Julie served as First Mate, and our kids—Andrew (then 17 years old), Christopher (13), and Jenny (11)—were delightful companions and capable crew members. Most important, they knew how to remain safe while working and relaxing on a boat.
Towing a nine-foot dinghy, we departed from our base at Road Town and headed west. We knew to visit the delightful smaller islands over the next week as we circumnavigated Tortola, the largest of the islands. During the first day, we experienced steady, moderate winds from the east. They carried us around craggy Frenchman’s Cay and the west end of Tortola. We tied up to a mooring ball in a protected bay called Soper’s Hole. After a first-rate seafood dinner ashore, we spent a restful night aboard the cat’. In the morning, we sailed thirteen miles to an outer island named Jost Van Dyke.
The star of JVD is fabulous White Bay, a long stretch of bleached, powdery sand facing Tortola. There were no docks or mooring balls, so like the other twenty boats already there, we dropped anchor well off the strand. We could have taken our dinghy to the shore, but the scorching sun invited us to swim in. Waiting for us in the abundant, welcoming shade of Gumbo-Limbo and Kapoc trees was the ever-funky and world-famous “Soggy Dollar Bar.”
Soggy Dollar is not just a watering hole; it is a rustic assembly of an open-air burger cafe, a small air-conditioned shop selling beachwear, and the raucous outdoor pub serving its signature Painkillers—Pusser’s Royal Navy Rum, pineapple juice, orange juice and cream of coconut poured over crushed ice with a garnish of nutmeg.
On the adjacent property, the Sandcastle Hotel hosted overnight visitors, especially the ones for whom the Painkillers had done their job. (The hotel has been closed since hurricane Irma leveled everything on that side of the BVI in September, 2017. The cafe, bar and gift shop were rebuilt.)
Our bathing suits were nearly dry by the time we walked up the beach to the open-air bar and cafe. We grabbed a splintered, weathered picnic table at the cafe; it was a shack of bleached plywood overhead and sand at our feet. Soon we ordered burgers, fish sandwiches and fries. Christopher, Andrew and I stepped to the bar. It was crowded with tanned and boisterous college kids. When it was our turn, we ordered five virgin Painkillers. I paid with thirty soggy dollars, and we carried the drinks to our table.
While waiting for our meal, we watched more of the young, fit college guys and shapely coeds playing a game just a few yards away. It was called “Hook and Ring.” A brass ring hung on a string from an overhead tree branch. The object of the game was to stand back and swing the ring onto a metal hook mounted about four feet high on the tree’s trunk. Sound easy? It wasn’t.
Our lunch arrived and we wolfed it down while continuing to watch the swinging ring. Four and five at a time, the college kids rotated into the game. They were getting drunker and louder, but even after hundreds of tries none could land the ring on the hook. A few of them claimed it was impossible; others insisted they had seen it done.
As the afternoon and the rum wore on, their aim got worse. By then, Andrew and Chris had retrieved a second round of the pricey drinks, and each of us was itching for a our turn with the ring. We stayed on the sidelines, however, not wanting to crash the students’ good time. Eventually, little Jenny lost patience. She left our table, walked near the group and stood silently.
The twenty-somethings saw her and, to their credit, invited her to give the game a try. Jenny stepped closer; the rest of the Gordons observed from their table. A bikini-clad young woman brought the ring back to Jenny while the remainder of their group offered encouragement. Jenny leaned back, lifted the ring to her forehead, took aim and let it swing forward. A little short. “Awwww,” sighed the group.
The same young woman—her bikini was sky blue…I (ahem) remember it well—recovered the ring. Again to the cheering of the college kids, Jenny lined up the ring and held it slightly higher this time before releasing it. Thud. The ring hit the tree well above the hook. “Hey, not bad!” exclaimed a slurring young man in red and yellow trunks. The others applauded and encouraged her to try again.
Jenny grimaced when she was handed the ring for the third time. She took a deep breath and without much preparation, she released the ring. Clank! The ring dropped perfectly onto the steel hook. The group of college kids erupted. Over at the picnic table, we stood and did the same. Jenny giggled, looked at the sand and started walking toward us.
Above the cheers of the college kids, one of the male students shouted, “I bet you can’t do it again!” The group got quieter. Jenny turned to the group and without speaking, she walked back toward the tree. She stopped near her previous spot on the sand. One of the guys brought her the ring. There was a murmur among the crowd. One student said, “No way.” The others shushed him.
Perhaps to quicken the second test and seemingly without aiming, Jenny casually swung back the ring and let it go. Clank! Two in a row! The college kids went nuts again. Two of them yelled and leapt while thrusting their arms over their heads; their icy drinks rained down on the sand. One guy threw himself on the ground; he beat his bare chest and made a Tarzan yell. At our table, the four of us chanted, “Jenny, Jenny, Jenny!” before hustling over to congratulate her. She slumped her shoulders and put her right hand over her mouth. She was in disbelief, but her muffled giggles confirmed that she was jubilant.
The cheers subsided and the group at the tree scattered, so we took over the game. Despite a bit of coaching from Jenny, the rest of us needed hundreds of attempts to land the ring on the hook. Chris and Andrew did better than Julie and me.
Eventually, we gave up on the game and gathered our belongings. As we left the picnic area, some of the students gave Jenny a round of applause. She was embarrassed; I was very proud. Without saying a word, she had charmed and dominated an assertive group of bright students ten years her senior. She was destined to be a confident and brave woman.
For the remainder of the BVI trip, Jenny enjoyed a well-deserved, honored status among the crew: she was promoted to Dinghy (not “dingy”) First Mate, and she performed her new assignment admirably. Jenny’s skills and newly found confidence were, and are still, a powerful combination.