Paddling with Malcolm to Ivan’s Stress-Free Bar and Resort February 16, 2010

Mal and I have talked about paddling at different parts of the world for years, places like Maligne Lake, located in Jasper National Park, Alberta, the Mississippi River and other spots but not in his neighborhood. I am a northern Canadian boy, a homie who loves paddling alongside beaver and amongst ice pans: I have never really had the real desire to go anywhere far away. I would not have considered going out Malcolm’s way this year but for the simple fact that my darling Linda offered me no choice but to go. She bought these two “Anywhere in West Jet’s World” plane tickets at a fund raising auction then broke the news to me that we were going to go off and travel. She listed off places to go but I had no such list in my mind. I wanted to go visit my buddy at St Thomas, USVI: Mr. Malcolm Schweitzer. I heard it was kind of warm there though, so I knew I’d have to bring my own ice. Linda wanted to know where St. T’s was so we pulled up Google Maps, studied all those little islands of the Virgin Island chain and discovered that it was a tiny blip just east of Costa Rica. Linda suggested that I call Malcolm and break the news to him. That done (he was pleased to have us over) I got his address and zoomed in on Malcolm’s house up on the hill using the latest in Internet spy technology: Google Satellite. We found that Malcolm’s house was a short walk to a beach, a thought which stirred Linda’s heart. And so we were set: we were going to Malcolm’s place. Later I would fall in love with the idea of spending my mornings sitting on his verandah overlooking the Caribbean and discover that I could indeed live somewhere else other than in the cold Canadian north.
Getting to Vessup Beach, St Thomas, USVI
How did I get to Vessup Beach, where Malcolm and I would begin my first open water oceanic swimming (oops!), I mean…paddling adventure? Well, one missed flight (that’s another story), an impromptu weekend of partying at a gay bar in Toronto (that really is another story), and two more fights…er, flights later (TO to St Maarten then on to St T, more stories), a ride in a Baha Battle Bug (hot, seat beltless, benchless, a/c-free, third class seating in the rear of the cabin) over some extreme road conditions through jungle and we arrived at West Indies Windsurfing. We met and spoke with Malcolm’s friend, John Phillips, (director) from whom I would rent a somewhat tippy 17 ½ foot Wilderness Cape Horn. Once Malcolm and I checked out this kayak, I paid the rental fee and John prepped it for the next day when Mal and I would begin our trek to Yost Van Dyke, BVI, our final destination would be Ivan’s Stress-Free Bar and Resort. Ivan’s place is a simple resort idea built on trust with the help of volunteers who contributed to make it one of the most desired spots in the Caribbean, but only for those who know of the place. There are no luxuries there, only simplicity, trust, that amazing aquamarine-to-sapphire hued liquid glass they call the Caribbean Sea, and one hellova beautiful palm treed beach complete with wondrous snorkeling opportunities. If that Caribbean phrase so commonly stated by locals means anything anywhere, it can be defined as the guiding words at Ivan’s: peace and love!
Valentine’s Day is Launch Day
I don’t remember much about waking up that morning other than feeling pain all over my back. Suffice it to say that my non-chalant attitude regarding sunburns was dramatically altered a couple of days prior after a catamaran cruise to Honeymoon Beach, St John, USVI. Linda would take the ferry to St John where she would meet up at St John, USVI, with two of Malcolm’s cool friends, Jeff and Lori, and then they would continue on to Yost Van Dyke. Ami, Malcolm’s sweetheart, would take the ferry from St Thomas and meet up with us at Ivan’s on Valentine’s Day. Mal and I would be taking a more arduous route to Yost.
We drove off from Malcolm’s place with his beautifully restored kayak on the roof rack. There isn’t a prettier site on the island than seeing a handmade kayak on top of a Battle Bug. After dropping Linda off at the ferry office, we left for Vessup Beach. We got there a little later than Malcolm wanted but then again, he thought leaving a little later would give the predicted 18-foot swells time to settle out a little. Malcolm had disagreed with that prediction yesterday because water conditions did not appear to be so challenging: we would learn the facts later on during our paddling adventure. The day was brilliantly sunny and hot, the water cooling as I would later learn, and the scenery as awe inspiring as some I have seen within many different places within Canada. The islands in the Caribbean rise up suddenly out of the ocean like the tops of mountains peaking through high cloud. What part of these islands that is exposed to air is covered with a heavy growth of vegetation where there is enough soil to allow such growth. All other areas are exposed brown-to-red volcanic rock that is roasted by the hot Caribbean sun and stays warm during the night.
