Voyage of the Capricorn Lady

Voyage of the Capricorn Lady – Book 1

On our sailboat, in the islands, I grieved for my things. I cried for my daughters and my life. I didn’t care about my Audi, our Datsun 260Z, our Volkswagen Bus, or our furniture. I wanted my life back the way it was, but it never could be the same again. Our most private possessions were now public property. We were broke, and disgraced. Dan felt he could never return. It was impossible.

After a while we left our anchorage near Walkers Cay, cruising down the Abacos to set up a base in Marsh Harbour. Dan’s brother continued to act on our behalf, and Dan trusted him to help us with the legalities of settling our affairs. We needed to use the telephone often so negotiations on a settlement with our creditors could be made. There were only a few hours a day that long distance calls could be placed at the telephone office, so Dan had to wait his turn in a long line, behind local merchants ordering goods and supplies for their businesses. It was very frustrating, and he was nervous and jumpy most of the time.

At Christmas time, Barbara and Lauri came to visit us for the holiday. When it came time for them to return, Barbara begged to stay with us, and we finally agreed. Lauri wanted to stay as well, but I made her go back to Florida to live with her father and attend school. I thought it was the right thing to do.But I was very wrong. I should have kept Lauri with us on the sailboat, and home schooled her. Love, and our presence, was what she needed.

Dan knew his children had no way of knowing what had happened, and we had no way to tell them the truth. Most of them were too young to understand, and he worried that as they grew up, they would never forgive him. He decided he would never say anything bad about their mother and he kept this vow until just before his death.

Lauri returned to school in Florida, leaving her sister and parents to become full time “live-aboards” on our sailboat Capricorn. Barbara left all her clothes and worldly goods behind in Orlando, including the old red VW. It had never been repaired after she wrecked it after her senior trip. The bug probably sat on the parking lot at the airport until it was hauled away. Years later Barbara confessed she also left a trunk of treasured belongings behind in her apartment. The trunk contained my grandmother’s bedspread and some hand made quilts rescued on the infamous sale day, but my daughter has no idea what happened to the things she left. Like us, she had made a clean break with her past, leaving the scattered fragments behind for others. We were so happy to have her with us, we didn’t complain or say she was irresponsible. It was a time of chaos and decisions were made on the strength of emotions not intellect. We now possessed little in the way of clothing or other personal items, but I felt a little happier now I had one of my daughters with me.

Voyage of the Capricorn Lady – Book 2

At that point we decided to base permanently in the British Virgin Islands, and do what was required to operate legally. There was a lot of petty crime in St. Thomas, and we realized we would never be comfortable there. We felt nervous leaving the boat unattended, even at a dock, as there had been several instances of armed incursions on boats at the dock in Red Hook, causing several long time residents to leave the islands. Then the boating community was stunned by the beating and rape of a well-known charter agent by a gang of young thugs who burst into their condo, tied up her husband, and brutalized the wife. St. Thomas in the mid seventies, was a unique place, to say the least, with a population of 10,000 people, mainly composed of black “born here” residents. Residents also included other black people who came from “down island”, meaning islands further to the east such as Tortola, St. Martain, St. Kitts, Anguilla, St, Vincent, and even as far as Trinidad. There were many people of Dominican descent, that is people from the Dominican Republic, as well as from Dominica, another island in the Caribbean to the east. To add to this mix of cultures, white “continentals”, as they were called, came to live and work on the island, and the boating community also was comprised mostly of whites. Many of the shop owners and business men came from Puerto Rico, and there were many people of Middle Eastern descent as well, providing a stimulating diversity that made life interesting.

We felt some hostility from the local black population, which was understandable, as many of the local jobs in tourism went to whites. Many business owners seemed to feel that the whites, even though they had just arrived on the island, had a better work ethic, and could communicate better with visiting tourists. The “bawn here” people could seek work anywhere in the United States, but resented the yearly influx of job seekers from off island. After the winter season was over, many of the white “continentals” sailed away or left in search of new endeavors, until the next year when new ones would arrive.

One day we heard desperate cries on the marine radio from yachts anchored at Red Hook. A crazy guy we called “Goosey” was running around the beach with a machete, chopping up sunbathers. The day before, he had been arrested because he was walking along the road completely naked. The police questioned him, warned him to keep his clothes on, and let him go. For weeks he had been annoying workers at the marina in Red Hook, but nobody took action to do anything about it. That terrible day, he killed the ex-wife of one of the popular day sail Captains from Red Hook in his murderous rage, plus another unfortunate man who just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.

One afternoon, I was at the grocery store up the street from Yacht Haven in Charlotte Amalie getting provisions for a charter. The store was full of customers waiting in long noisy lines, and when I came out of the store with my full cart, it was dusk. Usually I waved down a gypsy cab, but this night, there were no taxis in the area, so I had to walk a few blocks back to the Marina in the dark, knowing I must pass an area where there had been an assault the week before. A girl who worked at the booking service has been attacked by a group of thugs who came leaping up on the sidewalk from the parking lot of an old shopping center just down the hill. They dragged her down into the darkness and raped her. I was pushing my cart down the sidewalk, feeling apprehensive and very uncomfortable, when suddenly a gang of young men came popping up on the sidewalk from the trees below,
blocking my way. Instantly, without thinking, I pushed my cart off the curb, out into the center of the busy highway. An angry driver honked his horn as he almost ran me down. I walked the yellow line in the center of the road, all the way back to the marina, vowing I would never be in that situation again.

