Moving On

 

Antigua (pronounced “antee' ga”), like multiple Caribbean islands, was discovered by Christopher Columbus in 1493. Briefly occupied by the Spanish and French, it then had more than three centuries of British occupation, so despite its now being an independent state, it is a very British place.

We spent a week there, anchored off the south coast in Falmouth Harbour, which sits side-by-side with English Harbour, only a short walk away. The era when the British Navy was based here is memorialized in the beautifully reconstructed Nelson's Dockyard National Park. The Naval Officers' Residence, the Copper and Lumber Mlll, and multiple other main buildings have been reconstructed and now hold shops, restaurants, the well-done Dockyard Museum, and a busy working sail loft. All that remains of the original Boat House and Sail Loft are a line of massive stone pillars, which once supported the loft.

 A&F Sails - where we helped the local economy by having a head-sail restitched.

 

 The Pillars

Here are seen sailing craft of all sizes, and during our stay English Harbour was the final destination of the Atlantic Challenge, a trans-Atlantic rowing event. Teams of one to eight rowers had departed the Canary Islands to row (row!) across the Atlantic ocean, taking months (months!) to make the passage. Having crossed the Atlantic ourselves, albeit in a much more comfortable craft, we can only begin to imagine the hardships these rowers faced. A rower on one team was lost at sea when a wave washed him overboard. Another team capsized and had to be rescued.

 

 

This boat was rowed across the Atlantic some years ago by a single-handed rower, and is on display in the Dockyard.

English Harbour is smaller and full of history, while Falmouth Harbour is larger and full of all manner of yachts, from cruising sailboats to floating palaces. Charter yachts of sail and power, mind-boggling in size and ultra-luxurious in their appointments, tower over smaller craft. The sailing super-yachts have masts so tall that at night they have red lights at the mastheads so that aircraft don't run into them. One of the multi-million-dollar power yachts carried a helicopter on its top deck.

The high-rent district; note the helicopter on the deck of the power yacht on the right.

Above: Super-yacht docking in English Harbour

Also much in evidence were a host of big-money professional racing yachts, full of scurrying uniformed crew, preparing for the Caribbean 600, a challenging 600-mile race around multiple islands.

Oddly enough, with all this maritime hubbub in the area, there were surprisingly few amenities. Plenty of restaurants, but only one ATM, 2 very small chandleries, and 2 mini-markets. Conversely, quite a few shops sold resort wear, with bikinis selling for $185 US and flip-flops for $100 US. Happily for us, the services we required were readily available; our balky outboard was repaired in an hour and our headsail was re-sewn in one day. The Happy Hour prices at Antigua Yacht Club Marina were reasonable, so we treated ourselves to some gin-and-tonics (very British, no?) over a game of dominoes in the second-story harbor-view lounge.

View of Falmouth Harbour from Clogger’s Restaurant, on the second floor of the Antigua Yacht Club Marina.

Grilled chicken on the barbie at the roadside “snackette”.

The captain enjoys a cheap and tasty local lunch; grilled chicken, salad and a cold beer! 

A special treat for us was the discovery that the catamaran “ 'ti Profligate” was anchored behind us. This boat is owned by Richard Spindler, the editor of the wildly popular (and free!) San Francisco sailing magazine Latitude 38. Ken, on his previous boat, “True Blue”, first met him in 1994, when Spindler was “the Big Burrito” on the inaugural Some Like It Hot! rally from San Diego to Mexico, in which Ken and his family participated.  Truly a legend in his own time, Richard is personable and easy-going, and we had an entertaining 15-minute visit; turned out that he actually remembered Ken from that rally. It would be terrific some time to sit down with him over a couple of cold ones and swap sea stories.

Richard “big burrito” Spindler – creator and editor of the very popular Latitude 38 sailing magazine

As we departed “ ‘ti Profligate”, climbing into our little hard dinghy, Richard inadvertently put a hex on us.  He asked if we’d ever tipped her over, since hard dinghies are less stable than the popular inflatable RIB’s. Only once, we replied, when Katie capsized her nine years ago in the Sacramento River. We should have kept our mouths shut. A mere five days later, on Ken’s birthday, having fortified ourselves with some celebratory refreshing rum beverages, we were boarding the dinghy when Katie managed, once again, to capsize her. We’re certain that the rum had nothing to do with it, but there you have it.

