Hurricane Supplication Day in the Virgin Islands is celebrated on the fourth Monday in July. This year that will be on July 25th. On that Monday, not only will Virgin Islands government workers will get a day off , but also prayers will officially be offered to our higher powers to protect us from the dreaded storms that the indigenous Taino Amerindians called “Hurricanes.”

Perhaps taking advantage of the fact that divine supplication has not yet been put into effect, a strong tropical wave has formed in the central Atlantic and is now located some 1200 miles west of the African mainland.

Designated Invest 97 by hurricane forecasters, this area of moderate to heavy thunderstorm activity is said to have the potential for development. Computer tracking models at this time would bring this system somewhere near the Virgin Islands.

We’ll be keeping an eye out for further development – stay tuned.

Check it out
Who knows? Maybe we can add technology to our prayers on Hurricane Supplication Day. It seems that Bill Gates is working on a Hurricane prevention system involving huge barges that pump cold water from the bottom of the ocean to the surface….read more

Excerpted from “St. John Beach Guide,” by Gerald Singer
Besides sharks the most feared fish seems to be the barracuda. They are curious and often come alongside a snorkeler and look at them. Barracudas have the disconcerting habit of opening and closing their mouths displaying their sharp teeth and a serious overbite. This motion is not meant to frighten or to warn. It is simply a part of the way they breathe.

Barracudas feed on fish very much smaller than themselves, which would exclude big, fierce-looking human beings.

I personally have never known of anyone getting attacked by a barracuda, and this includes spearfishers and SCUBA divers. But, to stay on the safe side, it would probably be better not to wear shiny jewelry while snorkeling. The theory here is that a visually challenged barracuda or one hunting in murky water might mistake that glittering object for a little fish and go after it.

I’ve never known of this actually happening, but it won’t hurt to take this precaution. My rule of thumb is that although anything is possible, not everything is probable and shark and barracuda attacks on Virgin Island snorkelers to me fall into the realm of overwhelmingly improbable and should not be a cause for concern.

As followers of my blog might already know, I used to fish commercially on St. John in the early 1970s along with my good friend, John Gibney. The following story is about what we had for dinner one night:

We left early in the morning to pull our traps and returned to the Cruz Bay dock around noon or so to sell our fish.

The morning’s haul was particularly nice, an assortment of good sized pot fish,  grouper, snappers, ol’ wifes, and even a couple of lobsters that we brought into the while they were hanging on to the outside of the fish trap.

As usual, people were gathered on the dock awaiting our arrival. Sales were brisk. we sold out in no time. Put the money in our pockets. Put the boat away and cooled out for the rest of the day.

In the late afternoon we thought about dinner.

“Let’s check out Miss Lilly’s,” I say and off we go to the little market where La Tapa Restaurant is now. St. John markets at that time were not a great place to find fresh vegetables, meats or fish or anything else  for that matter. It was hit or miss. Mary, a lady from Tortola, brought over fresh produce once a week and occasionally a boat from Puerto Rico brought a nice selection of stuff from that island. Otherwise, you grew it or you caught it or some neighbor turned you on to it,

So here we are at Miss Lilly’s, shopping  for what we can get with the money we earned that day, and we end up buying a couple of cans of tuna, some onions, some bread and make sandwiches. Not until we sit down to eat do we realize then the utter absurdity of our situation hit us. We had sold all our nice fresh fish and here we are eating tuna sandwiches on white bread.

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My mom and dad used to come to St. John to visit me from time to time. They stayed at Caneel Bay and usually traveled with their friends, Dolores and Bill Gallo. My father was a dentist, practicing in the Bronx and Bill was the sports cartoonist for the New York Daily News.

As they got to know people, my parents got involved with the rhythm and flow of daily life on St. John.

My dad befriended Rodney Varlack, who had the first, last and only Jeep dealership on St. John at the time. Dad would often bring down parts from America that Rodney, for reasons that I’m sure had something to do with operating a business out of St. John , was not able to get from ordinary sources.

He would also help out St. John’s dentist, Dr. Knight, at the clinic bringing supplies and at times tending to patients. My parents also brought down 16 mm films, which were shown at the church across from the Cruz Bay. I, of course, was supplied with all kinds of culinary stateside delights, fishing equipment and  clothing.

When I first arrived on St. John in 1969, Gallows Point was the expat hangout the denizens of which tended to be a little older than myself, and whose drug of choice was alcohol often in copious quantities. The slightly younger hippies had their own vices.

