Ft. de France, Martinique
14.35.977N
61.04.151W

This morning at 9:00am we stood in front of the statute at the park just across the street from the dinghy dock waiting for our tour guide/driver. The only thing we knew for certain was that he would be driving a mini-bus and wearing a black hat.

So when Pedrick, came around the corner and asked for us by boat name, we knew we had the right person in spite of the fact that he wasn’t wearing a hat or driving a mini-bus. However, he assured us that the small car he suggested we all shoehorn ourselves into came with air conditioning. So off we go, 5 of us stuffed into a Peugeot; the air conditioning? All 4 windows rolled down. In spite of the shaky start, we ended up having a great time and Pedrick was a wonderful tour guide and spoke English fairly well, at least considerably better than our French.

We snaked our way up the mountains to the Eglise de Balata, a twin to the famous Basilica de Sacre Couer, located in Paris (that‘s a church to you heathens). We weaved our way through the valleys to the Balata Garden (botanical gardens) where I snapped a few hundred photos and came away with a list of names of the 200 plants that grow there. We stopped for a dip of the toes in a river of cool water descending from Mt. Pelee; drove up Mt. Pelee’ as far as we could in a car and finally toured the Bienvenue a’ la Distillerie Depaz, a rum distillery. No tour is complete without a rum tasting. This particular distillery was one of the two that was destroyed when Mt. Pelee’ erupted in 1902. Obviously, it has been rebuilt. The family that owns the distillery still maintains their lavish mansion to the side of the distillery; too bad we weren’t allowed to tour that.

We stopped for a bite to eat at the restaurant located at the distillery and thank heavens Pedrick was there to translate the menu for us. In fact, some other boaters we’d previously met in other anchorages asked to borrow our guide so that they could order too.

I ordered a rum punch with my meal thinking that I would get the normal fruit juice with rum. Instead I was given a bottle of rum, a small bottle of syrup, and a small glass with a stick of sugar cane in it. Pedrick showed me how to pour the sugar syrup into the glass, followed by a shot of rum, stir the mix with the sugar cane stick and then sipped. My first sip sent shivers up and down my spine to the point where I ordered a soft drink, any kind soft drink, that I could water down my “fruit punch” with. I ended up leaving most of it sitting on the table. I think I’m getting soft in my old age. Either that or the family rum is rot gut.

We finished the day with Pedrick taking the coastal route back while we sat catatonic after a big meal, transfixed by the scenery before us and a long day.

Ft. de France, Martinique
14.35.977N
61.04.151W

Today, we moved further south to Ft. de France along with Wayfinder. As compared to St. Pierre, Ft. de France is a bustling city.

Mike & Sara and Dale & I were making our way through the crowded streets to an ATM when a man, having a bad day, not quite totally sane, or both, started yelling at us that we Americans cannot take up the entire sidewalk. He told us to walk in a straight line. Everyone at the ATM started laughing (I guess because he was a crazy person) and we started laughing because he was one of only a handful that we found in the entire city who could speak English. So for the rest of the day, we’d walk in a straight line everywhere we went. It looked crazy but we did it just in case they all felt that way about Americans (and because we‘re silly).

A Tex-Mex restaurant was listed in our cruising guide and with two couples from southern California having guacamole withdrawals, we searched it out as soon as we had Euros in our pockets. Perhaps we should re-qualify the description--it was Tex-Mex with a definite French flair. Items such as burritos and fajitas were listed but everything in them was listed in French. No matter how Mexican the décor, the waitresses were French, only spoke French and our smattering of Spanish didn’t do us a lick of good. We resorted to pointing to pictures and then tried to convey the difference between beef, chicken and shrimp. (Two fingers by the temples = beef; brock-brock = chicken, and shrimp . . . we just gave up on, since it really isn’t a fish) In the end, the nachos were pretty good but the burritos were little square bundles whose flavor somewhat represented the real thing. Everything tasted good, just not quite the Tex-Mex we were looking for.

Right across the street was Sea Services, a marine chandlery. Of course, we were obligated by virtue of being boat owners to do a walk through. That’s when we learned that not only did we have to be buzzed into the two banks we went to, but we had to be buzzed into this establishment as well. I don’t know if it’s a French thing a Ft. de France oddity, or they saw us coming and locked the doors. In any event, they allowed us in. I don’t think we bought anything but since the proprietress spoke English, we asked her dozens of questions about the city, tours, etc.

She supplied us with maps, gave us the telephone number of a taxi driver that spoke English and when we tried to place a call to the English speaking taxi driver and couldn’t make the French operator understand us, we went running back to her and she actually placed the call for us setting up the tour of the island for us. Sea Services does a lot more than sell boat parts.

So, if you’re still wondering what we do all day. . . Think about it this way, it took 4 people to sort through the coins among us so see which one the telephone took, another hour to find a public telephone that worked, and then we ended up retracing our steps to find someone who understood what we wanted to say in the first place. That was just to make a telephone call. Imagine what it’s like when we’re trying to actually get something done.

St. Pierre, Martinique
14.44.436N
61.10.665W

Today is Dale’s birthday. So we celebrated it by hoisting our anchor at 5:30 am (without any complaint from me about the early hour) and easing out along the south coast of Dominica.

A Nordhaven powerboat named Wayfinder passed us in the morning while we were motorsailing, but when the winds filled in and we turned off the engine, we sailed faster than we could have motored and passed it later on.

They hailed us on the radio to ask how fast we were going since he guestimated that we had to be doing 13 kts. We told him no, that we were only doing about 8kts but once in awhile we’d inch closer to 8.5-9kts. The winds were 15-18kts and the seas were relatively calm. We left him in our wake. (That doesn’t happen very often.)

When we pulled into St. Pierre, Wayfinder had caught up to us again and anchored nearby. We dinghied over and met Mike & Sara from California. They’ve been cruising for 3 years now; first going to Alaska and then south through the Panama Canal. They told us that they cruise at a steady 6-6.5kts regardless of conditions.

We all headed in to check into customs at Martinique. While the guys filled out the paperwork, Sara and I headed to a museum that was dedicated to the eruption of Mount Pelee’ in 1902.

History tells that the volcano started making rumblings a couple of months prior to the eruption destroying two plantations on two separate occasions. If I remember this correctly, the mayor wanted to evacuate the city but another higher up politico persuaded him not to due to the upcoming election that was important to the island as a whole. As a result, on election day, it exploded sending rocks and poisonous gas the strength of an atomic bomb into the city of St. Pierre killing 20,000 of its 30,000 inhabitants. The once capital city over 250 years old was now completely destroyed and layed in smoldering ruins. A few days later, the volcano erupted again sending tons of ash down on the remains of the city. Photographs showed what looked like a bombed out city.