Antigua is special in its own right, not just because of its nautical history and activities. We took a 90-minute hike high up into the hills, which afforded us views of the sea and of both harbours, all at the same time. The rough and rocky trail is nick-named “the goat track”, allegedly because it is frequented by goats, but we were inclined to re-name it “the goat-pellet track”, as we were seeing pellets aplenty rather than goats. But the hike was beautiful, with sights and scents reminiscent of the hills of southern California. Among the occasional ruins from British occupation, there were big century plants, painful-looking cacti, and fragrant acacia trees, with honeybees rummaging among the blossoms.

Falmouth Harbour as seen from the goat track.

(Rather than hustle her kids up the goat track, this mama preferred to munch on the harborside foliage.) 

After a week, we departed Antigua one morning at first light for our 53-mile sail to the island of Nevis. The wind was light and variable, but our passage was predominantly down-wind, and we averaged five knots, sailing wing-and-wing under mainsail (with a preventer) and poled-out headsail. We arrived at Charlestown, Nevis in the late afternoon and picked up a mooring off the little ferry dock.

Nevis, dominated by majestic, cloud-shrouded Mt. Nevis (3100 feet), whose slopes are blanketed in thick green rainforest, is the birthplace of Alexander Hamilton (check the face on your 10-dollar bill). Born in poverty and out of wedlock, Hamilton at age nine was sent to St. Croix to work to support his mother. He eventually moved to NY, where as a lawyer and statesman he became the Father of the US Coast Guard and America's first Secretary of the Treasury. A small museum in Charlestown chronicles his rags-to-riches life and accomplishments.

Admiral Horatio Nelson is also remembered in Nevis, where he met and married a local girl, Frances Nesbit, in 1787. Nelson met his end when he was killed in the Battle of Trafalgar in 1805. Reluctant to consign Britain's favorite naval hero to a mundane burial at sea, Nelson's officers opted not to plop him into the ocean, but instead pickled their commander in a vat of brandy and carted him back to Britain for a properly dignified interment three months later.

Charlestown during our time there was beset by a particularly muscular swell, making landing at the dinghy dock an unusually exciting endeavor. Ken managed to get “Loose Change” safely to the dock, and he put out a stern anchor to keep our little craft from being bashed into the dock with the surge. Even so, there must have been some drama during our absence, as we returned to find her unharmed, but with several gallons of seawater sloshing around inside. The following day, loathe to put the dinghy at risk, Ken dropped Katie off for grocery shopping and returned later to pick her up.

That afternoon we moved a quarter mile north and picked up a mooring at Pinney Beach, a pretty and popular stretch of sand where the swell creates a significant shore break. We watched a few inflatable dinghies manage to land safely on the beach, and saw one large 20-passenger tender get caught sideways and wallow from gunwale to gunwale in the surf. The passengers hung on while some folks on shore struggled and managed to get her bow in to the beach, and we finally decided that our little hard dinghy was probably not ideally suited to those conditions.

The following morning we motored three miles to the NW corner of Nevis, picking up a mooring in protected little Oualie Bay.

Oualie Bay, Nevis – St. Kitts Island in background (SD 2nd from left)

Ashore is the Oualie Beach Resort, with cute little cottages whose lawns stretch down to the beach, where guests relax in lounge chairs under the shade of palms and almond trees. Quiet and un-touristy, far from any village, it was a lovely and relaxing final Nevis stop for us.

Next stop: Nevis’ sister island, St. Kitt’s, eight miles north. Ciao for now – K&K

To see where we are, click on the “SHIPTRAK” gadget.

SandDollar_N4KS@yahoo.com

Guadeloupe pit stop

After four days in Portsmouth, we weighed anchor at 0630 and sailed out of big Prince Rupert Bay, leaving the island of Dominica in our wake. Conditions for the passage were mild, and we sailed under headsail, mizzen, and single-reefed main. Winds were variable, and we occasionally fired up the “iron genny”, our trusty old Yanmar diesel workhorse, particularly for the last few miles, as the wind had by then shifted to just west of north, right on our nose.