Gallows Point bar and restaurant, rumored to be the actual sight of hangings on St. John, was run by one Duke Ellington, our own Duke Ellington, not the famous jazz musician. Today the restaurant at Gallows Point is named after him.

In the above photo Mr. Ellington stands behind the infamous “Rumor of the Day” blackboard.

“That postcard is from around 1964.
Richard “Duke” Ellington, a mystery story writer from New York, bought Galge or Gallows Point from the VI Government in the early 50s and built a small “cottage colony” of rentals. The bar became the hang-out for what we used to call continentals–white people–and produced a lot of martinis throughout the 1960s. In the early 70s, “Duke” retired from behind the bar and a younger, hipper, and more diverse crowd took over. “Duke” is the older of the two men behind the bar in the picture.
The Ellingtons sold the property around 1980 and the present resort was built within a few years.”
From a post by Hugo in VI Now

 

My friend, Eddie Johnson” (See St JohnVirgin Islands Memories: Voyage to Anegada) was once a bartender there as was  Charlie Deyalsingh (Trinidad Charlie).

The above photo is from the collection of Ron Lockhart of St. Thomas who has a veritable treasure chest of old post cards and photographs going back to the days when it wasn’t “St. Thomas USVI (United States Virgin Islands),” but rather, “St. Thomas, DWI “(Danish West Indies).”

If you look closely you can see that what is now Veterans Drive did not exist. It was built on fill in the 1950s. The long rectangular warehouses separated by narrow alleyways, now used as shops and pubs and restaurants, ran right into the harbor each with their own private wharf.

The following is excerpted from the book “St. Thomas, USVI”

The Waterfront
As the importance of St. Thomas and its maritime economy grew, so did the town. Harbor frontage became very expensive and as a result, building lots tended to be long and narrow with just enough exposure to the harbor as would permit the implementation of piers and boat slips.

For the same reason, wide streets were not employed to connect the waterfront to Main Street. Instead there were a series of narrow alleyways, which is evident to this day.

Private residences were built on the other, less expensive, landward side of the street and eventually on the valleys and hillsides adjacent to the harbor.

The 20th century brought automobiles to the island and soon traffic on the steep, narrow streets of Charlotte Amalie became so congested that beginning in the 1940s, the harbor was filled in in front of the commercial warehouses, and by 1950, a new modern  road, Veterans Highway, was constructed south of Main Street running alongside the waterfront.

Charlotte Amalie has maintained much of its old character, as both a bustling Caribbean seaport, hosting cruise ships, pleasure yachts and cargo vessels from all around the world, and as a shopping Mecca, offering millions of visitors every year a treasure trove of duty-free shopping delights.

Caribbean Film Workshop: St. John USVI

Educational Vacations  340 693 5308 zemicaribbeanworkshops.com
7 days from Nov.7-14, 2009

With the increasing popularity of digital video cameras, many people are discovering the fun of video film making. This one week work shop is a hands on opportunity to learn how to plan, shoot, edit, promote and distribute a documentary, a short or a music video. Four separate workshops are being offered, sign up now for one, two or all four. Free evening workshops are offered for you the day time participant, and a friend.
Have a unique educational vacation! Shoot alluring footage while exploring an 18th century sugar mill, hiking on one of the National Park trails, or recording the island drumming and sounds of the saxophone at the Beach Bar on St. John. Take a break and swim in the crystal clear waters of the Caribbean and relax on Trunk Bay, rated one of the 10 best beaches in the world.
Beginners, advanced amateurs and professionals will benefit from our internationally acclaimed staff of instructors. Come and see why this is called paradise while creating a dynamic film on the most photogenic beach in the world. Beachcombing, sailing, fishing, diving, hiking, snorkeling, swimming and lounging are optional.

The incredible teachers have great films out such as “Touched” by Laurel Chiten, which is about alien abduction.  Then Andrea Leland has produced “Jamsie King of Scratch”, a Caribbean musical journey. Steve Simonsen’s television works include WDR German Television, The Daily Buzz, NBC “Where in the World is Matt Lauer”, NOAA public service announcements. Bill Stelzer produced a series of mini documentaries in Haiti, Nicaragua and St. John for the Waveplace Foundation, created to teach Caribbean school kids using OLPC’s revolutionary children’s laptop computer.

When I first arrived in the Virgin islands some 40 years ago, I lived on St. Thomas. I had just graduated SUNY at Buffalo with a degree in psychology, something which I had no intention of ever using professionally. Not to mention that I had had more than enough of four years of Buffalo winters.

