We met a Dutch couple, Willem and Diana, who have been traveling for several years in their boat Cornelis. They are both experienced divers, and Barbara went snorkeling with them one day, and they came to visit one evening for drinks and music.

We said our good-byes on Sadie Hawkins Day, bittersweet, as always, and the morning of March 1st we came ashore and cleared out, with very warm farewells from Mark, the official.

The next morning we set out along the south coast of St. Thomas for Culebra, where we would clear in to the U.S. again. This is necessary, we are told, because the U.S. Virgin Islands are a free port. There was a good deal of wind and the sea was running six to nine feet, but we were going with it, so were very comfortable. Just before noon we passed isolated Sail Rock, right in the middle of the passage between the U.S. and Spanish Virgin Islands. From a distance it really does look like a large sailing ship.

An hour later we duly made up the red buoy at the southern end of the long reef that stretches out from Culebrita (where we enjoyed climbing to the lighthouse a couple of years ago) and started along the buoyed channel that leads to the narrow entrance of Ensenada Honda, the principal harbor of Culebra. We anchored off the little town of Dewey (named by the Navy) and again cleared in by phone. As mentioned, the officer on the phone was very helpful despite our not having filed the float plan properly and gave us the all-important clearance number.

A few people, family groups mostly, were enjoying the beach, though we imagine that on weekends it is more crowded. Fortunately they were quiet, with no blaring boom-boxes. One other boat eventually anchored, but about three-quarters of a mile from us. One could no doubt ask for more, but that might be just a little greedy.

The next morning we headed southwest again, across the Pasaje de Vieques toward Punta Tuna, the southeast corner of Puerto Rico. Barbara rode easily, with 20-25 knots of wind and 6-8 foot seas and a favoring current. We stayed well off the point because the bottom shoals very quickly there, going from 1,000 fathoms to 5 in less than two miles. We could see that the seas inshore were steeper and closer together, breaking more often. We were happy to see lots of flying fish during this passage.

We found many things the same in Salinas, but we also found some changes since our last visit.

We got directions from Marianne to the marine store that used to be in Salinas and went there looking for a couple of stainless-steel screws. We found the screws, but also found fresh eggs, so we bought two dozen, which were delicious.

We had one concern about the boat; the oil level in the hydraulic tank was getting very low, something that is not supposed to happen in a closed system. Clearly we had developed a leak, but there were no puddles of fluid anywhere in the boat, so the most likely culprit was the oil cooler.

Salinas is really a lovely place. It is a very secure harbor in the coastal plain, surrounded by mangroves, but with the central mountains only a few miles away. In the mornings the mountains glow with the sunlight and look almost like paper cutouts, one in front of the other. We found that there is pretty good wi-fi at the local bakery, and this simplified our lives a little. We also met several boat-fulls (boatfuls? boats-full?) of cruisers there

By 8:20 we had warped ourselves clear of the fuel dock and backed out of the marina, headed west again

By 8:15 the next morning we were underway again.

In the early 20th century the flat south coast was all sugarcane fields--there still are a few, left over, and names like Central Aguirre, Central Fortuna, Central Boca Chica, all large sugar refineries, still remind us of that period.

Once past the Guanica sea buoy we felt as though we were almost home, and after giving a respectful clearance to Arrecife Margarita we headed in to round Cabo Rojo quite closely, to take advantage of the current that always sets westward around this point.

We passed Combate and soon were able to head directly for the green buoy on the southern end of Bajo Enmedio, the reef that lies across the mouth of Boqueron Bay. We headed in, and by 14:15 were anchored with our engine stopped. Here we would stay (although as some transient boats moved out we did move a little farther in) until it was time to head north again in late April.

On going ashore we were warmly received by the usual suspects. The guys on "the corner" in front of Schamar were all in their places, and the next morning Lizette was setting up her bar as usual.

Saint Patrick's Day came just after we arrived, and as usual the highlight of the parade was the ceremonial firing of the potato cannon just in front of Sunset-Sunrise. The boys have a new model this year, made of PVC pipe and powered by hairspray and a bic lighter; it will shoot a spud very high in the air, I must say.

After the parade we were surprised and pleased to find that Lizette had cooked an Irish boiled dinner for all the Sunset-Sunrise regulars; Aida ran back and forth with plates for everyone, and it was delicious.

Our social life picked up hugely. We were invited to dinner with friends, and we in turn had small dinners on the boat. We went almost immediately, and on the spur of the moment, to the nice house of Jon and Kathleen, overlooking Puerto Real. Jon is a professional chef, among other things, and even his casual meals are memorable. We had Carl for dinner on the boat, and Stan and Rita, and Lizette. On a nice evening it is really very pleasant to watch the sunset over drinks on the after deck, and then after dinner to sit outside again and watch the stars.

Occasionally we would go out for a restaurant meal, either to La Marea or the Sandbox, but this year we generally ate on the boat. Jon, patient soul, took Barbara shopping when necessary, so we kept our stocks up.

One difference is that the blimp (the tethered aerostat that is part of the war on drugs) was missing, and the word is that its crew left it up too long in high winds, and when they went to haul it down the rope broke. With that, the blimp went up and up and finally self-destructed, as it was programmed to do at a certain altitude.

This year we added an item to our regular Boqueron schedule; The bar/restaurant Los Remos has started serving breakfast on weekends, and Carl is playing his saxophone there from 9:30 to 11:00. Usually we would go in and get either breakfast or a cup of

Barbara rowed ashore Sunday mornings to play flute in church. Most days I worked on the boat, finishing up the forward cabin lockers, finshing the cabin soles, and painting wherever I could that did not interfere hugely with our lives.

On Barbara's birthday (a Sunday this year) we had bloody marys with Stan and Rita after church, then a siesta and presents, then dinner at La Marea and drinks afterward at Sunset-Sunrise with Lizette. The next week, as a further celebration, we had an extravagant paella at Jon and Kathleen's, a completely Spanish evening, with Spanish beers and hors-d'oeuvres to

We were then in Easter Week semana santa, traditionally a time when the devout go to many church services, while the rest party. The evening of Good Friday we had burgers at the Sandbox witih Carl. Last year we saw a mobile passion play go by, but not this year, alas. Saturday night of Holy week is particularly zooey, so we had a little party on the boat for the regulars (Carl, Terry, and Mark), joined at first by Jacques and his friend Christian, cruisers we had met earlier in Great Harbour on

We had not intended to give a dinner party, but as time went on we thought it might be a good idea to eat something, so Carl cleaned the fish and

We bought an engaging little papier-maché blowfish from Robert, who settled in Boqueron years ago and figured out that they might be a way to make a living. He looks quite comfortable hanging in the pilothouse, but I think he might have to be secured before we go offshore.

Before everyone gets too enamored of this life, however, let me point out that there are tedious moments. One day, for example, Barbara and I spent the whole afternoon cleaning the engine-room bilge, and it took me two days to get the smell of oil off my hands.

Our friend Ita is fond of taking people in her little boat to beaches that are not reachable by road, and sometimes she stops by on the way home. A spell of bad weather (well, not really, but showery, so maybe not the best beach weather) had interfered with this habit, but on the 12th she finally did get out, and stopped by with Terry and Irene in the afternoon. That same day we had Jon and Kathleen for dinner, prefaced by drinks ashore, so we were really quite social.

By now we are "short," as they used to say in the Army, meaning that we have little time left here. Some of our friends, too, are heading back to the States. Jon and Kathleen head for New York on the 15trh, and Ita is off to spend some time in San Antonio, where she was stationed in the Navy and still has friends. It is a time when people are moving about, and there is nostalgia in the air.