After 50 miles and 9.5 hours, we dropped anchor in Anse Deshaise, off a charming and picturesque little French fishing village. The small scenic bay, surrounded by mountains, was absolutely packed with yachts, but Ken was able to get petite SD securely settled between two German boats.

 

At 0730 the following morning, as we were enjoying our coffee in the cockpit, a dinghy arrived alongside, with a young mademoiselle offering fresh-baked croissants and baguettes for sale. Zut alors!!! We purchased a croissant, a pain au chocolat, and a baguette, and then we died and went to heaven.

Ken rowed us to the tiny town dock at 1000, and we found ourselves in a totally new cultural sphere. It was as if we has stepped into a little fishing village in France, perhaps on the coast of Brittany. Tiny streets were lined with colorful little shops and a few market stalls, and a big church sat in the center of town with a tall bell tower that chimed on the hour. A handful of restaurants sat along the waterfront, making the view of the yachts and bay part of the delightful ambience. Truly a French town, very few people spoke any English, and all of the signs and menus were in French. Local currency is the Euro, although some merchants accept US dollars.

We found a wonderful restaurant called L'Amer, which opened onto a breezy covered dining area on the waterfront, with tables covered in brightly striped tablecloths. They offered free WiFi, so we ordered coffees (cafe crème) and checked our e-mails while the servers began setting up for lunch, putting wine glasses at each place setting. (How French!)

We managed to do a bit of shopping, using the few words of French we knew, and adding a few hand gestures for clarification. But it was nice to find that our hostess at L'Amer spoke very good English, with a lovely musical accent. We decided to stay for lunch, and each had a rum punch (okay, okay) to “alert the palate”, as they say. For lunch, we shared plates of “tapas trio” and an assortment of pate's with toast rounds, all excellent. By now the tables were full of diners, and we hung around after our meal, people-watching and sipping a glass of rose', as what the French term a “digestiv”. Besides people-watching, we watched plates of dessert items being shuttled to the nearby tables, so we finally gave into temptation and ordered a crème brulee to share. The silky crème and thin crunchy burnt-sugar crust were the perfect finales to a very memorable meal. We both agreed that it's a good thing we're only planning to stay here one day, or we'd be fat and broke!

At 0720 the following morning, the little “boulangerie bateau” came alongside, and after our croissant and baguette purchase, we weighed anchor, bound for the island of Antigua. Motor-sailing away from the crowded anchorage, the engine alarm light came on. Ken suspected a temperature problem, so we shut the engine down. No worries though, as we were sailing in a nice easterly breeze, close reaching in 15-18 knots of wind. With full mains'l and headsail, SD was heeled over on starboard tack, scooting along at an average of 6 knots, despite the choppy 5-7 foot seas. We completed the 43-mile passage in just over seven hours, and dropped the hook in Falmouth Harbour, just a few steps from historic English Harbour.

English Harbour is the most famous of Antigua's natural havens, and was once under the command of Britain's most famous naval hero, Admiral Lord Horatio Nelson. Nelson was first stationed here in 1784, under the command of Sir Richard Hughes, who, our guidebook reports, had recently blinded himself in one eye while chasing a cockroach with a fork. Seems like a can of Raid would have been a more user-friendly weapon, but I guess you make do with what you have.

Under Nelson's command, Antigua became one of the major British naval assets in the West Indies. But he managed to make himself unpopular with the governor and the local merchants when he insisted on enforcing the Navigation Act, which meant that the port was closed to trade for all but British ships. Nonetheless, the dockyard today bears the name “Nelson's Dockyard”, in memory of Britain's favorite hero.

Ken managed to sort out the engine alarm problem as a failed impeller, several little rubber “wings” of which had disintegrated. So now, in addition to exploring our amazing new surroundings, we have a “to-do” list. Ken needs to check the engine's cooling system to see if the bits of impeller are lodged somewhere in the system, presenting a recurrence of the cooling problem. Out little old outboard has decided it doesn't want to run for more than a brief period without dying, and our headsail has opened a 6-inch seam on its luff and needs that re-sewn, and we noted several other areas of imminent thread failure.