I had put together a few bucks and upon arriving in the islands, I purchased a very old black Mercedes Benz with a four speed shift on the steering column and  running boards like you’d see in old gangster movies. More importantly, I acquired a 16-foot fiberglass runabout powered by a Johnson 35 hp engine that left a little to be desired as a smooth running engine, but sufficed to begin an exploration of the marine world around St. Thomas.

One day on the St. Thomas waterfront I met an interesting guy, a little bit older than I, whose 30 foot wooden sloop was tied up next to my little boat. He lived on St. John and was the part time captain of the St. John Express, the ferry that ran between Red Hook on St. Thomas and Cruz Bay on St. John. He had been married to a local St. Johnian woman from the Marsh family, but was separated. His name was Eddie Johnson and he was,as I was soon to learn, like many St. John expatriates, myself included, a little crazy.

Now you have to realize that I was a boy who came out of Yonkers, New York. I had grown up around small boats, which my family kept on City island in the Bronx, New York, but I really knew next to nothing about life in the Caribbean as opposed to Eddie, a hundred ton Captain and a sailboat owner.

Eddie took me aboard his boat and we began a long conversation about who we were and where we came from. In the course of our conversation, Eddie confided that he had an idea to make some good money, which he shared with me.

It went like this. He would sail his boat to Anegada and anchor it in the Anegada Horseshoe Reef, which is the largest barrier reef in the Caribbean. He would then set fish pots, fish with line and dive for conch and lobsters. I would go back and forth between Anegada and St. Thomas to sell the catch.

It sounded like a good idea, although I now see the obvious flaws and omissions, like getting licenses and permission to fish British Virgin Islands waters or the utter unsuitability of my 16-foot runabout to make the 70 mile generally rough water voyage on a regular basis, but what did I know, I had to defer to Eddie’s experience.

The plan was this. Eddie and I would make an exploratory trip to Anegada on my boat and we’d check out the situation. We filled up my six gallon tank, brought along a five gallon Jerry Jug of gas, some water, some food, and headed out to Anegada at about 3:00 in the afternoon. (Another mistake, we really should have left earlier, but arriving at late afternoon when you couldn’t see the reef so well or worse yet at night; that didn’t bother Eddie.

We set out from Charlotte Amalie, and proceeded east along the south shore of St. Thomas. The seas were rough. The boat was small. The engine was, shall we say. temperamental.

We crossed Pillsbury Sound and ran north of St. John. When we neared the BVI we didn’t bother to check in.

“No need,” said Eddie.

There are two general ways of getting to Anegada. One is to stay within the archepelago, making your way to North Sound on Virgin Gorda and then heading due north to Anegada. Longer, but generally calmer seas and the advantage of a shorter haul to Anegada, which unlike the rest of the Virgins is flat and can’t be seen from very far away. The other option is the direct route, shorter rougher and scarier, in that you just headed out to the open sea carrying you pretty far north of the rest of the islands, and with no view of your destination until you just a few miles away.

I’ve done both these routes now, and I realize that neither one is so hard, but it would have been nice if we at least had a compass.

With Jost behind us and Tortola on our left, looking pretty far away, we headed upwind into the choppy seas, which sent spray over the bow soaking us with just about every wave. It was clod and we took turns at the wheel. One drove while the other lay down on the deck covered by a tarp to keep fairly dry and fairly warm.

A school of dolphins played in our wake, until I stopped to see them better, offering them some of our canned sardines. this must have pissed them off because they swam over to the oily canned fish, disdainfully pushed them away with their noses, turned around, swam off and didn’t return to play in our wake.

I was starting to get worried. The sun was setting. No Anegada in sight. The engine was stating to sputter. “Errrr putt, putt, putt, putt, Errrr,” it sounded, threatening, it seemed to want cut out entirely leaving us adrift out here so far from dry land. I was wet and cold.

I expressed my concerns to Eddie.

“Almost there,” he said, “don’t worry.”

But I did worry. Doubts about Eddie’s sanity assailed my thoughts. Thinking it through, I told myself that the cutoff for me would be when our fuel was half gone. If we couldn’t see Anegada up ahead at that point, I was calling it quits.

And so it came to pass, half way on the gas. No land in sight.

“Eddie, that’s it, I’m turning around, I said.

“just a little more, said Eddie, “We’re almost there.”

In retrospect, he was probably right, but I had had enough. It was getting dark. There was no destination in sight, and the consequences of Eddie being wrong seemed too dire.

“No that’s it for me, Eddie, I’m turning around,” and this time, I was adamant.

