Marina Puerto Chico Receives Infrastructure Boost

Puerto Rico has always been a beacon for cruisers, offering a blend of recreational and essential amenities. With attractions ranging from sightseeing to shopping and the essentials of chandleries and airports, Puerto Rico’s appeal is undeniable.

BIG Grant and Its Impact

Soon, finding a slip space in Fajardo’s sought-after east coast will be easier than ever. Marina Puerto Chico has collaborated with the Puerto Rico Department of Natural and Environmental Resources, securing a Boating Infrastructure Grant (BIG) totaling $1.137 million. This grant will pave the way for new dock construction, elevating transient dockage. A significant part of the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service’s BIG program, the grant is among the whopping $20 million earmarked for 2023, with a singular vision: enhancing marinas and related boating infrastructure, thereby promoting outdoor recreation.

Features and Amenities of the New Construction

With the grant’s backing, Marina Puerto Chico is set to unveil 41 slips. Among these, 19 will be transient slips, augmented by a floating wave attenuator. Designed to house boats of varying sizes, with a cap of 50 feet, the new slips promise versatility. But the expansion isn’t merely about numbers. Boaters can look forward to a slew of amenities, including:

• A dedicated restroom/shower building
• State-of-the-art sanitary pump-out facilities
• An ADA-compliant gangway
• A strategically located fuel dock

Further enhancing the marina’s resilience, the new docks, paired with the floating wave attenuator, are expected to mitigate wave and storm impacts. By targeting both local and out-of-state boaters for short-term stays, the marina’s expansion doesn’t step on the toes of local marinas focusing on long-term tenants.

Financial Backing and Future Prospects

Grand Caribbean Marinas, the proud owner of Marina Puerto Chico, is committed to the project’s success. They’ve pledged an additional $968,582, ensuring that the project sees the light of day.

Marlon Mellado, the driving force behind Grand Caribbean Marinas and a significant player in Puerto Rico’s marina landscape, pegged the project’s total estimated cost at $4.5 million as of January. Mellado believes this initiative marks a pivotal step in amplifying boating infrastructure while also boosting tourism in the Fajardo community.

“Never trust a man who leaves his wood plane on its sole,” my father often told me. I grew up covered in wood chips and sanding dust in shipyards during the 1950s. Our medium was wood. We had no power tools—our extension cords were primarily for light bulbs. We were our own source of energy; our bodies, our brawn, our sturdy backs. And our vessels were the direct products of our muscles and, well, perhaps a few brain cells as well. 

Take the lowly block plane, as example. We were careful with its blade, especially around used timber. If we hit a nail and nicked the blade, it would take a long time to grind, polish, and sharpen out. 

Planes were all about the blade. That’s why we never set a plane on its sole—because continuously setting it on its fragile, thin cutting edge soon dulled it. And, of course, increased the chances of the blade getting nicked. 

And, yes, nomenclature was important. Planes had soles, not bottoms or downsides. We knew that if we wanted to do precise work, we needed to have precise words to nurture it. 

Sharpening the blade of a block plane was an art for two reasons. First, the blade had to be sharpened at the precise angle it was machined so it would be parallel with the sole.  Second, it couldn’t be sharpened with a circular motion because that would, eventually, slightly round-the blade—making it more difficult to plane a truly flat surface.

Sailcloth … Art and Science

Silly? These tools-with-blades weren’t throw-aways. I still have planes I used with my father on the schooner Elizabeth (mid-1950s) and chisels my father used on the sloop Dorothy (late-1920s), nearly a hundred years ago.

We were so protective of our plane blades back in the day, that we carried in our toolbox a second plane with a damaged blade in case we had to plane some used timber that might have a hidden fastening lurking within. 

Up until now, we’ve only mentioned small block planes—but there were also bench planes, jack planes, jointer planes, and more. Molding planes, intended to make multi-surfaced trim pieces often had numerous blades. 

Want to shape your round spar? Then a compass plane with a curved blade (oh, what a bitch to sharpen!) was just the thing. 

Bullnose planes could be finely adjusted and were great for delicate trim work. Rabid Filister planes had adjustable fences. If you wanted to prepare the edges of some Sitka Spruce for a glued box mast, a jointer plane was just the thing. And we haven’t even mentioned dovetail, router, chisel, or plow planes. Bench planes were called that because every shipwright had one on his work bench, within easy reach. 

Even the lowly block plane came in two versions—a 20-degree angle blade for general application, a 12-degree blade for hardwoods like teak. 

And some wood butchers (an affectionate name for a master carpenter) scoffed at metal. They had a whole tool chest of wooden-bodied planes with metal blades, but wood bodies. These were said to be ‘kinder to the surface’ and ‘less sticky.’

