Here is an odd factoid: the US Virgin Islands do not observe
daylight savings time. Not too surprising, I suppose, given that the
days really do not seasonally change in length here. One odd effect,
though, is that I may be 4 hrs away from California one day and 3 hrs
the next. Very strange to live in a place that is not in a constant
temporal relationship to the other places with which I interact. I
realize that most of the world does not have daylight savings time, but I
don't often deal with those places.
Random observation: being below the top of the food chain does odd things to one. So does operating in a 3-d environment. I find that I am MUCH happier snorkeling with companions, partly to share wonderful sights and discoveries and partly for what I assume is a need to have more eyes for danger...from various directions. Either way, when I moored off Johnson Bay yesterday morning and plopped into the water, I felt very pleased to have company.
I looked down 25 or 30 feet to the short grass covering the flat bottom until it disappeared into the misty water. We swam as a loose school toward the shore, where the grass gave way to sand and then to coral heads and reefs. Small fish hid in crevices or stayed close to shelter and food. Tube worms folded their fans and retreated in a blink when questing fingers or careless swim fins came to close. A 2' fish* with odd mottling, random electric blue lines, a long snout.....and a mouth on TOP of the snout nibbled at a branching soft sessile creature. And a large spiny lobster hid in a cave within the coral. And, on the long swim back to the boat, we spotted a 10.25" conch and a gal swam down and brought it up for admiration and a good photo shoot.
Still a hundred feet from the boat, I spotted a heavy chain snaking through the grassy meadow below from dimness to dimness....and followed it a way toward the boat. It changed to 1.25" nylon line and continued, joined by two others, converging on Dorado: the amt of hardware involved in this mooring really reminds me that this is a harsh place, with really nasty hurricanes and lesser storms fairly frequently July through November. Hmmmmm...
I've been loving being upon my boat. So many people
consider it to be a huge effort to raise sails and lower them again. I,
on the other hand, am used to taking out a small boat and raising and
lowering sail at least a couple times in a day...and I've transferred
this to Dorado. The corrosion is wearing off and the mainsail slides run up the mast more easily each time it raises and lowers. I love popping
over to one spot to snorkel, another to swim, another to hit a wifi
hotspot or cook dinner or visit friends. Sure, it takes a bit of doing
and is a good deal of exercise, but I am in the honeymoon phase of sailing
my new boat and all the efforts seem delights.Random observation: being below the top of the food chain does odd things to one. So does operating in a 3-d environment. I find that I am MUCH happier snorkeling with companions, partly to share wonderful sights and discoveries and partly for what I assume is a need to have more eyes for danger...from various directions. Either way, when I moored off Johnson Bay yesterday morning and plopped into the water, I felt very pleased to have company.
I looked down 25 or 30 feet to the short grass covering the flat bottom until it disappeared into the misty water. We swam as a loose school toward the shore, where the grass gave way to sand and then to coral heads and reefs. Small fish hid in crevices or stayed close to shelter and food. Tube worms folded their fans and retreated in a blink when questing fingers or careless swim fins came to close. A 2' fish* with odd mottling, random electric blue lines, a long snout.....and a mouth on TOP of the snout nibbled at a branching soft sessile creature. And a large spiny lobster hid in a cave within the coral. And, on the long swim back to the boat, we spotted a 10.25" conch and a gal swam down and brought it up for admiration and a good photo shoot.
Still a hundred feet from the boat, I spotted a heavy chain snaking through the grassy meadow below from dimness to dimness....and followed it a way toward the boat. It changed to 1.25" nylon line and continued, joined by two others, converging on Dorado: the amt of hardware involved in this mooring really reminds me that this is a harsh place, with really nasty hurricanes and lesser storms fairly frequently July through November. Hmmmmm...
*found it: http://reefguide.org/carib/
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