Today, there are only 5,000 inhabitants of St. Pierre. Houses are constructed using what was left of the stone buildings that remained standing. They just built upon the old without tearing it down. So now, you have a building with 2 stone walls and the rest with more modern construction. You also have a building where people are living or conducting business right next to a shell of a building destroyed 100 years ago. Really kind of bizarre.

We walked back through town with a hankering for pizza but nothing had opened up yet. So, we picked up some veggies at the outdoor market and went back to the boat and made dinner. We’re learning that most places on these French islands don’t open for dinner until after 7:00; way too late for us since we like to be back on the boat before dark.

Portsmouth, Dominica
15.34.905N
61.27.821W

Again we started our day with fresh warm bread brought to the boat, (it’s a tough life but someone has to live it.)

We were hoping that we could be paired with at least one other couple, possibly two to take the waterfall and rain forest tour. Unfortunately, Andrew never could find anyone else that was interested and we weren’t prepared to pay the entire cost ourselves, so we ended up reading the entire day.

Tomorrow, we’ll head on to Martinique.

Portsmouth, Dominica
15.34.905N
61.27.821W

Last evening, we dinghied to Big Daddy’s Restaurant for dinner and while waiting there, another cruiser on a boat named Attitude came in who we recognized as being anchored near us in Les Saints a couple of days before. Since he appeared to be eating alone, we invited him to join us. Larry Higgins is a retired Army test pilot single handing his cruise south. We discussed families, military stations, and the best places to lay low over hurricane season over dinner.

At the end of our dinner, the manager of the restaurant came by and sat with us for awhile. Jon had sailed into the bay after coming over from Germany, loved the place and decided to stay. He had suggested to the owner about bringing internet to the restaurant as a means of enticement, as well as offering fresh bread in the morning. He also organized the women who offer to do laundry and now the restaurant is pretty much a one stop shop.

So as a result, we started today with fresh, warm French bread delivered right to our boat. We took our laundry to the restaurant by 9am, knowing that it would be returned to us by happy hour this evening. I also knew where to get DSL internet connection at a reasonable price.

So while I camped out in the internet section of the open air, thatched roof restaurant (some places are just more conducive for working than others) for the next couple of hours, Dale walked around town to get the lay of the land. He didn’t tell me until later that twice on this walkabout, he was offered ganja. I told him that the pony tail was going to have to go. Nice English ladies speak to me, potheads speak to him.

We returned to the boat for a quiet afternoon and at 3:30, Andrew came back to take us on our Indian River tour. Simon and Christina from another boat were already in the skiff. When we reached the dock leading to the River, we switched to a longboat that had to be rowed. They are trying to maintain the River in its most natural state so that is how we proceeded up the River.

The River itself is though the bottom of the rainforest with all of the natural vegetation coming right down and sometimes across the River and out to the sea. We learned that one of the scenes in the movie, Pirates of Caribbean Part II, was filmed on a small corner in the River. The film crew brought everything in and carted everything back out again. The only thing remaining was a bit of Spanish moss dangling from a tree that was inadvertently left behind.

The blood wood tree roots were phenomenal. They were quite large in some places which twisted and turned into intricate wavy shapes the further up the River we went. When we reached a bend in the River where rapids started and where a large thatched covered bar was located, we stopped. The claim to fame here was a rum punch called dynamite.

Of course, we all had one. It was a brown syrupy liquid served in a small glass. My first sip about set me on fire but by the time I finished sipping it, it wasn’t too bad. Of course, by then we all started talking and becoming friends.

As chance would have it, Simon is a gynecologist from Cyprus. He also co-authored some of the textbooks Dale studied in medical school. Christina, from England, is assigned to the British Embassy in Cyprus and James, the skipper of the boat they were on, was the Army attaché assigned to the same Embassy. In Cyprus, Simon was the one with the boat. Now that James is retired and sailing here, they arranged to take their vacations in the Caribbean with him.

We all had dinner together at the Purple Turtle and had a great time watching Christina eating the lobster she had to have before the end of her vacation. Unfortunately, they were on a time schedule and had to return to Antigua to catch their planes, so were leaving in the morning. I think if they had stuck around longer, we would have had a blast together. As it is, they will be fondly remembered here in our log.

Portsmouth, Dominica
15.34.905N
61.27.821W

Finally! We were able to check into Guadeloupe through the Saints. While I readied the boat for departure, Dale went in one last time to see if we could actually check in and out of the country. He filled out the proper documentation and turned it in only to be told to have a seat. Twenty minutes later, they came back and said that everything was set. He said that he thought they ended up faxing the information to Guadeloupe and that they stamped the documentation then faxed it back to the Saints. Whatever works! We’re administratively pure.

As soon as he was back and the dinghy brought up, we were off. We kept a reef in the main sail as we anticipated the strong winds previously encountered when coming out of the lee of an island and directly into the path of the trades but let the jib out fully.

We slipped between the last of the small island comprising the Saints and out into unprotected waters. It was a little rough with the normal 4-6 waves with 15-20kts of wind. We had no sooner turned off the engine when kapow! The dinghy fell. Two of the four clips holding the dinghy up broke at the same time.

Dale grabbed the jib lines and started bringing in the sail while I turned the engine back on and brought us into the wind to take the pressure off the sail so that he could finish rolling up the jib. Then I did my very best to keep the boat pointed into the wind for the next half hour while he went below to get the tools he thought he needed to effect a repair and then while he ended up jury rigging another way to hold the dinghy up.

This time the cables didn’t break but the clips he used to hook the cables to the eye-bolts on the dinghy itself. He ended up threading some lines though the lines that run along the sides of the dinghy used as handholds to drag it up on the beach.

It reminded me of the time that Fred & Geri and Dale &I went through the same thing when we chartered a boat out of Burnt Store Marina on the west coast of Florida and the dinghy fell. The ride was about the same too. It wasn’t so much keeping the boat pointed into the wind as much as keeping it into the waves at the same time.

This time, the majority of the waves were 3-5’ tall but every 7th or 8th set would be 6-7’ tall. Those had a tendency to try to swamp the dinghy before he was able to get it higher out of the water. I didn’t dare take my eyes off the waves in front of me so that when I saw the larger ones coming I could turn into them a little more and keep the rocking to a minimum. It didn’t matter, there was some pretty salty language when the Palace’s rear end would ride the trough down and dig in while riding the next wave up. Every few minutes or so, I’d steal a glance to the side to make sure that we weren’t being blown back down on the islands and reefs we had passed by on our way out.

