Tobago:
After arriving at dawn of the 25th,
completing 20 days at sea, the lush landfall and bustling capital of Scarborough
were both a delight. This is a seldom visited island, and the capital is only a
waystation for the occasional cruise ship to unload passengers who scurry off in
rental cars to the rainforest in the interior. All the tourist development is
near the airport at the southern tip, handy to Buccoo Reef. The people are
friendly, and except near tourist attractions not trying to "hustle"
you. Peet was invited to join a dance class by the young ladies there, and
beamed like the cat who swallowed the canary all Saturday afternoon as we drove
our rental Kia around the coast and into the rain forest reserve. This is a
destination spot for bird watchers. Unlike other Caribbean islands there
are no venomous snakes, thus it escaped the introduction of the mongoose that
happily ate birds and snakes alike to extinction throughout the region. We saw
the King of the Wood who sports tail feathers ending in a pair of tennis rackets
and a black bird with red crest found no where else. I was surprised to actually
see the birds, and bird watchers clad in khaki shorts had cameras on tripods as
well as field glasses. For $100 TT ($16 US) we hired a guide who led us for 30
minutes along a slippery rock and clay trail blazed in earlier times as a donkey
route to carry produce to either the Atlantic or Caribbean shore, whichever one
had calm seas, and was the only cross island route. The clay acts like a sponge
creating an environment so moist it has never been destroyed by fire. Only
hurricane wind can snap the top of the canopy to let in light for new growth.
Since the island's founding in 1639 only 3 hurricanes have struck. At 12 degrees
north of the equator we are safely below storm tracks. All we knew of Michelle
that hit Cuba was rolly seas, and loss of wind that had all been sucked up by
its vortex. While storms are rare, regrettably one struck in 1963, the year
after Britain granted independence to Trinidad and Tobago. Trinidad halted construction
of a marina on its new partner, the storm destroyed Tobago's agriculture and it
has languished ever since. Too small to be coveted zealously by any government
it passed between French and English control 30 times. With no gold in the
offing, Spain pressed on after Columbus found it in 1498. The farther from the
seat of power, the more neglect we found. On the west end of the island gas
stations were operating, but on the east, one was dry, and the other promised to
open for 3 hours in the evening. We did without our air conditioning as we gazed
down on King's Bay, a secluded anchorage with nearby islands, sandy shoreline,
and verdant hills ringing its coast. Men with machetes and gangs of tethered
goats and cows keep the grass trimmed. Laundry is draped over the shrubs as well
as hung on lines. Roads are pretty good, but not engineered for safety. Jim
drove across a cement culvert in the capital that gripped the rear tires
requiring a boost from Peet to get us out, and later a front tire was flattened
when we squeezed up against another culvert making room for an oncoming car. But
picnics aboard Sunsets under the full moon capped both days. The 2nd we weighed
anchor and motored through cloud bursts to re-anchor in Store Bay off the west
coast overlooking the resort beaches. Typical of tropic climes rains are
short interludes, and have done an excellent job of rinsing the salt from
Sunsets' deck and brightwork. -The Landlubbers
Trinidad:
We were tempted to stay in Tobago
eating Rotis for lunch, a pocket of dough with ground chickpeas, curry and any
meat from fish to goat that is a staple of the local diet, and snorkel near our
anchorage. But the evening of the 4th the captain decreed a 65 mile overnighter
by motor to Trinidad. We approached the northwest tip to a stunning red
sunrise, then cleared The Dragon's Mouth pass and Point Gourd to our waiting
slip at CrewsInn Marina in Chaguaramas Bay (Palms Bay). This was the haunt of
Buccaneers, non-Spaniards bent on avenging suppression of trade with other
nationals ruthlessly enforced by the Spanish. The Buccaneers raided towns,
tortured fleeing inhabitants until they coughed up their hidden wealth, and
shared the booty equally. The Spanish were so stricken by their thoroughness
they had to admit French, English and Dutch colonists to maintain population. Indiscriminate
and undemocratic pirates including Blackbeard supplanted the Buccaneers, and
plagued shipping until 1800, but found the residents not worth stealing from:
they had nothing left. Trinidad's 1860 sq mi is 6 times the size of Tobago
which has 40,000 of the 1.3 million combined population. Plantations of cocoa,
coffee and sugar were tended by African slaves, who were replaced by East Indian
indentured laborers when slavery was abolished, now the main ethnic blend.
Festivals of Hindu, African and Christian origins are all celebrated here.
Carnival season builds from New Year climaxing at Lent. Christmas music is sung
in island Spanish to a lively maraca beat. Steel band, the only new instrument
in the 1900s, originated here, and this is the home of an annual pan
competition. Our marina sponsored a night of music the 6th that ended with Peet
dancing in the rain. CrewsInn is a first class facility with pool, hotel,
restaurant, and 110 v electricity permitting use of our aft cabin air
conditioning. Peet enjoyed after dinner movies and pop corn with us before
braving the humidity in his forward cabin. Thursday we set off in a rental car
to explore the nearby golf course in the hopes of hearing a troop of wild howler
monkeys, and to tour a military museum recounting the role of Trinidad as a
convoy center in WW II. Of the 400 Allied merchant ships and 7,000 men lost,
half were sustained here. Oil, the bulwark of Trinidad's economy, made this a strategic
target during the war prompting daring daytime German sub attacks. Now both the
western and eastern bays off Point Gourde are filled with yachts rivaling
Eastport and Severn. Friday we set out for the capital, Port-of-Spain. No more
quaint roadside goats, just bumper to bumper traffic with vendors and people
spilling onto roadways as we passed through outlying towns. The city has both
the bustle of a modern port, and the charm of Victorian buildings left from
British colonialism. At the city zoo we saw species of Trini wildlife
until the lions in prison-like enclosures roared, and tender-hearted Peet left
us to wait outside. Continuing to Maracas Beach on the north coast took us
through a rain forest as dense as those in Venezuela 7 miles offshore from
which Trinidad and Tobago separated eons ago. Many animals, ocelots, Weeping
Capuchins, iguanas, caimans, anteaters, a tree porcupine, and 430 bird species
of Venezuela are here. The beach at Maracas was protected by a character out of
the movie "Shaft" toting a street-sweeper! Our Shark'n Bake, a
delicious black fin shark meat on pita-like bread with tamarind sauce was
superb. -The Trini Trio
Peet Farewell:
From Maracas Bay we headed due
south to the coastal Caroni Swamp for a sunset boat excursion into the wildlife
refuge that is home to great flocks of white egrets and Scarlet Ibis. Our guide
pointed out the mud-colored fiddler crabs on which the birds feed at low tide, a
four-eyed fish that sees above and below water at the same time, a tree snake
coiled in leafy ambush awaiting evening roosting and his chance for a meal.
We passed out of sight of all signs of humanity as he plied the mangrove
channels into a central lake to wait. From all parts of the swamp as day drew to
a close the birds gathered on a central island. The egrets land on the
branches then quickly disappear into the foliage. But the Ibis are the star
attraction. They are the size of sea gulls, red as cardinals, and they soar
overhead to perch on the crown of the island trees for the night. Peet's soul
was restored seeing nature at peace and liberty. Our ride home was tense being unaccustomed
to street vendors wheeling their carts home in the curb lane of a major highway
after dark. But we inched our way back on overburdened arteries to sample the
buffet dinner at Hummingbirds, a nearby marina whose owners have circumnavigated
on 3 vessels they have built, Hummingbird I, II and III. Carnival costumes adorn
the walls, and sea articles are lacquered to the bar. The size of the island,
traffic and security considerations dictated that we turn in our car Saturday.
Our car has a separate ignition lock as well as a key. The large shopping center
where we stopped for ice cream had a guard at the entry who issued the driver a
green parking pass. This is kept by the driver while shopping, and only drivers
who present their green card may exit the shopping center. Both measures are
aimed at curbing car theft. Time for R & R by the pool. Results of the Ward
Evans Rowing Challenge that left Tenerife October 7 with 36 pairs of oarsmen in
identical boats are in. The world's toughest rowing contest that entails rowing
12 hours per day for 50-100 days is the brainchild of the first Brit who rowed
across in '72. The race was won by a Kiwi as he entered St Charles Harbor,
Barbados on the 18th of November only 1 day behind the record finish of 41.1
days. Second place went to the 'Roos, and the only female team is fighting to
hold onto 3rd place, also Kiwis. They are mighty tough Down Under! Something
that isn't tough started out in the Malay Archipelago, a fruit introduced to the
Caribbean from the East Indies. In the West Indies it was cross-pollinated by
oranges, and a new fruit was born, our grapefruit. The 8th is Peet's
departure date. He will return to South Africa via London after 10 months of
travel that started with a job in England at a vegetable processing plant that
recruits in his country, that financed his backpacking in Portugal and Spain,
sailing the Med with a British couple, and joining Sunsets to cross the Pond.
His favorite British expression: "He's as flush as a rat with a gold
tooth." His tales of camping in the wilds at home where a lion might be
drawn to a primitive shower to lap water while the bather waits inside, or lions
napping in the shade of the circular concrete bathroom walkway, or a tent that
unfolds on the vehicle roof so hyenas can't wander in at night make Yellowstone
bears seem tame. My final hug left two hand prints on the back of his white
shirt, the visible love of Mama Joyce sending him back to Papa and Mama at home.
-The Trini Twosome
Grenada:
On Tuesday am I cleared Customs
while Jim got our rental car, a stick-shift model for right-side drive, a new
challenge for Mr. Toad. We drove along Grand Anse Bay and into the heart of St
George's Harbour, the capital. Narrow streets filled with pedestrians and lined
with mini-vans that provide bus and taxi service made stopping impossible, and
our little car forged northward halfway up the coast. A nutmeg factory provided
a fragrant break, and a chance to stock up on Nutmeg Syrup for pancakes. 