But there is plenty to look at here, both ashore and on the water. These harbours are home to many, many sailing vessels – cruisers, racers, and multi-million dollar sailing yachts and motor yachts. Some of the mammoth sailboats have masts so tall that they are required to have red lights atop their masts at night so that airplanes won't run into them! Jaw-dropping stuff, for sure.

So we've lots to see and do, and plan to spend at least a week here while we're getting our work done. Besides, there are 6-9 foot swells out there right now, and the yacht club's second story open-air restaurant has nice views of the harbour, a good table for us to play dominoes, and they also serve a very respectable rum punch. So we'll work a bit, tour a bit, relax a bit, and catch up with you later.

To see where we are, click on the SHIPTRAK gadget.

Cheers and beers!

KandK

SandDollar_N4KS@yahoo.com 

DOMINICA

We departed Carriacou island's Tyrrel Bay on January 30, just before sunset, bound for Dominica. (Pronounced “Dommi-nee'-ka”, like the old song by The Singing Nun, it is not to be confused with the Dominican Republic.) Underway, we enjoyed pleasant sailing in the island's lee, with 15-knot winds and 2-3 foot seas. As darkness fell and we began crossing the inter-island channel, conditions got a bit sportier, with winds 17-20 knots and short-period confused seas of 5-6 feet. SD sailed steadily along on starboard tack, making 5-6 knots on the wet, bumpy ride.

Conditions didn't vary much during the 33-hour, 175-mile passage. In the lee of the islands, thngs were calmer, but it got pretty rowdy in the passes, with beam seas slamming against the hull and throwing seawater up over the spray hood. We kept one hatch-board in the companionway and slid the hatch-cover closed to keep boarding seas out of the cabin.

We arrived near the Dominica Marine Center in Roseau Bay, Dominica, at 0300 on February first, and were surprised that the light of the half-moon showed only one other yacht and no apparent mooring balls, as our cruising guidebook had reported that there were 11 good moorings. We later found out that all but 2 or 3 had been lost in last year's Tropical Storm Erika. After poking around hopefully for a bit, we finally located one lonely ball, so we secured SD and fell exhausted into bed.

 

The local security guy, Marcus, was alongside at 0730, “Hello!”-ing us out of a sound sleep to welcome us. We made coffee, put the boat in order, then dinghied to the nearby little dock to fill five 5-gallon jugs with fresh water. We hauled that back to SD, who was as salty as a potato chip, and scrubbed every inch of her from the decks up.

At mid-day we went ashore for a look-see. A cruise ship was in, so the narrow streets with their colorful shops were full of wandering tourists being pursued by determined local guides hawking tours of the interior's lakes, waterfalls, and rainforest.

 

Seeking a nice local lunch, we were disappointed to find that all the little eateries sold basically the same meal, of a type dating back to the days of slavery. It consists of a small portion of fish, stewed chicken or pork, rice, peas, a little shredded lettuce/cabbage salad, and a generous serving of what is called “provision”. This last item gets its name from crops planted in the small garden plots on which plantation owners permitted their slaves to grow food. Cheap, calorie-rich and nutritionally poor, these provisions (thus the name) consist primarily of any starchy root vegetable, like yucca or taro. The term is still seen frequently on local Caribbean menus today, and is always some starchy root-type item. Short on flavor, it's usually stewed with a bit of chicken or pork.

This was definitely not the meal we were craving, so back we went to our dock, and its charming little restaurant/bar called The Loft. Here we found some of the best rum punch we've ever tasted, with a very generous “pour” of rum. So good that we each ordered a second. Then a third. (Our server looked a little surprised at number three.) We'd almost forgotten that we were hungry, but the menu listed many temptiing goodies, and our hummus (home-made!) wrap and smoked marlin warp were big, delicious, and filling. Hunger sated, thirst quenched, and energy flagging after our abbreviated sleep, we headed back home.

Over the next few days we topped up our diesel, filled our water tanks, did some laundry, and had some more rum punch. Our AIS (electronic avoidance system for ships) had developed a glitch, so we located a DHL office and shipped it off to New Zealand for repair. One afternoon over rum punch at The Loft, we met cruisers Phil and Sarah from the UK on “Serenity of Swanwick”. Two days later, over more rum punch (you heard me), we ran into old friends from Canada, Michael and Sheila aboard “Kantala”, whom we hadn't seen in years. 
 

