In the Venezuelan Atolls - Blackwattle

by Nancy Knudsen on 24 Feb 2007 photo above is Blackwattle Skipper Ted swimming in Los Roques

DAY 227 - 12th February, 2007 - IN THE ATOLLS OF VENEZUELA.

The sand is so soft and white it feels like talcum powder under the toes. As an Australian I am used to fine white sand. I remember shorelines with sand so fine that when a wind blows it lifts the sand flying down the wide empty beaches to sting our legs and set us scuttling to cover them with our beach towels, squealing and giggling.

But never sand like this. It is so fine that each tiny wavelet on the shore is milk coloured with suspended powdered sand. And as I look up at the aqua waters beyond, there is nothing around but a fine white sandy strip between the water and sky – teal coloured water and a sky made to look violet by contrast. We are on the Island of Tortuga, off the coast of Venezuela, almost alone.

I say ‘almost’ because there are some holiday shacks along the beach where some rich Venezuelans apparently fly themselves into the island with tiny planes. We sailed overnight from Porlamar on the Island of Margarita to get here. There were a couple of yachts when we arrived, but they have gone now. This is a lonely atoll, invisible until just a couple of miles away, and found only by navigation to a waypoint.

We walk across a short grassy strip and find a lagoon – a vast shallow place ringed with coral. I wade across the lagoon to a distant beach with low bushes – it’s all about two feet deep, and takes about half an hour. Ted swims somewhere else. It’s quiet. The only noise is a distant surf-roar on the windward side of the atoll, and sometimes the squawk of a frigate bird. The world is far away from here as I walk – here there are no expectations, no wars, no pollution, no judgement, one can simply….be…. child of the universe.

……………………..

DAY 229 - 14th February, 2007 – WESTWARD IN THE CORAL ATOLLS

We spend a couple of magic days on Tortuga Island – well, ‘Island’ is a pompous word for where we are – there’s some sand, lots of shallow water the artificial colour of swimming pools, there is some low spinifex grass, a few shacks, and some mangroves. The highest point can’t be more than a metre above the water. We don’t want to go, but the Pacific is calling.

As we sail away from the island, I think how mad we were to have spent so much time in the touristy Windwards – how much more interesting this wide wild expanse is, full of frigate birds and rust grey pelicans, brilliant clear water for swimming and snorkelling.
My thoughts are interrupted by a noise - at the corner of my mind, it’s Ted’s voice, coming from far away. He’s calling, and I slowly focus on his words. ‘Quick, Nance look! Look! Nance!’ but by the time I pay attention the moment has passed.
‘It doesn’t matter – it was the most dense flock of flying fish I have ever seen.’ He goes back to his own reverie.

I missed it. Isn’t that the way with life – if you spend time regretting something past, you may miss the beauty of this moment.

But no time for regrets now, as the sea starts to swing us swiftly to Los Roques in a dark starry night. And what a mysterious vibrant night it is – stars everywhere – below, the water is full of starry bioluminescence that tells me how healthy this water is, and thousands of stars above, some of them falling as I watch.

We always plan our departures to arrive early in the morning, but recently the winds are so nicely high and the seas and current flow so fast behind us that we always arrive early, and, not wanting to arrive at night, have to slow down and hang about until daylight. I am rewarded with a spectacular sunrise.

On coral atolls such as this, however, we cannot enter until we have the sun high enough so that we can see the coral and sand and track our way in – 10.00am maybe - charts are never enough, and rarely accurate in coral areas.

This time, however we have picked the wrong – windward - side of the island, and the sea boils as we round the most northerly tip – Gran Roque – ready for the approach. We’re glad to get inside the vast lagoon that comprises Los Roques, into calmer seas, to look for an anchorage.

This is so unlike the lonely Island of Tortuga – it is about 350 square miles of coral cays – hundreds of places to anchor. It’s still remote though, an overnight sail from any direction. Pristine, and guarded for the Venezuelan Government by their coast guard who patrol, charge for entry – it’s a National Park - and put areas ‘off limits’ if they have been frequented too often by wandering sailors.

………………………………………………………….

DAY 231 - 16th February, 2007 – SHSHSHSH!

It’s so quiet. Shshsh! After the rough sea of our journey here, the quiet is almost eerie. It’s difficult to believe that the water is so rough just a mile away. The water beside the boat is swimming pool blue, five metres deep but I can see the white sand down there. Hardly a ripple, and then, gazing slowly upward, the inland sea is in stripes - bright teal deeper water alternates with light blue shallower water, brown coral water, up to the horizon miles away, where the sky is suddenly a violet blue. There are bright green mangroves out the other side of the boat, grey stick trunks joining them to a slit of white sand beach (Why isn’t the water muddy?).

There are pelicans hunting in huge flocks, scouring the water, then falling like rocks, landing with a comical splash – they are small pelicans, brown, grey and rusty red colours. The long angled frigate birds are sleeker, elegant – when they dive it’s a neat entry, no fuss. The scene happens silently, the only noise being the distant hushing sound of surf on some windward shore that I can’t see.

We talk to another boat, and find they are from Canada, and plan to spend about three weeks here – what a shame we can’t do that too – but Panama calls…. Later we speak to yet another Canadian who sailed into Venezuela five years ago, and has never gone home. ‘The Venezuelan coastline must be the most beautiful in the world’ he raves. We agree that the weather is perfect, a mere 11 degrees from the equator, and it’s a constantly perfect 27 degrees, the water temperature much the same.

However, we stop wishing we could stay here for three weeks when the weekend comes. We have obviously chosen the very best anchorage in Los Roques, as on Friday big glass-eyed Venezuelan motor yachts start arriving from the mainland at speed. They bring their flashy water toys, beach umbrellas, and start doing figure eights around the boats at 30 knots. Well, of course, with fuel at less than 10 cents a litres…o yes it’s time to leave – who would have thought…..?

And as we leave, passing dozens of other anchorages on the way, we are reassured we really DID choose the best anchorage in all of Los Roques – ALL the swanky motor yachts are in ours – nowhere else!