Ode To The National Park Service
A park you can sail into is my idea of perfection.
Laughing Gull is currently on a National Park Service mooring in Francis Bay on the north side of St. John, in the US Virgin Islands. Like much of St. John, Francis Bay is within the boundaries of the the Virgin Islands National Park, which has about a dozen mooring fields in the pretty bays around the island. I’ve sailed a lot of cruising miles and I’ve been to a lot of anchorages. But I don’t think any cruising ground suits my particular sensibilities as well as the Virgin Islands National Park. I have found my own Nirvana. Here’s the 360 degree perspective:
I knew I had finally sailed into my own (semi)private paradise when I picked up my first NPS mooring, in Great Lameshur Bay, last week. I was in cobalt water that was, for the first time this winter, stunningly clear. The hillsides surrounding the bay were lush, green and devoid of human dwellings and infrastructure. The only structure easy to see was a well maintained NPS dinghy dock for getting ashore. Once ashore, you could take your pick of beaches and trails to explore.
I jumped into the 83-degree water with a snorkel and mask, to go check the mooring. It looked well maintained—robust and clear of excessive growth. On my way back to the transom ladder I swam through a cloud of Yellowtail Snapper who had already taken up residence in LG’s shadow. Overseeing them was a sleek four-foot tarpon, confident and casual in his predatory authority. We nodded politely at one another as I passed by.
Later that afternoon, the park volunteer who manages Lameshur dropped by in his dinghy, which sported a large Torqeedo electric outboard. He introduced himself—Alistair from New Hampshire, living on the catamaran one mooring over—and apologetically said he needed to run through the park regulations with me.
No fishing from the boat, he started. Excellent! I replied.
A dinghy speed limit of 5 knots, he continued. Love it! I said.
No anchoring dinghies off the beaches, and leave no trace if you go ashore, he added. Fine by me!
No loud noise after 10 pm. Couldn’t agree more!
No underwater lights, or bright lights that aim down into the water. Finally!
I doubt Alistair had ever experienced a more enthusiastic reception to his list of restrictions. But I couldn’t help myself. I love unspoiled bays, natural beauty, and minimal human impact and intrusion. Alistair had basically enumerated the list I myself would have created if I were King Of The World (if only). Especially the regulation against the current fad for adorning boats with so many underwater and mast lights that you might confuse a remote anchorage with Times Square at night.
To me they are a blazing example of human obliviousness and egocentricity. “Look at all these cool LED lights you can put on your boat and control with an app,” the marketers say. “I’ll take a bunch of those, and impress my anchorage,” the boating consumer responds. “Why are there so many f*cking lights obscuring the stars above and confusing the fish below,” I inevitably wonder.
I stayed in peaceful Lameshur for five days, before finally moving on to Caneel Bay. While in Lameshur I fell into my ideal routine of writing, reading, running, and boatwork. I couldn’t really imagine any place better. Until LG arrived in Francis Bay, which gets a marginally higher rating in my logbook than Lameshur because it is better protected (Lameshur can get a little roll going in the right conditions), and because the trail running here is even more varied and easier to access. Waterlemon Cay, around the corner, is equally spectacular.
But basically, this is hair-splitting. Wherever you are in the park the water is noticeably more clear, the fish are noticeably more abundant, and the sea grasses are noticeably more extensive. Whether you arrive by boat, or visit from a guest house or hotel on land, it is simply impossible to spend time in this National Park without appreciating beyond measure the beauty and value of a well conserved natural environment, untrammeled by infrastructure, noise and commercialization.
Yesterday, while paddleboarding over the underwater grass flats that thrive here in Francis and Maho Bays, because there is no anchoring or commercial fishing, I glided by turtles, spotted rays and thick schools of fish. Treating a landscape with care and respect makes a difference. The writer Wallace Stegner absolutely nailed it when he said: “National parks are the best idea we ever had. Absolutely American, absolutely democratic, they reflect us at our best rather than our worst.”
I reflect on this perspective and fervently hope that the wanton and careless destruction of national institutions currently underway in Washington doesn’t find its way to the National Park Service and our National Parks. Or that if it does, there will be a bipartisan, National Park-loving, constituency that rises up and gets mad as hell. Where I am right now is a perfect example of how much we have to lose if we do not take care.
Anthropocene Notes
Nearly 95% of countries missed an agreed deadline to file 2035 climate pledges:
Just 13 of the 195 parties signed up to the landmark Paris Agreement have published their new emissions-cutting plans, known as “nationally determined contributions” (NDCs), by the 10 February deadline.
Countries missing the deadline represent 83% of global emissions and nearly 80% of the world’s economy, according to Carbon Brief analysis.
Welp.
At least someone is looking ahead to how this will all turn out for our children:
Another reason to love the National Park Service. Meet the renegade, resistance National Park Service.
Someone contributing to Navionics charts has a sense of humor. (Hint: Little Saint James Island, off nearby St. Thomas, was owned by Jeffrey Epstein).
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So anxious to get back to exploring these beautiful places. Your descriptions take us there. Thanks Tim. J
Were you tempted to stop by Little Harbor on Peter Island?