Replacing the Windows on the Dodger

Yes, the soles of planes were sometimes waxed, especially if you were planning sappy, just-cut timber. 

The wood itself was of utmost importance—the elm you’d steam for a deck beam was different than the oak you’d steam for a frame. (Boats don’t have ribs—and you’d be tossed out of a shipyard for such blasphemy.)

Mahogany was just soft and stable enough for planking—but not too soft, like the spruce that was perfect for spars. 

Other considerations were: strength and rot resistance. Did the wood split at the fastenings? Did it warp? Could it hold paint? If the vessel was headed for the tropics, how did it stand up to teredo worms? Or, even worse, in some waters were the boring gribbles? (Great name for a marine rock group: the Boring Gribbles!)

For example: teak is wonderful because of its sturdy oils—which, alas, makes it a poor wood for laminating. 

Everything on a boat is a compromise.

And we haven’t even talked about chisels. I still carry over a dozen on Ganesh—which is about half the number of different types in regular use when I was a child. Nowadays buyers at Walmart are usually limited to the flat chisel—good luck finding a firmer, mortise, paring, or construction chisel. 

Yes, of course, paring chisels were used to gently pare joints. (Sounds quaint, doesn’t it?)

Beyond the Reef: Sunken Planes & Pirate Ship Newest BVI Dive Sites

And we haven’t gotten to a cold chisel yet—those were usually used on metal. 

Shapes of chisels were important: flat, cross cut, side cut, round nose, diamond point, and cow mouth were common. 

A close cousin to the chisel to a 1950s shipwright was a caulking iron. 

Both chisels and caulking irons weren’t hit by hammers but rather hardwood mallets. These came in different varieties and weights. For carving, I used a large, round wooden shape—if made of Lignum Vitae, all the better. Rubber tipped hammers and bumping hammers were okay for chiseling, if the head was big enough. 

Caulking mallets and irons were a ‘hole ‘nother story. I was taught to caulk seams by professionals at Rentner’s Boat Yard, every one of which had a large portable wooden bin with a long bar handle that he’d carry up onto the scaffolding with him while caulking. Inside were dozens of irons and at least six mallets. 

Each seam varied in width. You caulked by sound, not sight and the wider the seam, the shorter the ‘tucks’ or ‘nips’ of cotton were. You didn’t fill the entire seam with cotton. You made the cotton into a tight ball towards the rear of the seam and used Woolsey’s seam compound to flush it out. (I still smell that seam compound in my dreams!)

That’s right—strands of cotton caulking were never laid upon each other. A single strand of cotton was used and the trick was getting the ‘packing’ tight yet not blowing out the inside edge of the seam. 

If done right, the wood would squeeze around the cotton. When you removed a well-caulked plank, you’d be able to clearly see the round indentation of the cotton in the plank edges. 

Caulking is nearly a lost art now in the West. Luckily, I can occasionally still hear the sound of mallets from Malaysia, where wooden boat building still thrives. 

There’s a problem with wood—it is milled straight and flat but nothing on a boat is. I’ve Spanish-windlassed (wound two strands of wire with an inserted stick) my planks onto my frames. However, in the area where the garboard meets the horn timber, not only must the planks bend in, they must also twist. 

Luckily, most shipyards in the 1950s had an old discarded metal/porcelain bathtub hanging around just for this purpose. We’d haul it near our vessel, fill it with water, then build a raging fire underneath. Next, we jammed heating ducts just above the water—and cover the whole mess with a tarpaulin, careful not to allow the tarred canvas to ignite. 

Complicated? Difficult? Time-consuming?

You bet!

Then we’d slip our planks into those heating ducts and ‘cook’ them for just the right amount of time. Then we’d snatch them out and bend/twist them into place before they cooled.

Looking for a Good Cruising Sail? Tips and Guidelines for Dacron

On Corina, my 1932 Atkins double-ender, I steam-bent all my deck beams using a heavily constructed frame that was two inches greater than the crown of my deck. Once off the frame, the beams relaxed into the perfect crown. (Deck crowns are a whole different subject—just be aware that they are not a fair curve, even to this day.)

All this stuff wasn’t easy. It was fun to learn in the abstract but difficult to master in the practical. In fact, paying the deadwood seam on a wooden carvel vessel was so extremely difficult that the seam became widely known as the Devil. 

This is where we get the saying, “…the devil to pay!” 

And if a sailor falls overboard and starts drowning, he might be saved if still splashing on the surface—but he’s a goner if he’s ‘…between the Devil and the deep blue sea.”