We set our kayaks on the beach and prepped them: soon we were on the water. I learned very quickly that my kayak was tippier than expected. I slouched a little to lower my center of gravity, adjusted the footpegs a little and settled in for the ride. For the first 20 minutes I really struggled to adapt to the Cape Horn and the incessant shoving around I got from wave action. The Cape Horn had a rudder for which I was grateful but my skill using a rudder was limited to one prior experience and that experience was not good (my old World Masters Games story). At this point I was thinking that paddling my Night Heron would have been a far more relaxing and stable experience.
We followed the St T coastline northward from Antenna Great Bay until Mal turned toward Shark Island. At this point we left the security of the shore and headed out onto the semi-protected waters of the Pillsbury Sound where the wave action morphed into stuff I see in Canada only during nasty lake storms or a fast river. I have no memory of how high the waves were: I just remember feeling concern after realizing that I really needed more experience with this kayak before I could feel comfortable about the idea of paddling on more challenging waters. My next thought was simpler: how else but to paddle more challenging waters will I learn. So I followed Malcolm, enjoyed the 3-foot swells and the sights, smells and feelings I felt with the happy half of my mind while the other half dwelt on disaster. Thank god I can compartmentalize my feelings. I buried the worried part deeply enough in my mind so that I would enjoy being out here with Malcolm.
I noticed a man fishing in the shadow of Shark Island. Malcolm suggested that he was a lobster fisherman since he appeared to be in a spot used by other fisherman. Two days later I would get a taste of one of those Caribbean spiny lobsters at Sydney’s, a great restaurant that is mostly set on a waterside pier at Yost Van Dyke.
Once across the Pillsbury Sound, we passed a succession of cays. We paddled alongside the Grass, Mingo and Loveango Cays. They were large enough to have one or two houses resting somewhere atop. While we were passing between Mingo and Lovango Cays, we got our first real taste of what the ocean swells would be like today. The space between the two cays is roughly 25 meters or so and very shallow. The swells would crash up against the reef and roar across the opening, smashing through with high crashing white madness that settled quickly into troubled chop that looked like liquid sapphire. As we passed the mad waters, Malcolm showed me an unusual old dead tree perched on the west shore of Lovango Cay. He explained that such trees are usually washed away with a storm but this one has managed to hang on to its little piece of ground: I photographed it. Upon first sight, I recalled the “Tree of Life” from the Lord of the Rings movies.
Legend of Murder Rock, Lovango Cay
After we rounded the southwest edge of Lovango, Malcolm told me a Lovango Cay story. Apparently, there was a brothel on the south shore in the old days before powered ships. A patron of the brothel believed he was in love with one of the prostitutes and wanted to take her away but she loved her work and refused his offer. The man was persistent about his honest desires for her and she was equally persistent about not wanting to leave. One day, someone passing through the Windward Passage, just to the southeast of Lovango Cay, spotted a body lying on top of an offshore rock. Close examination of the body showed that it was the body of the unfortunately infatuated man: he had been murdered. The name of the rock became Murder Rock. I imagine that the prostitute lived ever after doing what she preferred doing with love and peace: what other man would dare again to take that from her.
Once we paddled past Murder Rock, we turned south and east toward the shore of St John. That took us across the Windward Passage, through the Durloe Cays, past Honeymoon Beach where Linda and I snorkeled for a couple of hours during our catamaran cruise and also where I fried my back, past Johnson Reef and Whistling Cay, then across the shipping lanes to the shelter of Great Thatch Island. From the western point of Great Thatch island, we would make the long open water dash to Yost Van Dyke’s Great Harbor to register our visit at the BVI immigration office, then paddle west, one bay over to White Bay to Ivan’s Stress-Free Bar and Resort, where we would be staying for the next three days.
Malcolm Plays Near Johnson Reef
Heading north through the Windward Passage would expose us to the brunt of the ocean swells. While we paddled through the relatively sheltered Pillsbury Sound, you will remember I stated that we encountered a three-foot swells that were barely noticeable. Once through the Windward Passage, the swells grew in height from 6 to 10 feet , perhaps even 12 feet (correct me if I am wrong, Malcolm): they were indeed big. When they rolled toward me, my vision saw only this wall of liquid sapphire which blotted out everything within sight and melded with the sky. When they rolled under me and gently lifted me high, I looked down upon Malcolm who was cruising as closely to the reef as he was comfortable. In this area, I felt very comfortable and at ease. The crashing waves over the reef presented to me one of the most beautiful sites I have seen during my short life, and there was Malcolm cruising through my vision. I had my camera out as he paddled along the backside of the reef and snapped away as quickly as I dared: I had to keep one eye on those waves while messing with the viewfinder.
