The Dingo Diaries

WHY DID THE CHICKEN CROSS THE ROAD?

To get to the beach of course!

I've just returned from a quick Labor Day trip to Tortola in the British Virgin Islands where I spent my time lollygagging on the beach with a roving posse of wild chickens.

Months ago I got a great deal with a handful of frequent flier miles, and scored an airfare from Boston to Tortola for the rich sum of $19.30.

Because the islands are currently in their low season/hurricane season, facilities are limited and most hotels and restaurants are closed for the summer. I was lucky enough to be the only guest of a lovely little hotel on the beach, which I also had to myself, except for the aforementioned chooks. Each day random combinations of 3 roosters and 4 hens would drop from the trees overhanging the beach where they spent their evenings, and make their way about 20 meters to a sea grape tree where they would forage in the sand for any of the fruit that may have fallen. This parade continued perhaps half a dozen times a day, but included a quick stop to give me a look over, or, as happened on a couple of occasions, a lucky poke through my beach bag to score a sandwich.

You see initially, I made the mistake of assuming a lunch snack in a paper bag would be safe from marauding bird life while I ran back to my room to retrieve a cold beer. My bad. I've been robbed and cajoled a few times in my travels, but this was the first time I returned to find a rooster on my beach towel, busted in the act of burying his head inside my purse and reappearing with a freshly baked whole wheat roll. And the really disturbing part is he looked at me just like he knew he was busted too.

My trip away was my first real break after returning to work after almost 5 years of roaming the world. I've been here in Maine for about 7 months now, and I really enjoyed the return to a tropical climate. Sunning on the beach, with a cold beer, looking over my toes to the water isn't a bad way to regroup.

My prelude to Chook Beach was a sailing victory on my first non-stop overnight sailing race. After a solid 17 1/2 hours of high winds, gusting at times up to 20 knots, we had one sweet ride from Portland along the Maine coast to Monhegan Island and back home again. A total of about 119 miles. Our rotating 4 hours shifts were abandoned after the first watch due to weather conditions, so with "all hands on deck at all times", I spent a solid 30 hours without sleep but was rewarded with a victory, the first for our skipper, for Beausoleil and me.

The first hour of the race was a southbound leg that had us against quiet ferocious conditions. The wind gusts were so high that spinnakers were exploding and shredding like party balloons, and boats were "broaching" like spinning tops as each gust traveled through the gaggle of boats.

Let me pause here to explain what "broaching" means.

All have you have seen sail boats "heeling" in high winds - the winds become strong and the boat tilts to it's side, almost like it's about to lay over. "Broaching" is when the boat tilts SO far over, the boom hits the water which causes the boat to stop and "spin" in about a 90 degree turn.

Now, I've been a real trooper with this sailing gig. High waters, pissing down rain, but my first time experiencing this sailing phenomena coincides with the first time I ever had that "this is it - the moment I die" feeling.

Seriously, the very moment I saw this happen, I turned from the rail I was clinging on to, looked behind me and saw water right below me. I thought that this was the moment I was going to lose my life, and it was going to be in a sailing accident.

Fortunately, in my enthusiasm for the sport, I did my homework from the beginning and learned some of the core physics of sailing such as the size and weight of the keel underwater, and the relationship to the mast and sails above the boat, and knew that is was impossible for the boat to capsize. Although I was immediately able to return to more rational thoughts, I did some 2 hours solid of white knuckling on the rails. Of course this to me was pure adrenaline induced joy.

Because the race has a long tradition and is a well-known event in the sailing community, we had media coverage. There are a series of photos of our boat here, but this image in particular captures the EXACT moment I turned and saw my life flash BEHIND me. You can see me on the rail, second from the left in a green t-shirt. A moment I will never forget.

http://207.5.197.148/%7Ewave16/2006/mon06/source/mon06_090.htm

As the day progressed we cruised with a few dozen pods of dolphins, witnessed a beautiful sunset, and when night fell, a full moon and a sky full of meteor showers.

We enjoyed a truly gourmet dinner prepared by our grinder who on overnight races double as our chef. We had a delicious meal of salad and veggie lasagna, then later at about 2am, coffee and brownies baked in the oven. This was my favorite part - because we were sailing so fast, the boat was consistently on a slope. That resulted in brownies that were about 2 inches high, moist and chewy on one side, and about a 1/2 an inch and crisp on the other!

Here's the article from the paper:

http://pressherald.mainetoday.com/sports/local/stories/060814boats.shtml

As the summer comes to a screeching halt, there's only one regatta left to race this weekend. I had been worrying about my withdrawal from the water until yesterday when I signed up for "frostbiting". That's a season of racing ynglings (22 foot boats, 3-4 crew) from October to December in the North East. Think of the Postie - through rain, hail, snow and sleet.

For true sailors indeed.

But before long it will be time to start planning my next Turbo Tubing trip......

Love to you all,

Leanne.