I could, of course, go on and on. Drawspokes, anyone? Do you know how to swing an adze? Both were common in my day—as was splicing your own rigging wire, arming your own sounding lead with wax, and rocking the lower limb of the sun in your sextant mirror. 

But if you added all of the skills above together, you could take on the second biggest challenge—to build a vessel from scratch. 

I’ll never forget in 1971, after sending in my $25, unrolling the blueprints of a ferrocement Endurance 35 ketch, designed by Peter Ibold. Here were a dozen pieces of thin paper—and all my hopes and dreams within. Just paper. Nothing else. Just paper, mixed with dreams and irrigated with sweet sweat and grim determination. Three years later, we splashed. Three years after that, we sailed Carlotta across an ocean. 

There’s nothing like that feeling. The poet John Masefield expressed boatbuilding best, “…built out of chaos, brought to law!”

If the Good Lord had taken me as I luffed up into Long Bay on St. Thomas, I’d have died a happy, fulfilled man. 

So, dear reader, allow me the occasional secret smile of an old man. 

Calypso Marine: The Art of Boatbuilding

Yesterday while dock strolling, I met an earnest young fella standing in the companionway of a Westsail 32. The Westsail is an extremely seaworthy design. Eight hundred and thirty were built during the ‘70s—from a discarded mold purchased cheap from the defunct Kendall Boat Corporation. 

“Nice boat,” I said, being a great admirer of both William Atkins and Colin Archer. 

“Thanks,” he said. 

I started to move on but stopped when he said, “I built her.”

I wanted to keep going but could not. 

“Really?” I said, and resisted the temptation to ask if he’d built her in the womb. 

“Well, the original bare hull was built in California,” he said, “and a previous owner slapped together the interior—but when we got the ole gal she was a total mess! She needed new curtains, new chart plotter, new Bimini—hell, we even had to replace the refrigeration system!” 

I looked at him. And nodded. 

“Good on ya,” I said as I sauntered away, “Good on ya!” 

Editor’s note: Cap’n Fatty has penned many books about cruising—ten of which are still in print. 

Crossing the great blue gauntlet of the Atlantic Ocean by sail is a bucket list challenge and triumph for many. But for Nini Champion and Lisa Roland, this feat is a been-there, done-that not once, but several times. In fact, the 30- and 31-year-old professional sailors together have 60,000 nautical miles under their belts. Now, they are ready to challenge themselves in a new way. In December, Champion and Roland as Team Ocean Grown will be one of 13 pairs teams to depart from La Gomera, in the Canary Islands, in the Talisker Whisky Atlantic Challenge, rowing their way 3000 miles transatlantic to Nelson’s Dockyard, in Antigua. The duo is not the first. The four-women Team Antigua Island Girls became the first all-female Caribbean team to complete this epic row in 2019. Four-men teams before them, Team Antigua in 2018 and Team Wadadli in 2015, completed the challenge too. But for 2023, the next line in the sand is a two-woman Caribbean-based team.

Why?

“We have both been so privileged to spend time working and living in Antigua, the iconic sailing destination which also serves as the finish line for the race. Each year, the community welcomes the rowers as they complete this incredible challenge, and for both of us, a seed was planted. As sailors, crossing an ocean by the power of wind is such a remarkable feat. The thought of crossing by your own strength, while intimidating and terrifying, is an exceptional new challenge. We each have our reasons for deciding to come together, but the strength to rise to such a challenge, the perseverance required to get to the start line, and the cooperation, determination, and raw endurance required to row an ocean was intoxicating. It was over a dinner with friends in February 2019 where we first discussed our mutual desire to race, and in November of 2020, Team Ocean Grown was born,” explains Champion.

A Wealth of On the Water Experience

Champion, a professional rigger, and Roland, a licensed captain, have nearly life-long personal and professional experience on the sea. 

Champion grew up in Annapolis, MD, and did deliveries from here to the U.S. and British Virgin Islands, as well as her first transatlantic from Annapolis to Portugal by way of Bermuda and the Azores, with her family. For the last five years, she has worked as a professional sailor in positions such as a first mate, a rigging technician, and last summer as a rotational captain in Denmark. Earlier this year, Champion crewed aboard Antigua’s Bernie Wong’s RP 37, Taz, in the RORC 600. 

Canadian-born Roland grew up sailing dinghies such as Sunfish, Optis and Lasers. She started her career at 19, working on the 75-foot wooden ketch, Mar II, as a day sailor out of Halifax. In her career, Roland has worked on tall ships, sport fishing vessels, and sailing yachts. She served as a successful captain for Dream Yacht Charters in locations across the globe. This led to jobs on private, internationally run yachts, including a transatlantic voyage from Antigua to Palma six years ago. Then, she was recruited back as a base manager for Dream Yacht at its St. Thomas, U.S. Virgin Islands location. Roland also does a substantial amount of work in the superyacht industry on topics of diversity and inclusion. She’s delivered keynote addresses to industry leaders on the topic.