We took a long hike up a steep little paved road to “Morne Bruce”, a peak that offers a bird's-eye view of Roseau and the Bay, then descended along a dirt path through cool, shady, dense jungle, emerging at the lovely botanical gardens. An arresting sight in the gardens is the remains of a yellow bus which met its demise when an enormous baobob tree fell on it during TS Erika. Erika had little wind, but dumped 10 inches of rain on the island over a couple of hours, causing flooding, landslides, and several deaths.

Sunday, February 7^th, a bright sunny day, we slipped our mooring and motor-sailed 19 miles north in variable winds to huge Prince Rupert Bay at the town of Portsmouth. Here there is access to multiple lovely natural attractions, particularly the amazing Indian River.

The Indian River Guides formed an association called PAYS (Portsmouth Association of Yacht Services). This helpful, professional group of young men provide an abondanza of yacht services, running tours, helping yachties procure food, ice, or water, act as water taxis, run nighttime security patrols in the anchorage, and much more. As we entered the 2-mile-long bay, we were greeted by PAYS member “Providence” (real neame Martin), and once we'd dropped our hook, he came alongside to invite us to PAYS' Sunday evening beach BBQ. For $50 EC (about $18 US) we'd enjoy all-you-can-eat BBQ (fish, chicken, pork, salad) and unlimited rum punch, with music and dancing afterward. Our kind of party!

So we dinghied ashore at 6:30 that evening, dragged the dinghy up on the beach and left our shoes in it, and found it all as promised. About 200 people attended, sitting at picnic tables in the PAYS sand-floored beach pavilion and enjoying an excellent meal. (No provision here!) After we'd all eaten, the tables and benches were stacked to one side, the DJ cranked up some tunes, and there was dancing in the sand. We were having so much fun (and so much rum!) that we didn't go home until after 10 pm, which is pretty later for us!

The following morning Providence picked us up for a 2-hour tour of the Indian River. This lovely pristine river is off-limits to private dinghies, and outboards are not allowed, so the river guides row their passengers along the river. The river is narrow and thickly bordered with huge swamp foliage, enormous bloodwood trees, towering bamboo and coconut palms, and long dangling vines.

 

We saw occasional fish, crabs, and herons, but the cathedral-like canopy was dark and pretty quiet, with the occasional creaking of trees making it almost spooky. This atmosphere was used to advantage in the second “Pirates of the Caribbean” movie. On a little tributary they built a tiny shack in the mangroves which was the home of the voodoo witch Tia Dalma, known also as the goddess Calypso.

 

We continued along the river to a Rasta jungle bar near the river's head, where we stopped for a brief trail hike and a cool drink. (No, not rum – guava juice for Ken, coffee punch for Katie.) Providence proved to be a terrific tour guide, knowledgeable and entertaining, offering fascinating commentary on local nature, culture, and history.

The town itself was completely closed down for the official pre-Lenten holidays of “Juvee” (“Jouvert”) Monday, with its pre-dawn street party, and Carnival Tuesday, with its evening “jump-up”. We decided to try a recommended hike on our own, but with the somewhat vague directions we had, it only took us about 10 minutes to get lost. We gave up on that, but on the way home we were stopped by taxi-driver Alick in his “Red October Taxi”, who offered to take us on a land tour up over the top of the island, along the east coast, and through the interior. This sounded like a swell plan, so we spent the next three hours driving through some lovely parts of Dominica, an island with 8 volcanoes and 365 rivers.

Our route over the mountains, with multiple switchbacks, took us to heights from which we could see the distant islands of Marie Galante and Guadeloupe. Then we descended to the coast, where booming Atlantic surf, travelling all the way from Africa, thunders on wicked-looking rocks with names like “the Gates of Hell”. Along the way we passed thick lush foliage, and trees of lemon, sour orange, banana, plantain, coconut, apricot, papaya, and mango. Alick walked with us along a trail to cold sufurous bubbling volcanic springs, and picked wild sweet raspberries for us along the way. Our final walk was in an unusual area called “Red Rocks”, which bears a loose resemblance to the surface of Mars.

