Deliverance is a small supply boat that daily visits several island anchorages selling everything from fresh veggies to wine and most importantly ICE! They were running late and didn't expect to be to us until 6. Until then we would have our drinks the traditional English way -- without ice. <br><br>Steve and Pat had more energy than us. Once returned from the caves, they showered and then decided to explore Billy Bones. I kept a watch out for Deliverance. Later when they returned, Steve called them on the radio and found that we weren't the only ones needing ice. That little floating market was taking orders! Someone had the nerve to reserve 6 bags! We just needed 2.<br><br>6pm came and went along with the light. Shortly we were in dark. The binoculars went from person to person trying to spy the moving red light (the port side) of the boat. Finally we found it and Steve leapt into the dinghy and took off in the direction we pointed. Then it started to rain!<br><br><br>The rain in the islands is wonderful. It is their life's blood -- without rain many of the islands would be uninhabitable. Our little cottage on Cooper Island only survives on the rain that falls. There is a cistern below the house and the water is pumped up to a holding tank that feeds the faucets. Waste is frowned upon. Some summers when we've been there, we've jealously watched the rain fall on Tortola, completely missing us. A rare summer downpour is greeted with open arms. But the winter months have daily rain showers and frequent night showers of which the call of "RAIN!" brings barely dressed boatpeople out of their bunks to close every port that is open. Tonight's rain, though, was tremendous.<br><br><br>Steve appeared back shortly at the boat empty handed. He had gotten caught in the torrent, unable to see through his glasses and had completely lost sight of Deliverance. While he waited, the rain stopped and we respotted the little boat and he was off again!<br><br>VICTORY! Steve and our precious melting commodity returned! We collected dry towels and a shot of rum for him. He was drenched and cold. I made rum punches all around -- with ICE! -- and we started to make dinner as Steve warmed and dried. Hamburgers in paradise!<br><br>While the meat was on the grill I heard voices ahead of us. "I don't want to go UNDER their boat!" I walked forward and sensed in the darkness a small dinghy clutching our mooring ball. These two people were looking for their boat, completely lost. I called for Steve and he queried them on their confusion. Their motor had died and they couldn't get it restarted and had begun to drift. <br><br>All this time our hamburgers were cooking!<br><br>As they drifted past our stern Steve got, once again, into our dinghy and went off to rescue them. Pat got on the radio and made an open call to find their boat. "Sundown, Sundown, Sundown, we have your dinghy in tow. Please flash your cabin lights to we can locate you." (The name of the boat has been changed to protect the stupid) She repeated this call several times. The very funny thing about this was that every boat within the Bight (and beyond) could hear this embarrassing message. The occupants in the dinghy admitted that their crew probably didn't have the radio on and, had they, probably wouldn't have known how to operate it. <br><br>Through some well done detective work Steve figured out which boat was theirs. And returned them. Our hamburgers were STILL on the grill. So much for rare!<br><br>After dinner the guys finished off the port. And we fought a losing battle with closing eyes and retired about 11.<br><br><br>Monday! Sad. This was our last day. We were heading back to our base to clear out with Mike and prepare to leave early Tuesday. We dropped the ball at 10:45 and left.<br><br>It was going to be a day of sailing. The wind was coming directly from the east so we would have 3 or 4 hours of tacking. The winds were strong and we reefed (shortened) the mainsail and started out. I estimated 7 tacks. Steve said more. The water was heavy, about 6 to 9 ft swells with white tops. I had taken my Dramamine! The wind was clocked at 28 kts at one point and we were flying! 10.5 kts. The sun felt good and the air was strong. We finished in 9 tacks.<br><br>At 2:30 Steve radioed the BareCat base that we were coming into Fat Hog's Bay and Mike came out to bring us in. This was the worst part. Time to pack and clean out the boat. I went to the store and bought some bread and made peanut butter and jam sandwiches for everyone. It was my job to dump all our garbage for the past seven days, Pat cleaned out the galley, my Steve started packing us up and Pat's Steve cleaned up the decks. At 4pm Mike came around to check us out. All was returned well. No damage. Just a great time. <br><br>For dinner we decided to go into Roadtown. There was a very popular spot called C&F. Our taxi driver took us there and agreed to return at 8:00. When we got there we were only the fourth table but by the time we left they place was packed with a line out the door and down the street. RIBS! God! They were good. More food than we could ever eat and we decided to bring the leftovers back to have for lunch the next day when we were on route