We spent the weekend at a spacious and charmingly rustic apartment in the beach town of Grand Anse. No hot water, but they had cable TV, A/C, and WiFi, so we shopped for some provisions and libations and then, with tropical rain showers arriving at intervals, hung out indoors doing Internet, drinking rum and Cokes, and watching the NFL wild card games.
We taxied to Grenada Marine on Monday morning and found our little ship perched on her jackstands and looking pretty good after her 6-month hiatus, with nothing worse than a bit of dirt on the decks, a little mildew on some lines, a few spider-webs in the rigging, and a bird’s nest in the winch handle holder. The nest was unoccupied so we tossed it overboard, and for the remainder of the week, tiny cinnamon-colored birds would land on the lifelines and chatter loudly at us. Ken said they were scolding us for being home-wreckers. We fired up SD’s 36-year-old Yanmar 2QM20 engine and she ran smoothly without so much as a hiccup.
The interior cabin was in great shape, if a bit musty-smelling, so Katie set-to, airing things out and storing our US-bought treasures (Starbuck’s! real Bacon bits! Winga’s home-made beef jerky!) and converting the boat from “storage locker” back to live-aboard mode. Ken had his own project, which kept us out of each other’s way, and he wasted no time in commencing the miserable job of sanding the bottom in preparation for painting. Despite his wearing a mask, eye protection, and a painting suit, the toxic red dust was everywhere, turning the decks pink and settling inside the elastic collar of his flimsy suit. Even with a full wash-down, he ended up with a painful red chemical burn around his neck, complete with a small crop of blisters. It took 3 days of Silvadene burn cream application for the burn to subside.
Thus, it was probably a blessing in disguise when the sander went belly-up that same afternoon, 3/4 of the way through the project. The following morning Ken arranged for someone from the boatyard to give us an estimate on completing the sanding, and when the guy finally showed up at 4 pm, he told us he’d send his worker at 0900. (We’ll see about that.) The worker didn’t arrive until mid-afternoon (quelle surprise!), but he came prepared, suited up as if he were about to step out onto the lunar surface. He was fast and thorough, even to the point of re-positioning the jack-stands to sand all the areas, and Ken was quite pleased with the results. The next few days saw us applying 1 1/2 coats of primer (then we ran out) and 2 coats of red anti-fouling bottom paint.
We also took delivery of the pretty new spray hood that we’d commissioned last year before leaving. The old one had served us well for 15 years, but she was patched and wearing thin, so we retired her. Ken lubricated the steering cables and aligned the engine, jobs which involved his wedging himself into the coffin-like lazarette. We put headsail, mizzen sail, propeller and wind-vane back on, Ken re-tensioned the rigging, and we washed the decks and cabin sole for the third time. With these tasks and a dozen others completed, we were ready for our “splash” on Monday morning.
Moving SD from the boat yard to the travel lift. High and dry and looking spiffy!
Ready to splash!
SD was trailered the quarter-mile down to the launch pit, and we rode along with her, perched on the trailer frame. Heavy webbed slings were positioned under her keel, and the big Travelift lifted her off the trailer and lowered her tenderly down toward the water. We stepped across a small gap and onto the wind-vane frame to board her, after which slings were dropped and we motored out into St. David’s Bay. Ken took a few spins around the anchorage to assure himself that there was no engine vibration, and we then picked up a mooring for the day. Next morning we put the mainsail on, met with Customs to get a new 30-day cruising permit for Grenada, and then set sail for Prickly Bay, about 5 miles west.
A favorable current and following sea gave us a nice downwind sail, with SD showing speeds of up to 7 knots; pretty frisky for this old girl! Arriving in the anchorage, Katie went forward to put the anchor over the bow roller, but despite vigorous and persistent yanking, the thing wouldn’t budge. We changed places, with Katie taking the helm and Ken taking his muscles forward to give the anchor the old heave-ho. Nothing doing. The windlass had evidently developed some arthritis during our absence, so as Katie motored slowly in a big circle, Ken got some tools out and poked at the thing until the chain finally came free. Anchor down, engine off.
We spent 3 days in Prickly Bay, playing and working. We filled water and diesel jugs, bought food and boat supplies, played in a dominoes tournament with some rather serious fellow cruisers (no, we didn’t win), and joined in an uproarious bingo game. This game, on Wednesday night, was attended by at least 150 people; some were yachties and locals, but the majority were college students from nearby St. George’s University. The bingo caller was hilarious and the many money prizes were often accompanied by whimsical add-ons. The most bizarre, a “whole card” prize, was “400 dollars and a flock of sheep”, and as the winner was handed her prize money, two live sheep were trotted out onto the stage. The winner, a yachtie, was advised that the sheep would be held for her during the evening, but if they weren’t collected after the game, they’d be given to a farm. You can no doubt deduce the outcome.
“La Boucher” (“The Butcher”) is a shop owned and run by a charming French couple, offering home-made pate’s and sausages, a large selection of cheeses imported from France, and also a variety of local organic meats. We made multiple visits there, and spent a BUNCH of money on some outstanding cheese and a fine roast chicken, and bought rib-eye steaks which Ken grilled to perfection on the marina’s grill during “grill your own” night. Not quite as tender as good old American beef, but a rare treat for us all the same.
We finally departed Prickly Bay and sailed 8 miles up Grenada’s west coast to Grand Mal Bay, site of a marine park with some famous underwater sculptures we’d snorkeled on last year. We paid $10 US to the park service boat for a mooring ball, which was well-behaved during the day, but amused itself later by banging into our hull all night long. We dropped the mooring after morning coffee and sailed for the island of Carriacou. We had a beautiful sail with calm seas and light air for 2 hours in Grenada’s lee. Winds picked up as the island fell behind us, but even after we’d passed Ile de Ronde and Kick ‘em Jenny Rock (named for a nearby undersea volcano) and were in the open roadstead of the sometimes boisterous inter-island channel, we only had waves averaging 5 feet. After 5 hours and 29 miles, we were anchor-down (no drama this time) in Tyrrel Bay.
We’d arrived on the day of the AFC Championship play-off game, and although we wanted to watch, we were too tired to make ourselves presentable and row ashore in hopes that it might be on the TV at the Iguana tiki bar. Luck was with us, as our WiFi was working, and we were able to lounge in the cabin and watch it live on CBS.com. Go Broncos!
During the week we strolled the little beachfront shops to see what was new since our visit last year (not much), and took the bus to Hillsborough for lunch and grocery-shopping. Wednesday was dominoes day, and we found some familiar faces in our little group. The game was quite casual and easy-going, with much humor and a bit of silliness during the play, and we thoroughly enjoyed ourselves.
It’s been quite windy here lately. We enjoy sitting together on the bow in the early evenings, enjoying a glass of wine or a light supper. But the wind velocity of late has made this leisure time into a game of trying to hold onto our possibles. To date, the wind has blown one 14-inch square cockpit cushion out to sea, knocked over a glass of water, and sent several bits of Katie’s salad airborne. (Some of them landed on Ken’s chest.) We usually just deal with it, but occasionally we tire of holding onto our hats and our food, and we retire to the cabin.
It’s due to subside a bit this weekend, so we plan to take advantage of the weather window for our sail to the island of Dominica, about 170 miles north. Lonely Planet says, “Before you die, visit Dominica, one of the least developed and most unusual islands.” Sounds like good advice to us!
Cheers & beers, K&K
SandDollar_N4KS@yahoo.com