Needless to say, we motorsailed the remainder of the way to Dominica so that we didn’t list as much, putting more of a strain on the lashings than was absolutely necessary. I was pretty concerned that the side ropes were fraying and wouldn’t hold up the entire trip. Thank heavens they held just a bit longer.

We arrived at the entrance of Portsmouth, Dominica, where the harbor is about 2 miles wide and a 1 mile deep and were immediately met by our first boat boy who came zooming out of the rocks to heartily welcome us to Dominica. We knew that eventually we were going to have to deal with the ‘entrepreneurs‘ so I guess that today was as good as any to start learning how to manage the situation. He motored along beside us long enough to tell us his name and that he was an official Indian River guide and would be glad to assist us once we were anchored.

With the harbor being so large, it took some time to actually get to where we could drop the hook. By the time we had found a spot that we liked, we were surrounded by 4 colorful skiffs buzzing around us with the ’boat boys’ yelling out their names and that they were there to help us in any way possible. Dale thanked them and told them that we needed to anchor and check into customs before we did anything else. Thankfully, they backed off a few feet and quieted down. By this time, I had referred back to our cruising guide which had actually listed the one who had come out of the rocks as being one of several who were recommended.

We anchored in 25’ of water and dug in quickly. Then they moved in to complete their bids. Dale did most of his talking with Andrew on Sea Bird, who filled us in on what was available and who did what. He directed us to another ‘boat boy’ by the name of Christian, who delivered fruits, vegetables and fresh bread in the morning. With our business completed and the remaining skiffs streaking off for the newer arrivals behind us, we untangled the dinghy and headed for Customs.

Unfortunately, this was one of those times when the location outlined in the cruising guide was wrong. Lucky for us, a local taxi driver saw our dilemma and pointed us in the right direction even further around the bay by the commercial docks. So off we went again. We locked our dinghy to a metal post and climbed up to the commercial dock to start looking for the customs office. While walking towards what looked like an official building with the island flag out front, a friendly English voice called out to us and beckoned us in her direction.

Helen, from England, married a local about a year ago and together they run the dive shop. She told us that we didn’t look the type to be buying bananas by the stalk and directed us to the customs office around the corner. While we were actually filling out the paperwork in the office, she came in and we had a very nice chat. During that chat, she shameless flirted with the customs officials, who thoroughly enjoyed every minutes of it. Once they started smiling, even they started to share their local knowledge with us. It was the most informative check in we’ve encountered thus far.

On our way back to the boat, we stopped by the local bank to withdraw some Euros and tied up to the Indian River guides dock. While there, Helen showed up again and once again, we had a nice conversation. She told us when the best times were for taking the River tour and suggested limiting our waterfall tour to the ones in the north and which restaurants were best for lunch and which were better for dinner. The River guides standing along the dock joined in with their own comments and once again, we obtained better local knowledge than ever before.

Being so well informed this time, this should be a great stop.

Bourg des Saintes
Les Saintes
15.52.019N
61.35.165W

Today is Sunday, so we started the morning with pancakes before heading into the village of Bourg des Saintes to walk along their streets. It’s really hardly more than a fishing village with colorful little boats lining their waterways but there are a couple of touristy shops tucked among the bakeries and restaurants that line the main street.

We started our walk toward the home of a local doctor that is shaped like the bow of a ship jutting out into the water; complete with portholes and a large chain cascading down as if attached to an anchor imbedded in the harbor. Someone with a sense of humor undoubtedly.

Then we turned and walked down the main street through the town. Church was just getting out and they were apparently dedicating a new bell as everyone was taking turns having their picture snapped with it.

We were surprised to see that the main mode of transportation, besides walking, is scooter. Scores of scooters were parked in front of the church on the street which seems to have been barricaded for that purpose. I was amused to watch ladies, young and old alike, dressed in high heels or sandals, delicate fabric dresses or cotton pants, who would come out, kick start their scooter into action, hop on and off they’d go.

I supposed we shouldn’t have been too surprised since the streets were very narrow. The hand full of cars that we did see had to pull off onto the sidewalk in order to pass another coming its way.

Again, I was pleased to see how clean they kept their village and the flowers that spilled out of the gardens into the streets and pathways we walked. Every house door and window had heavy wooden shutters that were thrown open to catch the trade winds for cooling. No where did I see any sign of air conditioning. It was if we had stepped back in time and things were simple and efficient.

We walked to the end of the town, went up a block or two and then returned to the center of town where we sat in the town square for a while and watched the people come and go on a Sunday morning. Being French, they greeted each other with a kiss on each side of face while talking non-stop the entire time.

We made our way back to the boat and the rest of the day we spent reading and watching the world go by.

Tomorrow, we’ll try to clear customs but if they aren’t there, we’ll head off to Dominique and hope they let us in.

Bourg des Saintes
Les Saintes
15.52.019N
61.35.165W

While I tore the boat apart looking for coffee I knew I had packed, Dale camped out on the doorstep of the Customs office bright and early this morning, hoping that we’d have more luck today. He did meet the cleaning woman who indicated that the office was closed and didn’t know when it would open (or didn’t know what he was saying, we’re not too sure which).

On his way back to the boat, he dropped by Indigo Moon who said that they had heard from some of their friends about another office located in Les Saintes (part of the French protectorate) that was supposed to be open. Since we had wanted to spend a day or two there, we decided that it would be better to keep moving than to get hung up for the entire weekend waiting for a bureaucrat that would never show.

So about 9:30 am, we hoisted our anchor and headed south to a group of islands called Les Saintes. The trip was exciting. We either had no winds to speak of or up to 30kts coming from around and down the mountains and out to sea. We knew to expect some pretty intense winds once we cleared the island from those being diverted between the two mountainous islands. However, as we rounded the tip, we also saw a squall line approaching. I grabbed the cruising guide and plugged in a waypoint to guide us to before we were lost in the rainstorm while Dale ran around closing hatches and dropping down the side curtains.

The rain cleared once and then another squall moved in behind it. By the time both cleared, we had made the crossing and were at the entrance to the harbor of Bourg des Saintes. Again this is an extremely deep harbor surrounded by mountains. We circled and circled but the shallowest we could find to drop our hook was in 35’. Many boats are anchored in 50’ or more. So far, we seem to be staying put.

Dale took the dinghy in to see if we could check in but, you guessed it! They were closed. Well, at least we can walk around the town tomorrow as there are no car rentals and try to check in and out on Monday.

