A Sail of Two Idiots (26 page)

A diabetic recommended insulin, saying it would put Shaka into a coma. He would have a few convulsions, and that would be it. That may happen in humans, but it didn't happen with Shaka. Five minutes after I gave him the injection, I got a desperate e-mail from a vet telling me not to do it, but it was too late. What she said would happen sent chills up my spine, but watching it happen was horrifying.

The whole excruciating process took hours, with me staying with Shaka and Michael still running around town trying to find anything to end this faster. Once I realized how much pain Shaka was in, I decided to ask a boater for his gun. It sounds cruel, but it would have been much more humane than what was happening. I was on the VHF putting in the request when Shaka shuddered for the last time. It was the worst thing I've ever been through and something that should never happen to anyone else—ever. Except that it was happening to other people. Their dogs were licking poisonous toads and the toxins were like rattlesnake venom. The dogs suffered horribly.

We dinghied Shaka's furry little body to the smaller (cleaner) harbor and hiked into the mangroves before finding a good place to bury him. It took us a long time to recover from all that. Going to the stern of
Jacumba
, where I had been cradling Shaka, brought back all the awful sounds, the look in his eyes—all of it. Boaters wanted to talk about the robbery and the cat, but we didn't want to think about it so we didn't go ashore. We did appreciate
Half Moon
Becky's brownies, baked and delivered with love and sympathy.

The heart of
Jacumba
was gone. It was difficult returning to the boat and not having Shaka eagerly run out to greet us. To not have to move him from his favorite spot on the freezer so we could get into it. To not have him racing around the boat at 2 a.m. after his morning poop announcing this fact to everyone. He had been one of the reasons we had bought the boat, if you remember. After about two weeks, we started going to some of the social stuff again, but the damage had been done.

You softies who tuned out can start reading again, but note that Shaka has died.

Talk about needing a pep talk! The thought of quitting had crossed our minds again (without Shaka, we could travel by plane), but despite a rough couple of weeks we wanted to keep going. The robbery and even Shaka's overdose could have happened on land too. All this was making us stronger and testing our resolve. We were starting to feel like sailors; giving up now felt wrong. Okay, so we wouldn't quit, but hurricane season or not, we were leaving. We were sick of Luperon.

We had only a couple of months of hurricane season to go. After doing our research, we felt confident that Puerto Rico's hurricane holes were sufficiently safe. A hurricane hole is an anchorage that provides a good bottom for anchoring and protection from the wind and from storm surges. We decided that if something evil came our way, we'd run to Las Jobos, Bahia de Boqueron, or Bahia Fosforescente, just east of La Parguera, and hunker down. All were protected enough to be considered “safe” during hurricanes, and they had mangroves, which are held firm by their deep roots, preventing boats from being lifted and dragged when they're tied up to the plants. Many cruisers had spent summers in Puerto Rico's southern harbor of Salinas and fared just fine by tucking themselves into their favorite nearby hurricane holes when necessary.

We did want to leave on a good note, though, so we took part in the things we had come to love about the Dominican Republic before we left.

The Dominicans asked Michael to play on their team for an away baseball game (a real honor). The team won!

We celebrated Michael's forty-second birthday by going to our favorite restaurant, El Belga's. The food is prepared by a local woman in an outside kitchen with all fresh ingredients. She can seamlessly serve a table of eight a variety of dishes, all at the same time. Mashed potatoes with nutmeg? To die for.

The big day ended with karaoke. Our first time doing such a thing in front of people. And a last, too; it's just better that way …

Another birthday,
Half Moon
Joe's, involved salsa lessons, lots of sweat, and sore toes at the Upper Deck. Now that was fun.
Feliz cumpleaños, Jose
!

For our final send-off, we rented a car and stayed overnight in the town of Cabarete. We had stopped there on our earlier road trip and liked it. It's a very happening place, with all the colorful kite/windsurfers and crazy beach bars (including Irish, Spanish, English, and German).

Now we were ready for the next chapter of our sailing lives.

The day before we left, we excitingly prepped the boat by filling the fuel tanks and water tanks, replacing belts, changing the oil, servicing the dinghy, returning loaned books, and cleaning the boat bottom (as best we could). Although we're not big eaters while under sail, we made some food ahead of time, hoping we wouldn't feel nauseated throughout the journey.

We tried not to think too much about the fact that this would be the longest nonstop haul yet. Three days to be exact. We would always be within sight of land, so it wouldn't be as scary as it sounded, but we had never before tested our sailing stamina for this long.

We were also worried about traversing the Mona Passage (which runs north-south between the west end of the Dominican Republic and the east end of Puerto Rico). In the Bahamas, the problem was a deep ocean trying to squeeze through to a shallow(er) sea. That plus wrong weather equals gargantuan waves. In the Mona Passage, lots of ocean water squeezes through the gap between the islands. Although the water is deep on both sides, there are undulating depths. Combine the varying depths with the island squish factor, and weird currents and waves could make a trip unpleasant if you're caught there in the wrong conditions. Sigh.

Although we would take our respective watches on this trip (LESSON 65, The 15-minute rule), neither of us usually slept much in these situations due to noise, nerves, and excitement, so we knew we'd be entering the passage with 36 hours of little to no sleep, and we weren't sure how we'd fare. Our nerves! I picked a weather window that might involve some storms but would guarantee nearly flat seas, figuring we'd at least avoid the possibility of monster waves. There was only one way to find out if I made the right call; remember that weather/sea–condition sources can be wrong.

The day we were supposed to leave, we discovered that we had to cough up another $15 for each month we'd been anchored and another $20 to the commandant. I got into a screaming match with the officer. The “match” consisted of me yelling in pidgin Spanish that we had already paid him his “tip” (
propina
) when we first arrived, and Mr. Commandant smiling at me until I forked over the money, all the while saying, “
No dinero, no despachio”
(
de embarcaciones
/exit visa).
Burro
! So we had to make one more run to the ATM. At least the moto-concho rides were fun.

On October 2, 2007, we took off under the jealous eyes of other cruisers. We'd take our chances,
gracias. Adios amigos
! Oh wait, we still had to take our deworming pills. I'm not kidding …

The second starter battery died and needed to be replaced.

We had an antifreeze coolant leak, a broken water hose, and an overheated water pump, but the Dominican Republic had people who could work on this kind of stuff and all problems got fixed. Both water pumps were repaired for much less than new ones would have cost.

We also fixed the freezer fan, the solar panels, and an electrical short in the mast wiring leading to the navigation light.

A bilge pump broke; when we tried to replace it, we punched holes in our water tank. We fixed that too.