" 0605 Laura woke me to listen to radio, Mayday from boat 'Rainbow' Spanish Flagged. Aground on reef 19.49N 77.44W 4 pax. No response on CH 16. 14233 Mhz spoke to J39AH Grenada, he phoned Cuban Lighthouse service. 14.300 Mhz Ed K1LNC report vessel abandoned 06h50.

We answered the call for help by this Spanish yacht that had run up on the reef on exiting Cabo Cruz. We agreed to go and uplift him and his crew with Gilana, I was trying to work out the details of how, with our 2.4m draught, and swells combined out of the gulf of Anna-Maria, and those from the windward passage, added 2.5 metres of surge to the calculations, the chart showed 15 feet downwind of him, but that was how much we were heaving, so I did not relish the idea of pounding Gilana's keel up through her bottom if we hit rock while uplifting four exhausted sailors from a sinking yacht. I decided it would be better to get them all into their dinghy, and let them pay out 100 m of line to a safer distance and we would pick them up by snagging their line, cutting it, and then retreiving them under tow from the lazy cockpit winch. This plan was torpedoed when they lost their dingy, they had got into it, and got back out as it was too rough, nobody thought to tie it though, bye bye dinghy.

At about this time I was scooting all over the radio freqs to find assistance, and upon returning to channel 16 VHF I had my last talk with the skipper of the stricken yacht, in the background the sound of fibreglass splintering was interrupted by an almighty crack and he said "thats it" the keel's gone, a minute later, he said that the water was up to his knees and a fishing boat was apporaching. His last words were "we go now" and then his radio died as the salt water poured into it. I shot up into the cockpit to see a Cub@n fishing boat nose up to the yacht. These boats are very stable as they are ferro cement, and have flooded holds, where the lobster catch is kept live. They have shallow draft and low freeboard and are ideal for these conditions. We bore off and set the main to the third reef again to sail the extra 30 miles to Marea de Portillo as Cabo Cruz still had its mouth full, chewing Rainbow... 

It was a beat into 30 knots (sustained) of katabatic assisted wind 40 degrees off the port bow. Gusts over 40 were seen on the wind instrument. The Aerogen was putting in 14 amps @ 24 volts, the most we had seen ever. We were making over 6 knots into the current but I decided to motor as well, as everytime we were headed by a wave, we slowed right down to 3 kts and then started the accelleration all over again. With the motor on we sustained our speed and could run a more accurate course on the wind. All this time we were comfortable, warm and safe in Gilanas womb like interior, never once feeling scared or nervous, she has really caused us to love her more and more each time she looks after us. We made it to Marea de Portillo in spray whipped silence, still shocked over the loss of Rainbow, so close to us. 

The seas were huge there, foam streaks striping the surface, and Gilana, under storm jib and 3 reefed main, did beautifully, presenting her high side to the fury of the seas. We anchored at 14h00 in the company of Alcyone, Sunday's Child, Big D and one other. The following day was beautiful, I learned to windsurf finally! Liz and Laura went to the pool of the hotel with the kids from Alcyone, and we all had a good time.

Marea Del Portillo is an interesting anchorage. It is a small bay with its only navegable entrance on the south. It extends inland only about a quarter of a mile and east about one mile. Thouroughly protected from all sides, to seaward by coral reefs and then mangroves and of course the green hills to the north. The winds from North cause waves to run in the tall grass as though the spirits of wild horses were charging down the silver green slopes. We were at anchor no longer than a few hours and had just turned in to get some sleep after the excitement earlier that day when, "Hola Amigo!" and Jack scrambled up the companion, barking an embarrased greeting to the visitors. The Guarda Frontiera that are to be seen at every hint of a port or anchorage in Cuba, had arrived. "Sua documentos e despacho por favor" the now familiar friendly demand was made. I invited them on board and they checked the documents with the usual flourish of the much loved red tape. They asked how long we would be staying and then left to row into the loud blackness of 25kts of wind, in what was the most unlikely sort of patrol vessel, a rowing boat, the subject of later heated debate with other officals.

The next day calmed and the anchorage emptied. Before that, however, a member of the crew of Alcyone, swam over to enquire about the windsurfer that is strapped to our starboard stanchions. I assured him that it was indeed useable and not just worn as a badge of fun. In a very short time he had it rigged while I found out that he was as some stage in his life a windsurf instructor at some resort, hmmm interesting, I thought to myself, and then he offered to teach me.

Seeing my surprise at his offer he told me that Liz had spilled the beans earlier to one of the other kids on his boat that, "Yes but, Dad didnt really know how to use it" I had a headache I remember, but said that I would consider a lesson in a few minutes. He then popped over the side and sailed away with the practiced ease of one who does it as second nature. He sailed with kids on the board, sitting on his shoulders, with the mast unstepped held in his hands, plugged onto the board upside down, backwards and on its rails. He sort of knew what he was about and seemed to be having so much fun that I agreed to have a go. A few minutes of him standing on Gilanas boomkin, shouting "left foot left a bit!" "no hold it with the other hand!", "now lean the mast....) etc. and I was off. It was as though all the experience I had gained to date came together with a catalyst, and I finally got to, as he put it, "Learned to finesse it instead of muscling it" Days later I had fitted the harness and windsurfed every day in speeds up to 20 kts.