Deshaies, Guadeloupe
16.18.477N
61.47.871W

Since we were still in the same spot as when we went to bed last night, we figured that it was safe to go ashore and see what Guadeloupe had to offer.

We knew from our reading that historically, the island has always been French but were somewhat surprised to learn just how few people speak English, unlike the other French islands that we have been to. Luckily, we had a map from our cruise guide and could pretty much find our way to the Customs office up the hill. Since they called it something else, and the office we found was closed, we had to ask around to make sure that we had indeed found what we were looking for. We had; it was just closed. We knew that there was another Customs office in a town further down the coast and since we wanted to tour the island a bit anyway, we took our documentation with us to rent a car so that we could complete the formalities later in the day.

During our LeMans tour de France, my initial impression of the island is how clean it is. The towns are small and quaint and the streets are two lane but everything is very tidy and well kept.

Our first stop was at Jardin Botanique, the local botanical gardens. This was quite possibly one of the most beautiful gardens that I have ever seen. An incredible variety of tropical plants from around the world together with an impressive display of orchids growing in a natural environment were artfully showcased along 12 acres of beautifully manicured grounds. There were also koi ponds, flamingos, parrots with loads of fountains and water gardens tucked in for good measure. A couple of hours vanished in the blink of an eye.

We continued on our drive by heading south along the road that rings the island. An hour or so later, we entered the port city of Basse-Terre where another Customs office is supposed to be. We had our trusty guide with a description of where it was located but had absolutely no luck in locating it. I’m not sure if it’s a French custom or if it’s an island custom, but they close for 2-3 hours for lunch and everything grinds to a halt. Of course, that’s the time we were trying to track down the office. We heard that there was another over at the commercial port and we tried that one as well but of course, it was closed too.

After wasting a couple of hours searching for offices that were either not open or we couldn‘t find, we decided to continue on our journey and hope for the best. Dale enjoyed the twisting and turning roads through the mountains and along the coastline. The little Renault actually registered 45 at one point, so he was having a blast pretending that he was racing in the LeMans.

When early afternoon hadn’t found us very close to the turn off for the waterfalls we were looking for, we decided that it would be best to return the way we had come because we certainly were going to make the full circle around just our half of the butterfly.

We tried once again at the Customs office in Deshaies but it was still closed. We did meet Buddy and Melissa off Indigo Moon from New Orleans camped out on the doorstep. We’d seen their boat in English Harbor the day before. They’re on their way south as well, so we exchanged boat cards and promised to get together soon.

As for Customs, we’ll try again tomorrow.

Deshaies, Guadeloupe
16.18.477N
61.47.871W

Since all matters move on island time, it took a bit longer to clear Customs than Dale would have liked but we still managed to hoist anchor before 10 am and make our move to Guadeloupe.

The winds and waves had calmed since our arrival to Antigua and we motorsailed south until the winds filled in about noon which allowed us to turn the engine off and travel the remaining distance under sail alone.

When we climbed to Shirley Heights a couple of days ago, you could see Guadeloupe and Monserrat in the distance. Today, however, there was a haze that enveloped Guadeloupe and kept it hidden until we were practically on top of it. Monserrat’s volcano maintained a constant plume of smoke over it the entire time we were on Antigua and with the wind out of the south a couple of the days we were here, we had an incredible amount of ash and dirt covering us. We welcomed the rain that came last night, hoping that it would wash the majority of the grit away.

Guadeloupe is shaped like a butterfly and is actually quite large. It is also very mountainous and green with deep harbors. It took a bit of scouting around before we could find a place shallow enough to anchor in. We eventually found a spot in 20’ that did the trick. Deshaies (day-hay) is hardly more than a fishing village and there appears to be only one dock we can tie our dinghy to. As the evening winds whipping around and down the mountains have already begun, we’ll stay aboard tonight to make sure we remain where we dropped our anchor.

Antigua
English Harbor
17.00.259N
61.45.596W

We dinghied to the chandlery this morning to pick up a gallon of muriatic acid for the de-scale job we had planned. After that, we scooted over to the other side of the harbor to see if our mail had arrived and then decided to kill some time until it did at the Nelson Museum.

It was actually pretty informative, particularly since I really don’t know much about the English hero. As I mentioned in an earlier post, he was stationed in English Harbor when he was a young captain. He met his future bride in Nevis, a small island near St. Kitts, and his best man was the future king of England, who’s ship was also stationed in Antigua.

The museum detailed his career and his personal life with pictures and relics, as well as that of the English military in general during that time frame. It was really very nice to be educated in such a manner.

When our mail finally arrived, we went back to the Palace and got down to work. Dale had saved bits and pieces of hoses and managed to concoct a method of cleaning the condenser with the least amount of fumes inside the boat itself.

Since I can’t smell anything anyway, I volunteered for the initial pouring into the hose up in the cockpit which led through a window, down into the area where the compressor is stored. Then Dale would either allow the acid to flow out or block it inside the unit for a few minutes to ‘bathe’ the unit. I’d pour a small amount into a plastic glass, which was more manageable that the gallon jug, then pour that amount into a funnel stuffed into the hose leading to the condenser. I was only mildly alarmed when the liquid started to smoke when I poured it into the glass. Dale assured me that it was just cleaning the glass. Once I got the hang of how much to pour into the funnel without it bubbling back up on me, the remainder of the cleaning process went smoothly.

We ‘bathed‘ it twice and then rinsed thoroughly. The refrigerator does seems to be working better, so we‘ll see how long this lasts.

Now that we have our mail, we‘ll be moving along to Guadaloupe tomorrow. We were talking with Sue and Robert on Sunday‘s Child when we realized that we had neglected to clear out already, so Dale will be making a quick run by Customs before we leave to make sure our papers are in order.

Antigua
English Harbor
17.00.259N
61.45.596W

After we returned from our hike up the mountain, Dale and I went for a quick swim around the boat. It felt good to cool off. Unfortunately, it seems now as if it only served to make my cold worse, so we didn’t do anything today except wait for the refrigeration guy to make a boat call.

We’ve become more and more concerned that our refrigeration just isn’t keeping up. Dale’s back flushed the system and cleaned the filters and pretty much done everything he can think of to make it more efficient. So we called in a dealer representative to have a look.

When the refrigeration guy came out, he measured this and that and then topped it off with a bit more gas. Then he measured everything over again. He came up with the thought that the cooling system probably needed to be cleaned. Not a problem, just go buy some muriatic acid and dump it in; let it sit a few minutes to de-scale, then rinse it out.

Sounds simple enough; we’ll try it tomorrow.

