The Mona Passage

In early summer, the Wanderlust crew had spent a luxurious week at an upscale marina in Samaná, Dominican Republic, and we were feeling relaxed and fancified. But, in the back of our heads lurked the truth that hurricane season was fast approaching, and we needed to get a move on to a safe harbor somewhere further east. It was time to say goodbye to the swimming pools and cocktails at the marina, and make the Mona Passage towards Puerto Rico.

The Mona Passage is the voyage that stretches between the eastern coast of the DR, and the western coast of Puerto Rico. Although the distance between the islands is only about 80 miles, it is regarded as one of the most dangerous passages in all of the Caribbean, for several really good reasons.

First, the Mona has some of the deepest waters in the world, second deepest after the Mariana Trench, at about 16,000 feet, and super irrational, unpredictable, and powerful current to go with it. The 2 large islands of the DR and PR cause quick moving waters between them, with large shoals and flats for miles on each side. One book I read, where the author was seasick for two days straight, described it as “booking a passage inside a washing machine,” and later wrote she felt as if she was in a “bowl of soup being carried by a marathon runner.”

If the washing machine current wasn’t enough, we also had to look forward to the pack of storm cells that regularly form in the passage each evening, even after receiving a good weather forecast. We’d heard stories from fellow cruisers about lightning bolts lighting up the sky like the Fourth of July with ear piercing blasts. The storm cells are described by our guide book as “charging bulls,” and “often severe.”

Add to all that the fact that the Mona Passage is also the site of frequent seismic activity. That’s right, EARTHQUAKES. The passage lies over an active rift zone, the Mona Rift Fault, which caused an earthquake and a resulting tsunami that devastated Puerto Rico in 1918. Although we knew our chances of an earthquake induced tsunami were slim, we weren’t thrilled about the possibility.

Finally, the cherry on the top was our fuel consumption. We hoped to sail, but there was no guarantee we would have good enough wind, or wind in the right direction to sail effectively the whole way east and make our landfall at the safest time. Counting Wanderlust’s diesel tank and the two jerry jugs on deck, by Ben’s calculations, we had exactly enough fuel to get to Puerto Rico, if we had to motor the whole time, with no room for error. That means, if anything went wrong and we got off course, we would be forced to raise sails in who knows what kind of weather, for who knows how long, to arrive to Puerto Rico. Drifting around in the Mona Passage without any fuel in the wrong conditions was not a very comforting thought.

Needless to say, we were a little jittery about the washing machine current, bull-like storms, seismic activity, and the possibility of running out of fuel. On the day of our departure, our nerves became painfully obvious when I stubbed my foot on the rigging resulting in the loss of the end of my pinky toe, and Ben cut his forehead open on the mast step while readying the boat for sail. And what’s more, we were leaving on a Friday, which is terrible luck according to maritime superstitions. Both Ben and I chose not to mention our nervousness, or the plethora of bad omens.

We picked a perfect weather window, with winds 10-15 knots, and seas predicted at 1-3 feet for the next three days. Wanderlust left Samaná on a Friday evening, with a few dolphins at the bow to bid us goodbye, and motor sailed for a whole night to get to the jumping off point on the eastern side of the island.

We followed our guide book’s advice to tack northeast into the Mona, which would add 12 hours to our journey, but a lot of comfort and security. The northern tack would hopefully avoid the choppy shoals and the frightening storm cells.

Ben and I were super relieved when the forecast held true, and the seas were as calm at about 3 feet with 7 second intervals. We settled into a rhythm of 3 hour watches at the helm, so each of us could get a little sleep. We ate food I’d prepared ahead of time (cold pancakes, boiled eggs, potato salad, mixed fruit, and cold sandwiches), and made sure to drink plenty of water. We were able to watch movies, relax, and enjoy the sea breeze and the view.

To our surprise and delight, the northeastern tack gave us a great wind direction with the easterly trades, and we were able to shut the engine off for hours of sailing. Both our nerves were calmed with the sails up, gliding over the tranquil seas with a clear starry sky above throughout the night. The next day, we tacked southeast, back towards Puerto Rico, sailing throughout the totally uneventful day and second night. We were making great time, and at one point had to purposely slow down so that we didn’t make landfall in Puerto Rico in the middle of the night.

A little before dawn, the green rolling hills of Puerto Rico stuck their peaks out of the ocean. We motored Wanderlust into the town of Boquerón and dropped anchor in mid-morning, with our tank over three quarters full of fuel. We hadn’t seen a solitary lightning bolt, monstrous wave, hint of a tsunami, or a single “bull-like” squall.

Ben, me and especially Ruca were completely exhausted from spending two nights at sea, but also giddy about the fact that we’d conquered the infamous Mona with such ease. We had definitely done the right thing by adding 12 hours to our passage on the northeastern tack, and had picked a great weather window. We patted ourselves on the back, but both of us knew there was probably quite a bit of good luck on our side. Maybe we should leave on a Friday for every passage!

After a lot of hours of good, solid sleep, it was time to get to know the colorful city of Boquerón, Puerto Rico.

Thanks for Reading,

Ben, Quinn and Ruca

#lifeaboard #DominicanRepublic #PuertoRico