Colin in Cape Town will be pleased and Bruce who traded the board for our chainsaw, thanks guys, it has paid off in the end, finally able to relax and "fly" the sail without being out of breath from the effort of heaving the cursed thing out of the water, only to plop into the water again on the other side. On the brighter side, I must have provided hours of entertainment to countless yachties, amused at my efforts up to now, in anchorages all over the Caribbean. Hey Eat Wake guys!!

The two hotels here offer an all inclusive package to their guests. The total bill is paid in advance in Canada and beyond, and no money is required here. Of course a few dollars for curios and tips are advised, and, of course BYOPS an acronym for "Bring Your Own Papel Sanitaria" yes there is a terrible shortage of papierus crappus in this Island. The locals have some of the most well read ringmuscles in the Caribbean. The Hol Street Journal.

Far far removed from the zona turistica is the real Marea del Portillo. The photographs on our web page will show what is the real rural Cuba. Josephine is a fisherwoman. Her gnarled hands and feet look out of place in her thirty sixth year. She and her common law husband Wifredo are what I call the soul of Cuba. an indefatigable spirit that will survive against all odds. The little yellow box that they call a boat here takes her to sea regularly, and the fishing is good, although it was always better in the old days. In order to protect her, I cannot divulge how they make ends meet, nor can I publish on the web, the communities ingenious survival methods. We gave them a lot of stuff, clothes were well received, but gas lamp mantles took the prize, this simple gift of a few little fibreglass bags that light up in a parrafin or gas lantern produced a thank you, that consisted of "Oh my God" repeated over and over while holding the precious little things in his hands. It was only later that I found out that old hands whos callouses had long softened, were able to put to sea with their trusty lamps once more. Wilfredo had farmed them out to the fishermen who had not grasped an oar for months since the last mantle was used. They could once more feed their families. We were shocked.

Their house was adobe walled and palm frond roofed, the kitchen was outside and consisted of a lean-to with a stone table for the fire, and an assortment of pots and pans. They had electricity, well, they had a meter, but the actual current was scarce with many power cuts. I spent many hours with the men of the village discussing solar heating, and how to increase lighting by fitting reflectors behind naked lightbulbs hanging from the smoke blackened roof. Splicing, knots, and sanitary issues were discussed. We gave them dihorrea medication, which was promptly administered to the pigs suffering from Swine-Flu in the neigbourhood. We noted the lack of cats in the village and upon asking the reason we were shown with a wave of an arm, the yard full of poultry, obvious I guess. Their hospitality was fantastic, they have absolutely nothing, but will happily share it with you.

Wilfredo has over the months collected asbestos roof sheeting, but is unable to complete the job due to a shortage of nails. When it rains, they put plastic sheeting over their bed leaning up against the dryest wall and stand around waiting for the shower to pass. We were given water there. Every second day we carried our 10l cans there and filled up. Josephine does not have a tap, but a hose made out of short lengths of hard plastic pipe joined together brings water on even numbered days after midday. When she needs the water, she shouts to the house five removed for them to connect her hose to the public tap. If they dont hear her through the buzz of 60hz distorted latin rythm, she throws a stone onto their roof, thats how close they are. A certain amount of begging occurs here. Tourists feel that it is easy releif to soothe a concience by handing out a few dollars.

Josephines neighbour has a small son who is ever present when a horse drawn carriage of Canadians comes to the wharf. I joked that he at age 18 months was probably the youngest "Trabajadoro turistico" tourism worker, in the village. His mother is unmarried and there is no work here. "I have Dollars", said one man proudly holding up a ten dollar note in front of a toothless grin "But what can I buy?, Maracas?, Tourist souvenirs?, there is nothing in the shop that we need!" He was right of course, we went to look, and found all manner of T-Shirts and slip slops, even hand carved rocking chairs. Wilfredo needs a can of white PVA to paint his living room, which will save electricity by aiding the lighting. There are no locks on the doors and a calm rests over the village. We were startled by a bull that came around the corner, but even they are living in harmony, goats kidding around while small chicks darted in and out of cactus hedges picking at the small bits uprooted by the pigs. Turkey cocks strutted their stuff while the plain jane hens scratched in the dust.

Alcohol has found its inevitable way here too. 'Vincent' is a nickname we gave to one of the villagers who had his ear bitten off in a drunken brawl. I enquired why it was not re attached by the very good local clinic. "His assailant swallowed it" came the reply. The handmade cigars called 'Tabacas' are reputedly very good too. and at one Peso each should be a good purchase. (US$1.00=P21.00) We will always have fond memories of our time there, and suggest that any cruiser who goes there take some useful stuff for the good folks of Marea del Portillo. We went ashore to say farewell to Josephine and Wilfredo, a tear was shed, and a little bit of us remains there.