When I took the wheel and actually turned around, Eddie copped an attitude. He proceeded to lay down on the deck, pulling the tarp over his head, absolutely refusing to speak to me.

“What do I do now?” I asked, “Where should I be headed? It’s getting dark.”

No answer, he just lay there with the tarp pulled over his head.

So there I was, basically on my own, sun setting, the nearest land, which I now know to be Tortola, looking small in the distance, no local knowledge and never having navigated at night before in my life.

I made a beeline for the island. It was easier going down wind, the spray was not nearly as bad.

It got dark, I could no longer see the islands. This was 1969. There were hardly any lights, but when I saw what seemed to be the nearest one, I went for for it.

Eddie continued sulking under the tarp.

I finally made it to the light, which turned out to be on Caret Bay on Tortola’s north coast. It was a bay full of reefs.

Luck was with me that night. it was summer, there were no ground seas, and like Mr. Magoo, I motored safely right into the bay totally oblivious to the dangers on every side and just inches below us.

Near shore. I dropped anchor. Exhausted, I fell asleep within minutes, I fell asleep wrestling a piece of the tarp away from Eddie.

Morning came, roosters cock a doodle do’ d. I could see the little settlement with some activity beginning in the soft light of the early Caribbean morning.

I checked out our gas supply. Very, very low. We needed gas.

Eddie woke up. His attitude had improved. He was talking to me again.Friends once more.

When I saw the coral all around us, I was utterly astonished that we had gotten so far inshore, in the dark, without hitting anything, We went ashore and found an old man walking by the rocks on the shore.

“Morning,” he called out to us.

“Morning sir,” we answered.

We asked him were we could get gas.

“Roadtown,” he answered.

“Too far” we said. No where closer.

Eddie said we could get gas in Cruz Bay, but we were really low and he didn’t think we’d make it.

After a while the man called to us.

“Wait,” he said, “I’ll be back shortly.”

Some fifteen minutes later, he returned with a Clorox bottle filled with gasoline. It would easily get us to Cruz Bay, where, Eddie, knew just about everybody, and we could get gas enough to get us back to St. Thomas.

We paid the man for the gas, thanked him profusely and pulled anchor, wove through the maze of coral heads and headed for Cruz Bay. Passing through the Narrows between St. John and Great Thatch, the engine really started to sputter, cutting out at times and becoming more and more difficult to start up again, but never totally giving up the ghost.

About a half hour of this drama and we limped into Cruz Bay for gas and repairs.

The outboard mechanic on St. John in those days was a Trinidadian named Frank Estwick, who was later to become a close friend. Frank got us going, using a hammer to pop off the power head and putting the engine back into some kind of reasonable shape, hardly charging us anything.

We had breakfast at Oscar’s (James) Beanery.

It was my first trip to St. John. the island was so peaceful. The people were so nice. I knew I would have to come back and spend more time there.

Eddie and I returned to St. Thomas. We became better friends. He showed me around.  He took me to Lovango Cay, where I met Rudy de Windt and his wife, who, when their child became very ill from exposure to sand flies, moved offshore to Lovango, where, for some reason, there weren’t any.

We went to Jost Van Dyke. Met Foxy, Albert Chinnery, Ethein Chinnery and some of the other residents. We explored St. John, dove lobsters and conch, speared fish and cooked them on a coal pot.

It was a different world back then, for better or for worse.

On one hand, services were poor. Electricity and communications were sketchy. Pickings at the small shops were slim, and you really had to learn how to improvise to get even simple things done.

On the other hand, life was slow and easy. People were friendly and helpful, the corals were healthy, the fish and lobsters and conch were plentiful.

St. John has changed considerably since then, but still maintains, at least for those that seek it out, some of that old time charm

Ah, nostalgia. “The good ol’ days!

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Between the desirability of their new store, St. John Gourmet,  and the confusion caused by the construction of the traffic circle, the owners of Dolphin Market, who also own St. John Gourmet, are aggressively attempting to attract customers, and especially new customers, to Dolphin.

As an incentive to shop at Dolphin, the 10% discount normally reserved for customers spending more than $50.00 will now be available for those spending $25.00 or more.

Additionally there will be a 25% discount on weekends. Their prices are reasonable and with the discount, it really becomes a good deal, in some cases good enough to shop St. John instead of making the trip over to the Rock.

(St. Thomas is affectionately known as “The Rock.” Not so affectionately known as “St. Trauma” by some irreverent St. Johnians. St. John is called “Love City” and St. Croix, “Twin Cities.”)