How nice to slow down! We are positively reveling in the calm, almost rain-free islands, lack of security problems and enjoying water sports every day.
Argo's main anchor chain is now six years old. In the last two years it has dragged over sand, mud, rock and ground coral bottoms as the boat swings in the wind. Still very serviceable but in need of re-galvanizing. And the only place we know to do it in the Southern Caribbean is Puerto La Cruz on the mainland of Venezuela. So to PLC we go. Twenty years ago 150 cruising boats anchored off the town but now there are none. Crimes against cruisers have driven every one into marinas which are staffed 24/7 with armed guards. We spent a month there - it took that long to get the anchor done and we breathed a large sigh of relief to be underway again - dolphins dancing in our bow wave - before the national election in early December.
We made some use of our time in PLC - Lapin helped make courtesy flags for the countries we hoped to visit this year (this one is for Aruba)
- we shopped for provisions (here's $100 of vacuum packed meat for Argo's freezer from a local butcher)
and we made many a morning walk around the marina. We didn't know it but birds were going to be a theme for the year.
We spent ten days in Porlamar to stock up further for the almost uninhabited islands off the Venezuelan coast. Then finally, in mid-December the cruising season really began. Up at 3 am for a 12 hour run to Isla Blanquilla - which we needed to approach with the sun high so we could see into the water and dodge coral heads. And we had an escort of terns who made a remarkable mess of our foredeck.
Blanquilla set the standard which the rest of the Venezuelan islands followed - arid, thorny land with an array of lizards (in this case a sort of shiny, licoricy black number - very very fast and with a habit of waving one front leg at us) - stunning coast lines, lovely pocket beaches and glorious sunsets. And wind, wind, wind. We stayed a week - until a great weather window for a northwest run came up and we headed out one evening for the long run to Los Roques.
For three days we sheltered from the unrelenting wind behind only a thumbnail of an islet and an enormous barrier reef. We were far enough from the reef and the wind was low (only 15 knots!) that the surf noise was comforting. Occasional rain showers brought fantastic skyscapes.
Traditional Venezuelan fishing boats came out from the mainland to fish around the islands.
Los Roques are all a National Park - but fishing is allowed in certain areas - even to foreigners. Behind the fishing boats the remains of a commercial trawler are high on the reef. A reminder to be careful. And, again, the reason we made an overnight passage so we would arrive at noon rather than late in the day.
We finally got blown out of our nice quiet hidey-hole and went in search of a less windy anchorage deeper into the Roques. Along the way we thought we heard an American voice on the radio calling for help - he was on the beach he said. We couldn't raise him so we just kept going but had a sharp eye out in case we saw a boat in trouble. And soon enough we did - unfortunately not on the beach but up on a reef and at times heeling way over and shifting further onto the rocks in the swell. A Venezuelan trawler yacht a little smaller than Argo was already there with two large open boats with local fishermen on board. They managed to drag Liberation off the rocks - with her crew pumping like mad on the manual bilge pump.
With some danger to themselves the fishermen managed to transfer the tow line to Argo and we towed Liberation a couple of miles into an idyllic anchorage where the open boats came alongside her and drove her up onto a shallow soft sandy beach where she would be safe until they could find and plug the leak.
Our fifth tow in Argo - but the first with pictures! The bay is in fact called Carenero - in English Careening Bay - a place where boats used to be careened or deliberately pulled over onto their sides so the bottom could be cleaned or patched. The local fishermen fixed Liberation's leak and we helped tow her out into deep water the next day after she spent a night on the sand with a borrowed electric pump draining her bilges. She was a mess - rudder badly damaged, bulkheads torn loose, cabin full of a mix of oil and water and who knows what else - but afloat.
We spent over a week tucked in and protected at Carenero while the Christmas winds howled over the rest of the Roques - and Christmas it was too. Our second aboard. Third if you count the one in a boatyard in Virginia! There were lizards and beaches and stunning views, fishing and snorkeling and eating.
