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WeekendTravel: Come Sail Away With Them
By Vicki Stout-Staff Correspondent for the Tennessean, Sunday
August 26th, 2001
It sparkles like a jewel.
A vivid turquoise that shimmers in the sunlight and dances
with stars by night. Its gentle waves lap the ship's sides. Breezes
rustle the sails. Birds squawk, dip and dive.
Land is in sight, but there's no hurry to get there. The moment is paradise,
a day you'd like to capture in a box and take home. It's an escape like no
other, the water, sun and sails.
The water is the Caribbean. The place, the Virgin Islands.
The yacht a pristine 72-foot Irwin Ketch. She's a
beauty from stem to stern. Posh. Immaculate.
Appointed with style. And Captained and crewed by
Randy and Shelly Tucker of Franklin,
Tennessee.
This 30-something couple did something many of us dream of; chucked it here,
sold successful businesses, and headed to the Caribbean
to sail full time. The Tuckers had their first taste of salt and sea on a
vacation to St. Thomas
where they sailed some 11 years ago.
It was a day that ultimately changed their lives. A few charter yacht
Caribbean vacations and a sailboat on Percy Priest
Lake later, the opted
to dramatically alter their lives and move to the water and islands they had
come to love.
Three Moons Yacht Charters is the result. This magnificent sailing vessel is
yours for a week. Her large, equal-sized cabins accommodate up to eight
guests. It's a family trip or a couple's trip or just a week for two.
"Usually, we collect our guests in St.
Thomas, USVI. It's only a 3 hour, 45-minute flight
from Nashville to the islands (not including
layover time in Miami).
Then its eight days and seven nights of sheer luxury, fine
food, and an open agenda. We cater each trip to our guests,"
Shelly says.
The Franklin couple spends the summer months
with family in Franklin
before their guest season begins Nov. 1. This will be their fourth season as
full-time sailors and charter operators. The Tuckers offer Three Moons for
charter through July 1, all holidays included.
Randy had been a custom builder and historic home renovator. Shelly owned the
award-winning New Beginnings Salon in Franklin.
"We have the destinations planned for our guests, as to where we will
anchor each evening, but the actual schedule and agenda is determined by our
guest's preferences. If they want to shop, we accommodate that with longer
stays on the islands that offer such. If they want to snorkel every day, we
make that happen. For divers, we offer rendezvous diving so our guests can be
picked up on board, taken to diving spots, then returned to the yacht,"
Randy says.
The Tuckers send guests preference sheets before their sail asking about what
foods, drinks, activities-or lack thereof-they wish to pursues. Special needs
and diets are accommodated.
Among the locals who have sailed with the Tuckers are
Gary Chapman who twice has traipsed the British Virgin
Islands aboard Three Moons.
Guest cabins offer private bathrooms with showers, air conditioning, stereo
systems and plenty of storage. Water onboard is plentiful. The day begins
with breakfast topside, served amidst the breezed and brilliant blue of sky
and shimmer of turquoise.
Coffee is hot and steaming. Or perhaps it's a spot of tea. Starched linens
lie beneath china topped with pina colada pancakes,
or perhaps a hearty frittata or coconut rum French toast.
The breezes ruffle the hair and calm the spirit. Bare feet stretch the legs
behind them out to the sun. It's a morning swim for some, for others a quiet
bask in the sun.
The sails flap. Three Moons moves gingerly forward to its first destination.
All sailing is done by day; the ship is anchored each evening at a different
island. Land is never out of sight a comfort to some first-time sailors.
One of the stops is Norman Island in the British Virgin
Islands. ItŐs referred to as "Treasure Island" by the locals. Legends are
resplendent with tales of pirate treasure. Caves on the island offer
excellent snorkeling.
Then there's Peter
Island, a privately
owned piece of paradise on which rests a world-class five-star resort. A
botanical rail is perfect for re-establishing land legs, though the call to
wear shoes of any kind is unwelcome.
Salt Island
offers divers the legendary Wreck of the Rhone,
a mail steamer whose demise has provided legions of divers
delightful days.