The verdant islands surrounded by all of this surreal aquamarine/sapphire glass which continuously bashed against their shores kept me in a constant state of awe. Honestly, I felt like I was in heaven and to this day, I still have that feeling. My photography and my writing will preserve this feeling and most likely, will cause me to go back to visit Malcolm and stay at Ivan’s as often as possible. As we paddled past the mouth of Francis Bay to our right (north side of St John), we watched immense rollers form and crash in sets of three as the swells collided with the reef within the bay. I have never seen anything like it and man… I sure wanted to go paddle in that, perhaps in a white water boat but most definitely NOT in this Cape Horn.
As we passed Whistling Cay, we paddled hard at Malcolm’s advice to get across the shipping lanes to the shelter of Great Thatch Island. I worked the Cape Horn as hard as I could and sent her bow flying over waves so that the front third of her hull was exposed to the air, then her bow would bury in the next wave. The only word I have within my vocabulary to describe the feeling I experienced is exhilaration. At least I was comfortable enough with the Cape Horn to let loose and fly a little.
The Crossing to Yost Van Dyke
Upon reaching the western end of Great Thatch, we rested while Malcolm studied water and shipping conditions over the open water toward Yost Van Dyke. Conditions looked favorable so we headed out from the shelter of Great Thatch. Paddling through these unsheltered waters was very easy and relaxing. The water conditions were appeared predictable and offered up no challenges other than causing me to become complacent. I missed one of those odd waves that hit the hull of the kayak from out of nowhere and nearly went overboard. As we paddled toward Great Harbor, Malcolm and I talked idly at times or not at all: out here, nothing really needs to be said. Malcolm pointed out Tortolla Island which lay to our right. While we were about 3/5 of the way across, Malcolm spotted a sea turtle that appeared to be quiet old judging by the size of its shell. I couldn’t get the camera ready in time as it dove under the water shortly after Malcolm spotted it.
Soon we were approaching Great Harbor. At one point during the crossing from Great Thatch to Yost, both Mal and I felt like we were actually being swept backward by the current. Yost seemed to not grow in size for the longest time. Sigh! All distant crossings generate such feelings. There is nothing to do about it except keep paddling. We entered Great Harbor without ado and landed ashore near the immigration office. Just before we landed, Malcolm spotted Linda, Jeff and Lori ashore and signaled victory. I was apparently oblivious to their presence, busy as I was looking the other way, enjoying the view of the hills of Yost.
We climbed out of the kayaks, got a stranger to snap off a picture of us standing beside the Yost welcome sign, and then went into the immigration office to register our presence. Once registered, we met the others and went to Corsair’s to eat a meal before getting back into the kayaks. Corsair’s is run by a really cool guy who wears a monocle to see what he writes on his order pad and loves to play with swords (see images). I didn’t get his name but his place is as popular as Ivan’s. Guys like Keith Richards, Mick Jagger and others have been there. Now Robert, Linda, Malcolm, Jeff and Lori have too, and we signed the wall in the restaurant to prove it. The food was good, beer great (Guinness, of course), meeting Jeff and Lori wonderful, all was said and done and now it was time to get back into the kayak to paddle to the next bay, White Bay. Ivan’s was calling me as was all that beautiful sand but before I could enjoy it all, the water was calling me loudest. Methinks that Davy Jones’ locker be near. Yarrrr!
Bailing in White Bay, Yost Van Dyke
Mal and I reentered the kayaks and headed west around the point to get to White Bay. The trip would be short so I settled in very comfortably while we paddled, talked very little and I took photographs of the shoreline, pelicans and fishes when needed. Soon the mouth of White Bay opened up and we could see Ivan’s beach. After we rounded the point going into the bay, I noticed that the waves were hitting me from behind (following waves?). I also noticed that the Cape Horn did not respond very well to these waves and tended to want to turn broadside to the waves despite the fact that I was using the rudder to counter this tendency. That said, I was feeling fantastic about making it this far during my first ocean paddling trek without spilling. I thought I should try to make a grand entrance to Ivan’s beach by catching a wave, kayak surfing to the shore and execute a perfect surf landing. I therefore tried to accelerate the Cape Horn to match the speed of passing waves. Some waves were pushing me along directly from behind but there were these other waves that hit me from behind at an angle. Little did I know at the time but wave interaction from open water current into a nearby reef beside the point we passed caused a certain degree of troubled wave action in this area.
