for a few minutes, and just plunged through
the crowd, clearing a path for the rest of us.
We enjoyed our guests company for five days. During their visit we spent time at the beach, we hiked and climbed
through the trees of a humid forest in the mountains, and the girls went horseback riding on the beach. Missy treated
Dianne and Steve to a fantastic French dinner in Marigot. Both Missy and Lindsey adapted to living on the boat as if
they were natural sailors.
Saba
Twenty eight miles from St. Maarten – a 1½ hour trip by fast ferry – Saba is a dormant volcano that rises precipitously
from the ocean floor then thrusts another 3,000 feet into the clouds. This makes its peak, Mount Scenery, the highest
point in the Kingdom of the Netherlands. Being that it’s in the tropics, though, means that the Dutch still need to travel
internationally in order to ski.
Saba is shrouded in green wherever its terrain isn’t too steep to support vegetation. It has three towns – The Bottom
(its capital), Windwardside, and Hell’s Gate – and a total population of about 1,600, including the 275 students at the
Saba University School of Medicine. It also claims that its airport has the shortest runway in the world: 1,300 feet, with
sheer, 136 foot cliff drop-offs at both ends. This makes landing on Saba comparable to landing on an aircraft carrier,
except without the arresting cables.
Up until the mid-1960s, Saba had no roads; it now has one that traverses the island. Visitors to the island would drop
anchor in Ladder Bay, then climb 400 steps cut into the rock face to get to the Customs House. Now, the road drops
down through a series of switchbacks to the small commercial dock, and one of the few taxis on the Island will drive the
less intrepid tourists (including us) slowly up the hill.
Because Saba has no protected anchorages, and is too far for a day sail, we took a 9:00 am ferry over there for the
day. Our main objective was a much-heralded hike, from Windwardside (at 1,300 feet elevation) up to the top of Mount
Scenery. The trail, also cut back in the 1960s, has 1068 steps to climb (we didn’t count, but that’s what the trail sign
says). Steve was a little indignant, pointing out that, if the stairs had actually been built to the Uniform Building Code in
terms of rise and slope, there would have been at least 4,000 of them, maybe more.
The hike up the mountain took us a little over an hour, and we rose through humid forest to rain forest near the peak.
Water dripped everywhere, and the path was slippery with moss and decaying leaves. We wondered if this hike wasn’t
the source of the cadavers used by the Medical School. Views from the top would have been fantastic, if we hadn’t
been enshrouded in the clouds. Back at the bottom, we stopped into a restaurant for a late lunch, where the owner
spent more time pointing out what wasn’t available from the menu than he did describing the specials. We were lucky
… within minutes of stopping in for lunch, the island was deluged with rain that turned the steep roadway back down to
the ferry dock to a raging, muddy torrent. We caught the ferry back to St. Maarten at 3:30 that afternoon, and were
back by 5:00. We had a wonderful time.
Saint Maarten – An Epilogue
We arrived in St. Maarten on April 28, and we kept Dakota Rose there and in the surrounding islands for more than a
month, finally departing for good on June 7. Time just sort of slipped past on this beautiful and peaceful island. “Island
Time” actually began to have meaning. During our first week there we hosted our friends from Coronado, the Cooks.
The second week, we moved ashore into a condo for which we’d swapped our timeshare week months and months
ago, well before we left on our voyage, when we though it might give us a welcome change from life on the boat. We
spent part of the third week in Anguilla, then left for the States for a one-week visit to attend a family wedding followed
by Dianne’s Nelson Family reunion in Colorado. This visit got extended to two weeks because Steve’s dad was in the
hospital in San Diego. We got back to St. Maarten just in time to celebrate Steve’s birthday on June 6, provision the
boat, and set sail for St. Bart’s on June 7.
While we were back in San Diego, our friends from St. Augustine, Florida, Pam Lendzion and Presley King, flew in to
spend a week on Dakota Rose. When it comes to boat maintenance and cleaning, Pam surely is an Army of One.
Read the log of their trip by clicking here.
The month of May marks a major transition in the Caribbean. June 1 is the official start of hurricane season, though
(knock on wood) storm activity doesn’t really pick up until August. By the end of May, most boats that have spent the
winter cruising season in the Caribbean have left to either return home, north, to the States or Europe, or to move
south to Trinidad and South America to sit out the season below the “hurricane box.” (Conventional wisdom, and
insurance company policy, used to hold that Grenada was far enough south to be considered safe; after last summer,
such wisdom and policy have been revised.) At the beginning of May, when we arrived in St. Maarten, the Simpson Bay
Marina was packed with boats. Every slip was full, at the end of the T-piers boats were tied two abreast, and we saw a
succession of boats of all sizes and conditions come in, refit and provision for a few days, and head out. The slip two
down from us, in particular, seemed to be reserved for a progression of Swedish and Norwegian boats, all in the 30 to
35 foot range, manned with tall, blond, bronzed, Vikings (and, Vikingettes) stocking up for their many-weeks sails to the
Azores on their way back to Scandanavia. By the end of May, the marina was a ghost town, barely one-quarter full.