home. <br><br> Our taxi driver took us back over Ridge Road for a spectacular night view. It was difficult to distinguish between the stars and distant lights. At one point he stopped the car and pointed to the northern horizon -- Anegada. This island was 14 miles away and little more than a reef but a sought after sailing destination. Mike had given us permission to sail up there and Steve was ecstatic. But after studying the charts and wind direction realized we would have to postpone the trip for another year. He was really disappointed. That Monday night we sat on Ridge Road and saw the faintly twinkling lights on the island. Maybe next time......... <br><br>The four of us were simply wasted. When we got back to the boat it was all we could do to share one last bottle of champagne. Tomorrow would come VERY early. And we had a long day ahead of us.<br><br><br>At 7am we were up and made our last pot of coffee. We didn't really have much food left for breakfast. I took spoonfuls of what was left of the peanut butter. Someone found some cereal. It was quiet. Everyone packed and cleaned and off loaded the duffels onto the dock. Our taxi driver, Ritzel, would arrive about 8:30. We had a 10:30 ferry from West End. Our flight from St. Thomas wasn't until 3:30. Steve and Pat would return directly to Miami and we would connect to our New York flight there. It would be another long day.<br><br>We bid goodbye to Mike and Sydney. They were everything we had heard them to be. Both happy, helpful people going about their daily duties -- caring for their cats and clients. We would certainly never hesitate to recommend them in the future. WildCat Steve and his family had left for their flight at 7am. <br><br>Ritzel arrived as promised. He and Mike loaded all our bags into the back and we took off. <br><br>Pat wanted to take Ridge Road, again, down the island and so up we started.<br><br>It was another crystal blue day. All the islands could be seen for miles around. The roads reminded all of us of Scotland -- single-track roads but with the most treacherous switchbacks. Ritzel knew every pothole and speed bump. I asked him how often he replaced his brakepads and he said every month. It was true. Cars on this island take a beating and only the bravest tourists drive. <br><br>In the daylight we saw all the small lush green islands surrounding Tortola and Virgin Gorda. Guana, Camaneo, the Dogs - to the east, and Ginger, Cooper, Salt, Peter, Norman - the south. A white flurry of sailboats dotted the aqua water like so many random snowflakes. Ritzel stopped the van each time we came to a particularly good view and Pat and I crawled all over each other to get that perfect picture. Steve had given her a new camera for Christmas and she was having a ball with it.<br><br>Down we came eventually on the west side on the island. Brewer's Bay, Cane Garden Bay -- packed with boats. Down and around further onto the southwest side. Now we saw Carrot Bay, Apple Bay, and eventually Long Bay. We made a couple of stops and then headed over to West End. The whole trip had taken an hour and we were in time for the boat.<br><br>After getting our tickets, we and a hundred other people, waited to board the ferry. First, the bags were stowed and at 10:40 everyone crowded around the one open door to board. Once on board it was clear that there were far more people than the boat could hold. Several agitated folks started to raise their voices. They were going to miss their flights if we waited much longer. And it was clear to us that we weren't leaving anytime soon. Finally, they off loaded us and, after much confusion, another larger ferry was brought around and all the bags were transferred and again we boarded and found seats and the boat pushed off at noon. I was pretty embarrassed by the angry Americans who spouted off their insults and impatience. They swore they would NEVER return to Tortola! GREAT! I was happy to know I would never see THEM again!<br><br>The boat traced back the route Steve and I had taken just a week earlier. We were sunnier though and more relaxed but certainly more dirty! Pat and I took pictures of each other and laughed and pointed to the obscene hotels clutching the cliffs of St. Thomas and I wondered what these folks would have done without hair driers or color TVs on Krazy Kat.<br><br>We scooted through customs and immigration and grabbed another car and headed off for the airport. We were starved, having forgotten the ribs in the fridge on the boat (SOMEONE had a GREAT lunch!). For the record, 2 tablespoons of peanut butter for breakfast don't go very far. Surely there was a MacDonald's in the terminal………..<br><br>$7.50 for a cheeseburger at the airport's only cafe! They must have been kidding! I picked up some trail mix and Steve and I shared it while Steve and Pat had lunch with William F. Buckley and his wife, Pat. Ok, so they didn't have lunch DIRECTLY with them but they shared air space.