The
Belvedere Road led us to the interior rain forest in the rain, then we returned
via Grand Etang, a crater lake, and Annandale Falls. This is an isle of small
farms rather than large plantations. Earlier sugar was replaced by nutmeg
imported from Indonesia, along with cloves, cocoa, cinnamon, ginger, vanilla and
all the tropical fruits and vegetables. At the edge of the forest a home site
may have a variety of trees to feed the family with goats, sheep or cows to
graze the verdure. Flowers bloom everywhere, and the earliest bright orange
immortelle trees that set the hills ablaze in Feb and March are just peeking
out. Other than getting the spice workers to push start our car whose lights
stayed on through the tour, we managed to miss the speeding vans and gaggles of
children in school uniforms, and find enough signs to get us back to town in
time for dinner. Grenada's culture began with pre-historic Ciboney, who were
replace by agricultural Arawaks, who in turn were eaten by Caribs, who, in
despair of falling under French rule in 1651 leapt en masse from cliffs at La
Morne. French culture persisted after the island came under English control in
the patois of the former slaves, and the cuisine. The live appearance of "Bosco",
a local legend, who plays pan and sings to accompaniment he has pre-recorded on
drums and guitar took us to Calabash, a premier resort. The terrace restaurant's
ceiling is a grape arbor with tendrils of purple blossoms hanging down. My King
Fish Welsh Rarebit was the winner, but every morsel was delectable, and superbly
presented. By the way, patrons must also properly present themselves; Jim was
turned away in his shorts, and dinghied back to Sunsets to see which of his long
pants still fit. Eastern Caribbean currency with a 2.67 exchange rate is used
here and in the next two West Indian nations. Jim realized the menu was in US
instead of EC as we ordered, and splurged: EC come, EC go. The resort namesake,
the Calabash is a tree with fruits nearing basketball size used for gourds. On
the 12th we explored the exclusive resorts on the tip at Pt. Saline, and
anchorages to our east. The Moorings on Mt Hartman's Bay is across from
undeveloped park land for an idyllic anchorage with deluxe shore side crew accommodations
on the terraced hillside. Lunch was crepes overlooking Grand Anse beach at
Coconut's Beach French Creole Restaurant, followed by a buffet dinner at the
Flamboyant Hotel with a 6 member steel band manning 15 instruments panning their
hearts out for us. It was also Oldies night at Fantazia 2001, and Jim made a
stab at bar hopping. But Miss Pumpkin was too hopped out to do more than dinghy
back to Sunsets for a well deserved day of rest aboard Thursday. Yachts are
coming and going. I saw a sleek dark hull from the galley window at lunch;
"Donnybrook", helmed by Holly, was arriving for the Caribbean Regatta
series. Crew gazed at Sunsets, assessing us as a potential rival, or cheered by
our hometown hailing port. -The Tomorrow Dieters
Grenada Bound:
"He was dressed in a red
cap ringed with fur trim
And a Speedo that covered a bare fraction of him.
I was shocked and astonished, but what could I say?
I also go boating dressed exactly that way."
Season's Greetings to all. We see a few lights strung up the rigging, and
the odd illuminated wreath but nothing like Annapolis' Parade of Boat Lights. We
refilled our diesel at $1 a gallon, $96, took on 2/3 tank of water, bid farewell
to Ken & Anne aboard "Sea Ya", another M65 at the marina (a 3rd 65
is on land), gave up our a/c, and set out at 6:25 on the 10th to sail 80 miles
to anchor in Prickly Bay on Grenada's south coast. Today is election day in T
& T with the lead candidates in a dead heat. Like politicians the world over
impossible campaign promises are made. Our rainforest guide on Tobago burst into
peals of laughter when I quoted our depression era slogan, "A Chicken in
Every Pot." Locals can become heated over the outcome. For those who want
to trace our land routes check out skyviews.com,
an online guide to the Caribbean with fully interactive road maps. Another web
site to watch is seismic.com for the
latest on Kick'em Jenny, an underwater volcano 4 miles north of Grenada whose
recent activity until Sunday had prompted a code orange alert: possible
evacuation on 24 hr notice. It has been down-graded to green, meaning they have
no idea if and when it may blow again. This is the area's tallest mountain, 1200
meters high the crater lies 150 meters below the surface beside islands know as
The Sisters: one of 105 underwater volcanoes worldwide. On July 24, 1939 it sent
an eruptive column 900' into the air, and generated tsunamis waves of 2 meters
amplitude that washed over coastal roads in Barbados-without being recognized as
such! Coastal areas have to brace for potential 12' waves with 1.5' waves
likelier. Minor eruptions occurred in '88, '89 and '90 when the sea was observed
"boiling turbulently and throwing up small dark objects." Sailors are
advised to give her a wide berth. In the past it is believed that a vessel with
a crew of 20 fell into a gas pocket released below them, and was lost (write up
at caribbeancompass.com). I'm a
veteran volcano camper. My family visited Yellowstone when I was 12 during
an earthquake, and at a time before the bears had been reformed. They roved
through the campsite looting trash cans, and adding spice to those
after-dark-trips to the bath house. It all seems much scarier to the folks at
home than to the traveler delighting in the scenery which is exactly what we
plan to do. Our sail on the 10th was a close reach romp with 20 knot Trades
under genoa and staysail on a 25 degree angle of heel, covering the 80 miles in
9 hours. Dolphins swam close to our hull for 10 minutes at a time arching
completely out of the water as they took breaths. We are taking it easy today
and enjoying our good weather; no crew, no reefed mainsail. Grenada was the
beneficiary of Reagan's '83-'85 "rescue mission" to oust a Fidel-style
leader, Maurice Bishop who had seized office in a '79 coup. At one time this
Isle of Spice, major producer of nutmeg, was the region's most prosperous.
Hurricane Janet in '55 flattened it, and its move to independence depicted in
Waugh's "Island in the Sun" set it back. The 8 by 18 mile land is
divided into 3 climate zones: rainy, rainier and rainiest at 160" annually.
It's dry Jan to June, and very sunny now. Anchors are holding well now after a
10 pm rain squall reset-sans Peet! -The Spices
In the '70's Alan Sherman wrote a satire of a kid's letter home from Camp
Grenada. Two rainy days aboard Sunsets has inspired my own rendidition:
Hello, daughter. Hello, brothers.
Here we are on Isle Grenada
Where the wind blows and the rain flows
Down in torrents worthy of the ancient Noah.
We're at anchor here in harbor
Bailing more now than we ought'er,
While the shrouds sing, and the wind vane,
Generating spins in circles ever louder.
Take me home for Christmas, New Years.
Save me from this awful deluge.
Its so humid here. The barometric readings
Rival lows of "Perfect Storm."
Jim's cut finger* now is healing.
He's much better than our neighbor:
Broke his left arm Genoa reefing.
He will be here six more weeks while he is mending.
The mosquitos, the aegpypties
Breed in vases in the cities.
If they bite you they can give you
Dengue Fever, achy painful-when not fatal!
Save me from the evil (den-gee).
Give me 'lectricity and a/c.
The dinghy powered by 2 horses
May not make it back in headwinds.
When a lull came we went dinking
To the shoreside food and drinking.
Joining sailors who were fleeing
Monstrous waves that in the anchorage were breaking.
With the blue skies Jim got thinking,
On the 'morrow we could go sailing.
But the rainclouds back with a vengeance
Told us Carriacou wasn't going to be our Sunday's destination.
>From this anchorage heaving
Tell me we'll soon be leaving.
The wind velocity may pick up
And the anchor lose its grip.
Kick'em Jenny, the volcano
Lurks in waters we can't sail through.
Should we try it we could end like
Ships that vanished in air bubbles that won't hold you.
Nature's powers are so awesome:
The tsunamis and eruptions.
Will they come now? Who can say how, red alerted,
This island could in one day be deserted?
Please, God, leave Jenny sleeping
As past her we go creeping.
Eruption it is clear with lava, gas and ash
Could be lethal to those near.
The weather pattern we are in now
Could persist another week more.
Watching mast drips while it's raining
Constitutes our most exciting entertaining.
Could the cabin, sealed and soggy,
Lead to mildew, things unhearty?
Should a month pass without your hearing,
For God's sake, organize a searching party!
Take me to the Moorings shoreside
Where bands spread the joy of Yuletide.
Its dull here, and in this clammy drear and dank
I might die of ennui.
Sunlight's glinting off the transom.
It's stopped raining. Let's go snorkel.
The air is fragrant with island spices.
Daughter, brothers, kindly disregard this e-mail.
Soggy Joyce & Clammy Jim
*Jim put a 1/4" deep cut in his forefinger when we arrived in T & T.
