Cabo Cruz to Cayo Cachiboca
Marea del Portillo to Cabo Cruz, approx. 50 miles west. Our first day sail in Cuba. We left Marea at 08:00 on April 18, sailing and motoring in 8-10 knot winds from the E. No other sailboats sighted, and no fishing boats either until we neared Cabo Cruz. This beautiful coastline has virtually no boat traffic at all.
We sailed early from Marea del Portillo to arrive at Cabo Cruz well before sunset. The pretty town, with it's tall lighthouse, sits on an elbow of land thrust out into the sea. Cabo Cruz is almost entirely exposed to the ocean, except for a long, protecting coral reef that juts out for a mile or more past land's end. From Sea Quill's deck, it looked especially enticing, a real "salty sailors" town.
After a tense approach around the long coral spit, where we found ourselves sailing over coral patches for the first time in water so clear that the depths looked deceptively shallow, we nudged our way as far into the shoaling harbor as the pilot guide recommended, and then dropped our anchor. Our anchorage appeared to be far out in the sea, yet we were well protected by the long coral reef.
We were still so far from town, that we wondered if the Guarda would come to us at all, or whether we should take the dinghy in to meet them. But within a few minutes we saw the tell-tale rowboat inching its way across the long harbor towards us, two rowers fighting hard against a stiff west wind.
But when the Guarda arrived, we were told that we could not disembark. In remedial Spanish, Jen asked the reason, but received only one answer, "orders." She tried rephrasing the question: When did the restriction begin? No answer. When might it end? No answer. We could anchor off, or explore the reef in our dinghy, but the town of Cabo Cruz was off limits. Did it have something to do with the "drug package in the sea" story that we had heard in Marea del Portillo?
Disappointed, but too tired to begin another long passage, we decided to take a floating vacation, and hang out in the harbor for another day. The Guarda agreed to return with our "despacho," our sailing permit, at 06:00 in two days. And they did, promptly. In pre-dawn darkness, at the appointed time, the same boat returned, with three friendly Guarda and our despacho. They stayed for coffee, but wondered how we could drink so much all at once, and without any sugar?
In the interim, we swam and watched the government fishing boats working all around us. The fishing fleet of Cabo Cruz was very active, motoring past throughout the day in their rusted out ferro-cement boats. Waving and friendly, they passed Sea Quill more closely than necessary -- perhaps as curious about us as we were about them -- but they never stopped to talk.
After studying the charts every which way, we decided to avoid the coral and shoal-strewn Golfo de Guacanayabo, and shoot straight out for the Archipelago de los Jardines de la Reina, a string of uninhabited white sand and mangrove islands at the south end of the Golfo de Ana Maria. The first anchorage that seemed adequately protected was another 80 miles away, so we prepared ourselves for another overnighter. We chose Cayo Cachiboco for our next anchorage, for its all-weather protection and lack of coral. It turned out to be a good decision, since we grounded Sea Quill in soft, shoaling sand (but no coral) trying to sort out our entry too early in the morning to see where the deep water channel lay. Luckily, our "landing" was soft and Sea Quill swung free with a little help from the engine.
Once we found the deep water channel (and figured out how to make true to magnetic compass conversions, as a result), we motored in, and found ourselves in absolutely transparent water in the center of a wide ring of mangrove cays. The hook had barely touched the sand before Ulf announced that he needed a power nap; and, instantly, he was unconscious atop the dinghy. "Busted" is a good word to describe how we feel after overnight sails. Trading watches every 3-4 hours throughout the night, often with a squall or two thrown in, followed by tense hours of entering and anchoring in unfamiliar waters, we both are stupid tired when we arrive.
We were totally alone. No civilization, no other boats, just ducks, herons, ospreys... and a 4 foot barracuda for company. Still, even though we were a hundred miles from anywhere, hanging off the edge of the Caribbean, we half expected a Guarda boat to come rowing out from behind a hedge of mangrove. Sure enough, an hour or so later, a small motor boat shot out of a break in the trees, and three friendly guys boarded Sea Quill. We were wrong, though. They were not the Guarda, just park rangers for the Jardines de la Reina, which is protected national park. Most courteously, they ignored Ulf's fishing rods, which were already out on deck, while they explained to us that fishing is not allowed in the park.