<br><br>Right on time at 3:30 we were on the plane. I was stopped at the gate and my black duffle was taken from me for being too large. Of course Steve had gotten through with his identical one. I just hoped they had taken the one with the dive gear and not the other with all our worldly goods. I have bad experiences with American Airlines. My bags always seem to end up where I'm not. One year just our dirty clothes came home with us from Scotland. Another occasion, we landed in London and our bags landed in St. Martin. On another separate trip, it took the airline 3 days to get my bags back to me at home in La Jolla. <br><br>We settled in our seats and soon we were cruising away from the islands. I looked out the window and down on the Turks and Cacaos and asked Pat if these looked like likely destinations for the NEXT Millennium -- after all we all know that New Year's 2000 is the REAL Millennium! Another reason to party!<br><br>Shortly after 5 we landed in Miami and the four of us hugged and kissed goodbye. Steve and Pat went home to their kitties and we went off in search of our gate for the flight to New York. Once there, we relaxed with a found New York Times and more trail mix. When I went to discover which duffle we had with us I found it WAS the dive bag but luckily I had packed a change of clothes in a smaller bag and I changed out of my shorts and t-shirt into my jeans and red fleece in preparation for the Northeast cold. At 7:00 our flight was called and we boarded. <br><br>Our seats were bulkhead seats next to an emergency exit so we had lots of legroom. We sat on the plane for 30 minutes when the captain came on the intercom and announced that our flight would be delayed due to traffic in the New York area. Not only would we be delayed but they were allowing anyone who wanted to get off the plane to do so. Steve and I sat tight knowing we had comfortable seats. Out the books came. We didn't have the cushy 1st Class seats we had enjoyed on our trip south but we weren't pinned in like so many others on board. <br><br>At 8:25 we all were ready to go! The plane pulled away from the gate and headed for the runway. But again we were motionless and then the engines stopped. The patient captain spoke with us and told us we were under another hold due to NY traffic. We sat on the side approach. <br><br>I was tired. We had had a long full day I just wanted to go home and crawl into my bed. My stomach started to hurt. REALLY hurt. I was also hungry and that wasn't helping. But of course my pain pills were in the other duffle. STUPID ME! When the airline personnel took my bag I should have pulled out the toiletry bag. But I didn't and now it was getting really bad. I started to cry. Embarrassed! I simply had to relax but I couldn't. <br><br>The attendant who sat right in from of us in the jump seat asked if there was anything she could get me and I explained that what I needed were my codeine pills and they were in the plane's hold. Which upset me even further. She suggested a drink to calm me and I said yes. She went into 1st Class and brought me back a rum and tonic. The three of us had a friendly conversation and then Steve and I started to play twenty questions. Gradually, I felt some relief. <br><br>Finally at 9:15 the pilot told us we had a go for takeoff and everyone got ready to take off. And we DID! The trip north was unremarkable and at 11:55 we landed -- almost two hours after we were due into New York. I was exhausted but could sense my pillows. They were calling to me. <br><br>By the time we unlocked our apartment door it was WELL after midnight (I think, 1am). We had been in transit for over 15 hours. Steve and I shared a shower and fell into bed.<br><br> <br>Wednesday morning Steve went into work late and I started to comprehend getting back to my schedule at school and volunteering at the Horticultural Society. Yes, January was settling in.<br><br><br>In hindsight, I think about the whole experience of the trip. <br><br>It was the most stunning I have shared with friends -- that while most of you were watching CNN, ABC, NBC, CBS and FOX broadcast the arrival January 1, 2000, we were searching for news of the new year and never really found it. The very first I saw of all the celebration was when my TIME magazine appeared in my mailbox a week after our return with photos of the spectacular events from Samoa to Beijing to Egypt to Paris to London to New York City to San Francisco to Hawaii. This news junky (me) missed it all. But we were in a spectacular wilderness with our best friends - friends who have witnessed some of the most thrilling moments of Steve's and my relationship and some of our disappointments as well. They have shared their thoughts, dreams and souls with us at quiet meaningful times. Pat's Steve and I would arise for coffee before our spouses and share simple views with each other; my Steve and Pat would spend careful minutes during the anchoring process observing diving birds and sailing fish while catching mooring balls or dropping the anchor. These, while being solitary times, were reuniting for friends who seeming knew each other all their lives and would continue to do so; through thick and thin. Through distances in space but in their hearts as well. <br><br>A new Millennium has begun. <br><br><br>A flurry of sails dot the aqua mirrored water <br>Like three pointed snowflakes from the north.<br>I sink back onto the pillows of our bed <br>Where my love rests and dreams of……… <br><br><br><br>