When we’d left Simpsons Lagoon in mid-May to sail to Anguilla, we were the last of probably 20 boats lined up to motor
out under the drawbridge at the 11:30 opening; on June 7, we were the first of two.
The good news, of course, is that the crowds have gone home. The bad news is the nagging feeling that maybe we
shouldn’t still be here.
In actuality, June and early July are considered a good time for cruising these waters. The long-term cruisers have left
because of the travel times involved to get north or south. Since our plan is to have Dakota Rose shipped home from
St. Thomas, we have the luxury of staying here during this transition time.
unrestricted access all over the island. Cheerful signs mark the border between the two jurisdictions, but there are no
checkpoints or guards or controls of any sort. There seems to be no issue with illegal immigration. The currency on the
Dutch side is guilders, and on the French side is euros, but dollars are accepted everywhere. The primary effect of the
currency differences is that, on the Dutch side, items marked in guilders seem a little expensive at first but turn out to
be reasonable after the exchange rate; while, on the French side, prices in euros start out high and then become
outlandish. As an accommodation to the tourists, on the French side many of the restaurants and stores often offer a 1:
1 exchange rate between euros and dollars when paid in cash, which keeps things expensive but not ridiculous.
The Dutch side is quite a bit earthier than the French side, with rustic beach restaurants and nightlife tending towards
gambling casinos and adult entertainment. The restaurants and stores on the French side are decidedly, well,
Frenchier! The main cities are Philipsburg on the Dutch side and Marigot on the French side. Both are dominated by
the typical Caribbean duty-free shopping mix of jewelry, t-shirt, liquor and souvenir stores. The shops on the Dutch
side all seem to be run by ethnic Indians (from India), who are anxious to help you and bargain their prices
aggressively; while on the French side the shops are all run by ethnic French (from France), who are equally anxious
to ignore you while they exhale smoke from their Gauloises pinched between first finger and thumb. Cruise ships call at
Philipsburg, with its open harbor, and from there the visiting passengers spread out across the island to take
advantage of the beaches and duty-free shopping opportunities. The major airport is also on the Dutch side.
While topless bathing is common on beaches all over the island, the French side hosts the explicitly clothing-optional
beaches, on the Atlantic coast. We saw many examples of the adage: “Just because you can doesn’t mean you
should!”
(A brief note and apology to our readers: The preceding paragraphs have been far to harsh in their depiction of the
French inhabitants of St. Martin with whom we came in contact, most of whom were simply the nicest, most helpful
people. It's just that Steve, the principal author of the above, has "issues" with the French that go back a long, long
time. More than 35 years, in fact, dating back to when 9th grade French teacher, Monsieur Chamblin, snorted through
his upturned, Gallic nose at poor Steve's mangled attempts to pronounce "Les bonnes feuilles du mon pichard son,
peut-etre, chacon les pamplemousses, n'est-ce pas?" with a heavy overlay of New Jersey accent. Steve's ego never
really has recovered from that blow.)
One of the island’s major geographical features is Simpson’s Lagoon, a 12 square mile, totally enclosed body of water
on the western side of the island that is shared by both jurisdictions. Entry into the lagoon is via a narrow channel on
the Dutch side, with a drawbridge that opens three times each day. There is a corresponding entry channel on the
French side, but it isn’t maintained consistently at a deep enough depth for boats of much over five foot drafts. The
lagoon is surrounded by marinas, restaurants, and marine services, and hosts an array of boats from small craft up to
100+ foot megayachts. From our berth at the Simpson’s Bay Yacht Club to Marigot on the French side is a 10 minute
dinghy ride, about half of the time the same trip takes by car on the congested roads.
Away from the lagoon, the island terrain quickly becomes mountainous, rising to over 1300 feet at its highest point.
From St. Maarten we can see low, flat Anguilla to the north, the mountain island Saba to the west, and St. Barth’s to
the south. On clear days, from higher elevations, we can see St. Kitt’s, St. Eustacia and Antigua.
Getting There
Dianne had spent the day before we left Virgin Gorda talking about our overnight sailing plans to a string of self-styled
“experts” relaxing on the beach at Leverick Bay, all of whom were willing to set down their pina coladas long enough to
make sure she was aware of what a terribly rough trip the sail across the Anegada Passage would be. One of them
called it the “Ohmigod-a” Passage. Needless to say, Dianne was a tad uneasy about the trip, in spite of Steve’s
reassurances that we were leaving with the most favorable forecast of weather conditions that we could expect.