Ahh, and then there's lunch at Cooper Island,
followed by a dip in the sea and a short sail to Marina Cay. Marina Cay is a
tiny nine-acre piece of perfection. Next, is the Baths in Virgin Gorda. These famous granite boulders have crossed the lens
of thousands of cameras.
A quick hop to Little Dix Bay is next. This Rockefeller resort is world
famous for its posh beauty and celebrity guests. And don't forget a trip to
the Bitter End Yacht Club, also tucked away from the maddening crowds.
The days slip by like the ship from its moorings.
It's a week where visibility is computed downward; 30 feet, 40. Where what
you see below equals about and above. A week to swim with
dolphins. You may be one of the lucky ones to swim with Splash, the
resident tame dolphin of the islands.
Spa services are available onboard. Facials, manicures, pedicures, mini
massages. As if anything extra is needed here.
Sailing — arguably the most genteel sport in the world in one of the
world's most beautiful regions, the British Virgin
Islands.
What's not to like?
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Crewed Chartering
By Amy Ullrich
- Managing Editor, SAIL Magazine - August 2000 issue
Caneel
Bay, St. John, U.S. Virgin Islands: the end of the first perfect day.
Can that diamond in the sky be the Southern Cross? It sits right on the
southern horizon, which seems promising. We're conferring with a collection
of know-the-constellations books, including one that glows in the dark, hut
we can't identify the surrounding celestial real estate and are confused by
masthead lights swinging into the field. The answer: Yes, you can see the
Southern Cross in the Virgin Islands in the
spring.
Mongoose Junction, Cruz Bay, St.
John: the beginning of the first perfect day.
Shopping
trips are times that try (most) men's souls. but not
many women's. And not, apparently, the soul of Randy Tucker, captain and
owner, with his wife, Shellv, and partner, Mike, of
the Irwin 65 Three Moons; he is demonstrating his second-most-important
qualification as a charter boat host by being relaxed, content to read the
paper and people-watch (Mongoose Junction is a prime place for it) for as
long as it takes.
We are newly arrived on Three Moons, having just a few
hours before boarded the boat at Red Hook, on the east end of St. Thomas,
confirmed Shelly's first-most-important qualification as a charter boat chef
by tucking into lunch in the cockpit, thrown our bags in our
cabins—photos first, Shelly warned; the cabins will never again look
this good—and made haste to Caneel Bay, our
first anchorage. All this has given Randy a chance to demonstrate his
first-most-important qualification as host, which is the flexibility to scrap
his thoughts on our route for the week to accommodate our wishes—in
this case an exploratory mission in Cruz
Bay before we clear in to the British Virgin Islands.
For Beverly, a
college friend who lives in San Francisco,
Mary Ann, a friend from home, and me, this is research: What is life like in
the third "metropolis" of the Virgin Islands?
With Shellv to offer guidance, we poke around the
funky little town, which yields evidence of a devotion to Sport (clay trips,
dive trips, kayak trips, you name it) and to hand-made products. It seems
that a good many of the locals must be goldsmiths. potters,
painters of watercolors and painters on wood and fabrics, photographers,
sewers of canvas and cloth, as well as those who come clown for the winter
(creative eavesdropping) to sell these wares or work in the restaurants. It's
tropical without being West Indian, more expat than local; there's no
colorful open market with oddly shaped fruits and vegetables. Charlotte Amalie, whose well-known shopping area is St. Thomas's mecca for
the mass-produced. it's
not; nor does it have the bewildering combination of offshore banks, heavy
traffic and chickens that greet you in Road Town Tortola.
Cannel Bay:
fish shopping.
Since we've agreed to clear in at just Van Dyke, a short sail away, we have
time to dinghy over to Cannel
Bay's reef—
fortunately, it's out of the considerable current that sweeps past the
boat—to check out the local talent pool and Randy's fish-finding
abilities. There we snorkel with a herd of reef squid, whose remarkable
characteristics include wearing iridescent blue clots, changing color from
brown to almost clear as they move over rocks and sand, and, unlike any other
reef inhabitants we encounter, exhibiting what seems to be equal curiosity
about us.
Great Harbour, Jost
Van Dyke: bar hopping.