The Row

Teams in the Talisker Whisky Atlantic Challenge row transatlantic in a self-contained, self-sufficient rowboat. The Rannoch Adventure R25 is a two-person design with two rowing positions and two berths in its 24-foot of length and 5.5-foot beam. Teams row two hours on, two hours off, 24 hours a day from start to finish. Last year, a British duo set the record for two-women teams at 45 days, 7 hours and 25 minutes. Champion and Roland have based their vessel in St. Thomas, U.S. Virgin Islands, where they are training. Preparing for the challenge has also included seeking out tips from other successful women rowers.

“One of the most valuable tips we’ve received was from the woman last year who set the fastest solo record to date for this race. She told us to be sure to eat. We’ll be provisioned with freeze-dried snack meals, but she warned us there is a huge temptation at the end of a two-hour shift to just curl up and sleep rather than trying to heat up and eat a meal in the rolling swell. But it’s important to stay fueled and hydrated,” says Champion. 

On average, rowers lose 25 pounds during the 1.5 million oar strokes it takes to cross the Atlantic.

The Give Back

Beyond the incredible challenge and self-building aspect of the Talisker Whiskey Atlantic Challenge, teams are encouraged to choose and raise funds for a cause important to them. For Champion and Roland, this is their Bridges over Water grant fund. The fund will finance young adults who have aged out of the foster care system to gain entry to and pursue careers in the maritime industry. It’s a topic near and dear to Roland’s heart, having experienced the challenges of the foster care system firsthand.

“We wanted to use our row to create an initiative to further the opportunities of these at-risk youths,” says Roland, about helping the next generation by removing the financial barriers to enter, receive mentorship and job placement, and make successful careers for themselves in the marine sector.

The Talisker Whisky Atlantic Challenge will depart on December 12, 2023. Champion and Roland, Team Ocean Grown, will be among a total of some 30 teams with members representing countries from around the world. Each team has a Yellow Brick tracker so it’s possible to watch their progress towards Antigua from the event website: www.worldstoughestrow.com To learn more about Team Ocean Grown, visit www.oceangrown.co 

It is with heavy hearts that we report the passing of Jimmy Buffett, an icon whose influence transcended borders and spoke to the spirit of the Caribbean in a way few could. More than a musician, Buffett was a wayfarer, storyteller, and, above all, a cherished part of the Caribbean’s cultural tapestry. For many, he was the gateway to a world of endless summers, island rhythms, and the art of living well — on ‘island time.’

Jimmy Buffett’s music was more than notes on a guitar; it was the breeze on a warm day, the sea’s sigh against the shore, and the freedom of a horizon unencumbered by the stresses of modern life. Songs like “Margaritaville,” “Come Monday,” and “Cheeseburger in Paradise” became anthems of the Caribbean spirit, capturing the laid-back lifestyle and the dream of eternal escape. Through his music and his zest for life, he drew attention to our little slice of paradise, showcasing our natural beauty, rich traditions, and the communal ties that hold us together.

Buffett’s relationship with the Caribbean was not one-sided. He was as much a part of the Caribbean as the Caribbean was a part of him. He brought economic opportunities and shined a spotlight on crucial environmental and marine causes. Through his business ventures, he engaged with local communities and promoted sustainable tourism, a feat that helped many a small business and local entrepreneur.

Beyond the money and the tourism, Buffett’s greatest contribution to the Caribbean was intangible but immensely powerful: a sense of joy. It’s difficult to quantify how the simplicity of a song can uplift spirits, but those who have sat on a sandy beach, with Buffett’s music playing in the background, will understand the deep emotional chord he struck.

He had a knack for blending local folklore with global appeal, weaving together tales that celebrated the uniqueness of Caribbean life while inviting the world to join in the festivity. For that, and for the years of energy and life he gifted our region, we say thank you.

As we mourn the loss of the man who taught us all what it means to be a ‘Son of a Son of a Sailor,’ we also celebrate the everlasting legacy he leaves behind — a legacy as enduring as the Caribbean Sea he loved so much.

Jimmy Buffett, you are already missed, but your spirit will forever be a part of the Caribbean sunset, the laughter on our beaches, and the twinkle of our stars. Thank you for making the world a bit closer to paradise.

Rest in peace, Captain. You’ve found your one particular harbor.