The Cape Horn responded poorly to these waves (or I did) and she turned left, completely exposing the length of the kayak to the next wave which hit similarly. That wave knocked my center of balance off fairly quickly. Remember, I have a balance problem resulting from inner ear problems that have affected me since I was a child. My reaction to the balance shift should have been to paddle hard on the right side but instead I ruddered hard left and shouted, “Oh, Shit!” and immediately tilted wildly and once again (remember my rapid story), heard that familiar submerged sound of air bubbles racing past my ears.
I did keep my eyes open while upside-down and watched my hat and glasses float away. I grabbed them with fumbling fingers then turned my attention to getting air. Once my head bobbed into the air, I put my glasses on and spotted my baggied passport floating away right beside my nose. I grabbed that, saw the paddle, grabbed that, spied my water bottles bobbing away, ignored them then noticed that my kayak was being washed toward the shoreline. I tried to swim with my hands full but couldn’t get anywhere. I was moving too slowly and the overturned kayak was moving shoreward at a faster pace. At least it was moving in the right direction. As I struggled to keep my head above the water, I noticed Malcolm turning his kayak nearby. He had this pained look as he watched me do everything wrong. I should either have let go of my stuff and swam to the kayak or I should have used the paddle to paddle toward it. Instead I just struggled like an unwanted drowning puppy just tossed in the river.

Rescued by Canadians
I hollered to Malcolm to get over to me but instead, a dingy of fast thinking people sped over to assist me. They stopped beside me and I grabbed the side. They told me that they were already heading toward me even before I spilled “just in case”. Did they know me or something? Well, I didn’t disappoint. I can’t remember how I reconnected with my kayak; perhaps Mal can relate that part. At any rate, I found myself dangling off the side of this dingy in the middle of White Bay, talking with four strangers while one of them pumped the water out of the cockpit. I happened to ask them where they were from. Of all the places in this big world where they could be from, they said Sarnia, Ontario, Canada. I was being rescued by fellow Canadians. When they told me that, I laughed out loud and stated very simply. “Edmonton, here!” They couldn’t believe they were rescuing a fellow Canadian. We all laughed together while I began to climb back into the cockpit. Once I had the spray skirt secured, I shoved off, proffered my profuse thanks, wished them well and headed for shore.
I was feeling a little weak-minded for having spilled so stupidly. Had I just stuck to my cautious paddling style, I would not have spilled but I became somewhat reckless in a relatively unfamiliar kayak and had to swim. Interestingly, in the area I spilled there are a lot of tropical fish: didn’t see any while I was swimming under the kayak. Later the next day, I would be snorkeling in the same area and photographing the same fish. I wonder if any of them would remember me from the day before.
Malcolm and I continued our paddling toward the shore. I was so relieved to be passing between the boats moored in the bay that I had to concentrate so that I wouldn’t become complacent again. Linda, Jeff and Lori were on the beach to meet us. Linda snapped off images with her camera as we paddled to shore. Fortunately, I pulled off a very nice surf landing. As I dragged my kayak high onto the shore, I was thrilled to be at Ivan’s and relieved to be off the water. You will see by the pictures that I was looking fairly drenched after my mid-bay swim. Of course, the scenery behind me was enough to take my mind off of my misadventures for that day.
Fast forward to the day when Malcolm and I had to paddle back to St Thomas.
Our experiences at Ivan’s Stress-Free Bar and Resort shall be left out since they don’t have much to do with kayaking. Ask me and I suppose I could work up a write-up complete with pictures but that will be another story.
The beach at Ivan’s requires a paddler to do a surf launch, the waves never relax and the beach drops off quickly into the depths of White Bay. Malcolm tried once to launch ahead of me but got socked by a wave, spun sideways and had to bail. Sometimes unexpectedly large waves crash into the beach and there is no help for it: you get thrashed. I helped him clean things up and he relaunched successfully. I took a lesson from him and made certain not to make a mistake while launching. We got back on the water, posed for pictures, paddled out into the bay a ways, stopped to make minor adjustments to equipment, then paddled off to St John where we were required to reenter the USVI via the immigration office at Cruz Bay.