I should have known. when the diet, fitness, and
sports magazines appeared in the cockpit, that I was sailing with health
mavens. Beverly
exercises on the aft deck every morning, our breakfast frittata was made with
Egg Beaters and Mrs. Dash's non-salt seasoning. and
we are careful to have at least five daily units of fruit and vegetables and
to keep our physical activity units at a high level. Do we have to deduct
some when Randy hands us carefully (Beverly
has recently had knee surgery; Mary Ann was just in a car accident; I
appreciate the chivalry) in and out of the dinghy?
This is the
perfect time to rev up the kayaks (Three Moons carries two two-person sit-upons) and acquire some activity units by paddling over
to White Bay for some fruit units (and rum)— Painkillers at the Soggy
Dollar Bar. The breeze is down, the sun is shining, the current isn't bad,
and the view of the 1,000-foot-high hills dotted with blooming century plants
is more loomingly impressive from sea level than
from the Sailboat's elevated deck. Shelly and I each take a neophyte kayaker,
who are both pleased to find that the learning curve is short and not steep.
Randy follows
us with the dinghy for a tow back to Great Harbour
and dinner out—rotis and ribs at Ali Baba's.
We can't help responding to the rhythmic call of the Friday-night band at Foxy's, where we dance and join a full house of
people-like-us looking, in some amazement, at a crowd of
I-wouldn't-wear-this-at-home sailors engaged in
I-probably-wouldn't-do-this-at-home activities. Beach-bar
nirvana. Since the customs and immigration office closed unaccountably
early on Friday and seems inclined to a late opening on Saturday. we have time for nirvana of a different sort—spa at
sea. Spameister Shelly owned a salon in Tennessee before she and Randy came to the Caribbean, and she offers a variety of luxurious
treatments for hair, nails, and skin, as well as massages. We each have an
aromatherapy pedicure. which includes a whirlpool
foot bath, foot massage with various creams that smell heavenly. and nail polish. Foot nirvana.
En route, Jost to Norman Island.
Irwins were long the mainstay of Virgin
Islands chartering, justifiably celebrated for their creature
comforts. Three Moons, 65 feet on deck (72 feet overall), has three equal
cabins aft, each with a sizable head and shower, plus an upper-and-lower
guest cabin forward; a spacious salon and large dining table; a foredeck just
made for a hammock, sunbathing, stargazing mats; room on the aft deck to get
away from your friends; and a comfortable bimini-covered
cockpit. Contributing to these obvious comforts are the huge refrigerator and
freezer, from which many good things flow, stowage for more things (all that
spa equipment, for one) than she actually carries, tankage
for 1000 gallons of water (showers are no problem). and
a generator that provides air conditioning and power for hair dryers, should
anyone feel the need. In fact, despite the lateness of the season, it's
comfortable sleeping with just the portholes open and the large hatches
closed against the every-night rain showers.
No Irwin has
ever been described as a swift-sailing sylph; this particular version
displaces a hefty 47 tons and measures over 17 feet at the waist, and some Irwins have tubs or whirlpools. So does she sail? Early
May supplied us with winds still north of east (the wind moves south and
lightens in the summer) at the anticipated 18 to 22 knots every clay, and
Three Moons picked up her skirts and fairly bustled along, supplying us with
good sailing every day with a turn at the wheel any time we wanted. Most
one-week charters end up being an elaborated circumnavigation of Tortola, though my at-every-opportunity snorkeling
requirements put us on a somewhat different route. Still, we got to wherever
we wanted to go, under sail and without rushing. I was alert enough to check
the wind speed and direction every day, but my watch got put away when we
boarded and I never thought about boat speed more than to note that it felt
as if we were moving right along.
Here and
there: reef shopping.
There are a few things you don't get in Virgin Islands
cruising—deserted anchorages (few and far between), long passages
(though you can certainly make longer hops than the ones we took), and
derring-do at sea (not necessary if you check the weather'). But the Virgin
Islands are, in the best sense, a sort of nature's own Disney World for
sailing vacationers, full of magic towers, hidden caves and passages under
the sea, thrilling rides, wild animals (well, fish and birds), and no
problems (definitely not, if you have a captain) except feeding yourself (no
problem if you have a cook).