Antigua
English Harbor
17.00.259N
61.45.596W

I’ve still got my cold but am feeling a little better. When Dale suggested a walk up to Shirley Heights on the hill overlooking the harbor after lunch, I figured that I was up to the challenge. Boy was I wrong!

We dinghied to the beach and walked a bit down the road to where the path began. There was a sign over it placed there by the local yachties declaring that it was the path we were looking for and that it was ½ mile to the destination; not a problem. I park my car a ½ mile from the mall to go shopping on a big sale day. What it didn’t say was that it was straight up!

I probably would have had a better chance of obtaining my goal if I had waited until it was cooler in the day, had actually eaten something for lunch, or bothered to have brought the bottle of water I normally carry around in my backpack. But No, this time, I take off at a little after noon, on a 90* day, after taking an antihistamine and without bringing so much as a stick of gum. I literally had to grab tree limbs and rock outcroppings to hoist my fat . . . to pull myself up in certain areas. Other areas would level off but then you’d go around a bend and would be rock climbing again. I was coughing and wheezing trying hack up a lung and sweating like I’d contracted malaria in the deepest darkest jungle.

Dale, of course, was sprinting ahead like a blasted gazelle telling me how he always feels better after he exercises. He actually likes to sweat. If I could have seen him through the waterfall coming off my brow, I would have smacked him. As it was, I just ignored him.

Needless to say, ¾ of the way up, I sat down, gave him the camera and told him to go knock himself out. While sitting there waiting for the spots to clear in front of my eyes, I thought of our son going through BUDS training. How could I expect him to keep getting up when he was tired, if I didn’t give him the genes to do it with? So, I’d catch my breath and start climbing again.

I’d like to tell you that I made it all the way to the top. But I can’t. I did make it to the back of the buildings that we were heading for but Dale was already on his way back down and I wasn’t going to push it since I still had to make my way back down again. I also prayed that James got most of his genes from his mountain goat father.

Antigua
English Harbor
17.00.259N
61.45.596W

Yep, I’ve got a cold. So it was Dale’s turn to read most of the day while I alternated between sleeping in bed and sleeping in the hammock. At one point while in the hammock, I opened an eye just in time to see a boat that had pulled in dangerously close to us yesterday, come drifting behind us, missing us by mere inches.

The people, a family of four, had left it earlier in the day and were nowhere to be found. I yelled for Dale to come up and ran for a boat hook to push them back the way they had come.
There were black clouds coming over the mountain and the wind was beginning to change directions. I noticed that other boats around us were having problems as well. One small boat further to our port side was dragging into shore and a huge catamaran behind us on the starboard side was already on shore.

The catamaran’s captain had gone in to clear customs and the people left on board were desperately trying to kedge themselves off by pulling up on their anchor. One of the women called over and asked if Dale could take her into the harbor so that she could find their captain, which of course, he was more than happy to do. While they were gone the remaining passengers did manage to get themselves off the beach but then they had to re-anchor.

Two other people saw the little boat heading towards shore on our port side. One had thought quickly enough to bring a second anchor with him in a dinghy. He threw it in and handed the end to the second guy who had managed to climb on board and secure it to a cleat. Unfortunately, they were having problems pulling it back out to deeper water.

So here I am watching the cat on the right with a handful of people who were doing a fine job of saving themselves; a little excited maybe, but doing a great job none the less and the little boat on the left that appeared to be stuck in the shallow water and the one right beside us swinging behind us within 6 inches of hitting us each time, which I would push off and then wait for it to arc out and then back again.

But then, here comes Dale, like a knight in shining armor, like Dudley Dooright on his trusty steed, like the Marines to the rescue, zooming across the harbor he circles around the cat and says something to them and zooms right past me to the little boat stuck on the beach and speaks to the two guys wrestling with it. He maneuvers the dink behind the boat and each of them tie their own dinghies to the sides and they rev up their dinghy engines. With the three of their combined engine horsepower, they pushed the little boat into deeper water, where they were able to hold it in place and reanchor using the boat’s own anchor. Then he returned to our boat.

By this time, I’ve put a fender on our port side and have the timing down to where I can watch everyone and still poke the interloper in the side when it gets too close.

When the catamaran captain returned, he takes the boat, all of the passengers and leaves. Dale decides the best course of action for us is to move over a bit since the one getting too close doesn’t have anyone on board and we can’t keep pushing it off until they return. So, in spite of the gusty winds and a well set anchor, we decide to move to give ourselves some extra cushion.

Of course, the second we do lift our anchor, another boat comes into the equation and anchors in the same area we were trying to move to. It doesn’t matter, we need the room. So after three attempts, we finally get the anchor set again, have more room to swing, we’re a little too close to the new guy but not so close as to warrant another shift in location.

Tonight, as I sit here, we’re all in the process of turning 180* in the opposite direction, the people behind us finally returned and noticed that we were farther away. I think they believed that they may have dragged but looked around and seemed satisfied that they were alright. I’m not sure the owners of the little boat that did drag ever learned what happened unless they saw all the footprints on their boat and started asking questions of their neighbors.

But as I say, we’re all in the process of turning again, so we’ll see what tomorrow brings.

Antigua
English Harbor
17.00.259N
61.45.596W

Tax Time! means stay out of Dale’s way. There’s nothing like waiting until the last minute to prepare your taxes.

Not a problem, he had left his hammock up so I grabbed a book, hopped in and read most of the day. I’ve been feeling like I’m trying to catch a cold, so taking a day off appealed to me.

Antigua
English Harbor
17.00.259N
61.45.596W

We hoisted anchor about 8:00 am, unfurled our jib and continued on our journey to English Harbor. The seas appeared to have calmed a bit but the wind was coming more and more out of the south which is not the norm. We entered historical English Harbor and threaded our way to the back just to get the lay of the land, so to speak.

Dale ooo’d and ahh’d over the classic yachts med-moored to the quay while I tried not to bump into any of them. The harbor was pretty full. We decided to head back towards the entrance where there appeared to be more room.

We weaved our way in and out and finally decided upon a spot close to shore in Galleon Bay. We dropped our hook and backed down on it hoping that it wouldn’t catch on any of the old hurricane chains that once crossed the harbor in several areas. It dragged a bit before it finally caught and held. We were close to one boat but hoped that we had allowed enough swing room.

The difficult part of estimating where to anchor is that the water in this harbor has a movement of its own. It rises and falls with the swell and has the normal ebb and flow of the tide but it also rocks back and forth. You could sit in the cockpit and watch the boats ride up on their anchors and then fall back. When Dale jumped in to check ours, it was essentially a few feet from our bow, regardless of the 100’ we let out and backed down on. At least the fluke was dug in.

