Part 2: The Waiting Begins

Saturday morning, I woke to bright sunshine and wrote in my journal as Rick went out to look for coffee. Our West Indian captain, Leroy, stopped by to give us an update. As far as he knew, Georges was headed our way, but we could go sailing for the day. But if we do go sailing, we must come back by evening, and since Moorings would be unable to batten our boat down, we would be responsible for it. Our best bet: get some rooms, ride it out, and wait until Tuesday to sail. Meanwhile, we should enjoy the day, which was sunny and bright. We would get more details at our chart briefing later in the morning.

We caught up with Jeff, who unbeknownst to us, had found a night on the boat at the marina too uncomfortable. Between the heat, the rain, and the noise of the guys on neighboring Brigada (Germans, we thought), he found himself checking into a room around 2330. We finally got ourselves together and went to the chart briefing at 0915. Julian Hodge, a tall, black man, gave our briefing. Today was a "special" day. He told us Hurricane Georges was coming, but that Moorings would take care of us in terms of rooms and food. Booze, however, would be at our own expense. It would be an "experience of a lifetime," though not a good one. Georges was coming right at us, was not likely to turn, but would probably pass quickly.

After the briefing, we set about doing the things which would help us enjoy the day before the storm and ride out the storm itself in as much comfort as possible. We took some of our provisions off the boat for use at the hotel, while returning the rest to the Moorings to keep until we sailed. We exchanged our standard rooms for a suite (Room 39, at the far end of the building nearest the breakwater) which would hold all of us once T and Kevin arrived. Rick rented a Samurai so we could spend today sightseeing. And we ate lunch.

Following lunch at the Mariner Inn, we waited for T and Kevin to arrive. In the reception area, there were a lot of comings and goings. Mostly families finishing up their trips and preparing to return to France, Brazil and the U.S. Some were cutting their trips short and getting on flights standby (or trying/hoping to). Three women from Tennessee (Dana, Jennifer and Deveka) sought assurances from us that we were sticking around and Valium. The Moorings staff assured us that not only would we be OK, but we'd soon be sailing. All around the docks, there was a quiet hum of purposeful activity, as boats were tied down and windows boarded over.

At last, Theresa and Kevin arrived. Kevin was chipper and excited, and T without her voice (she had caught a nasty virus before the trip, and wasn't even sure she could make it). I gave them a very quick update and sent them to the suite to get ready for a day at the beach. It was a warm, sunny day. Within a few minutes, the gang was trooping down to the Samurai, the top of which we virtually ripped off. With Rick and the wheel, we headed west along the coast road to get to Smuggler's Cove. We passed the familiar cone-shaped headland of Long Bay and found Smuggler's Cove on its west side via a rough, unpaved, but well-marked dirt road. There were a few cars parked nearby, and a large Tortolian family having a barbecue.

A pre-storm view of the beach at Smuggler's Cove.

We dropped our stuff near the path to the beach bar and ran for the water. It was warm and clear, with a sandy bottom and a very slight swell. The beach was crescent-shaped and fringed with palms, and I quickly took some pictures and returned to the water, only leaving when my fingers were so pruny I couldn't stand it. The boys snorkeled. After beach activities, we went to the beach bar, a dilapidated white block structure open on all sides. The floor was strewn with sand and the bar was made of stone and mortar. A rusted-out white Lincoln filled the space, which we discovered from photos at the bar ferried Queen Elizabeth II around the island during a long-ago visit to Tortola. Flotsam and jetsam was everywhere. The bar is also an "honor bar," so we helped ourselves to Amstel Light and left our money in a cigar box left for that purpose.

After another dip, we dried off and packed up to head to our next stop. Surely, Bomba's had to be open. Bomba's is a deliberately ramshackle watering hole notorious for its monthly full moon parties, when free house tea is spiked with hallucinogenic mushrooms. We made our way down the north shore road toward this infamous heap of junk to find that it was, indeed, open. As we drank a round of Carib beer, we explored the space, left our mark (graffiti, a business card), chatted with the barmaid Jasmine, took lots of pictures, and were generally enchanted and amazed.

The crew of Braveheart at Bomba's (l to r): Rick, Jasmine (Bomba's bartender), Jeff, Eva, Kevin and Theresa.

Kevin started feeling hunger pangs, so we headed further east, up and down impossible slopes and switchbacks, to gorgeous Cane Garden Bay. Rhymer's was closed, so we went instead to Myett's for dinner. We enjoyed gorgeous views over the beach and sea and out to Jost Van Dyke. Our cheerful, joking waitress brought us fun, novelty drinks, and we were the only guests having dinner (one other guest was watching college football on TV). Myett's served an excellent conch chowder, but it needed hot sauce. Our dinner orders were not quite right, but I was willing to overlook it because it was becoming clear that the locals were not taking Georges lightly and were a bit nervous. T found a bit of glass in her drink, so they treated us to dessert.

