[Kyle]Our next sail after our quiet Christmas at Dittlif Bay (in the USVI) was a longish one to the island of Culebra, in Puerto Rico. Culebra wasn't on the direct route we were hoping for, but for some reason, when going from the United States Virgin Islands, which is a territory within the U.S., to Puerto Rico, which is also a territory of the United States, one must first clear customs again, even though you are already within the United States to begin with. The U.S. Customs and Border Patrol website explains that this is because Puerto Rico is considered part of the U.S. "Customs Area", whereas the United States Virgin Islands are considered "Overseas". We saw one possible explanation for this being that the USVI are duty-free islands and Puerto Rico is not, but we have not been able to verify this. What is particularly vexing to us is that the USVI and Puerto Rico are separated by six miles of water, without any intervening landmasses, of which one can always see both sides simultaneously. Puerto Rico is separated from the nearest U.S. state, Florida, by 840 nautical miles and at least four other countries (depending on what line you draw).
Like when we cleared into the USVI from the British Virgin Islands, we were hoping we could get away with crossing into Puerto Rican waters, check in on the CBP ROAM app, and then hang a left and go where we really wanted. The officer on the other end wasn't having any of that and refused our inbound clearance until we had at least made the turn from the center of the channel leading into Bahia Honda toward the nearby marina. After a couple of glitchy dropped calls, we received a message that we had been granted entry and given our clearance number.
By then, it was too late in the day for us to risk trying to go somewhere else, so we reversed direction and anchored just inside the reef at the harbor entrance for the night. We then got information that some mail we were chasing down further down the road was delayed, so we decided to make our stay two nights.
Sailing between the US Virgin Islands and Puerto Rico - has us passing by (another) Sail Rock; the white is decades of built up guano
Being stuck in Culebra wasn't bad. It's a perfectly nice place and the only reason we didn't want to go initially was that we thought we were in a hurry to get our mail. Our day in the anchorage was an easy one, with our only real task being a snorkel around the anchorage.
The reef protecting the anchorage was in water too shallow even for swimming, and we couldn't find a path to get to the actual reef, so we spent a few hours gliding above the sea grass in the shallows. It's a different ecosystem than coral, but interesting in its own right. We saw a few stingrays, a couple turtles, plenty of conch, and lots of upside-down jellies, which I initially thought were anemones, until Maryanne flipped one over to show me. Once released, it promptly slammed itself bell-first into the sand in its preferred orientation.
Snorkelling in the protected shallows inside the reef, discovering different treasures of nature
The following morning, we were up early for an L-shaped sail to the adjacent island of Vieques. The first leg was a heavily-reefed, upwind romp toward Punta Este, at the eastern end of Vieques. When we got there, we turned almost dead-downwind for a smooth sail along the south coast to our destination at Mosquito Bay.
I know what you're thinking - sounds nice, lucky us, huh?!
Mosquito Bay (actually, Mosquito Inlet, just outside the bay proper) is not reputed to be the best of anchorages. Mostly because it is small and shallow and exposed to ocean swell, making it pretty rolly, but it is also surrounded by mangroves, which means its namesake isn't undeserved. {Maryanne:However it is apparently named after an early explorer, and we didn't suffer from any mosquitos at all during our stay}
Why go then? Well, it's because Mosquito Bay is probably the biggest tourist (as in dozens a day) draw in Vieques and sailing right by it would be like driving through Paris and not pulling the car over to look at the big antenna thingy.
Mosquito Bay has the brightest bioluminescence of any place on Earth, with a concentration of light-emitting diatoms that is hundreds of times more dense than in the ocean, where Maryanne and I usually get to enjoy it.
When we entered the anchorage, we were the third boat there, with room for maybe one more. We were surprised when, a couple hours later, the other two left, leaving just us for the night. There was a bit of roll in the anchorage, but it was gentle rather than uncomfortable. We don't know if it was the season or the wind direction, but we also found it completely free of bugs, at least at Begonia.
We spent our days on trails ashore
... and snorkelling, of course! We discovered small, fiesty crabs hiding in most of the anemones (can you see them?)
