Tuesday, October 17, 1995 - Venezula, On way to Isla Margarita

Lightning kept flashing, and the wind kept blowing all through Roy's watch. The autopilot couldn't deal with it, so he had to hand-steer, but I lucked out. Shortly after I started my one a.m. watch, the wind died to nothing and the sea flattened out. We were in the lee of Venezuela's mountains! After that, it was a piece of cake. I headed directly for the point we planned on taking refuge behind. The autopilot worked flawlessly. Soon, I could see land on the radar screen as well as with my bare eyeballs. To my left, the light on Farallon Centinela was blinking merrily, confirming our position. Even the moon came out to light our way in. Everything was perfect! When Roy came on at three, we were within four miles of the point. The land showed clearly on radar. We had no reefs or coral heads or sand-spits to worry about. It was a cinch. What a contrast to Los Roques! Anchoring was marred by one weird mishap. Somehow, the line to the anchor float got all snarled up and caught on the roller. Roy had to cut it to get it free, but he saved the float, and the rest of the line was still attached to the anchor, so it was no big deal. What a relief to be peacefully anchored in a sheltered location! Sometimes, cruising in a sailboat reminds me of the corny joke about the guy who kept hitting himself over the head with a hammer because it felt so good when he stopped. After a restful sleep, we awoke to a beautiful world. We were surrounded on three sides by densely wooded hills. To the northwest was the sea, flat and calm. In front of us were small beaches, a few tiny houses, and a blue trimaran. We relaxed and enjoyed a lazy day on the boat. We would have liked to go ashore but can't because we haven't cleared in yet. When Roy checked the fuel, we still had about thirty gallons in the tank plus another five in a jerry can. We decided to make El Morro de Barcelona, 85 miles away, our next stop. There's a fuel dock there, so we'll replenish our diesel supply and then go the remaining ninety miles to Isla Margarita. I plotted the course, and Roy replaced the alternator that had fried last night. We sure go through a lot of alternators.