Our life in St. Thomas was often punctuated with little annoyances and occasionally, really scary occurrences. Tourists were not much affected by crime, but it did affect us as permanent residents. Twice, when we tied our boat up on the waterfront, someone cut away the lines, setting it free in the harbour, but both times we were lucky to retrieve it before it went missing forever. One day Dan was attacked by a taxi driver who shoved him up against a wall, and pulled off his sunglasses, but the police just laughed when he filed a report on the incident. He was also shot in the temple though an open window of our jeep as we drove along Veterans Drive, by a group of teenagers standing on the corner who were shooting at cars. The weapon was probably a pellet or BB gun, and Dan’s wound was not serious, but the authorities had no intention of investigating further. Our daughters, Barbara and Lauri, moved several times after break-ins and robberies at their apartments in St. Thomas, and as described in my first book, Barbara had been attacked by a man with a knife as she slept. The exhilaration of island living had been dimmed by these events during the early days of our charter career with our sailboat, Capricorn, and we decided we did not want to live in the U. S. Virgin Islands any longer, believing the quieter and peaceful British islands a better place to live and base our charters.

We knew it would be more difficult to convince guests to fly directly to Tortola, as charter agents were used to having their clients start from St. Thomas. The British Virgin Islands, however, was “The Cruising Area”, so the charter boats swiftly departed the American Virgins, sailing straight to the BVI. I believe the BVI is one of the most beautiful places in the world, and a visit to this unique small country may ruin a visitor for any other tropical destination. More than fifty small cays and islands float in a warm blue sea, providing ideal cruising conditions, as boats meander from one island to the next, anchoring overnight in sheltered coves and harbors. The mountainous islands are mostly uninhabited except for a few goats and wild cattle. The British Virgins are friendly and welcoming to tourists, and are characterized by small resorts and inns rather than high-rise hotels. The islands are safe and peaceful, with a population of 23,000 residents who greet the visitor with warm and open arms. There are sandy beaches, panoramic mountain views, and green hills covered with cactus, frangipani and wild tamarind. Sheltered in the lush and scenic valleys you can see hibiscus, bougainvillea and the exotic flamboyant. Mangrove and sea grape trees, sculptured by the wind, can be seen along the sea, interrupted only by stretches of sparkling sandy beaches and colorful villages. From Tortola to Virgin Gorda to the coral island of Anegada, only 28 feet above sea level, the opportunities for scuba diving, snorkeling, and fishing are endless. Small beach bars with local musicians and island food coexist in a charming way with the upscale restaurants at Peter Island and Little Dix Bay.

We guided our guests from the coral ledges and caves at Norman Island, to the exotic hidden rooms and rocky grottos of the Baths at Virgin Gorda, and at night our charter guests partied at Mad Dog Bar and the Willie T., at the Bight at Norman Island. We howled with laughter at Tony Snell at the Last Resort as he regaled us with stories of bareboats and Rhinestone Captains, and went ashore for fancy dining at Biras Creek or Bitter End. Often we took our guests to dive the famous Wreck of the Rhone just off of Salt Island. The wreck was featured in the film, The Deep, and lies in 20 to 80 feet of crystal clear water, and when we went on shore at Salt Island, we made it a point to take a loaf of fresh Capricorn Lady Bread and a bottle of rum, for the elderly residents there. One of our guests felt it appropriate to offer a small “Gratuity” to one of the residents, and the lady accepted it gratefully, saying, “May the hinges of your generosity never rust”. Divers in the BVI can explore the Rhone, and then zip across Salt Island Passage to snorkel the coral gardens offshore of Dead Chest Cay. This scenic little island was made famous in the story of Blackbeard the Pirate, who is said to have marooned 15 men on the rocky shore with a chest of treasure and a bottle of rum.

We decided to base at Village Cay in Road Town, the Capital of the BVI, even though there was a constant surge in the marina that caused the boat to rock back and forth against the dock, making it necessary to constantly adjust the fenders to prevent damage to the hull. At that time, I was varnishing the overhead beams on the aft deck and salon, while standing on a small stool, and the continual motion made me so nauseous I had to get off the boat every so often and sit on the dock.

The marina was a busy place, with a popular bar and restaurant that was hopping all the time. At first it was fun, and we enjoyed showing off our Trumpy to the many tourists who walked out on the docks after dinner, but eventually we grew weary of people constantly peeking into our windows, at all hours of the night and day. Drunks from the bar were a constant annoyance, and we realized this was not the way we wanted to live when we were off charter. One day I was in the galley putting some groceries away when I heard a strange noise, and hurried upstairs to find four strange people wandering around inside the Salon. They said a cheery hello as they turned to go down the aft stairway toward the guest area. I stopped them, asking what they wanted. They said the mat at the bottom of our boarding stairway said, “welcome”, so they thought it was OK to come in and have a look.

The first year we had Capricorn Lady in the Virgin Islands was a time of constant stress and fear we would not be successful. We discovered that most of the clients who had sailed with us before were not candidates to charter our motor yacht. We begged our agents for charters, and stayed ready to depart on a moments notice, keeping the yacht in a constant state of readiness. That year, we did a total of four charters, somehow managing to make our payments on time. At one point we convinced a provisioner to stock our freezer with food on credit, so we could go to Norman Island, anchor there, and write up menus for breakfast, lunch and dinner. We planned to go from boat to boat in the harbour, soliciting bare boat charterers to come aboard and have a meal on our yacht. We figured we could serve eight to ten diners on the aft deck, plus eight more inside the salon. We were ready to leave the dock to become the first BVI floating restaurant, when we got a nice ten-day charter with some South Americans. The income saved the day so we set aside our restaurant plan. A few months later, friends brought the vessel Emma Liss to Norman Island, renamed it the William Thornton, set down a heavy permanent mooring that would weather any storm, and became a raving success as a floating bar and restaurant.