Bioluminescence is great, but as cruisers, we tend to struggle to stay up too long after sunset when were not trading watches on an overnight passage. Enjoying Mosquito Bay's bioluminescence would require us to be heading out in the black night like we were a couple of teenagers starting a night of clubbing. After a daytime reconnaissance to lay down a track we could follow later, we returned home for dinner and sundowners of coffee before heading out again.
Combustion engines are not allowed in Mosquito Bay. We considered rowing, but since the bay is pretty big, we elected to go with our electric motor instead. That turned out to be gobs of fun, because the bioluminescent prop wash made us look like we had a rare, afterburner-equipped Portland Pudgy. We quickly figured out the best thing to do was operate it at ridiculously low power - just enough to keep us moving, but giving us the most battery life. While entering the bay from the anchorage at the inlet, we were passed by a flapping stingray that was so well lit-up that we could even see the little vortices coming off its wingtips and trailing behind.
Most of the tourists visiting Mosquito Bay are driven in from the nearby town and then loaded into kayaks for group tours. With calm winds, near-complete darkness, slow speeds, and the great acoustics of flat water, it was easy for Maryanne and I to drift into and out of tour groups, where we couldn't help but hear the narration of the guides. That's not only where we learned more about the bioluminescent diatoms, but also lots about mangrove biology and how the whole island is slowly being converted into a dark sky zone, not just for astronomical enjoyment, but also to help animals like sea turtles who navigate by moonlight, to keep them from being confused by city lights. That explained why almost all of the street and house lights in the distance were either deep red or purple. They also explained that the reason all of the roads on this side of Vieques were dirt instead of tarmac was to reduce the chance of runoff reaching the bay.
The next morning, after sleeping in a bit, we took the dinghy to the adjacent beach for a hike through the trails along the coast. Our walk was long and hot and satisfyingly jungle-y. What really surprised me was that, even in the shade of sections of thick mangroves, we did not have any run-ins with any no-see-us, also known as sand flies or "teefs". In fact, the whole day, I think we only had to shoo away a single over-affectionate mosquito.
We had a plan to get up early and leave the next day, but when we got home, we decided on the spot to stay for another, mainly so we could see the bioluminescence one more time. We didn't see any more rays, but there were plenty of fish darting from us in bursts of fireworks. We also got another review of the tour guide spiel.
On returning to Begonia, we were enjoying the bioluminescence around our anchor chain and bridle when we realized that, while swimming in Mosquito Bay is prohibited (they don't trust tourists to be free of sunscreen or bug repellent that could harm the diatoms), it is NOT prohibited in the anchorage, where the bioluminescence is still 90% as bright. In we went.
Darkness falls quickly. It is so hard to photograph and capture the absolute magic, fun, and pure joy we felt playing in the bioluminescence - so you'll just have to believe us. The first picture is Kyle making "snow angels" on the water, and the others the light from the disturbance of our oars as we paddle about within the bay
Oh, boy, that was fun! Jumping in or swimming fast surrounds you with a completely overwhelming and disorienting halo of light. Waving our arms slowly through the water left trails as if each finger was Tinkerbelle's magic wand. Even staying as still as possible, our bodies were outlined in sparkles, as if each of us was our own constellation. I pulled myself down our anchor chain, now a string of lights, to the seabed. When I turned and touched town with my feet on the hard sand, glowing rings rippled away along the sand in the shock wave. I could see the outline of Begonia above as she jiggled this way and that in the turbulence. I released the chain and shot upwards, bursting through the surface in a shower of light like I was a New Year's Grand Finale. We did it over and over again like kids who had discovered the weightless joy of buoyancy and the thrill of being handed their first sparklers, both at the same time. When we finally tired, we floated on our backs with the stars above and the "stars" surrounding us for a while. Then we pulled ourselves up the swim ladder into the real world of gravity and hard surfaces. Ours also has Maryanne's cooking and a soft bed, so it's not so bad.
Anchorage location Puenta Colorado >> On google maps
Anchorage location Puerto Mosquito >> On google maps