The 90-mile sail from Virgin Gorda to St. Martin took us 16 hours. The wind was just off our nose the entire way, so we
motored with the mainsail up to stabilize the boat. Seas ran about 2 to 4 feet, also right on our nose, and we did well to
average a little over 5 knots. While we pitched a bit, on the whole we had an easy time of it, spotting a few cruise ships
lighting up the horizon and a container ship, none of which came close enough to be of concern. We also tracked
another sailboat that had left Virgin Gorda about an hour ahead of us, apparently making the same trip but taking a
much more westerly track than our heading, leading Dianne to question the accuracy of our route planning and
waypoints. When the morning sun rose we saw that we had overtaken this other boat (which we later found out to be a
Swan 57), and we arrived at or destination about an hour ahead of them.
Having left Virgin Gorda at about 5:45 pm on Thursday, we arrived in Simpson Bay, on the Dutch side, at 9:40 the next
morning. We missed the 9:30 drawbridge opening into Simpson’s Lagoon by minutes. We dropped anchor, brewed up
a pot of coffee, and waited for the 11:30 opening. A dinghy from the Simpson’s Bay Yacht Club met us at the bridge
and escorted us into the tightest slip we’ve ever been in. To get into this slip we motored slowly up the channel, then
turned left and drifted forward until our bow was less than a yard from the stern of the boat tied up across the way from
our assigned slip, watching the eyes of the people that had been relaxing on that boat get wider and wider … at which
point we dropped our anchor. Then, Steve started backing down, swinging the stern to the right until we were
perpendicular to our dock and lined up with our slip. Dianne then paid out anchor chain as Steve backed us into the
slip. Once we were in and safely tied up, Steve pulled out the tape measure to confirm that with, our beam, we had a
total of less than 18 inches of clearance between the finger pier on our right and the boat on our left.
Our Visitors
The Friday we arrived in St. Maarten was the beginning of a four-day holiday weekend, Carnival, with the following
Monday Queen’s Day. On Saturday morning we were joined by our good friends from Coronado, Missy and Lindsey
Cook. They’d flown the red-eye from San Diego to New York, then got a direct flight to St. Maarten, so we walked over
to the closest beach and spent Saturday afternoon relaxing and catching up on all the changes that have occurred in
Coronado since we left there so long ago.
On Sunday, we taxi’d into Philipsburg to join the Carnival celebrations. We were told that the day’s parades were
scheduled to start at 10:00 am, which we thought meant that, on island time, they should get going between 11:00 and
noon. We arrived in downtown Philipsburg at about 11:30 to find the streets roped off but no sign of a parade or
celebrations. In fact, there just didn’t seem to be much of a crowd at all. There was also a dearth of authoritative
information about what to expect, or even which way the parade would be coming from. So, we did the tourist thing,
browsing through shops, lunching next to the beach, browsing through shops, listening to music being blasted onto the
street, browsing through shops, stopping for drinks on the beach, browsing through shops. By about 2:00 that
afternoon we started seeing locals gathering along the street, which we felt was a good sign. By about 3:00 we
watched police cars cruise slowly down the street, apparently making sure it was clear for the imminent parade.
Finally, a little after 4:00, the first parade revelers came into view. Actually, we heard them well before we saw them.
The parade consisted of a procession of groups, each of which took the same format: a large, gaily-bedecked truck,
towering with speakers and with either a live band or a DJ on board, would be followed by a troupe of shimmying and
dancing revelers in bright costumes, generally sharing a theme. The themes ranged from the serious to the frivolous,
from AIDS awareness to cowboys and Indians. The groups seemed to be vying for which had the loudest music, which
echoed through the narrow street; we could feel the bass pounding in our chests. After about an hour we’d had
enough, but then we couldn’t figure out how to cross the parade route to get to where we could grab transportation
back to our boat. Missy took the initiative, waited until the parade stalled for a few minutes, and just plunged through
the crowd, clearing a path for the rest of us.
We enjoyed our guests company for five days. During their visit we spent time at the beach, we hiked and climbed
through the trees of a humid forest in the mountains, and the girls went horseback riding on the beach. Missy treated
Dianne and Steve to a fantastic French dinner in Marigot. Both Missy and Lindsey adapted to living on the boat as if
they were natural sailors.
Saba
Twenty eight miles from St. Maarten – a 1½ hour trip by fast ferry – Saba is a dormant volcano that rises precipitously
from the ocean floor then thrusts another 3,000 feet into the clouds. This makes its peak, Mount Scenery, the highest
point in the Kingdom of the Netherlands. Being that it’s in the tropics, though, means that the Dutch still need to travel
internationally in order to ski.
