After two days in Christmas Cove, we decided to see if we remembered how to sail by ourselves. We hoisted the main, unfurled the jib, and took off for St. Croix, 35 miles south. The traitorous trade winds had finally settled in, and other than throwing a reef in the main we were cruising along most of the way at almost 6 knots and made it in by mid afternoon.
All the reading I had done warned me about the limited room in the anchorage and the poor holding. Imagine my shock to discover that we were one of 9 boats in an anchorage that could easily hold 50. My guess? The second hurricane hit St Croix which meant loss of some boats, and the island in general is out of the way for cruisers (40 miles from anywhere). The only logical place to come from is the BVI or USVI which also got hit hard and their winter yacht charters are slowly recovering. As it was we were the only boat visible (minus one ferry) coming to or from the island. I think most people still fly in for vacations.
Knowing we had limited daylight left, we decided to go ashore for a drink. The colors of the town are magnificent and the architecture facing the water is lovely Caribbean Danish colonial (if that is a proper description). We walked around the boardwalk for a bit and saw much more evidence of hurricane damage. As it turns out Irma brought flooding, but the eye of Maria passed through the southwest of the island. The anchorage for the locals got hit much harder and you can see dismasted boats everywhere and even masts poking up from below the surface. In a few cases boats were dumped on shore or sank at the shore’s edge and have not been recovered yet. What I heard back in St Thomas is that if something hit the shore then everyone knows where it is and it’s no longer a hazard. What is not known is when it might be removed, which creates a depressing reminder of the events past. Turns out salvage work is well underway as we watched a catamaran raised and floated away while visiting, as well as other boats moved safely to moorings.
We popped in to Angry Nates just in time for happy hour. We chatted with our bartender over apps and learned that he moved to St Croix from northern California. Compared to the devastation he witnessed from the wildfires this autumn, living on an island post hurricane is no big deal (surreal). Another gentleman came in with a tray of small plants in plastic cups. He was offering starter tomato/red pepper/jalapeno plants to anyone who wanted them. I suddenly became sad that we didn’t have room for a growing tomato plant on deck, fun as that might be.
The next day we started exploring properly. First stop was the historic fort, colored the most fabulous yellow from Danish brick. Though never needed to repel troops, the fort is probably most famous for housing Alexander Hamilton’s mother when she was imprisoned for several months for living with a man not her husband and having children out of wedlock. Though born on Nevis, Alexander grew up on St Croix. He learned a trade at the building whose walls housed slave auctions (interestingly now headquarters for FEMA on the island). He was a child prodigy despite lack of family or money and soon made it off the island to the mainland for schooling and the rest of his famous history.
I’ll confess we’ve spent an inordinate amount of time at the waterfront bars on the boardwalk. Coincidentally this is where you ‘park’ the dinghy so it’s hard not to stop. With happy hour drink specials, great food like fresh wahoo, and even BBQ (thrilled the smoker survived the storms). And you can never get tired of the view…….the spectacular Caribbean.
St Croix is the largest of the US Virgin Islands, so we rented a car to do a proper visit. First on the list was a stop at the Buccaneer, one of the oldest and most famous resorts on the island. Trip reminisced about being there in the 1960’s with his family and the Voss clan. After that we headed out to Point Udall, the eastern most point of the island. There stands a stark and remote monument to the millennium. There was not another soul around for miles, we had the place to ourselves. We couldn’t get over how lush everything was – because there was no development and no sign of human life, there really wasn’t any sign of storm damage either – nature recovers so fast.
The drive along the southern point of the island was unremarkable. We did stop at one of the few museums on the island – the Whim estate. Though badly damaged by the storm (the main house is too dangerous to enter), we got a personal briefing on the history. The estate is one of the few remaining remnants of the sugar cane plantations. Sugar cane produced brown sugar, molasses, and rum, which became the staple exports from the island. Unfortunately under Danish rule slavery flourished on the plantations, and slave children were even ‘exported’ back to Denmark to be put in human ‘zoos’ and put on display. Just last year a contingent of students from the Virgin Islands spent time in Denmark teaching their peers about a part of history that the Danes would prefer to forget altogether.
We got to Fredericksted (nicknamed Frederick’s Dead) only to find that it had been wiped out by the second hurricane. Luckily one restaurant on the boardwalk was open for lunch and we were able to visit a couple of stores, but everything here was in recovery mode. To make matters worse, the best diving/snorkeling of the island, off the Fredericksted Pier, is closed when cruise ships are in town. Normally that would be every few days, but a cruise ship is indefinitely parked at the pier housing FEMA and other disaster recovery workers. Bummer.
Leaving Frederickstead we drove back via the Mahogany Forest. The forest was amazing to view and the road more than a little intimidating post storm, especially in the little rental car we had. Once back in town we decided to treat ourselves to a nice dinner, seeing as St Croix is one of the only islands with fine dining (not wiped out by hurricanes). We sat at the bar at Savant and treated ourselves to the most decadent lobster carbonara and grilled fresh wahoo with crispy eggplant.
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