Rather than returning to the Mariner Inn via the coast road, we took the overland (i.e. over the hills) route in the dark. We were

awed by spectacular but scary vistas, but not as scary as the drivers who passed us on this narrow road. We came back in one piece, re-assembled the Samurai's top, and checked out the weather report.

According to the Weather Channel, Georges was heading right for us, and getting VERY scary. Sporting sustained winds of 135 miles per hour and tight organization, Georges was due here in 36 hours, with nothing to prevent strengthening. It was hard to believe we would soon be facing a hurricane after such a gorgeous day. Rick called American Airlines to see if we could leave, but they had cancelled all flights for the next several days. What the hell have we gotten ourselves into?

Since we could do little right then, the gang went to check out the boat and soon found ourselves aboard neighboring Brigada, a Moorings 505 which was going to be crewed by 10(!!!) Norwegians (don't call them Germans, it's the ultimate insult), sharing a few drinks and laughs. Their leader, K.B., taught us a Norwegian toast (Possereg!), and we'd keep running into him and Jergen throughout the balance of our stay on Tortola. I soon tired of it and went back to the suite, but not before Jergen got his goodbye hug. Afterwards, everyone wanted a swim in the pool, so I got back in my suit and joined them. The water had cooled off a bit, and after 30 minutes, we'd had enough. Before bed, we moved around furniture and luggage, and engaged in some gymnastics to change clothes without exposure. Amazingly, I slept well.

Sunday, as usual, I woke with the light. The weather was still sunny and warm, but I had not yet seen a weather report. I went outside as everyone else slept, to scratch my numerous mosquito bites (most acquired at Myett's) and write in my journal. At 7:30, I was still the only one awake. At 0800, Rick and I drove the Samurai back to Road Town, which by then looked like a ghost town, with windows boarded up, corrugated fencing down, and no one about. We got to Budget a few minutes later, but it wouldn't be open until 8:30, so we bought some gas and then returned the car. Rick and I walked back to the Mariner Inn. It was hot and sunny, and as a result, we became very sweaty. We found Jeff, T and Kevin having breakfast, so we joined them. Moorings would be giving a briefing at noon, so we swam in the pool until then.

At noon, Graham, one of the managers, explained what was happening. We would all get rooms and food, and Graham and his family would take residence at the hotel as well. He asked the doctors to identify themselves. No more alcohol would be served, since hurricanes and alcohol don't mix. Movies (Captain Ron) would be shown at 2030. in the chart briefing room. The power company would likely turn off electricity and television, but Moorings would run its generator (which would power everything but AC) as long as it could do so safely. We should use our mattresses to cover the sliding glass doors if necessary. The last hurricane Tortola had weathered was Bertha, during which the Moorings had successfully taken care of 400 guests. I estimated that there were fewer than 100 this time, so Moorings should have things well under control.

We, the crew of Braveheart, were reassigned to Room 30, on the second floor, so we cleared our stuff out of Suite 39 and the boat to prepare. (The suite, dangerously situated, was no longer available and was promptly boarded up.) Flashlights and extra batteries. Pitchers for fresh water. Toilet paper. Ice and a cooler. Munchies and beer. It was still hot and sunny, and we constantly checked the Weather Channel as Georges, which had peaked at 150 mph sustained winds, was slowly downgraded from 150 to 135 to 120 mph. Nevertheless, it was still a dangerous storm.

Moorings served a lunch of sandwiches and soda, now at their expense and not ours. Jeff also ordered french fries. We, and it seems the entire population of the Mariner Inn, hung out by the pool, catching rays and cooling off. We observed a menagerie of interesting people, including the young, privileged English girls, Jasmine and Chantal ("it's French, but I am not;" my grandmother has lots of diamonds;" "I'm going to university;" "I have two horses"); the Tennessee gals from Halcyon II who were next door to us in the hotel and were always impeccably groomed, never without their handbags, and had found a doctor to prescribe them Valium for the upcoming ordeal; and Brigada's hungover crew. A brief but strong squall rolled through mid-afternoon, and we saw its red blob on the satellite picture on the Weather Channel a few minutes later. All this lolling around and waiting was making us crazy; we wished Georges would just blow through!

Meanwhile, we demolished a bag of T's chocolate-chip cookies and drank a few beers, and did a bit of reading. We had a second briefing at 1600, with not much new to report. Dinner was served early: burgers, grouper and chicken. Moorings is doing a really good job taking care of us. After dinner, we took a stroll around the docks. The yachts are largely well-secured, but there are grills laying about, wheels not tied down, details to be attended to. We made sure Braveheart was OK. At 8 p.m., Rick, T, Kevin and I went to watch Captain Ron. Jeff was partying with the Tennessee gals and Russell and Bill, their platonic male friends. After the movie, T and I dangled our legs in the pool as we waited for the next Tropical Update. Not much new to report except that Georges had weakened a bit more.

Rick and I headed for bed. We took the mattress from the rollaway cot and set it up on the floor. T, Kevin and Jeff rolled in later, having partied with the Halcyon II gang, but I hardly stirred. At 0200, a tremendous rain squall rolled through.

Part 3>>

Home