Aahhh, the Spanish Virgins. Culebrita, aka Little Snake (Spanish), more an islet of Culebra, is a pleasant uninhabited outpost with beautiful beaches we last visited in early 2020. Swarming with little hermit crabs (where do they get their shells?) and literally capped off with an historic (1880’s) lighthouse relic, Culebrita is a can’t miss first-stop heading west from St Thomas.

From Wikipedia: …the only remaining Spanish-era structure in the Culebra archipelago. Construction of the lighthouse began on September 25, 1882, and was completed on February 25, 1886. The Spanish Crown built the lighthouse to help secure its claim over the main island of Culebra. It is the most eastern light outside mainland Puerto Rico. It guided navigation through the Virgin Passage and the Vieques Sound connecting in the Puerto Rico Light System with the Cape San Juan Light.

After Culibrita, moving west, a next quintessential SVI must-stop is Culebra, a historical mishmash of semi-bombed out destruction, inhabited by many US expats and relaxed residential spillover from the Puerto Rico mainland.

The crew of SV Fayaway holds a special bond to this lovely island, as we sequestered here for almost ten weeks at the onset of the 2020 covid pandemic. During that distressing time all businesses were closed, we weren’t allowed to visit land nor fraternize with the islanders. But paradise nonetheless. Having returned to the Caribbean this year, we just had to return to Culebra to soak up what we missed, meet some residents, eat the food and visit the historical museum.

At bit further south is another island outpost called Vieques (see map at top of page). We anchored a few days at the town of Esperanza, which offers youngish touristy charm, and a lively party-spot emanating ear-piercing music thumping into early morning. One way to avoid the noise is to visit a nearby bay chock full of bioluminescent (and eerily silent) protozoans. Wow, what a truly surrealistic experience that was! You can dip your hand into the water and watch the sparkling water rolling through your fingers. As if our starship were constantly kicking into light speed, star-light dashes under our feet. Weeee!

Mosquito Bay near Esperanza has claim to the highest density of bioluminescent dinoflagellates in the world. Conditions are ideal for optimal growth, and the local government has been protecting the area from motorized boat traffic and shore development for decades. $60 bought us a fantastic guided tour into this “wonderwater”, paddling on clear-bottomed kayaks. Completely mesmerized, on a moonless evening we floated slowly about the bay, until well after midnight, with stars blanketing the sky above and literally-sparkling water underneath. Twas a truly unique and surreal experience! 

Just another half-day hop west from Vieques is the mainland of Puerto Rico. Quite frankly, we weren’t planning for many land-excursions along the southern coast. (Many years ago we had flown into San Juan for a family visit, and drove inland to see several remote sites. This time we’re simply bopping in and out of bays, enjoying the people and views, often to rest for an evening as we traverse our way westward.

Each morning starts out with calm water and a slight breeze. Going downwind with the easterly trades, we start with light motoring, followed by slowly rolling out the genoa out on the whisker pole.

By noon, the winds build, and in one case was gusting 30 knots as we pulled into Salinas harbor. Then some fun began…

Mounted at its optimal viewing point at Fayaway’s bow, our disgruntled windlass had its own nefarious plans. This self-centered contraption was determined to maintain its steady view of sunsets while remaining in Puerto Rico. From its narrow perspective, for the last eleven months, we’ve pulled up the heavy anchor at every island and cove - except in a couple places where anchoring isn’t allowed. So, it’s not surprising that this hard-working machine demands a break. And it got its wish while we attempted to anchor in a tight spot in 25knot gusts. As typical, trouble occurs when you need the equipment most, right? But sometimes you get some warning, which helps, if you’re paying attention.

Upon nearly completing the up-anchor “ritual” at the prior town of Patillas, Kelly returned to the cockpit and noted how the deck actuator buttons seemed to occasionally not respond. “Seems to be happening more”, she said. Then at arriving in Esperanza , the buttons completely stopped responding, nearly causing us to raise the heavy ground tackle by hand. Hmmm…

Once safely on the hook in Esperanza I got my handy dandy multimeter and checked for (and found) power going to and from the switches, eliminating that as a source of trouble.

In my best Gumby impersonation, and managing not to dislocate any joints, I stretched into the chain locker and disconnected the heavy motor, brought it to the galley floor, and started unscrewing screws. I removed and cleaned all four brushes, and managed to reassemble without finding leftover “mystery” parts.

Don’t think I actually knew what I was doing! The process reminds me of my childhood days when I’d love to take machines apart, and sometimes not having any extra parts after reassembly. Bonus is when the lawnmower, weedwhacker , outboard engine or refrigerator actually worked again! 

Perhaps now after putting some fear into its mechanical brain, the finicky windlass somehow will become functional. We cleaned up all the mess just in time for sundowners. Kelly pushed the buttons in the morning, the motor chugged and the chain came up just fine. Will wonders ever cease?

But not so soon… let’s get back to our arrival at the crazy busy and windy Salinas.

Salinas is a relatively busy harbor - by Vieques standards. Consider that our arrival was on a holiday (Emancipation Day) resulting in a steady parade of small recreational power boats zooming in and out, through the anchored boats. Some folks are friendly, waving back, but others are of the unhappy type, as commonly found in the US. Gotta love the little power vessels, overflowing with dancing, happy folks, playing absurdly loud music! Very well protected by surrounding mangroves, the small port has two decent sized marinas, with slips and moorings, and one of the larger collections and density of derelict boats we’d seen since this winter. 

We found a decent spot between boats and I rounded the bow windward as Kelly readied to drop the 55 pound Spade anchor. As we came to a standstill I gave Kelly the “thumb down” signal to drop. I couldn’t see over the dinghy on deck so just watched and assumed that chain was falling as the wind began to swing the bow around. But something was wrong. With a frustrated look, she gave me a dreaded frantic horizontal hand wave, meaning “abort!”

After the second abort, I motored us back toward the channel outlet, and gave Kelly the helm. After frantically digging into the locker I found the true cause: a stainless guard plate had been bent to allow me to remove the motor. Evidently I didn’t bend it back to its proper position upon reassembly, and the chain was caught. Now with the problem resolved (again, hopefully), and afternoon light waning, we returned back to the tight slot between boats, and let the process start again.

Success again! Now time for an extra ration of grog!

This wasn’t supposed to be another frantic anchoring tale. While the topic seems to have steered that way, at least it ended successfully again. After more rest and seeing our friends (Newfoundlanders) on their well-equipped Island Packet Finnback, we continued on our way two days later. Twice more dropping our hook: at Gilligan’s Island (Guanica) and then at our last stop on the west coast of Puerto Rico – Puerto Real.

Next stop will be after a 410nm passage to Great Inagua, the most southerly and remote island in Bahamas!

Have a great day – whatever holiday works for you!

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