We soon
discovered ("Tell us how a nice couple from Tennessee
ended up on a boat in the Virgin Islands"
was our subtle approach) that Randy and Shelly and I shared a cruse
instructor, Gwen Hamlin. Their charter with her was their first sailing
experience and led to their purchase of a small boat, a larger boat, bare boating. and finally to
Three Moons. So in Gwen's honor we decided to include some of her
beginning-diver spots on our route.
Norman
Island's caves—the real treasures of this "treasure
island"—had enough visitor's that I had to wait in line to swim
in, but despite the crowds the water was about as gin-clear as water gets and
the rocks sported garish swatches of orange cup coral and red covering
sponge. Thanks to the loan of lightweight wetsuits, we stayed warm enough to
dinghy over to the four towers of the Indians, which we had to ourselves in
the late afternoon. For the three of us divers the Indians had been our first
experience (I still think of the swim-through tunnel with some trepidation),
but snorkeling alongside the steep walls is as satisfying as exploring from
the 50-foot bottom up.
We gave Cooper Island
a temporary pass when the wind lightened to about 14 knots and the seas
flattened out enough for snorkeling on the Rhone, a popular dive site off Salt Island
that is usually too rough for comfortable snorkeling. We had equally good
luck at—and terrific sails to and from—Great Dog, midway between
Marina Cay and the Bitter End, where there is often chop and current. This
time we were able to snorkel both the coral canyon on the northwest side and
swim-tour around the shallow reef on the south side. Wind and swells kept us
on the inside of Eustatia Reef, beyond the Bitter
End resort on Virgin Gorda, and cut short our snorkel, but left time to stop
at Saba Rock, which has metamorphosed since last year from a frequently
raucous bar-and-burgers stop into a manicured hotel.
Cooper Island:
a spa moment.
As we enjoy a brisk tight reach clown the coast of Virgin
Gorda, Shelly offers (immediately accepted) a shoulders-and-neck
massage. I'm finding it hard to fit in a facial or a seaweed body mask, what with all the
snorkeling, and my manicure will still be curing as we pull in to Soper's Hole the next day, but a massage, while sailing,
in the Caribbean, has to be one of life's
ultimate sybaritic moments.
It's so
relaxing that I can barely muster the energy to strap on my fins for a look
at Cistern Rock, at the south end of Manchioneel Bay; for its variety of fish, clarity
of water, lack of competing snorkelers, and generally benign conditions it
ends up being our favorite snorkel spot of the week. Randy and I return early
the next morning on a turtle quest—the anchorage is full of turtle
grass—and are greeted at the dinghy mooring by a quintet of sizable
barracuda stacked neatly like 747s on a busy day at the airport.
We can't help
but wonder if the formation means they have something gustatory in mind, this
being breakfast time, but they stay in place guarding the buoy line as we
swim off. Then sure enough, a couple of small hawks-bills appear and
allow us to follow them around the rocks until we at last get our fill of
turtle watching.
Hawk's Nest Bay, St. John: the end of
the perfect week.
Here's a place to think of on a long winter night—a smallish bay with
restricted anchoring and three little beaches. We kayak over to the smallest,
a mere spot of white sand in a rocky alcove, and then to the larger, central
beach, which has enough space for a (very short) walk. It's a lovely place
for a quite lovely last dinner (clams casino, grilled lobster, Cuban rice and
beans, and cheese-cake) on board and a last search for the elusive Southern
Cross.
Boston,
Massachusetts:
afterglow.
The polished fingernails lasted two clays, one to show off and one to do some
heavy duty gardening. The tan faded fast, victim of days of rain and
unseasonable temperatures. Then I went for my annual physical. I've just come
back from sailing in the Virgin Islands said
my doctor.
Me too, I
said. Jost Van Dyke, Marina Cay. Virgin
Gorda, Cooper Island. All
those. said my doctor, plus Loblolly Bay.
(Top that tone.)
I saw schools
of blue tang. squadrons of barracuda, reef squid and
a couple of turtles, I offered. Me too, said my
doctor, plus leaping spotted eagle rays and turtles everywhere.
I didn't
mention the red, red wines, the grilled lobster, the
salmon with pecan crust, the breakfast breads or the massages. I
knew he couldn't compete with the spa boat.
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