While Dale went to check us in, I stayed back to keep an eye on things. As it turned out, we were fine.

When he returned, we dinghied in for a tour of the old English dockside where a young 26 year old Capt. Horacio Nelson had once served. They’ve done a fine job maintaining the buildings, with signs outside of each one describing what it had been originally designed for. They still have the winches used to careen boats for cleaning and the rock slips used to do repair work. There were massive stone pillars still standing which used to support a sail loft; kind of like a barn on stilts. As I understand it, the ships would pull into the slip built beneath the building and craftsmen could work on the sails without having to haul them up and down the mast. There was even a sign placed on the spot where two lieutenants dueled over who was the most senior.

We searched out a couple of internet cafés and as soon as our taxes are done we’ll make a run in to connect and keep Uncle Sam happy.

Antigua
Hermitage Bay
17.05.197N
61.53.709W

We’re going to chalk this day up to gaining experience. We hoisted our anchor at 6:30 am and eased through the reefs and out into the Caribbean Sea. We rounded between St. Kitts and Nevis through the area known as ‘the Narrows’. We threaded our way through the reefs bordering the islands on the north and entered into the Atlantic Ocean. An amazing thing is that you can see where the waters meet in certain areas.

Once out into the Atlantic, the seas were confused (meaning they were coming from various directions.) The weather reports had indicated that the winds and seas would moderate during the week from their normal 17-20kts and 4-6’ heights. They didn’t moderate. We had the normal winds and seas, except that the waves were wind driven from one direction and swell driven in another. It made for the occasional 8’ wave that would smash into us sending gushing water over our bow and through our less than watertight hatches. One wave actually hit at an angle that sent water up over the bow with enough force to send it up the dodger and over the hard top. It was raining salt water! What didn’t go over the hard top, went down the companion way. As Dale shut the hatch to the companion way, he said that it was a little like shutting the barn door after the horses have gone.

I guess because it was day light and I could see what was happening, the washing machine action didn’t bother me. Since it only happened once, the salt water rain didn’t bother me. Dale was visibly nervous. Finally I just asked, since I assumed I was missing something I should be worried about. He was usurping my position as the Nervous Nelly in the family!

As it turned out, he was upset about our time schedule. He had estimated that we would be traveling at the same speed that we had made in traveling from St. Barts to St. Kitts, or at the very least we could motorsail at 6kts. With the washing machine action, we were in the 5.5 range and couldn’t sail on a more direct route which would put us very close to dusk when we arrived. No room for error.

So we motor sailed the entire way. He asked me what I had done with his wife, the one who didn’t like pounding into the waves or listing more than 20 degrees. Dunno, I’m sure she’s here somewhere, I was busy reading the cruising guides about our next adventure and the Palace seemed to be doing just fine. Since I wasn’t sitting down below, I didn’t hear the pounding hull or feel the water dripping from the hatches.

Another matter on his mind was that the watermaker had developed an airlock from the rough ride. Something that he easily rectified as soon as we anchored, but something he hadn’t encountered or thought about before. Normally, when the engine is running, we’re either making water or cooling the refrigerator.
As it turned out, it was a little before 3pm when we reached Antigua and started coasting down the west side heading for English Harbor on the south side. It was going to be close. We grabbed the guides and started looking for alternative harbors to pull into that would be safe and comfortable with the current wind and wave conditions.

As it turned out, the one we selected (Hermitage Bay, within Five Islands Harbor, if you‘re checking the guides) really didn’t have too much written about it but we could see a couple of boats already anchored in it as we sailed by. As of this writing, its been great. A quiet bay, nice beach, no bugs, not too much swell, not crowded; works for me!

Tomorrow, we’ll clear into Antigua in English Harbor and then set about checking out the local sights. They should be gearing up for Antigua Race Week at the end of April, so things should be starting to liven up. With any kind of luck, we’ll see the vintage yachts come in but be gone before it gets too crowded and crazy for the mega yacht racers that draw the crowds.

St. Kitts
Whitehouse Bay
17.15.015N
62.39.507W

Last evening we decided to deploy a swell bridle to keep us pointed into the swell and keep from rocking so much. I’m glad we did. The poor boat ahead of us was rocking from gunnel to gunnel each time we checked our position. At first light this morning, it was gone.

Midmorning we moved to our present location at Whitehouse Bay about an hour away from Basseterre (by boat). After dropping our hook in 20’ of water and making sure that it was set, we snorkeled over to a place where a ship had gone aground in about 14’ of water. There was enough left of it to see the propeller, shaft, bottom of the hull and various other parts, plus a few things that didn‘t belong to the wreck. Rails from the railroad and a railroad cart; a couple of engines that clearly weren’t big enough to turn the monstrous prop. What was odd, was the eerie feeling I got from swimming over it. Dale and I always seek out old wrecks to dive but this was the first time I just wanted to get away from it.

Later, we went to the other side of the bay and dove the 17th Century shipwreck that was uncovered 4 years ago when a hurricane swept through; found in about 12 feet of water. The timbers that are still present must have been incredibly thick when they were originally set into the ship as they still appear to have some depth to them. In fact, I thought that there appeared to be another layer to the timbers we were looking at but the site has already been excavated by archeologists, so I‘m sure they checked deeper than what can been seen. No creepy feelings here, thank heavens.

Whitehouse Bay is quiet and secluded. The hills in front of us look like what I imagine California looked like a couple of hundred years ago. Late afternoon we watched cattle and goats grazing the hillside, then come down to the water for a quick wade. Most of the day it was just us and another boat with the occasional snorkel excursions but as evening fell, three other boats came into our little harbor. We watched the sun set and hoped for a green flash; none today.

Tomorrow, we’ll point our bow towards Antigua.

Basseterre, St. Kitts
17.17.414N
62.42.761W

What a day! After a night of rocking from side to side, this morning we were awaken by a horn at 5:15am. Any horn in an anchorage tends to brings everyone topside in a hurry. The closest that we can figure out is that it was something from the commercial docks that we are anchored near.

In any event, when we eventually did get up, the Queen Mary 2 was docked right behind us. That is one big boat. In order for us to get to the dinghy dock, we had to pass either in front of her, well within the 500’ security circle, or behind her, out in unprotected waters. We took our chances and passed about 150’ in front of her, keeping as close to the rocks as possible without running into them ourselves. We moved slow and kept our hands in plain sight. All of this was unnecessary since there didn’t appear to be any type of security anyway.

In St. Thomas, a security patrol boat had come zooming out in our direction when we came in the channel behind the cruise ships. In my opinion, no where near invading the 500’ circle, so we were being extra cautious today.