Later that afternoon, we noticed something strange. The wind was blowing hard from North, but Sea Quill was floating quickly North, and the dinghy was hanging off the beam on a slack line. What the heck? We both freaked out, certain that we were dragging fast towards the islands. It took us a couple minutes to figure out that we were anchored firmly in the middle of a powerful mid-sea river channel, lying to the tide in an opposing 20 knot wind. As the sun set, and the wind strengthened, we decided to set a second bow anchor, plus the Danforth off the stern: river anchoring in the sea. As Ulf started off to set the stern anchor, the dinghy rushed away so quickly in the strong current, that Ulf is just a blur in these pictures....
Having learned another good lesson about anchoring (not to mention the lesson of coming in when the sun is high and the light is good), we spent the next several days in Cayo Cachiboco in relaxed bliss, with nothing to do but sit in the sun, swim, watch the wildlife, and walk the beach. The only people we saw were the occasional fishing boat that passed through on its way from one fishing station to another, and the park rangers, who zoomed by once daily for a quick glance..
We were now getting low on fresh food and water, particularly because we had missed the chance to buy anything in Cabo Cruz, but Jen started beginner's baking and we both developed a liking for the $1 "wine" we had bought from the lone cafeteria in Marea del Portillo. It comes in a used, 2-liter plastic soda bottle, and tastes delicious if you remember to think of it as armagnac instead of wine.
One day when Ulf was bored of beach-combing, he decided to do a little "boat improvement" and freshen up the head with a new coat of paint. He dug out the can of paint we bought for the project back in Jamaica, and got to work scraping away old paint and linoleum. Before long, he was swearing in Swedish (sounds like "FAAHN! OX OH!"). Under the old linoleum, he uncovered an earlier patch job that had blocked off the drain hole for the shower. Shower water had been collecting under the floor boards, rotting out the wood. The bathroom floor was destroyed, and much worse -- the mast foot -- which stands at the lowest point beneath the shower floor. Ulf scraped out the mushy mast foot with a screwdriver. It was a bad day in Cayo Cachiboca.
Fearing the worst, we decided we'd better get back to civilization. Without knowing, we had sailed on a soft mast foot, but we didn't want to risk sailing on it again, now that we knew. We made up our minds to motor straight for Cienfuegos, the next big city, one with a boat yard, where we hoped to find hard wood and maybe some advice.
On our last night in Cayo Cachiboca we listened to the weather report on the SSB. The wind would be 15-18 knots from the E/SE -- perfect for our route to Cienfuegos. Not daring to risk sailing, but hating to waste that good wind, we decided to atleast try out our mizzen for the first time for some stability. We rigged the mizzen sail and admired Sea Quill in her full wardrobe... suddenly, she looked so much more complete. Hey, having two masts ain't so bad.
It was late afternoon and a fishing boat had come up close to the nearest island and dropped anchor. Riding by in our dinghy, the fishermen beckoned us to come over. They were standing by the beach, up to their hips in water, trying to fix an underwater leak in their tender, a rotting wooden skiff with an old Russian diesel truck engine inboard (a typical set-up we saw over and over in Cuba). The prop shaft was leaking, but they couldn't remove the bolt to fix it. The bolt was completely stripped, and they only had two rusty wrenches for tools. Neither was the right size. We went to pick up our tools, to see if they might help.
The fishermen were government employees, but they had no tools, no spare parts, and two dilapidated, leaking boats... yet they were fishing off-shore waters for weeks at a time for the Cuban government. We were amazed at the working conditions they endured, and risked. With our wrenches, one man was finally able to loosen the bolt, but then he had nothing to replace it with, and neither did we. It seemed like a disaster to us, but the fishermen weren't too upset. How do you say "C'est la vie" in Spanish?
As night fell, a tour guide for the park service zoomed up in his speedboat (where there are tourists in Cuba, the boats are in better shape). They all knew each other. The tour guide handed Jen a large mango for a gift. We thanked him, mentioning that we had completely run out of fresh fruit and vegetables... so his gift would be a special treat. We also mentioned that we would be leaving the next morning.
At dawn the next day, we weighed all three anchors (by hand, by the way... did we mention that we don't have a working anchor windlass?) Just as we were setting off from Cayo Cachiboca, the speed boat zoomed out to Sea Quill again, this time with a young driver. He handed us a plastic bag full of oranges and mangos; his father, the man who had given us the mango the evening before, wanted us to have something fresh for our journey.