Captain's Blog, Virgin Islands, February 2013

February 16, 2013

It has been five days since I arrived in the leeward islands with the Blue Buccaneers, and so far the journey has been tremendous. The dread pirate Blueballs (born Mark Miller) and I stowed away in a southbound galleon headed for the settlement of Miami, where we convened with the dread pirates Joe Bloe (born Joe Luoma) and Mr. Eel (born Ric Lee). There we managed to secure passage on a brigantine headed for the port of Charlotte Amalie on the island of St Thomas, in the Lesser Antilles.  Upon arrival we managed to procure a wagon for the eleven days we’d be in St Thomas and St John, and meandered our way to a rooming house in Tillett Gardens. There we were shown our lodgings by the beautiful Panamanian Jessica and the equally beautiful Carolinian Abigail, and soon met the duke Eric Tillett, the tattoo artist Chill, and other fine upstanding residents of the area. 

    Soon after our arrival the fair Jessica charmed Robyn, the restaurateur of Bistro 4560 at Tillett Gardens, into hiring us for a concert on our night off. After casting off our duffles we took the wagon to a pub called Latitude 18 to meet up with our confidant and provocateur Barefoot Davis, who advised us on upcoming raids and warned us of an eventual gathering of the brethren of pirates. 

    Tuesday we found what ragged equipment there was available to us hidden in a storeroom at Hull Bay Hideaway and made our way to Magen’s Bay, an inlet peopled with tourists of all levels of inebriation, and had a fine swim to wash off what remained of the parasites that attack the northern climates. That evening we performed at Sugar Bay and connected with a few comrades, and then prepared for our performance at Tillett Gardens Wednesday night.

      Wednesday morning I awoke early to the sonorous sounds of the native avifauna of the island,  roosters. Oh what a sweet melody that created, in what seemed to be choirs in a wonderful stereophonic counterpart to the melodies of the local Canis lupus familiaris (dogs), who had a delightful song of call and response. Quartermaster Joe was entertained through the night by these lovely creatures, who seem to revel in the ever rising suns created by the all-night trading posts that cater to the nighthawks of the island.

     I forged a trail to a large emporium of provisions with the name Plaza Extra, next door to an even larger emporium called “Big K”, and was able to  purchase fresh eggs (no doubt from the families of our local songbirds!) bread and vegetables, and large sacks of citrus to ward off scurvy. After a lovely repast with Kelli Kocapelli, a lovely sojourner at the guesthouse, we made our way to the port of Red Hook for some 

(At this point the rest of the text seems to have been lost at sea. Visual accounts of the two week voyage remained, however, and in the coming years we will do our best to reconstruct the events that occurred.)