Fortunately, we had tubular finger gauze that is doubled over the full length of
the finger then taped at the base to hold the band-aids on. Very
impressive. We've moved on to wrapping his chest with elastic tape for a
bothersome rib, a victim of the late night anchor reset on Monday's arrival in
Prickly Bay. A full recovery is expected. Dr. Mom
Tyrell Bay, Carriacou 12/17
Carriacou:
Monday, the 17th, the cloud cover
extending across the Atlantic showed a thinning that let us motor our way 35
miles straight upwind to anchor in Tyrell Bay on (carry-a-KOO.) Passing Diamond
Island (a.k.a. K.'em J.), a bird sanctuary, we saw the birds who roost there
actively pulling fish from the roiling waters, but no untoward activity. This
most populous of the Grenadines, along with Petit Martinique is governed by
Grenada. They are sleepy, and have survived by fishing, emigrating to oil fields
returning later to raise families, and unsanctioned duty-free importing, i.e.,
smuggling. Tyrell Bay's anchorage includes a near-derelict inter-island
freighter that broke free before we arrived and was bearing down on 3 boats at
anchor in the worst of the wind. Local fishermen averted disaster, re-anchoring
the unattended vessel on the edge of the bay from which it appears to be
gradually receding back out to sea, but with no more boats in its path. Two
other cargo boats moored here are fitted with a mainsail as well as a diesel,
either as insurance against engine failure or to defray the cost of fuel. This
is a laissez faire place. A welding shop/massage parlor and a bar are
enterprises run from boats at anchor. On land goats and cattle are not tethered
but free-ranging, multiplying at will. Owners make contact with their flocks in
the dry season when they with their new dependants show up by the gate expecting
water and feed. Their tracks are visible in the cement paving. This is a low
island where rainclouds are less apt to linger; cisterns abound to collect their
year's quota as it falls. Great improvements to the roads are underway along the
shore at Tyrell. Cement paving and a sea wall are eliminating the docks of
restaurants ringing the shore built for yachties intent on visiting. They offer
mean rum punch. Perishable fruit juice is more expensive than immortal rum,
hence, the usual proportions are reversed. One was too much for me. I'm on water
rations from now on. Beagle Puppy set out on foot Tuesday morning to get the
best island views from a nearby resort which could have passed for a ghost town.
After roving 2 miles I was ready when the minibus named "Faith" slowed
to pick us up for the ride into Hillsborough, the main town. Resorts here are
equally down at the heel and empty. We had a great Caribbean meal of stewed
Lambie (Conch), vegetables, and peas 'n rice while we watched wind para-surfers
at Sandy Island as the waves lapped under the deck where we were seated. The
Lobster Special at Tyrell Bay gazing out over Sunsets from the balcony was also
a winner. We decided to just take the bus "D Tables Turn" back from
town rather than rent a car. The island is criss-crossed with roadways laid out
in the era of intense colonial competition. The French held the island from
which the British sought to dislodge them by landing an invasion force. Since
the British could weigh anchor to try from another shore when the defenses
looked intimidating, the French built roads to quickly shift their artillery and
men to outmaneuver their foe. And everybody wanted to be as close as possible to
the Spanish Main along the South American coast to have first crack at the gold
flowing north from Cartagena De Indias. Spain ignored the islands in her quest
for El Dorado, the legendary city of gold. Later, Captain Bligh sustained his
mutiny when he rationed his crew's water in favor of Breadfruit saplings from
Tahiti destined for Grenada to feed slaves. -The Fairweather Explorers
Grenadines:
The morning of the 20th presented
an opportunity to scoot north to the next nation that is comprised of a
continuous string of volcanic stepping stones ranging from Petit St Vincent to
the main isle, St Vincent. After checking in at Clifton Harbor on Union Island
we strolled along the mostly deserted road inhaling the aroma of fresh baked
bread. The French heritage of fine cuisine is reflected in the Anchorage Yacht
Club where we had dinner. Its lobster pond the size of a small swimming pool is
well stocked. We tried the grilled Snapper, surprisingly succulent. The remains
went overboard from our table into the beach front shark pond. The nurse sharks
congregate close to the cook station making languid laps near the diners. But
when food is detected a mouth is opened a fraction of a second as the morsel is
engulfed with a vacuum cleaner-like sound. We paid a boat boy for the use of a
mooring overnight in the lively anchorage with both an inner and outer reef. The
constant comings and goings both of yachts and harbor vendors, and the close
proximity to other yachts not to mention chocolate croissants nudged us to move
3 miles on to Saline Bay, Mayreau Island the 21st. Jubilation, its sunny again!
We haven't seen any Santas with beards affixed by band-aids as my children
remember in the Bahamas but we may be pressed into the red suits as our figures
expand. Jim already has the beard and nose like a cherry if he skips his sun
block. I tried to improve his image in this hemisphere by calling him Fidel but
with a $25 million bounty, and tourism drastically curtailed by Bin Laden, Jim's
beard inspires locals to dream of hitting the jackpot. Morning sunlight had us
overboard snorkeling and beachcombing just after day charter boats out of Union
had left: our own deserted strand. At sunset vast shoals of silversides massed
beside us seeking the protection of our hull to no avail. Diving birds plunged
headlong into the mass then bobbed to the surface to swallow. Saturday a cruise
ship will put 1550 passengers off on Mayreau for the day. Time to move on
another 3 miles to Charlestown Bay, Canouan, home to a sentry-guarded resort
enclave, and future mansion property development. Alas, closure of the beach bar
for remodeling coupled with an otherwise completely rustic aspect limited our
stay on Canouan to a morning stroll before heading off for lifestyles of the
ultra-rich at exclusive Mustique. An architect purchased the island outright,
and his corporation designed retreats atop the 7 hills for Princess Margaret,
David Bowie and Mick Jagger to name a few. Locals live in corporate houses while
in its employ, and in shoreside fishing cottages if not. No pestering of
guests is allowed. There are stables of rental thoroughbreds so you can imagine
my thoughts when Jim told me he had rented a mule. Our Mule was an open golf
cart we drove the 23rd armed with binoculars for celebrity sightings. We had to
be contented with views of long landscaped driveways and glimpses of homes
through the verdure as we ambled over all the paved and non-paved roads.
Normally we avoid dirt tracks but with a Mule all things are possible! The
Firefly guest rooms for Christmas/New Years have a 14 day minimum stay, 2 meals,
2 galas, and Mule included at US$9100-$11,200. For details see mustiquefirefly.com.
Our EC$75 for a 3 day mooring in Britannia Bay is negligible. A US $200 set of
photo books takes you inside the mansions to meet the owners and see the
architect's accomplishments. -The Hobnobers
Mustique:
I was very tempted by the Firefly's
dessert menu but we continued our Mule tour. It was a Walt Disney morning: the
open air go-cart trek on fantasy island only lacked the mechanical animals. We
were lucky to get our Mule. Jim asked directions of a local man repairing a
scooter to the rental office. Binghy put away his tools and gave him a lift just
before closing time. His sister runs the Hilltop restaurant where the 3 of us
had a B-B-Que dinner the 22nd while rhythmic music blasted from twin speakers
larger than I am drowning out conversation. Bingy insists we come to his home
New Year's Eve. After excellent afternoon snorkeling in the anchorage it was off
to Basil's, the beach bar beside the dinghy dock on Mustique. It was
sponsoring a sunset fashion show the 23rd. With visions of sultry island
beauties sauntering by to "I'm Too Sexy" Jim got a table beside the
camera crew. Everything was as Jim envisioned except Basil has the young
children of the ultra do the modeling. But like parents everywhere the ultra
packed the place. Mick Jagger stood in front of me for 10 minutes waiting to get
a snapshot of his daughter, and Jim got his celebrity fix. We were picked up at
8 pm for our dinner reservations at the Cotton House where Princess Margaret
dines. Ordinarily, I wouldn't qualify for such rarified circles, but since I am
traveling with the $25 million man, an exception was made. A pianist played
throughout our meal which was fine, but the food does not exceed that which is
offered to the ordinary at lesser prices elsewhere. Princess M wasn't there, and
Mick J passed us in the driveway heading back to Basil's! Christmas Eve, island
style, included snorkeling the reef approaching the mooring field. The water was
as clear as an aquarium with many colorful fish darting in and out of the coral.
We flitted off to the Firefly for dinner and carols by the piano, a lively
gathering. We'll be on of the 3 ships of song sailing by on Christmas day in the
morning for the hop to Bequia. All our love to family and friends celebrating
Christmas by home and hearth. - Jim and Joyce
Bequia:
Admiralty Bay is a sight to behold:
a well-managed mooring and anchorage area bustling with yachts ranging from
charter mono and multihulls to "Donneybrook" and a British motor yacht
the size of a small cruise ship. Jim was delighted to find a mooring immediately
in front of the dinghy dock at the Gingerbread Restaurant in the center of Port
Elizabeth's waterfront walkway. Victorian gingerbread trim appears on many of
the buildings. (See bequiasweet.com.) Along the southeastern coast lies a
unique community known as Moonhole. The first home built was under a natural
arch named Moonhole, but the architect must have ignored the potential for
falling rocks until his bed was crushed, and the home abandoned. But not before
others were persuaded to build the ideal getaway: a home with no windowglass or
electricity, accessible only by foot, built in the cleft of rocks with surf
crashing just below the patio. They reminded us of pueblos as we motored by
heading in. Bequia was stongly influenced by New England whalers who
settled here to pursue humpback and sperm whales that migrate here to breed. The
adjacent isle of Petit Nevis provided a base to process the catch. The
Whaleboner Bar in town has a whale jawbone archway on the beach and barstools
topped by padded whale vertebrae for seats. From The Sunny Caribbee Plantation
House, with elegant grounds, to De Bistro, a casual eatery, a cement sidewalk
threads its way along the shore mostly above the water until a rogue wave comes
along known locally as a "tourist buster." Anything you need is
delivered to your boat; we took advantage of same day laundry pick-up. Except
for daily forays to different restaurants we have been taking it easy while
Jim's back recovers from one jolt too many on Mustique. We have appreciated the
high sheltering hills that keep Sunsets stable despite strong winds. This last
island of the Grenadines is the first place since leaving home where we have
used screens. The morning of the 30th the Captain was on the mend and dropping
his mooring to head off to Calliaqua Bay between Young Island and St Vincent.