Saba is shrouded in green wherever its terrain isn’t too steep to support vegetation. It has three towns – The Bottom
(its capital), Windwardside, and Hell’s Gate – and a total population of about 1,600, including the 275 students at the
Saba University School of Medicine. It also claims that its airport has the shortest runway in the world: 1,300 feet, with
sheer, 136 foot cliff drop-offs at both ends. This makes landing on Saba comparable to landing on an aircraft carrier,
except without the arresting cables.
Up until the mid-1960s, Saba had no roads; it now has one that traverses the island. Visitors to the island would drop
anchor in Ladder Bay, then climb 400 steps cut into the rock face to get to the Customs House. Now, the road drops
down through a series of switchbacks to the small commercial dock, and one of the few taxis on the Island will drive the
less intrepid tourists (including us) slowly up the hill.
Because Saba has no protected anchorages, and is too far for a day sail, we took a 9:00 am ferry over there for the
day. Our main objective was a much-heralded hike, from Windwardside (at 1,300 feet elevation) up to the top of Mount
Scenery. The trail, also cut back in the 1960s, has 1068 steps to climb (we didn’t count, but that’s what the trail sign
says). Steve was a little indignant, pointing out that, if the stairs had actually been built to the Uniform Building Code in
terms of rise and slope, there would have been at least 4,000 of them, maybe more.
The hike up the mountain took us a little over an hour, and we rose through humid forest to rain forest near the peak.
Water dripped everywhere, and the path was slippery with moss and decaying leaves. We wondered if this hike wasn’t
the source of the cadavers used by the Medical School. Views from the top would have been fantastic, if we hadn’t
been enshrouded in the clouds. Back at the bottom, we stopped into a restaurant for a late lunch, where the owner
spent more time pointing out what wasn’t available from the menu than he did describing the specials. We were lucky
… within minutes of stopping in for lunch, the island was deluged with rain that turned the steep roadway back down to
the ferry dock to a raging, muddy torrent. We caught the ferry back to St. Maarten at 3:30 that afternoon, and were
back by 5:00. We had a wonderful time.
Saint Maarten – An Epilogue
We arrived in St. Maarten on April 28, and we kept Dakota Rose there and in the surrounding islands for more than a
month, finally departing for good on June 7. Time just sort of slipped past on this beautiful and peaceful island. “Island
Time” actually began to have meaning. During our first week there we hosted our friends from Coronado, the Cooks.
The second week, we moved ashore into a condo for which we’d swapped our timeshare week months and months
ago, well before we left on our voyage, when we though it might give us a welcome change from life on the boat. We
spent part of the third week in Anguilla, then left for the States for a one-week visit to attend a family wedding followed
by Dianne’s Nelson Family reunion in Colorado. This visit got extended to two weeks because Steve’s dad was in the
hospital in San Diego. We got back to St. Maarten just in time to celebrate Steve’s birthday on June 6, provision the
boat, and set sail for St. Bart’s on June 7.
While we were back in San Diego, our friends from St. Augustine, Florida, Pam Lendzion and Presley King, flew in to
spend a week on Dakota Rose. When it comes to boat maintenance and cleaning, Pam surely is an Army of One.
Read the log of their trip by clicking here.
The month of May marks a major transition in the Caribbean. June 1 is the official start of hurricane season, though
(knock on wood) storm activity doesn’t really pick up until August. By the end of May, most boats that have spent the
winter cruising season in the Caribbean have left to either return home, north, to the States or Europe, or to move
south to Trinidad and South America to sit out the season below the “hurricane box.” (Conventional wisdom, and
insurance company policy, used to hold that Grenada was far enough south to be considered safe; after last summer,
such wisdom and policy have been revised.) At the beginning of May, when we arrived in St. Maarten, the Simpson Bay
Marina was packed with boats. Every slip was full, at the end of the T-piers boats were tied two abreast, and we saw a
succession of boats of all sizes and conditions come in, refit and provision for a few days, and head out. The slip two
down from us, in particular, seemed to be reserved for a progression of Swedish and Norwegian boats, all in the 30 to
35 foot range, manned with tall, blond, bronzed, Vikings (and, Vikingettes) stocking up for their many-weeks sails to the
Azores on their way back to Scandanavia. By the end of May, the marina was a ghost town, barely one-quarter full.
When we’d left Simpsons Lagoon in mid-May to sail to Anguilla, we were the last of probably 20 boats lined up to motor
out under the drawbridge at the 11:30 opening; on June 7, we were the first of two.
The good news, of course, is that the crowds have gone home. The bad news is the nagging feeling that maybe we
shouldn’t still be here.
In actuality, June and early July are considered a good time for cruising these waters. The long-term cruisers have left
because of the travel times involved to get north or south. Since our plan is to have Dakota Rose shipped home from
St. Thomas, we have the luxury of staying here during this transition time.
St. Maarten/St. Martin
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