 

 

Dominica will be remembered as a very special and unique island, but once again, a weather window beckons. So we look north toward the French island of Guadeloupe, and the pretty little fishing village of Deshaies on her wes coast. Au revoir!

Cheers & beers (and a little rum punch!), K&K

SandDollar_N4KS@yahoo.com

Here we go again...

Team SD landed back in Grenada on Friday night, January 8, after 5 1/2 months at our shore station in Florida. On arrival, the Customs officer asked if we were bringing any boat parts into the country. Although we said no, he cast a suspicious look at our bulging duffel, but finally decided to let us pass without a search, which would have unearthed our heavy contraband of one oil filter.

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!

Transferring SD from trailer to travelift.

 In the cradle.

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.

 Slipway restaurant and dominoes hangout. Great burgers!

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

Farewell, Grenada, til 2016!

 

With SD scheduled for her hurricane season haul-out this week, we are preparing her for storage and looking back at our seven wonderful weeks on the island of Grenada.

Departing Carriacou on a sunny morning, we had a perfectly glorious 30-mile passage to Grenada, beam-reaching in 10-15 knots of wind under full sail – Sand Dollar at her best! 

We picked up a mooring for one night in tiny Dragon Bay, on Grenada’s west coast, near a famous underwater sculpture park at Moliniere Point. The next morning, an eager young Grenadian appeared alongside SD in his kayak, offering to guide us to the sculptures for $10 USD each. We balked at first, figuring that we could swim there ourselves for free. (We’re pretty cheap.) But our guide looked so disappointed that in the spirit of supporting free enterprise and boosting the local economy, we paid our $20, donned our snorkel gear, and swam obediently after him as he paddled toward the site.  As it turned out, it was a good thing we had a guide, as we’d have had a devil of a time finding the sculptures on our own. They were spread over a fairly large area of sea-bed and were monochromatic in color, and the water itself was a tad murky.

But the sculptures were nonetheless quite impressive, and more than a little eerie. A variety of works came into view as we snorkeled around, following our guide.  Among them were a cemetery with scattered sarcophagi, a reclining mermaid, and a famous piece entitled “Vicissitudes”, which featured a circle of children holding hands, all wearing hauntingly spooky facial expressions.

When we’d finished our art appreciation tour, we weighed anchor and motored three miles to St. George’s anchorage, just outside the city’s harbor. The centuries-old town of St. George’s is situated on a ridge, with the sea on one side and the protected harbor on the other. Old brick buildings with tile roofs still line incredibly steep streets, and original cobblestones pave some alleys and sidewalks. A walk through these streets, among structures hundreds of years old, inspires the imagination to picture the city as it looked long ago. Tall wooden sailing ships would arrive and off-load their ballast of bricks, and then sail for home with holds full of rum, spices, cocoa, and fruit.

St. George’s harbor; the area circling the water is called the Carenage

On June first we moved SD to a berth in pretty Port Louis Marina, a short distance from town.  It was to be our home for the month, and a deluxe home it was, with lush and lovely landscaping, a swimming pool,  WiFi, laundry, showers, ice, bar, and restaurant. Accustomed as we are to a shoe-string lifestyle, this was all pretty decadent! But we managed to put on a stiff upper lip and suffer through it somehow.

Port Louis Marina on the right; town of St. George’s is out of photo, on the left

 A short dinghy ride away was St. George’s itself, as well as two supermarkets and a well-stocked chandlery. It was on the route for the cheap (less than $1 USD)  buses that served the whole island, and was actually within walking distance of the town. We took a bus trip one day across the interior of the island to visit Belmont Estate, a large property, family-owned for several generations, where cocoa beans are grown and processed before being sent up the road to the Grenada Chocolate Factory. There’s also lush, sprawling botanical gardens, and a goat dairy that produces wonderful goat cheese (we took some home). We enjoyed a terrific lunch at their airy pavilion-style restaurant.