Young Island is developed with 30 guest suites in landscaped seclusion from the
bustle of the mainland with its half dozen restaurants lining the shore. St
Vincent proved a stubborn island to subdue. A slave ship foundered offshore in
1675, and the intended cargo made it to shore. The fierce Caribs, unable to
conquer the newcomers, intermarried and divided the island with what came to be
known as the Black Caribs, or Garifuna. British forts were built with cannon
aimed inland. Egged on by the French, Caribs wrecked havoc on British
plantations until the late 1700's when a massive troop deployment overcame the
resistance; 5000 Caribs were removed to Bequia for deportation to Dangriga,
Belize, still the unruliest part of that country. The 31st we rented a jeep, and
drove past the bays on the Caribbean side. The anchored yachts have little
to attract them to the gritty towns. The fit can hike to the rim of Soufiere, an
active volcano at the north end. No road circles past it, nor do any roads cross
the rugged terrain studded with coconut groves and banana plantations. Despite
eruptions and hurricanes the locals manage to thrive in this "Jurassic
Park" setting. We'll take in the fireworks off Young Island, the most
tourist friendly area we saw, and head to St Lucia. Happy New Year to all.
-Joyce and Jim
St. Lucia:
Having checked into SV/G at its
southernmost entry port on Union Island, we cleared customs at 5 pm on the 1st
from the northernmost facility in tiny Wallilabou along with a half dozen other
yachts. Two boat boys simultaneously vied for our patronage securing fore and
aft between 2 mooring balls put in by the shoreside restaurant. I tried out my
new fins and snorkel from Santa right off Sunsets' transom delighting in
plentiful live coral as well as fish. How green was our valley with a natural
rock arch at the north end of the bay, and tranquil hills circling us? But the
tempo increased dramatically: the boat boy population swelled to 9 boats
swarming each of the 14 yachts entering after us. While we drank iced beverages
and dodged the sun under our awning, the boys rowed frantically to outdistance
competitors. Those with fruits and trinkets relentlessly moved from boat to
boat, and also served as taxis. Well after sunset 3 boats kept a vigil for
stragglers. Its entertaining to watch the peripheral vessels that needed to
run lines to trees and rocks on the shore, especially one who refused local
help, made 5 failed attempts, lost his dinghy off the stern, and departed from
sheer embarrassment. A couple we had last seen in Spain regaled us with their
crossing tale using a stubby emergency tiller in strong winds and squalls. We
headed out at 7 am, among the last to cast off, and joined the parade to St.
Lucia. Another familiar island, Barbados, lies 100 miles east of St Vincent. It
is low, undiscovered by Columbus, and serves only as a landing point for yachts
finishing a crossing before heading off to better harbors. The passage to St
Lucia was in light chop and rain obscuring our view of the twin Piton mountains
guarding the entry to Soufriere Bay on the southwestern coast. We continued on
to anchor in Marigot Harbour, a narrow,long indentation into the coast, and home
to one of The Moorings charter fleets. Doolittle's Restaurant, film setting for
Rex Harrison's, Dr Doolittle, gave us a great view of the entry. A two masted
square rigger (see brigunicorn.com)
dropped off day charters, and a 5 masted replica ship, "Royal
Clipper", anchored overnight recalling the exploits of Admiral Rodney. The
Admiral tucked his fleet into Marigot Bay, lashed palm fronds to his rigging,
and gave his foes the slip. The port capital of Castries lies a mile north, now
a cruise dock and tank farm that saw intense fighting in its outlying hills.
"Relative to the size of the area, more British and French troops died in
combat on the slopes of St Lucia's Morne Fortune than anywhere else except the
trenches of Flanders." The isle changed hands 14 times, the British
determined to secure Rodney Bay at the northern tip for its fleet. Nearby Pigeon
Island, once a whaling station, was an observation and signal base for colonials
and WW II combatants. Now a park with ruins of Ft Rodney and interpretation of
the decisive naval battle of The Saintes that quashed the French for good. We
enjoyed this historic setting in the modern marina, destination of ARC 2001
race. The 219 Atlantic Rally Crossers were led into port by the youngest
skipper, 22, in his first ocean race in 12 days 21 min. Ahab is green with envy;
I'm just thankful I was spared a green-around-the gills passage. One boat was
lost and its French captain taken aboard another vessel after he lost his
rudder. On the 4th the mainsail cover was removed, reefing installed, and a
ghostly white apparition arose unseen since arrival in Tobago. -Ahab & Crew
Martinique:
After hoisting the main in our slip
at Rodney Bay Marina and the staysail in the bay Sunsets covered the 25 miles to
Le Marin on Martinique's southern coast in 3.5 hours plunging her bow under
waves and knocking the 2nd anchor loose along the way. The spit of sand jutting
into the Cul-de-Sac du Marin is home to Club Med. Of the likely 1500 yachts here
1000 must be at Marin's marina and anchorage on Martinique, part of France,
largest of the Windwards, and Croissant capital of the Caribbean sure to make
2002 a Hippy New Year as one of our friend's put it. The groupings of these
islands has varied as colonial flags have traded hands. Columbus in addition to
seeking Japan also kept a sharp watch for the Antilles, charted but undiscovered
islands reputed to lie along the way. As with the name Indies, Antilles was
pressed into use in the New World. Puerto Rico is the pivotal island. All the
islands to the east extending to Trinidad are today the Lesser Antilles; those
to the west including Cuba are the Greater. This and the next 2 islands are
the French Antilles (a phone category). This same division was inaugurated by
the Spanish but with the names Windward and Leeward. Colonials liked that
nomenclature, but applied it within the smattering of islands that they held.
Moderns call Martinique to Trinidad Windwards and Anguilla to Dominica Leewards.
Being in France means Euros (.9 to the dollar) arrived 1/1 with some confusion
in stores with inventory priced in Francs. It also means total language
immersion: few French are bi-lingual, and my college French is being pressed
into service. Our rental Cleo on the 5th has left hand steering; Mr. Toad had to
readapt to using the right lane as we circumnavigated this lower, more
undulating terrain on excellent roads. Fewer fronds, more leaves, cattle pastures,
sugar cane, rum factories, industry, dual lane highways, greater prosperity, and
French building styles all set this island apart from its neighbors. Had it not
been for the azure sea visible at every turn, enclaves of tin roofed shacks, and
Mt Pelee in the north, this could be Europe. Jardin de La Pelee was our lunch
break where the dozen guests were served Curried Chicken on the gazebo
overlooking a lily pond, then strolled through the nursery for tropical flowers
and banana plantation. Lush and serene with birds joining us at the table to
share our bread, it belies the devastation of 100 years ago when Pelee erupted
killing 20,000 in the coastal town of St Pierre. The spewing ash promted city
officials to seek expert advice on evacuation. Reassured that activity would
subside, the Mayor cancelled evacuation and prepared to hold elections. But 24
hours after the erroneous forecast the side of the mountain split emitting a
plasma of fiery gas that not only killed the inhabitants but the crew of a ship
that had put to sea 6 minutes earlier. The Captain, the only eyewitness to the
Caribbean's worst disaster, and a land prisoner were the sole survivors.
Ironically, the prisoner was a condemned man held in a cell below ground. His
phenomenal escape earned him a reprieve as a popular exhibit in a world-famous
circus. Sunday we re-anchored in St Anne's, the beach area nearer the headland
to accommodate a course for gommier races to be held the next 3 Sundays. These
are 33' native boats in 3 classes also called yole and bebe yole with low
freeboard, a sculling oar in place of a rudder, and long hiking boards for crew.
Capsizing is inevitable, and chase boats can right contenders. -Les Perries
Josephine:
Sunday morning's rain squall gave
way to brilliant blue skies. The rectangular sail of each racer at a rounding
mark could be seen from the cockpit. Later we enjoyed a fresh fish meal that the
French raise to an art form in a restaurant overlooking the harbor. In atonement
for our desserts we climbed the path behind St Anne's church with a station of
the cross at each switchback, and were rewarded with a panoramic view of the
anchorage. We strolled the white sand beach to the edge of Club Med, and headed
back to watch a swapped video in the aft amphitheater. Jim scans yachts for
American flags in each anchorage, then scuttles off by dinghy with our old cache
of videos in hopes of replenishment. The 7th we set out in the morning walking
3.5m south of St Anne's to the beach, Grand Anse des Salines, on a path under
poisonous Manchineel trees that gave way to palms. (Machineels have toxic
apples, and irritating sap and rain runoff.) Baguettes filled with grilled meat,
home made ice cream, and chocolate fudge filled pastries carried to your beach
chair, models with baskets of swim suits to try on and buy, perfect sun, sand
and surf make this a premier attraction well worth the walk back too. While we
were driving Saturday we had seen the capital, Fort-de-France, that sits on the
north shore of its namesake bay while the southern peninsula serves as a vast
regional park and beach resort. Jim was disappointed by the grit of the city,
although we see large mid-rise apartment developments that aim to replace aged,
forlorn shacks, and roads have lovely landscaping for miles near towns. Yachts
can anchor in the southern bay near the town of Les Trois-Islets, and 5 other
more exposed coves ringing the peninsula. Across the road from Trois-Islets is
the birthplace of the Empress Josephine who was raised on a 200 acre 150 slave
plantation. Josephine made it to Paris, widowed, and used her sultry charms to
cultivate relationships with men rising in government. Napoleon arrived at her
salon as an uncouth artillery man in need of her polish but naive in the ways of
love. Enthralled, he married her, but could not persuade her to accompany him on
tours of duty. She read his impassioned letters to amuse her friends and lovers.
Napoleon eventually learned of her duplicity, but when he crowned himself
emperor, Josephine reconsidered, forsaking others to remain his empress. Off the
southern coast of the peninsula where Josephine lived lies Diamond Rock. In 1803
the British, shy of a gunboat, elected to scale the rock with men, provisions
and cannons commissioning it HMS Diamond. It harassed vessels bound for
Fort-de-France for 18 months. Sacre bleu! Napoleon was incensed by this affront
in the homeland of his empress. Admiral Villeneuve, dodging Nelson's
blockade, set out from France with orders to liberate the rock and crush Nelson.
