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In March of 1995, Dad took me on a barefoot charter aboard the 57-foot Majuli III. I was the beneficiary of this bountiful boon because my mom wasn't comfortable on anything smaller than a cruise ship. And I was even more grateful because I had just been diagnosed with the second of the three autoimmune diseases that would change my life.
We weren't allowed to wear shoes, showered on the aft deck and could have anything we wanted to eat or drink. We had everything from shrimp, lobster, paella and brandy chocolate mousse to any drink you can imagine. We told them what we wanted well in advance of the trip, including places we wanted to visit. There were six of us on board: the yacht master, the Cordon Bleu chef (both in their mid-20s), my father, Dick Kuerston, me, and two of Dad's friends. We bought maps and charted every day.
Sunday, we sailed out of St. Thomas, breakfasted at Christmas Cove, St. James Island, then anchored at the fabulous natural harbor known as The Bight on Norman Island, the inspiration for Robert Louis Stevenson's novel "Treasure Island." We sailed from St. John to Tortola and then passed through Cruz Bay (American) and West End (British) customs.
Virgin Gorda and Tortola are the two major islands in the chain of British Virgin Islands. South of Tortola is the Sir Francis Drake Channel, and south of that are the Little Sisters, made up of Norman, Pelican, Peter, Dead Chest, Salt, Cooper and Ginger Islands.
Monday, I snorkeled Treasure Point Caves on Norman Island, the most southerly in the British Virgin Islands chain. I took the wheel and sailed us upwind to Peter Island, the largest of the Little Sisters. We visited Deadman's Beach on Amway (Peter) Island. I skied behind the ship's dinghy, and we anchored at Great Harbor. I saw the Southern Cross for the first time. Tuesday, we went to the Baths at Virgin Gorda. We visited Little Dix Bay, formerly owned by the Rockefellers, and then overnighted along Prickly Pear Island. Wednesday, we snorkeled Eustacia Reef. I'm a certified diver, but Dad had never even snorkeled. We referred to his first attempt as "trolling daddy for barracuda" due to the sudden appearance of the 'cuda, which the captain caught on his favorite pink squid lure.
We lunched at the Bitter End Yacht Club, which is accessible only by boat. My Dad sailed us downwind past the Dogs to Marina Cay. A traveling saleswoman selling jewelry motored up alongside and made a sale. Thursday, we snorkeled Monkey Point on Guana Island, and I watched a pelican's feet swimming by. We sailed to Tortola, where we saw a ray five feet from shore in the water at our feet. Friday, Dad sailed us through the harrowing Canardly Pass (The Narrows), between St. John and Tortola, and into Trunk Bay, to a well-known snorkeling trail. We did not experience the expected hassle going back through customs from the British to the American Virgins, but we did get stopped for not having enough life jackets in the dinghy. Our captain was a smooth talker, and we got away without being fined $100 per person.
On our last night, we dined on filets in peppercorn cognac sauce and drank champagne. The final day, my Dad sailed us back to Charlotte Amalie. For the entire cruise we were pampered and treated like royalty. It was a joyous, magical trip, absolute perfection.
— Kay Kuerston
http://www.statesman.com/life/content/l ... rston.html |
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