Ken’s son, Matthew, and daughter, Tameron, both in their twenties, arrived in mid-June for a week-long visit. We’d been awaiting their arrival to do some sight-seeing, and we did the tourist thing at old Fort George and at the Grenada National Museum, which a few centuries ago had been a women’s prison. A visit to the local Saturday market in the town square had become a regular event for us, so we herded Matt and Tam over to share the experience. The old square, once the site of slave auctions and public hangings, comes alive on Saturdays, crammed with tiny stalls manned by very determined ladies (and a few men) hawking spices, crafts, and fresh produce.

These local vendors do not take “No thank you, not today” for an answer, so we came away with bananas, limes, nutmegs, cinnamon, and sea moss. This last item, sold in its dried state,  bears a distinctly unappetizing resemblance to a loofah.  But the locals boil it briefly to soften it, then put it in a blender with cold milk, vanilla, cinnamon, and nutmeg, and it comes out tasting like a rich, creamy, eggnog smoothie.

We devoted an entire day to an island tour, with our driver/guide, Cutty, chauffeuring 15 of us around in his spotless air-con van.  A wealth of local knowledge and island trivia, he made frequent stops to educate us on island flora, plucking fragrant ylang-ylang, lemongrass, bay leaves, and cinnamon bark for us to sniff. We disembarked at a pretty waterfall, where a young man tried to hustle our group for $5 USD (each!) to photograph him as he jumped from the top of the falls into a pool at the base.  We support creative entrepreneurial endeavors, but no way were we paying actual money for a shot of some guy jumping into the water.

From the waterfall we continued on to an interesting tour of an old-fashioned-looking nutmeg processing plant, and then to a small chocolate-making company, where we were given a “from (cocoa) bean to (chocolate) bar” tour, with free samples at the end!

Both photos above: nutmeg processing plant

Lunch at the River Antoine Run Distillery was followed by a tour of the distillery, with its still-operative huge 200-year-old water wheel. Unlimited (!) free samples of the product were offered at tour’s end, but this stuff was so high-octane that one shot was plenty!

The ride home was through the rain forest, cool and green, and thickly wooded with nutmeg trees, huge stands of bamboo, cascades of ferns, and a virtual explosion of tropical flora. As our route joined the main road, Cutty stopped and coaxed a monkey out of a tree with small bananas. When a banana was held over the head of anyone brave enough to participate, the monkey would leap onto the head or shoulder of the individual, and face the camera for the obligatory photo-op.

We didn’t wear Tam and Matt out with sightseeing, however, but had plenty of time for relaxation, which included lots of swimming pool time, hanging out, and several games of our newest addiction, “Grenadian train dominoes”.  We spent a wonderful afternoon on the beautiful white-sand of nearby Grand Anse beach, swimming and lounging under the shade of an almond tree and a coconut palm. But our favorite day was the day we all took SD out for a lively day-sail, with conditions ranging from a zippy downwind sail to a hard-on-the-wind bash that sent sheets of sea-water flying aft to drench the kids, who were perched on the coach-house roof.  No worries, though – a kick-ass squall provided a copious fresh-water rinse as we approached the harbor on our return.

With Tam and Matt’s departure, our marina time was soon over, and we moved back out to St. George’s anchorage for a couple of days before sailing six miles around to Prickly Bay, on Grenada’s south coast. We spent ten days in Prickly, and then weighed anchor for our final leg, to St. David’s Bay, six miles further east. This, our last sail of 2015, was a wet and bumpy motor-sail, hard on the wind for most of the passage, requiring that we do several tacks, sailing eight miles to “make good” six. 

But the reward is an anchorage here in the bay that is simply exquisite. We are the only yacht anchored, and the low hills surrounding us are lush and green, covered with palms, mangroves and other local trees. In the evenings, unseen birds calling deep in the foliage give the place a Jurassic Park-like feeling.  A small beach fronts the bar/restaurant of Grenada Marine ( www.grenadamarine.com ), where the ambience is totally un-touristy island-casual, the beer is cold, and the food is cheap, generous, and delicious. The boatyard itself is huge and very efficiently run, and even though we are considered to be outside the “hurricane box”, the boats on the hard are carefully secured against heavy weather. We are happy and comfortable with our decision to park our girl here for six months, and we look forward to our return to Grenada and our ship in the first week in January.  See you all then!

Cheers and beers! Katie and Ken

To see where we are, click on the Shiptrak gadget.

SandDollar_N4KS@yahoo.com