Hide and Seek [#24]

On February 26th, we peeled ourselves away from The Bahamas and set out on what would become a 430NM, 85-hour passage from Thompson Bay, Long Island, to Port Antonio, Jamaica.

Our sail plan would take us past the southwestern coast of Long Island before skirting past Crooked, Acklins, and Great Inagua Islands to the east.

Then, we’d hug the northeastern end of Cuba before crossing the Windward Passage to Jamaica, where we intended to make landfall.

During those 85 hours, we sailed fast and also painfully slow; we furled and unfurled — over and over again; we motored more than we planned; we questioned our diesel supply — wondering if we’d soon regret bypassing our last re-fueling port.

We stared at the north coast of Cuba — its terraced cliffs rising straight out of the sea — mesmerized by this forbidden-to-us country. We reluctantly set it aside for another time.

We surfed down nine-foot following swells in the Windward Passage and caught double tuna just as John was reeling in the lines.

At Hour 85, on Day 3.5, as we battled our way through Port Antonio’s properly-marked but absolutely ripping channel, Ruby Vi threw a last-minute temper tantrum. Down went our starboard engine. In the black of night. In an unfamiliar harbor.

Eighty-five hours of passage-making; sixty minutes of anxiety-ridden, blind, one-engine-anchoring; and seven hours of slightly-tormented sleep later, we woke up in another world.

Hello, Jamaica.

After four months of flat sandy beaches and scattered palm trees, we now stared at jungle-thick green hills; we inhaled the smell of travel in smokey fires that dotted the hillsides — maybe burning trash, maybe jerk chicken preparing to become lunch; we marveled at this wild patch of new.

After a quick and easy engine fix — turns out tangles of lobster pot line and propellers are in no way compatible — and completing the country’s quarantine, customs, and immigration procedures, we set out to explore the area.

Over the next four and a half days, we waterfall’d and jerk-chicken’d. We Blue Lagoon’d and birthday’d. We street-market’d and countryside’d.

We. Did. Laundry.

Then, with what appeared to be a multi-day northern blow in the immediate forecast, we jumped on a weather window to push 90NM west to Montego Bay.

MoBay Magic did not disappoint.

We soaked up as much of the area’s natural beauty and “ya mon — issa no problem, mon” spirit as we could.

After a week in MoBay and a few days of perfectly calm weather, we were convinced we could, in fact, peel ourselves away from Jamaica and sail on to our next country.

Then, COVID-19 began to shut down the world.

On the morning of March 13th, we walked from our anchorage in Bogue Lagoon to the Montego Bay Yacht Club. We intended to check out of the country and embark on a 330-mile passage to Providencia and then San Andres en route to Panama.

On our way, we read a post from a fellow cruiser on Kids4Sail (a popular Facebook community/resource we follow) that Panama might soon be systematically closing its ports and marinas to new traffic.

Hmm…

Were we willing to risk potentially being “stranded” in Providencia or San Andres, unable to clear into Panama when ready?

In another game time call, we decided the smart answer was “No, we were not.”

So, we altered course. Again.

Now, for the first time, since leaving our friends, our family, our home (and our chickens) in Park City, Utah, we share a reality with literally everyone we know.

Even on a sailboat in the Caribbean Sea, we have little choice but to closely monitor this global pandemic. And our plans — just like those of our land-based family, friends, and even strangers around the world — are up in the air while countries put in place broad closures and extreme measures in efforts to flatten this coronavirus curve.

There are worse detours than the one we’ve chosen. (One might even argue that perhaps there is none better.)

On Friday, instead of beginning a three-day crossing to Providencia, we enjoyed a leisurely 30NM sail around the bend to Jamaica’s West End. We dropped anchor 200 yards from shore in Bloody Bay and are thoroughly enjoying this ridiculous patch of paradise.

Armed with a water-maker and the heavy provisions we’d already gathered in preparation for our would-be passage, we are relatively self-sufficient aboard Ruby Vi.

Our current “plan,” while we wait for COVID-19 to lay down, is to slowly — and deliberately — explore Jamaica’s southern coastline, eventually making our way to Kingston, where we’ll check out of the country and re-attempt our journey south.

Meanwhile, we feel outrageously lucky that our contribution to social distancing involves snorkeling and beach-combing and sailing instead of staying hunkered down in our house, placing bets on how long the toilet paper will last.

We get to hide from this virus while exploring a part of the world still new to us.

Since moving aboard 10 months ago, we’ve played — and invented — and been taught — more games than we can count: Dominoes, Mexican Train, UNO, Jersey UNO — a most fantastic upgrade, Qwirkle, Mancala, Family Feud, Catch Phrase, Tripoly, Nertz, all the pokers, and nearly every other iteration of cards known to humankind.

With all those options, who would’ve guessed we’d be spending so much time engrossed in a game of Hide and Seek with a global pandemic and the Caribbean Sea.