Paradise has its limits. The first month’s stay in Luperon had turned the blood as stagnant as the harbor waters. Trips to nearby urban areas were a welcome diversion, but hardly challenging. A true physical test, interlaced with moments of sheer terror was required to jump start the blood flow. Traveling 50 miles solo along the Dominican Republic’s relatively uncharted northern shore in a 30-year-old wood and canvas kayak became the prescription, With dictators only recently abolished, the DR government’s heavy-handed policies to block the ingress of Haitians and the egress of Dominicans over its coastline make it a hassle for cruising sailors to simply change ports. Anchoring is only allowed in a few approved ports. You cannot anchor in remote spots for weeks on end like in the Bahamas. So this journey was not only a personal challenge, but a clandestine peak at forbidden territories. In the morning calm at 6:45 am, I paddled out of the Luperon Harbor and headed west, past Playa Grande, to round Punta Cabo Isabella. Thunder clouds built all morning and finally caught me at 10:00 am. The buckets of cool, fresh water felt good, but the nearby lightning strikes generated a lot of adrenaline and almost added a dose of warm urine to the rain water sloshing around in the kayak. Christopher Columbus founded Isabella in 1499, establishing it as the first city in the New World. Since then, the town has stagnated and the few remains of the original settlement require an active imagination to fill in the pieces lost over the last 500 years. Without Columbus’ detailed writings to tell the story, the stones he laid would lay forgotten. After a tour of the ruins and a quick lunch, I walked towards town for more lunch, but discovered I was inside some fenced, guarded compound, so decided to head back to the kayak and escape before the guard woke up and spotted me. It was 12:00 noon and I continued west to explore a large mangrove-lined harbor, appearing on charts as quite similar to Luperon, which should make it a good alternate hurricane sanctuary. Approaching the harbor mouth at 2:15 pm, a guard stopped me, making it quite clear that I was not going any further. My limited vocabulary and firepower did not allow argument, so that harbor remains a fantasy. Thoughts of hanging around and sneaking in after dark plagued me until I realized the full moon would give them plenty of light to shoot me. So, Punta Rucia was the next waypoint. The strong afternoon trade winds were kicking up a confused and dangerous swell as I rounded the rocky point. Some waves actually jumped in the boat for a ride. Quite skittish now, I tucked into the first sandy spot in the sheltered lee of the point at 4:00 pm and started preparing for the night. The first thing was passing out on the sand for a two-hour nap and then waking up face-to-face with a large, curious crab. The next thing was rigging up a hammock to get away from the beach wildlife of crabs, ants, and spiders. A mile south was the actual port of Punta Rucia, but hiding out from bureaucrats was part of the plan. One mosquito made a couple of lame attempts and then went to find easier prey. Day one ended by lying in the hammock with sore arms and an aching butt, watching the sun set, wondering if the smart thing to do would be to fold up the kayak, throw everything in a taxi, and head home.