There were pearls for me (and for Lapin) from Margarita and Venezuelan Christmas sprites and elf hats for me and for Lapin's puppy, Grrrf. There are also - as on all the offshore islands here - huge piles, mounds, mountains of conch shells. So many that the conch season is now permanently closed and we never saw a live conch in all our time in the Roques. Some of the middens are pre-historic; man has been plundering conch here for centuries.
We moved on first to Cayo de Agua - stunning light and water scapes and wind, wind, wind.
Then on to a biological research station on the southern island of a pair called Dos Mosquises. Hmm, Carenero was heaven - except for the bugs at sundown. We were worried about Mosquises - but the wind blew them all away. The station, staffed by students from around the world, studies things like the decimated conch population and also raises green, loggerhead and hawksbill turtles for release into the wild. The youngsters need to be scrubbed regularly to combat disease. We walked all the way around the island one morning - took about an hour at our ambling pace. And there was wind, wind, wind.
Time to move on - while we had heard wonderful things about the Roques the reports on Los Aves were even better. Particularly the first set - Los Aves Barlovento. On the last day of the year we rounded the point in Los Aves still towing two fishing lines - not a bite in a six hour passage. Clayton went aft to pull in the lines before we got into shallow water and found we had made a catch after all. A young booby had managed to get not one but both hooks into his wings and was bouncing and jouncing all over the place in our wake. Clayton reeled him in - alive - amazing he hadn't drowned or broken his neck. He dangled from the rods panting madly and we could do nothing for him until the boat was secured.
Eyeballed our way into a quiet spot, dropped the hook and went to see to Bobby the booby before he expired from fright. With a towel over his head he calmed enough to cut the hooks out and unwind him from huge knots of line. He then sat stunned on the edge of the net we had used to bring him aboard. Eventually we managed to nudge him off the net onto the swim platform and he just sat there panting. We put off our arrival chores and sat up in the flybridge with a beer or two to see what would happen. After about 15 minutes he dared hop into the water. Floated away very slowly on the current. Occasionally another booby would fly over to taunt or chide or encourage him. He made several abortive attempts to fly and was getting just to the edge of vision of our best stabilized binoculars when he finally managed to get it all together and took off - quickly disappearing into a cloud of other birds. Los Aves, of course, means The Birds. And there were TONS of them playing in the wind. We were nestled behind a thin bank of the most enormous mangrove trees we've seen. 60 feet tall - whereas most mangroves are tall at 16 feet. And in the mangroves nest after nest of boobies. We spent nearly three weeks there. When it rained the reek of droppings got to be a bit much and we wished for more wind. But the trees cut all but the worst and we only had to walk across the island or round the point in front of the boat in the dinghy to feel the full blast. There were lizards - but no new ones - and bazillions of hermit crabs - hordes of no-see-ums near the trees at dusk. 
The call of the birds, their constant antics. And sometimes another boat or three - but sometimes we had it to ourselves. There was serious hammock work to be done (Grrff and Lapin got into the act),
along with snorkeling and a little diving - Argo's compressor kept our SCUBA tanks and those of Calypso and Willow full. All the boats were now 3-5 weeks away from a grocery store. We had several meals or sundown snacks on other boats as people started to share what treats they had left. We found time (in our busy schedule of naps, dips, naps, minor explorations ashore, naps) to write another chapter in The Wonderful Adventures of Lapin - Tales of a Ship's Rabbit. This one, by special request, followed a day in the life of a rabbit aboard Argo. "Every morning, says Lapin, Grandmum and I do our exercises on the aft deck."
The best dive was across the other side of the island - only a couple of hundred yards. But a slog with full scuba gear from the landing nestled under a tunnel of mangrove - and the entry/exit was made interesting by surf, rocks and urchins between the rocks.
