TRELLIS BAY

There is a story going around the British Virgin Islands about a conversation overheard on the VHF radio.

“Just Charters, Just Charters, this is Maribell.”

“Go ahead Maribell, this is Just Charters.”

“Could you bring us another anchor?”

“Why do you need another anchor? There were two of them on the boat when you left.”

“Well…we've anchored twice already, and will want to anchor tonight.”

I guess that cutting one's anchor line is easier than hauling it up, but…

Trellis Bay

5/10/92 N 18 ' W 64 ' Trellis Bay, British Virgin Islands

After visiting the islands for a few days we anchored in Trellis Bay, behind Beef Island. A great anchorage and a gathering place for cruisers and charterers alike. We found many of our friends anchored there.

We stayed here for more than a week while I fixed our fuel tanks so they would not clog again. I hoped! After a great sea chantey fest with our cruising friends, we gathered our courage and departed the next afternoon for the overnight crossing of the Angola Passage to the French and Dutch island of St. Martin.

The passage was to windward and after twenty-three hours, we reached St. Martins in the late morning.


Beware the Thieves

3/26/92 Lat. N 18 5.3'  W 063 2.5' Marigot Bay, St. Martin

I was humming "Happy Birthday to Me" when we came to anchor in this beautiful and huge shallow bay. There was room for hundreds of boats to anchor. With part of France just a short distance off my hook, my mouth was literally drooling. I was going to have a real French dinner to celebrate fifty-four years of surviving work, raising a family, and sailing.

All this disintegrated quickly when some friends rowed over and told us there were thieves in the anchorage. Boats were regularly broken into between five and ten in the evening. Our friends surmised that the thieves waited in the parking lot near the dingy landing. When the cruisers come ashore they diligently lock their dinghies to the posts in the rocks.

The thieves, using bolt cutters, free the dingy and head out to the vacant boat, whose name is painted on the side of the dingy. They have at least two hours to plunder that boat and any other boats whose crew is ashore eating the delicacies of French cooking. You can be sure they had made a list of all the dinghies nestling against the rocks at the landing.

So, no French cooking for me tonight!

Instead we sat on the port side of the cabin top sipping our sundowner and watching the boats bob in the anchorage. In particular we were watching a boat that had arrived late in the afternoon and gone to town for dinner. There was no moon, but we could sort of see the boat in the reflected lights of the harbor. It was only about fifty yards from us. We ate a late dinner on deck and went to bed about nine.
The next morning, the captain of the neighboring boat dropped by in a borrowed dingy.
"Did you see anyone on my boat last night?"

"No. We sat outside until about nine," I replied, "Why?"

"Someone stole our dingy on shore and broke into our boat. They took our electronics, went through our papers, and took the money they found. We were lucky they didn't find our stash of cash."

"I feel bad," I said. "We were sitting right here trying to keep an eye on your boat, but we saw absolutely nothing."

"Not only did they hit my boat, but they also cleaned out the boat anchored ahead of me. We called the police on VHF last night, and they told me to call back this morning. I called this morning and they said to call back this afternoon."

"It doesn't sound like they are too interested."

"No. I think it’s too late. Maybe last night they could have done something to catch them, but it's too late now." As he left I felt very sad for him and wished I had seen something. I was happy, though, we had decided to stay at home. From now on when I leave the inflatable, I'm going to lower the hard dingy and leave it astern so that it looks as if there is someone home. It will be my decoy dingy.

The trip from St. Martins to St. Barts took only a few hours. Along the way we saw a whale in the main channel between the islands, and then threaded our way through some cays until we reached anchor in Anse Colombier, St. Barthélemy, French West Indies.