Villeneuve succeeded in retaking the rock by duping Nelson into sailing off to
prevent a feigned attack on Trinidad. Unmollified, Napoleon called for
Villeneuve to return in disgrace having failed with his smaller, more poorly
equipped fleet to trounce Nelson in battle. Villeneuve preferred death to
disgrace, and so allied with the Spanish and engaged Nelson off the Atlantic
coast of Spain at Cape Trafalgar. Nelson won, but died in battle, and was sent
home in a barrel of Brandy. The French admiral who had sought death lived. What
a play Shakespeare would have made of this. The 8th its off to Dominica. Au
revoir, mes amies.
-Jacques et Marie
Pelee:
Mon Dieu! Dominica ce n'est pas
francaises: its an independent isle. How can we leave Madinina, Island of
Flowers, as the Caribs called it? Leave the land of beignets (donuts with
exquisite fillings)? Mais, non. We'll anchor the night of the 8th in St Pierre
on the northwest coast, and arrive in Dominica in daylight. Aussi, c'est finis
avec Jacques; pas de Jacques. Comme Josephine, c'est mon mari, le capitaine
Pierre, pour moi toujours. As we motored north along the coast past Josephine's
plantation we saw Diamond Rock rising straight up from the sea with great chunks
scalloped from its side. One wonders, was it once smooth but scarred by cannon
in the liberation assault? Would we find spent mortars if we could scale it?
There is nowhere to land, and seemingly mere handholds. Hauling the provisions
of a ship to the summit is incredible. Continuing up the coast we dropped the
hook at 1:00 to explore the ruins of St Pierre on foot. This is where the French
got their toehold in 1600, and defeated the Caribs by 1658. But the vanquished
called down the curse of Pelee on the victors, fulfilled in island time: 1902.
Charred partial walls are the foundation of the modern city, a ghost of its
former persona. It was the Paris of the Caribbean, home to 30,000, port of entry
for 7/8 of island goods, with a cathedral, grand theater, and botanical gardens
built around 2 waterfalls in the foothills of Pelee; 5000 call it home today.
The colonial customs house has been rebuilt as an art museum with a new grand
plaza linking it to a tour boat dock under construction. Photographs and
exhibits in the museum of before and after photos are stark. Nothing on land nor
in the sea was left after the eruption except floors and low rubble walls of
collapsed buildings. The governor left his home in Fort-de-France to stem the
tide of voters: 1000 had already gone. Governor and 28,000 voters alike
died deterred from evacuating by his determination to retain power. Did his paid
expert die, too? The cathedral bell and glass bottles deformed in heat that
partially melted them. Bundles of nails fused into a single mass. The prisoner,
Louis Cyparus, locked in a dungeon that originally was a thick-walled room in
the fort, survived for 4 days with serious burns saved by acess to water, and
his small window that limited the penetration of flaming, toxic gas. Nursed by a
priest, did he gain church sanctuary? Freedom through loss of court records?
Released to P T Barnum because the angel of death had passed over him while
slaying his condemners? A 12 year old orphaned while in F-de-F for the day
went to France to earn enough money to repurchase his patrimony: all deeds were
lost. From whom? Did the government collect to cover restoration of municipal
services? Floats in the harbor mark dives to the merchant ships that sank. It is
an open roadstead; F-de-F is a superior harbor. Pelee's top had an incandescent
glow by night; an obelisk of obsidian as large as the Washington monument was
thrust upwards and crumbled away. Eventually 700' of the crest collapsed into
the crater. Clear skies gave us a good photo op back aboard Sunsets of benign
Pelee, dormant since 1932. A perfect rainbow over town capped the day as Pelee
receded into the mist of rain clouds: a dinner shower that cleared to reveal the
city lights. The 25 mile ocean passage on the 9th was a lively motor &
staysail affair with Sunsets tossing spray occasionally all the way back to the
cockpit. We put in to Dominica's capital of Roseau at 11 am. -Pierre et Marie,
Toujours
Domica:
The Caribs named this the tall
island for its central mass of mountains cut into innumerable gorges by the
350" of annual rainfall cascading in waterfalls and river plains. Citrus,
coffee, cocoa, and sugar are grown on the slopes of the coast and the river
valleys while the interior is set aside in forest reserves. We picked up a
mooring in Roseau, the capital at the Anchorage Hotel with pool. The waterfront,
vulnerable to storms, is occupied by shanties whose survival of the 150 mph
winds of "David" in 1979 (80% structural damage) defies comprehension.
The lifeblood of Roseau is now the cruise ship dock: two docked the 10th, the
day we booked a tour of the interior. We were in a 4 wheel drive van with
another couple going to Titou Gorge. Our road became a gravel power company
right-of-way where the water is pooled for hydro-electric turbines. We stepped
down the rocky steps into cool mountain water, and pushed ourselves upstream off
the bottom and rocky gorge walls that narrowed in places to just a few feet
while up ahead the plunging waters of the fall lured us on. Encouraged by our
example, our traveling companions took the plunge, but we had it first all to
ourselves. The entry pool is warmed somewhat by a sluice pipe from the boiling
crater lake, a 3 mile arduous hike above us. Before we left for Trafalgar Falls,
the second part of our tour, 4 refitted military transport trucks loaded with
cruise ship passengers descended on our secluded spot. Trafalgar, a 200' fall in
two cascades, was as popular as monuments in DC with lines snaking up the hill
to a packed observation deck. Increased winds encouraged us to leave our
roadstead and move up the coast to Prince Rupert Bay. It has a 2 mile sweep of
beach marred by steel hulks driven ashore by storms but otherwise, a popular
anchorage. The coast has several dive preserves, and anchorage is barred there.
The east coast also has a territory set aside for Carib descendants who along
with escaped slaves had an aloof existence in the hills. The 11th we weighed
anchor, raised the main and set out for Bourge Des Saintes on Terre D'en Haute,
one of a small cluster if isles known as Iles des Saintes on the way to
Guadeloupe. Our passage was uneventful, unlike the day in May of 1782 when
Admiral Rodney's fleet of 36 men-of-war intercepted De Grasse's fleet of 30 who
had left Fort-de-France, Martinique as if bound for home, then turned west above
Dominica for a planned attack on Jamaica. Naval battles followed a strict
protocol. Each fleet assembled single file, then proceeded in opposite
directions raking one another broadside while passing. Shifting winds caused the
British to cut the French fleet in two places leaving a group of enemy vessels
in a cross fire from both sides at once. Nearly all of De Grasse's ships were
lost. His flagship, Ville de Paris, a 110 gun ship built from 2000 oaks 1 meter
thick in places, was captured but sank in tow to England. The Battle of
the Saints established Britain's naval superiority. Fort Napoleon guarding
the northwest coast of Terre D'en Haute has a museum depicting the battle. At
one point the wind died and firing was halted for an hour. No one could see
through the smoke enshrouding the combatants to fire. The island is tiny, low,
and dry, and was home to a fleet of fishermen descendants of northern Frenchmen
isolated from outsiders with noticeable stagnation in the gene pool. Military
doctors called for their training fleet to be stationed here for 2 weeks a year:
problem solved.
-The Saints
Guadeloupe:
The Saintes are recreation islands
for their commercial mainland, Guadeloupe. Cruise ships and ferries bring day trippers
to the beaches, shops, and 2nd homes built in the town of Bourge De Saintes. The
nearby islands have hiking trails. Our anchorage in Bourge was near the yacht
club with a fleet of 20 Hobie Cats that raced Friday and Saturday. Swim lanes
were marked between piers, and a meet was held followed by a band in the
evening. Scooters provide the main transportation, and we had exhausted the
roads in half a day. The beach caters to picnickers which the loose goats now
exploit. Like Yogi Bear, the goats loot hampers for food while bathers are
snorkeling. On the 13th we motor sailed to Point a Pitre on Grand Terre of
Guadeloupe bypassing Marie Galante isle to our east. Starting with Grenada the
Lesser Antilles have been a string of pearls that we visited in succession
through Dominica. Now the islands lie in a buckshot pattern, and Beagle Puppy
can't do them all: we have to make choices. Guadeloupe is in reality two islands
that have merged save for a 7' deep channel know as the salt river, Riviere
Salee, which we took the 16th heading to Antigua. Guadeloupe has the shape
of a butterfly with the city of Point a Pitre where the two halves meet. It is a
commercial port that shuts down on weekends. It has a smattering of colonial
buildings, mostly decayed. Perhaps the cruise ship dock will spark an urban revitalization
of its waterfront, but we took a quick look-see then dinghied to the 1000 slip
marina complex for its vitality. Surprisingly in the evening a marching band
materialized in town and crowds appeared: the ferry loads of day trippers back
from the Saintes. The cities are not what draws visitors. The Caribs called this
the land of beautiful waters, and it is that asset that drew Club Med and wind
surfers to the southern shore of Grand Terre, the east half of the island.
Inland the low rolly hills are ideal for sugar cane and Brahman cattle. We
drove along the whole coast of Grand Terre Monday, and on the 15th, Jim's 55th
birthday, we crossed the bridge over the Riviere Salee into the west half of
Guadeloupe, Basse Terre. While its name implies that it is low land it is not.