Anyway, we tied off the dinghy and while Dale went in one direction for a trash bin, I went in the other to the Port entry to sign us up for a round the island tour. By the time Dale met up with me, we were teamed with Bill & Christine from England and Jean & Irving from California.

With the Queen Mary being so large, the two couples hadn’t met each other and were doing the ‘where did you get on’ and ‘what table sitting are you’ introductions. When it came time for us to answer, we explained that we were from a different ship, pointed out Gypsy Palace, the little white one to the left, and that we only had one table sitting. Bless their hearts, it took a bit for it to sink in, but they got a kick out of it when they figured it out.

Mr. Delaney was our taxi (mini bus) driver/tour guide. Mr. Delaney gave us his first name, but as Irving had such a hard time figuring out the name Delaney, by the time he understood Delaney, it was all that I could remember. I referred to him as Mr. Delaney throughout the tour and he never corrected me, so Mr. Delaney it is.

We drove up and down a few streets in Basseterre and then out into the countryside. The streets are two lane but without shoulders or medians, they seemed very narrow.

Mr. Delaney was very good about explaining the history and culture of the island as we drove along. Such as: in the old days, the people would bathe and wash their clothes in the rivers and streams that flowed down from the rainforests. Nowadays, however, they have diverted all of the water into catchment systems so that the fresh water isn’t lost to the sea. Now the bridges cross rivers and streams of green areas. That is, until the water overflows the catchment systems and washes down the old rivers and the people go out to bathe and wash their clothes in the streams again.

Apparently, the government of St. Kitts has offered incentives to the less fortunate who live in the shanties that border the old streams, deep in the valleys where they flow. Unfortunately, as soon as they can coax the inhabitants into nicer low income housing, others move into the ones abandoned. Let’s see, houses deep in the valley with tropical rain forests shading them from the sun with free running water; sounds like an up hill battle to me.

We also toured the workshop and gardens of the woman who developed batik designs, Caribelle Batiks, located at the foot of the rainforest. Her designs and method of coloring sea island cotton are still being produced at her workshop, demonstrated and sold to the busloads of tourists that come to her doors. Her gardens were as spectacular as her designs and obviously where she derives her inspiration.

Next, we were off to tour Brimstone Hill which is a British built fort at the top of one of the higher elevations on the island. The French eventually captured it by starving the British out instead of fighting. Since no shots were fired and the British surrendered with full honor, it was declared a non-war and the British were shipped off to another of their islands. Some time later, (after it was passed back and forth between the French and British a couple of more times) the fort was abandoned, after which it fell into disrepair and vandalism. Eventually, its historical value was recognized and it has since begun a major restoration. I particularly liked the use of all of the extra cannons in the walls as upright posts among all of the stones.

We were shown the black rocks and black sand beaches indicative of the volcanic origins of the island. Mr. Delaney said that there are no roads that lead to the top of the volcano but that all day hiking tours could be arranged. Since none of us were up to that task, he told us that he had been to the top of the volcano himself and described how you could boil potatoes in the lake located inside the “dormant” cone. He said that you could also see crevices where the lava was still visible and that the sulfur smell around Brimstone Hill emanates from an off shore volcanic vent. Between you and me, that doesn’t sound very “dormant” to me.

Another observation was that the green that is so evident from far away is from the sugar cane growing everywhere. However, as of last year, there is no market for their crops. What grew this year is left over from the roots of last year. The St. Kitts government is trying to decide what crop to plant in its place. They encourage the farmers to produce more fruits and vegetable in order to make the island more self sufficient but offer no market for what they grow. It should be interesting to see what happens here. It would seem that they are on the brink of a great change to their economy but hopefully not to the detriment of the beauty of the island itself.

Basseterre, St. Kitts
17.17.414N
62.42.761W
We were flying low most of today. We slipped our mooring line this morning at 7 am, put a reef in the main and one in the jib and headed south towards St. Kitts. The cruising guide called Saba, St. Eustatius, St. Kitts, Nevis and Monserrat, the islands that brush the clouds. Clearly, at one time, they all had been volcanoes; Monserrat being the only one to remain active.

The wind was blowing its normal 17-25kts but it was directly on our beam so we were screaming along at 7-8.5kts. Dale kept adjusting the sails, since he knows I prefer not to have my home completely on its side.

Five hours later we reached the island of St. Kitts and started to round the island to the west so that we could sail down its southern coast. We had marveled on our approach how much it reminded us of Hawaii. A tremendous volcano rising out of the sea with beautiful green hillsides covered in sugar cane and pastures gently reaching back to the water. Old sugar mills and their chimney stacks made of stone dotted the flatter areas. Little villages of pastel colored houses nestled in the valleys, each village with its own church steeple rising above the rooflines.

All of a sudden, the winds picked up from 20-25kts to 34kts sustained for about 4 minutes. The autopilot was on, so the Palace rounded up into the wind. The noise was incredible; sails flapping, lines slapping, the wind howling. When the wind started to calm, Dale brought us back to our course. Then there was nothing. Obviously, the wind was directed rather abruptly around the sides of the volcano until the mountain completely obscured the wind from us. We eventually brought our sails in and motored the remaining distance.

We anchored around 2 pm and dinghied into Port Zante. There is quite a bit of construction being done here. The port facility is new, although only the customs and tourist offices were located on scene. Immigration is still located at the Police Station in the middle of town. The big plan is to have everything in one place. When the construction is finished, it should be a beautiful entry port. It has already been discovered by the cruise lines as one was here when we first arrived.

After checking in, we walked around town a bit. They have their own version of Piccadilly that they call The Circus. We sat in an upstairs café and watched the ‘circus’ of cars and people negotiating their way around the large clock in the middle of a round about. Their cars have both right and left handed steering but the driving is strictly on the left.

We also found a café that has free internet for their customers. Tomorrow, we’ll dinghy in again to be their customers.

St. Barts,
Anse du Colombier
17.55.457N
62.52.191
Today we read books and relaxed. The wind was blowing like stink, so we were grateful that we were snug in this harbor. There were a lot more boats that came in for the day, amused themselves on the beach and then left before dark.

The Chinese junk is back again. So is one of the larger yachts. I couldn’t even hazard a reliable guess as to how large it is; well over 100’. Anyway, it came in fairly close to drop its anchor. I took a picture when it was close to a regular boat to compare sizes. I guess it’s all relative as to what your idea of cruising is.

I finished the day by giving Dale a haircut. He is now officially sporting a pony tail; about 2 inches long. (It’s a very small pony.)