The paddle back to St John was uneventful. The water, relatively speaking, was dead flat as far as dead flat goes on an ocean. Malcolm and I talked a little, paddled and simply enjoyed the aura of the morning. I snapped off a few photos of a very beautiful morning display of sunbeam and rain clouds that appeared over Tortolla. I did see a small flying fish zip through the air briefly at one point during our long crossing to St John. If I recall correctly, Malcolm did spot a turtle again not far offshore from Yost. The clouds did let loose a brief rainfall but it was a short lived and pleasant experience. We were not harassed by any boaters who couldn’t see us and we found that Johnson’s Reef was pretty quiet. We did see a large cruise ship moored in Pillsbury Sound. There were water taxis ferrying people back and forth from the ship to Cruz Bay. Just before we entered Cruz Bay we spotted a group of kayakers in tandems who were being guided by one of Malcolm’s friends. Mal went to speak to the guide while I chatted with more fellow Canadians from Ontario. After a few minutes of chat we wished each other well and Mal and I continued on to the immigration office. Mal spotted what he thought was the ferry which Linda and Ami should be on. Turned out that it was indeed the same ferry and Linda was snapping off photographs of us paddling in the bay. We met the girls near the immigration office, I stole a hug and kiss from Linda, then Malcolm and I moved our kayaks to another beach area where we hooked up with a meal and a drink.
Once lunch was eaten, we headed back out on the water to complete the crossing over Pillsbury Sound back to Vessup Beach at St Thomas. Initially, the paddle across the sound was easy. The bay waters were settled and relatively flat. However, once we got out into the main current of the bay, conditions changed. Sigh! Malcolm thought it would be good to go back this way to have the wind and wave at our backs. Of course, you remember how I feel about this Cape Horn rental kayak and you remember how I described my rudder management skills and you should also recall what I think about following waves bashing up against the stern of this kayak. Yep! It happened again. Malcolm and I were just over half way across Pillsbury Sound when I got hit by two of those idiotic following waves, one immediately after the other. When the first one hit, I jammed the rudder to correct while making a paddle stroke on the right to correct my balance. Unfortunately, I accidently ruddered left instead of right and so managed to expertly swing the kayak broadside to the next wave. The sudden shift left instead of right caused me to miss my balancing stroke right exactly when the next wave hit the kayak. I yelped out something like, “Fuck, not again!” as I rolled under the water yet again, rising bubbles from my mouth carrying somewhat muffled swear words up into the air where perhaps Malcolm could hear them.
While underwater again, I acted very quickly to rescue my glasses and floating hat again. I was up above the water within seconds. I came up directly beside the kayak, flipped it upright, tossed my hat into the cockpit, grabbed it by the deck and moved it along until I was holding it by the stern. Malcolm came up beside me, positioned his kayak such that he could brace mine while I climbed back in. My nerves were frazzled by this time because I knew that with the kind of waves hitting the kayak, I could easily go over again. It wasn’t that the water was freezing cold by any means; it was just that I could not be my usual relaxed self while paddling. I react much better when I know my kayak, its stability limits and what I can get away with when messing around with it. This kayak kept me guessing and I did not have enough time to adapt to it. If only I had the VJ or my Night Heron, things would have been very different. Then again, you would be reading a less hilarious story, wouldn’t ya!
Once I was back in the kayak, I paddled hard to keep hull pressure strong thus improving stability. I still almost went over twice but caught myself with a correcting stroke before tasting salt water again. As I paddled hard, the distance between Mal and I increased. When Mal caught up to me later, he was not too happy about the distance I opened up. I apologized to him and explained that I felt I had no choice but to paddle hard as I was having a tough time with the waves. He recognized my difficulty, indicated that he saw me almost go over twice, and nothing else was said about that. As it went, I did look back a few times to check up on Mal while I raced toward the shore. I knew that he is a very competent paddler and that his kayak is much more stable than my rental kayak so I did not worry too much about him. All I wanted was not to tip again.
In short order Malcolm and I entered the bay and slowed our paddling to a more relaxed pace. We managed nice looking surf landings. After congratulatory handshakes and hugs, we got our stuff ready for the drive back home. Man, I was so glad to be off that water and yet, I wanted to get back out there but only with my Night Heron. I told Malcolm later that day that I was thinking about building another S&G Night Heron and shipping it to him so that when I return, I could paddle with confidence. It’s either that or learn how to roll. Sigh!

Robert N Pruden 03/15/10