It has 8 functional volcanoes, and is as high and rugged as Dominica. The French
government has built excellent roads and paved paths to waterfalls, a rainforest
zoo, and the rim of Soufriere Volcano. We enjoyed our 20 minute hike along a
stream through the jungle rainforest in light rain to reach the 125' drop of one
of the 3 Chutes du Carbet fortunately when there were no crowds. On the coast
aside from a packed marina in the capital city of Basse-Terre there are few
anchorages for yachts. There was intense development of condos near the marina,
and waterfront villas on the town's outskirts. Narrow roads plus prosperity
creates traffic logjams. Divers enjoy the steep wall descending on the west
coast at Pigeon Island. Jim's resolve to observe a day of rest on the 16th
lasted until 4 am when we arose, pulled up the hook, and joined boats waiting
for the 4:30, 5 and 5:30 am openings of the two Riviere Salee bridges, the only
openings. This permits north and south bound traffic to clear both without
playing havoc with traffic. Mooring buoys allow waiting boats to stand-by
overnight, but we didn't fancy a calm night in the heart of the mangroves full
of mosquitoes and no-seeums. After sunrise we hoisted the main and
staysail for the 40 mile close reach to English Harbor. -The Seniors, Both 55
Antigua:
Whoa! Our glassy calm departure
through the Riviere Salee gave no inkling of the boisterous 40 mile passage in
store for us to Antigua the 16th. Solid sheets of water cascaded over the bow
with spray on the pilot house occasionally catching Jim in the cockpit. We
furled in the staysail and sailed under reefed main alone during a squall, and
made it to fabled English Harbour in 5 hours. 
The harbour is a narrow, deep
curved arc with high hills and mangrove swamps, a real hurricane hole, and in
the days when ships were pulled over on shallow beaches to perform bottom work,
an ideal careenage. The British developed this as a dockyard in 1745, and
continued to expand and improve it for 100 years. Hanging with friends or
carousing today is known in the islands as "Liming" since that is what
Limeys waiting for repair completions did. Like Annapolis, the old dockyards are
converted from shipyards to restaurant, business and hotel use with historical
markers denoting original purposes. It is commonly called Nelson's
dockyard after Britain's favorite naval hero who served here from 1784-1787
becoming commander, but who left in such poor health he took a barrel of rum
along as a preservative in case he didn't make it. "Nelson was stationed
here in 1784 under Sir Richard Hughes, who had recently blinded himself in one
eye while chasing a cockroach with a fork." Nelson recovered, survived the
loss of his right arm in 1797 in a failed attack on Santa Cruz in Tennerife to
the cannon, El Tigre, that the Spanish proudly display. The one-armed admiral
then defeated Spain and France combined at Trafalgar using the
divide-and-conquer tactics developed at the Battle of the Saints. On the shore
opposite the dockyard a path leads to Antiga's highest point, 490', Shirley
Heights guarding the harbor mouth which we climbed one afternoon past scrub
growth, prickly bushes and cacti: what my kids use to call hiking torture, but a
great view. Falmouth Harbor lies just to the west of English Harbour in easy
walking distance. This is a more open basin, and home to million-dollar-and-up
yachts. Southern Cross Restaurant overlooks this cradle of conspicuous
consumption serving a scanty but elegant $65 lunch. Our surrogate son, Mark
Talbott, is joining us for 3 weeks, and what with the strong winds and brief,
intense squalls, we have been content to hang right where we first dropped our
hook until our crew arrives Monday. Our choice of destinations was easier to
make than I thought it would be. Barbuda to the northeast is a sandy Frigate
Bird Colony. When sea levels were lower this was part of Antigua. The space
between them now is shallow with 200 wrecks on its reefs. We'll let the birds
known for the red chest they can puff up enjoy the beach in peace. Incidentally,
they are named for warships from their habit of harassing other birds into
dropping their catch. Frigates can't take off from water, and so keep their
distance, catching their fish from the air. Montserrat to the southeast was
the scene of a 1995 volcanic eruption that devastated its southern half,
destroying the main city, Plymouth, and reducing the population by 2/3. The
volcano is still active belching ash, oozing lava, and is monitored daily since
it could even threaten Antigua if it began lobbing lava "bombs". We
wouldn't want ash on Sunset's decks. We'll head to Nevis. Eastern islands formed
long ago in geologic time, and have worn to gentle hills. Volcanoes on the
western fringe form the high rugged isles. -The Limeys
Statia:
The 21st was car rental day on
Antigua which we had visited for a week in '89 when we stayed at Yepton Beach.
The coast drive took us past the partially filled Jolly Harbour Marina, a first
rate facility, but isolated. The island seems down at the heels with roads
suffering most. Jim picked Mark up at the airport at 8 pm and had the thrill of
dodging vast goat flocks, a downpour and potholes to successfully retrace his
route sans signs back to Sunsets. English Harbour where we stayed anchored
through the 23rd is the only draw for the cruise ship throngs docked in St
John's, a gritty port. We needed a day to take Mark to Pigeon Beach at the mouth
of Falmouth Harbour a short walk away from our anchorage. While there the 5
masted Royal Clipper cruise ship was hosting a beach cookout, but alas, we
couldn't think of a way to crash the buffet line. The 23rd we moved half way
around Antigua to an anchorage in Deep Bay around the corner from the capital of
St John's. Jim and Mark took a snorkel over the remains of the Andes, a three
masted vessel laden 1n 1905 with a cargo of asphalt from a pitch lake in
Trinidad bound for Chile. June heat beating down on the poorly secured cargo
resulted in smoldering, and denial of entry into the port at St John's. The
Andes ducked into Deep Bay, but opening the hatches only added oxygen to fuel
the fire that sank her. Strong winds made for a cloudy snorkel but the bay was a
calm overnight spot. An 8 hour motor sail on the 24th brought us to an idyllic
overnight anchorage off Nevis at Pinney's Beach. Little trace of human activity
is visible from the cockpit, just a 3 mile long broad white beach, palm trees
with a mountain backdrop. Having stayed on nearby St Kitt's for a week in '92 we
had a chance then to take the ferry to Nevis and see the birthplace of Alexander
Hamilton, and no doubt, drive all over. Enroute to Nevis we passed the Kingdom
of Redonda, an island whose bird droppings were mined for phosphates from 1870
to 1930. A Monserrat merchant had Antigua's Bishop crown his son king of the
island. The king's successors, literary figures in London, pestered England to
sanction the title. The current king, Bob the Bald, lives aboard his yacht in
English Harbour; his only subjects are birds. Some of the English are a little
barmy. The original instigator must have been a heavy church contributor to rope
the Bishop into his scheme. After a morning stroll on the strand of Pinney's
Beach the 25th we motor sailed past the coast of St Kitt's to St Eustatius, or
Statia. 
Settled by the Dutch it was a trading hub of the Caribbean. Colonial
rivals, hamstrung by trade restrictions found obtaining Dutch papers for their
goods a handy loophole, and Statia was the Golden Rock. Warehouses lined its
beach protected by a seawall now sunk into the sea. Oranjestad, a modest
community on the high hill above sits perched on the ruined walls of early
estates. Its undoing began in 1776 when Stacia's governor returned a salute from
a warship there to take on arms, manned by American rebels, our first
international naval recognition. Admiral Rodney was dispatched from St Lucia to
quell this aiding and abetting of rogue colonists. He quelled with gusto,
fleeced the populace of their worldly goods, and split the take with his crew.
Regrettably some Statian merchants were Brits who objected loudly. Before Rodney
could be recalled he sank the French fleet at the Saintes Battle. Unsporting to
take a hero's spoils. All was forgiven; they named a Bay for him instead. -The
Islanders
Saba Story:
We have been in a windy, showery
weather pattern that makes Sunsets' decks lively at times. Fresh crew inspired
the captain to unfurl the genoa, unseen since Grenada, for our run beside St
Kitts. A sheet of solid water rose up the pilot house windows, and a macho ride
was had by all. The 26th we left the fort and few restored colonial buildings of
Oranjestad for the wild abandon of Saba, another Dutch island. Saba
exemplifies the saying, stubborn as a Dutchman. A tiny island whose old custom
house lies in the middle of a flight of 600 steps up the rock face to the flat
top above. Our efforts to land were thwarted by the surge that risked ramming
Mark's head, or worse, Sunsets' bow into the floating drum mooring buoy, and
there was nowhere safe to land the dinghy. Saba's ruggedness led Dutch engineers
to reject building them a road whereupon a determined resident took a correspondence
course in road making and organized a local labor force to build their road. An
airport followed. Saba's streets must remain a lofty mystery to us. We pressed
on to St Barthelemey, or St Barts, one of the Renaissance Islands along with St
Martins and Anguilla. Geologically, these isles reflect ancient volcanic origins
which wore away, submerged while corals crowned their contours before being
thrust above sea level again. St Barts is experiencing a Mustique style
development: la crème de la crème of French and international society are
building here. Our sea trek upwind from Saba to an anchorage on the outskirts of
the port of Gustavia put crew in the mood to cocoon overnight. But refreshed by
the morning of Sunday the 27th we set out by 4 wheel drive jeep Suzuki Sidekick
up steep slopes, down past salt ponds, neat homes with nary a shack, and an
unprecedented sight, a stack of cars crushed to cubes. The island rule is that
deceased cars are allowed to rust in peace seemingly where they stop be it prime
town parking space or the edge of a narrow road. Occasionally a vehicle is
pushed up on its side, thoroughly stripped, and decently shrouded in vines. But
tiny St Bart's enjoys sufficient wealth to maintain impeccable grooming
throughout: see http://discoverstbarthelemy.com.