On all the boats the challenge of the stay was to get a decent picture of one of the boobies - the red-footed booby. We braved the bugs (slathered in repellent AND sweltering in long sleeves and long pants) several times. Shot literally hundreds of frames to bring you:
A brown booby guarding it's nest. And, yes, there it is - a mere scrape in the ground.
A young booby (most likely a red-footed though we couldn't tell with the young ones) on Argo's bow pulpit.
A red footed booby chick.
An adult showing that he really does have red feet.
Then onward to Las Aves de Sotovento (downwind bird islands). Argo is set up for deploying our flopper stoppers in case conditions get a bit too uncomfortable.
Our friends on Calypso discussing the problems with getting an anchor to set. We tried 3 times before ours set in the hard pan coral rubble.
But it's worth it for the beaches and island scenery.
After 3 days in the Sotoventos we were send forth by the Guarda Costa and headed for Bonaire in the Netherlands Antilles, renowned for SCUBA diving. Lapin watches his flag flying from Argo's bow.
Bonaire is wealthier than most Caribbean islands. The difference is immediately obvious in its architecture.
We timed our arrival to coincide with Karnaval (the ABC islands have a unique language called Papiamentu that seems to be a mix of Spanish, Dutch and African dialects). A cruiser equivalent of a parking lot jammed the dock the day of the parade:
These two pictures were taken from Argo's mooring just 150 feet from shore. The mooring blocks are 20 feet deep. Dive sites enjoy underwater visibility to over 100 feet. Because the coast is national park the corals are breathtakingly beautiful and the fish life is the most diverse (and probably the most abundant) in the Caribbean.
Tropical fish mill around Argo all the time. It's great snorkeling as well as diving.
One day we rented a car to go see the island.
Lapin enjoys looking at a "turk's head" cactus.
Outhouse at one of the shore entry points for divers.
Cactus fence, a common sight here. No longer cheap to construct, they are a signature of Bonaire. Just cut lengths of the right cactus (so goats don't eat your fence) and stand them decoratively on the ground. They will root themselves. The hard parts are "just cut" and "stand" since the cactus spines will pierce gloves with ease. Special cutting, transporting and holding tools have been developed just to build these fences.
Buildings at the National Park visitor center. The whole northern 1/3 of Bonaire is a National Park as is its entire shoreline, all the way around the island. Islanders are refreshingly conservation oriented, not like most other islands we've visited.
These two signs help visitors decide which of two restrooms will be appropriate.
The windward side of every Caribbean island is a bit wild. Bonaire is no exception.
Lapin makes acquaintance with the local lizards. (And they with him.)
Abandoned lighthouse at the northern end of Bonaire.
View of the National Park from the top of the lighthouse.
Iguanas can be found on nearly every island. (This one was looking for a handout - when he didn't get one he bit Lapin then turned around and bit F.)
And with tall Bonaire cactus.
But not Trupials. This one is a Bonaire specialty.
And not flamingos. Bonaire has vast salt pans in the flat south and a few fresh water ponds in the hilly north. Both support a large number of flamingos.
The salt pans are still a working salt factory. These salt piles are upwards of 100 feet tall and new ones grow every day.
Slave huts which once housed the salt workers on Bonaire. Four to a cabin, the slaves were given a day off each week to spend with family. The only hitch - they had to walk 19 miles home and then 19 miles back to work the next day.
In the 'old days' cargo vessels were instructed to anchor at one of 6 colored obelisks to transfer cargo. These were the only shoreside navigation markers and are scattered about the island.
Bonaire also has wild donkeys, now loved and looked after. They were once the motor tractors for transporting salt and imported goods. Our guide book says that once you've led a donkey 3 times along a path, no matter how long or complicated, then you can load up the animal and let go. It will reliably reach the other end every time. Now their numbers are dropping as car traffic increases. A donkey sanctuary has opened to care for the orphaned, injured and elderly among Bonaire's 400 wild donkeys.