But we mustn't tarry among the croissants in the port of Gustavia, not a very
French sounding name. But France swapped free port access in Sweden for
the use of St Bart's as Sweden's Caribbean free port. It has since reverted to
France, but retains its duty free status. The bay on the NW tip, Anse De
Columbier, made a snug overnight mooring spot with snorkeling in crystal clear
water. Enough seclusion. On the 29th we set out for the 7 mi by 7 mi island
shared since 1648 by 2 nations, Sint Maarten (Dutch)/St Martin (French) arriving
in the harbor of Philipsburg set on a wide bay of broad sandy beach. Philipsburg
absorbs cruise ships four at a time. The town is a vast shopping maw that
maroons the courthouse, school and a church in a tidal wave of commercialism.
The French restaurant, L'Escargot, is sited in an original house with
ambience and cuisine intended to take the cruise shipers by storm. It worked on
us. Mark ordered course after course from snail sampler appetizer through
mousse. Fortunately the Guavaberry Daiquiri anesthesia lasted through
presentation of the bill. We tried to be good on the Dutch side of the island,
but the wily French entrapped us with L'Escargot. Overnight 4 cruise ships left
port to make way for 4 new arrivals. Our serene anchorage was rolly between
shifts without the windbreaks. Les Gourmets
Virgin Gorda:
After rolling about at our
Philipsburg anchorage we decided to seek a more settled site in Marigot Bay just
over the border into French St Martin along with our last taste of French
culture. Marigot's waterfront has been spiffed up since we stayed here in
1988. Pavilions of stalls accommodate the open air fish and produce market, and
nearby displays of clothing flapping in the breeze gives a gaiety to the seaside
lacking in Philipsburg. The rows of cafes spilling onto the dock has a
continental flair that proved irrestible for Les Gormets on the 30th. With a 4
am start we will be able to make St Croix in the US Virgin Islands the 31st
bypassing Anguilla to the north. Anguilla is something of the mouse that roared.
The British, unable to sustain the upkeep on its Caribbean empire after the end
of slavery, the collapse of sugar prices, and relentless costs from successive
hurricanes began pairing off adjacent islands into independent states. Anguilla
was lumped in with St Kitts which threatened to turn it into a desert.
Anguillans opened fire on the police station manned from St Kitts unnerving that
tiny force, then went on to invade its domineering master with the help of two
Yanks. By 1969 St Kitts had lost all interest in managing Anguilla. The Brits
could only assume such upstart behavior must mean that the Yanks had
ensconced the Mafia. A Faulklands-style counter attack by the Brits was launched
on Anguilla, but the goats offered the only resistance. An island worth
defending must be worth keeping, so the Anguillans remain under the British
flag. Hurricane costs are staggering. The US Virgins has a $46 million loan to
recover from David 12 years ago, and another $160 million for Marilyn in 1995.
They are negotiating to have 97% of the amount due forgiven. A funny thing
happened on the way to St Croix. The squalls and prevailing wind direction
prompted a shift to a less ambitious destination: BVI Virgin Gorda. Gusts of 40
knots sneak over the protective hills ringing Gorda Sound where we are moored.
All the cruise ships tucked themselves away here also to await a calmer day.
-The Virgins
Tortolla:
The 75 mile sail under reefed main
and genoa from St Martin to Virgin Gorda put a smile on the captain's face and
cost crew his breakfast. Top speeds of 17 knots were reached in our 7 hour
passage. Mark recouped from our rigors with dinner at The Bitter End Yacht Club
fulfilling a life goal. I think of the Caribbean islands as freckles of the
Atlantic, and the Virgins as flyspecks. Nestled close together with trade winds
for sailing, white beaches, clear water and sun have made these isles renowned
among sailors. Bitter End was a bar 20 years ago. Today it is a sprawling resort
complex, impeccably landscaped with a fine dining room where we were treated to
the Princeton Men's Glee Club of 13 singers on a working vacation: they sang for
their supper to our delight. Friday the 1st of February we checked into Virgin
Gorda Yacht Yard for the decadence of air conditioning and a bed that doesn't
rock all night. A cab ride took us to the southern tip of the island, Devil's
Bay, famed for its Baths. This is a unique geological formation of massive
granite boulders heaped on the beach of the Bay with clear pools tucked among
them and shafts of light filtering into a fairyland . Eons ago these boulders
were pockets of granite surrounded by softer lava flow.
With time the
surrounding material wore away leaving the granite and grotto baths for curious
tourists to climb between and over. The Top of The Baths restaurant with pool
commands a sweeping view of Tortola and a half dozen isles the size of Turkey
Point. It will linger in Mark's memory for the Chocolate Sensation that capped
the day. The 2nd we came back with Sunsets which we moored while we snorkeled
among the submerged Baths under brilliant blue skies. A close encounter with a
reef fish determined to find something edible in Jim's beard inspired a massive
reduction in the face fur. I'm much lighter too since my island hairdresser used
her razor trimmer all over the back of my head. Cooper Island a short hop away
provided our overnight mooring and dinner at the island resort restaurant. I
don't believe the balance of our time among the islands will have any
historically redeeming value. Nothing more mentally taxing than when to seek
shade. That is, it would be our main concern if the rainy season would decently
decamp. Superbowl Sunday, the 3rd, we took advantage of a break in the morning
showers to move across Sir Francis Drake Channel to Village Cay Marina in Road
Town Harbour on Tortola. This is home base to a massive fleet of Moorings
charter boats, a new cruise ship dock, and a largely commercial town nearby. Its
wealth in bygone years rested on cotton, then cane sent to the US to make rum
then traded for slaves. The Sunday Brunch at the marina with a one-man-band
entertainer was a real day brightener as rain poured down off and on all
afternoon. Jubilation, its sunny again, and on cue for a morning run over to
Norman Island for snorkeling in The Caves, reputedly treasure caves, matey.
At least in the imagination of Robert Louis Stevenson who is said to have
written a portion of "Treasure Island" while camped ashore at the
Bight. Hoist the main. Unfurl the Genny. A sail along St John's northern coast,
past Frenchman's Cay, rounding the West End tip of Tortola was easy going
with mountain vistas for a backdrop. We anchored for the night in Great Harbour
with a contingent of lively week charterers whopping it up. Weather is settling
into island perfection: calm nights with moderate daytime winds, 80s, no
humidity. -The Lizzards
St. John
We left Jost Van Dyke, reputedly
named after a Dutch pirate, and the last of the British Virgins on the 5th to
putter off to St Johns which along with St Thomas and St Croix are USVI.
Originally Danish, these isles were bought for $25 million before WWI to keep
them from becoming German Submarine bases. Islands attract eccentrics. One St
John's pioneer of the 1950s, Ethel McCully, spotted her dream home locale off
Francis Bay, jumped ship, swam ashore and consummated her purchase. Home
construction proceeded with materials sailed over and hauled by donkeys. She
penned her memoir under the title, "I Did It With Donkeys" but her
prudish publisher insisted on the less racy "Grandma Raises the Roof."
Another personality from Virgin Gorda is Bert Kilbride, a diver
who located an
anchor that Columbus lost encrusted in 500 years of coral growth, and developed
the resort dive course making diving widely accessible. He is still diving at
87. He is with wife #5, but remembers Wife #3 fondly as the body double for
Jacqueline Bissett. The randy diver's 8 children range in age from 63 to 13.
While these 3 Virgins were in Dutch hands they flourished relying on the 3 Cs:
cotton, cattle and cane. Danish owners embarrassed their monarch on trips home
with the size of their retinue. He passed legislation restricting the number of
liveried servants permissible for commoners. Introduction of sugar beets to
Europe and the end of slavery brought obscurity to the isles. We took a morning stroll
along the streets of Cruz Bay in St Johns, 2/3 of which is parkland, then
unfurled the Genoa for the 6 mile passage to Charlotte Amalie on St Thomas.
Before taking on life as a cruise ship port St Thomas was the auction market for
plunder seized by privateers (those whose practice of piracy was
sanctioned by a government against its enemies) which flourished during the
Napoleonic Wars, and the swashbuckling Blackbeard. Blackbeard armed himself with
6 pistols, mounted burning matches in his beard and could terrorize a victim
into giving up without a fight based on his gruesome reputation. -The US
Virginians
Passage Islands:
Charlotte Amalie became a favorite
port of call after Cuba was barred hosting as many as 7 cruise ships a day. We
anchored in the west end of the harbor Tuesday, the 7th after an easy passage
under genoa from St John's. We watched a row of 3 cruise ships rotate daily
nearby without feeling crowded. The town was named for the queen of Denmark, and
no regally named town could be haphazardly constructed. Danish planners imposed
a grid plan of streets on the town with no regard for topography. Flights of
over 100 steps provide pedestrian links between levels but the walker is
rewarded with beautifully restored colonial buildings. Cruisers can still shop
'till they drop, but there is a town surrounding the commercial mill for
balance. One cultural shock for us back on US soil for the first time since
leaving home in June was that the cars drive in the left lane. A local explained
to us that when the US bought the islands we could have changed the pattern with
the people, but not with the flocks of animals conditioned to go with the flow.
Its US, but heed the message painted in the road, "Stay Lef' Mon." The
Tramway to the top of Paradise Point observes TGIW, Thank God Its Wednesday with
free rides after the cruise ship passengers are safely aboard. The view from the
top of the nature path takes in St Croix 40 miles south and the two islands
across the harbor. The bar brings in a band and has a special on drinks. We fell
in with the locals, and Miss Pumpkin partied 'till 7 pm. Thursday we set out
under main and genoa for the 18 mile crossing to the isles off Puerto Rico known
as the Passage Islands. We anchored in Bahia Honda, Culebra and dinghied ashore
to Mama Cita's where Jim, both Marks, and Wally landed in 1996 on a sister M65.
We had a memorial toast to the absent crew at the same table before setting out
for Customs. Customs must have been inspired by the now defunct Coast Guard
decal program. They issue you a Custom's decal for $25, but aside from that
gouge life is cheap here. When our anchorage proved too close to the Ferry boat
route, and open to swell, we sought out the tip of a quiet cove and tried the
restaurant at Seabourne's. My Grouper diner with white table cloth service was
$13 and we thought we had stumbled into a great deal of a meal on St John's
where for $10 we got a home cooked meal from the cook who keeps the cab drivers
fed served at a picnic table gazing at Sunsets. Friday we weighed anchor and put
into the port at Isabel on Vieques, the island of bombing protests. It is sited
invitingly close to the mainland, and the populace was clustered like ham in the
middle of a sandwich. The US had bases on both ends. We have given up the west
end, and the locals are intent on pushing us off completely, possibly by 2003.
All was calm as we toured a restored "fort", the last built by Spain.
It served primarily as the governor's house, and now displays protest art. This
is strictly a day anchorage spot open to swells. We took Sunsets to the
luxury of a slip in Puerto Del Rey in Puerto Rico Friday the 8th. We have the
cultural reassurance of driving on the right now, but the stop signs say
"PARE" here in the Greater Antilles. -The Spaniards
Puerto Rico:
Marina Del Ray is vast and
management offers taxi service in golf carts to and from slips; there are more
vacancies than 5 years ago. Saturday the 9th crew took the reef out of the
mainsail for a long day's run along the southern coast of Puerto Rico to Playa
de Salinas. A mountain range parallels the coast and forms a rain barrier. All
the precipitation falls on the northern facing slopes. The southern facing hills
we could see were treeless and arid. The coast has seen significant industrial
development with smokestacks sending fumes out to sea. No wonder the Puerto
Ricans want the island closest to them, Vieques, purely for recreation: its
upwind with no development. Strong sunlight heating the land makes for strong
breezes which peak in the afternoon along with clouds. The autopilot was holding
a steady course with the staysail poled to hold our wing 'n wing sails. We made
it to Salinas which is about midway along the coast a little before sundown,
threading our way through a break in the reef to anchor in the mangrove ringed
bay in perfect calm. We reached our destination Sunday, Ponce, Puerto Rico's 2nd
largest city, about 25 miles further, in time for lunch ashore at the fisherman
and yacht club beach. Great crowds were gathered at the waters edge to feed fish
the size of salmon with chum sold by the fishermen's association. We wondered if
the fish hung out there all week, or if they were conditioned to show up with
weekend park crowds. The beach is used mainly in the summer. The winter trade
winds kept all but a handful of kids away. A short cab ride took us to the town
square at Ponce which was gearing up for Mardi Gras with streets closed for a
parade. The locals brought chairs and staked out shade trees. Us Gringos had to
be content with curb seats in the sun. The parade in Ponce draws every musical
and marching group in southwestern Puerto Rico in a seemingly unending
cavalcade. We watched till our setters gave out. We resorted to walking the rest
of the parade route back to its staging area about a mile away. Teen spectators
enjoyed dressing in full length caped costumes liberally trimmed in ruffles
topped by fierce masks. They all carried boppers made from toughened balloons
with a short string at the neck. These they smacked against their legs, friends
or the pavement for a sound effect. Monday's winds carried us all the way around
the southwestern corner for an overnight anchorage in Boqueron bay. We were
reminded of the need for constant vigilance when we came too close to an
anchored boat for comfort. 4 miles offshore in 25kt winds and waves, the little
white hull blended in almost too well. Spacious Boqueron bay could accomodate
many yachts with no crowding. The palm lined beach was as pretty as any we have
seen but used by locals in the summer. Shore leave was curtailed until Tuesday
morning while Jim and Mark tinkered with Little Junior's 2 hp innards. Mark did
make an oar powered foray before sunset Monday in search of bright lights
while Ma and Pa dozed in the salon until bedtime. Mark is extending his tour by
a week or more to help sail Sunsets back to the states. Tuesday the 12th we
sailed through the Mona Passage, between Puerto Rico and Hispanola. West winds
were right on our nose as we motor sailed out of Boqueron, shifting to the
northeast for some of the best sailing of the trip, 8-10 kts. Dinner in the
cockpit was set aside to watch a pod of 65' Fin Whales blowing with one close
frisky fellow rising out of the water like a porpoise. We carried our sails all
night. -The Whalers
Dominican Republic to the Bahamas:
After an exhilarating downwind rush
to Puerto Plata, it was a bit disappointing to find Columbus' "Silver
Port" had become the Soot Port. Constantly belching huge diesel generators
sit at the water's edge, right next to scenic Ft. San Felipe (1540). The harbor
is completely commercial, with a few local fishing boats wedged in, fenced, with
shotgun toting guards. The DR boasts many upscale resorts and beautiful beaches,
and Joyce and I stayed in one in the mid '90s. The largely agricultural
countryside can be quite pretty, although poverty pockets dot the roadsides in
equal number with new condos and villas. But with tourism down 70% since 9/11
the local customs, harbor, and immigration officials extracted $190 from us in
various fees and extortions for our one night stay, and withheld our exit papers
overnight for another anticipated go round at 7am. No one showed; we booked sans
papers. Our early departure preceded the trade winds so motoring was necessary
about half the 185 miles to Great Inagua, the third largest Bahamian
Island, home of Morton sea salt. It is evaporated here, scraped off the dried
mudflats, and processed to remove impurities. Chugging along relatively smoothly
over a sparkling ocean, with the occasional freighter or sailboat for company,
certainly beats Puerto Plata harbor.
Our spirits rose with the afternoon
wind and Sunsets again started ticking off the miles under sail, full main and
genoa through the night, gradually slowing till motorsailing 10am Fri the 15th
with 12 miles to go. We arrived Great Inagua Island and anchored in very clear
azure blue water. Our effort to land the dinghy on the town beach looked too
rough so we scrambled up a big tire in the tiny (200'x200')commercial harbor, a
test of agility. Sister Dee, the taxi driver, gave us a quick tour of Mathew
Town where 95% of the residents work for Morton Salt. This is not a
tourist destination but tours of the flamingos in the salt pond can be
scheduled. After burgers at a surprisingly busy restaurant (one patron
ordered 30 chicken sandwiches for a sports team), and clearing customs ($100.)
we moved the boat 9 miles to a more protected anchorage, dodging a Morton salt
ship which was coming in to dock near the 7 mountainous piles of salt. This was
a truly terrific spot, with crystal clear water over virgin unpolluted coral
beds teeming with fish, just off a mile long soft sand palm studded beach. The
6am departure the 16th went smoothly and we had some good sailing and some
motoring to make our 76 mile distant roadstead anchorage off the southern tip of
Atkins Island, just in time for a swim. We spotted a long-abandoned float plane
on the beach, and wondered what happened. These islands have more similarities
than differences, and roll by one a day. The 17th from Atkins, 5am departure
with a nice breeze, we set sail in darkness and sped towards Long Island 71
miles off. A cold front blew in with rain and squally winds, but we pressed on,
dead upwind now to Clarencetown. Joyce was glad to get a break at Annie's restaurant,
excellent home cooking. Mark took a picture standing next to the "Welcome
to Clarencetown" sign on our visit in '96, so a duplicate was made, with
him sitting on the now fallen sign. This is a low key place, but we met a couple
who spend 6 months each year here in a rented cottage. All the land of many of
the Bahamas Islands is owned jointly by island residents and cannot be sold.
This is changing slowly as surveys and ownership claims are being instituted.
-The Bahamians
Nassau:
Clarencetown on Long Island is
unique among cities on the islands boasting 2 large churches built by the same
man, an Episcopal priest with a bent for architecture. He built St Paul's, but
with his yen to build unsatisfied, he converted to Catholicism, returned and
built St Peters. He ended his days as a hermit building the stations of the
cross into the hillside. A drizzly evening limited our church tour to one, and
we pressed on in the morning for Georgetown on Great Exuma Island. This is
something of a mecca for exiles from winter. Usually it is far enough south to
escape high pressure systems but not this time. Long shirts and pants appeared,
and we listened to the winds howl, and the boat-bound yachties yowl over the VHS
about it being too rough to dinghy to shore. Would this stop a Perrie? Well, it
did keep us out of the dinghy, at least in the morning. We contented ourselves
on the 19th maneuvering onto the fuel dock with all available manpower pouring
out of their cabins to assist with lines, replenishing our ship's stores and
water, exchanging videos, partaking of grub and grog at the Two Turtles, and
casting off to re-anchor off Volleyball Beach. A sizeable crowd braved the spray
to dinghy ashore for sunset libations, Sunsets' crew included. The
over-wintering cruisers pine for a perfect weather window if they contemplate a
change of scenery. While they hem and haw our stalwart and well patched crew,
Mark, is hauling up our anchor heading Sunsets out into the open where she can
get a good bone in her teeth. And a bone she found on the upwind 100 mile run to
Highbourne Cay. The average speed of 10kts was one of our fastest runs.
Her bow plunged, nudged the white water aside, and tossed it up over the cabin
all day until we dropped anchor a half hour before sundown, after safely
negotiating the narrow cut from the ocean onto the shallow banks, enjoying the
calm and a meal aboard. The morning of the 21st brought us seas as tame as the
preceding day's had been lively. We are gliding along at a sedate 5 knots with
none of the surges to 15. With only 32 miles to cover we can take our ease on
now calm seas. Nassau on the tip of New Providence Island is a metropolis in
contrast to the sleepy towns en route. Paradise Island is sprouting a luxury
waterfront housing development on its tip, and new condos have supplanted a
hotel abandoned 25 years ago on the opposite shore. The skies and temperatures
are perfect today. A small sea plane just took off behind our anchorage near
Nassau Yacht Harbour, and boaters are revealing in the fine breezy day. -The
Paradise Islanders
Last Update: August 04, 2007