Tomorrow we’ll head to St. Kitts and see what’s happening there and to show off his new do.

St. Barts,
Anse du Colombier
17.55.457N
62.52.191
We spent today cleaning the Palace. While Dale dug out the ‘Surface Dive’ hookah and cleaned the bottom of the boat, I dug out the mop, broom and sponges to clean the inside. Four hours later, I was done and Dale was still on the bottom.

After listening to that little motor for 4 hours, it was easy to get Dale’s attention; I turned it off. A minute or two later, he surfaced. I figured that 4 hours was long enough to be underwater. The Lock Ness Monster could have hidden in the crevices on his hands and feet they were so deeply wrinkled, but the bottom of the boat was clean. He informed me that he had just finished. (Yes dear, I know.)

We spent the rest of the afternoon just relaxing and watching the other boats. We have a couple of families around us. We also have a couple of mega yachts on the fringes.

The most interesting boat was a gaff rigged, two masted, Chinese junk. From behind it looks like a barrel with a flat top placed on it with railings around. It slowly putt-putted it’s way in, stayed for a couple of hours and then, slowly putt-putted it’s way back out again. It looked to be a unique day-sailer that people hire for rides.

St. Barts,
Anse du Colombier
17.55.457N
62.52.191

While I attended to finances in the internet café, Dale checked us out of customs in anticipation of our departure from St. Martin and entry into St. Bart’s.

A couple of hours later, we hoisted our anchor and motorsailed out of Marigot Bay and headed north around the island. We turned off the motor as we rounded between St. Martin and the little island of Ilet Tintamarre and sailed the rest of the way to St. Bart’s on a single tack. Although it felt as if we were speeding along, we were only doing between 4.5-5kts most of the way.

The Leeward Islands are much like the Virgin Islands and Bahamas in that once you get here, they are all in line of sight of each other, just a little further apart. In the Virgins, you can sail from one end to the other in a day. Here, it may take you the better part of the day to reach the next island, but you can see it on the horizon before you leave.

We took turns reading the cruising guides about each island and although I’d like to visit each one for a day, we’ll probably just see a couple on our way down and save the rest for on our way back.

We entered Anse du Colombier about 3:30 pm and took a mooring. The cruising guide indicated that we didn’t have to check into customs immediately as St. Bart’s only has one location and sometimes its easier to check in and out at the same time by the time you reach it.

Anse du Colombier is a nice little u-shaped bay; not crowded but not isolated either. Since we’ve arrived on the weekend, we’ll probably stay until Monday, then move over to Gustavia where we can check in and out on the same day.

Marigot Bay, St. Martin
18.04.078N
63.05.682W
Today I sought out an internet café and spent the better part of the morning there catching up on mail, bills and blogs. Sounds simple enough but when you factor in the time that it takes to dinghy in, walk to the site, check in and wait to be authorized to connect, it’s a morning shot quicker than you can say Bill Gates.

We stopped at a bistro for a quick bite to eat before heading back to the Palace. We’ve really enjoyed the French pastries here but I truly prefer the Puerto Rican ‘water bread’ for making sandwiches.

When we arrived back at the boat, there was a message from Michelle on our satellite telephone telling us that one of our accounts wasn’t recognizing our checks. Instead of heading on to the next island, I guess this means another trip back to the internet café to see what’s going on.

Marigot Bay, St. Martin
18.04.078N
63.05.682W

After reading the cruising guides and walking through town, we couldn’t see where there was anything more for us to do in our little corner of St. Martin. So, we rented a tiny car and drove around the island today.

We pulled off the main two way road and drove on a single lane road to a high peak on the island. If someone came towards you on the road, one of you had to stop and pull off for the other to pass (even with tiny little cars). When we reached the top, we walked along a foot path to a location where you could see just about the entire island of St. Martin. We could see the islands of Anguilla to the north, St. Barth’s, and Saba (island not rock) to the south in the distance.

Next, we followed the cruise guide directions to a ‘must see’ place. We drove to the end of a paved road that lead to a dirt road and when it ended, you got out and walked until you found a little restaurant on the beach. The restaurant offered more than the usual hamburger/hotdog entrees and catered to families. They had shovels and pails, swings and slides for the kids, as well as the thatched covered picnic tables or colorful umbrellas shading coordinated lounges for the adults. The guide had listed it as one of the author‘s favorite places. I’m glad we searched it out; good food and not too crowded.

Our next stop was at a butterfly farm. It consisted of a huge garden made up of butterflies’ favorite plants and flowers enclosed with netting to keep the butterflies in and the lizards, frogs, snakes & birds out. There were koi ponds with little bridges and feeding stations where fruit was laid out for the butterflies to drink. We listened to a short talk about how the farm came into existence and the care, feeding and habits of butterflies, snapped a few hundred pictures, then jumped back into our little car and continued our circumnavigation of St. Martin.

We continued around the Dutch side, observed 5 cruise ships docked at their piers and stopped at a marina where the big boys stay. Remember when I told you about the Atlantis Marina in Nassau? La Palapa is St. Martin’s version. At least this time we didn’t embarrass ourselves by pulling in and being the littlest boat in the marina. We walked the docks with Dale saying “look at the size of those winches” every couple of slips. (Winch envy is really very scary.)

Eventually, we ended up where we started from, with a side trip to a hammock shop Dale had seen when we first started our trip. He doesn’t like my hammock, so now he has one of his own that won’t leave diamond patterns on his delicate skin. He has it strung between the roller furling and the mast where he can lie up there and dream of big, grease guzzling winches to his heart‘s content.

Marigot Bay, St. Martin
18.04.078N
63.05.682W

Ahh another day in paradise. Today we climbed to the top of the hill to see Ft. Louis, a 16th century fort with commanding views of the harbor and the island of Anguilla next door. Unfortunately, I forgot to take my camera and I certainly wasn’t going to climb that hill again for the panoramic photo-op; it wasn’t far, just straight up. A hospital was built just below it. I wondered if that was to save time and money on tourists.

When we came down from our hike up the hill, we dropped by the pharmacy in town to see if I could get a refill on some medicine. I’m not sure if it was because Dale was standing right next to me explaining in physician vernacular exactly what I needed or the fact that I was sweating bullets, but there didn’t seem to be any problem in getting the refill.

We walked to a nearby corner café to sit, nibble our croissants and people watch. There was quite the mixture of personalities and an incredible diversity in colorful apparel. Some were clearly off the cruise lines that pulled into the Dutch side and bused over to the French side. Some came down from the resorts on the hillsides. Others were local. Some were Rastafarians. Some were merchants. Some were Rastafarian merchants. Some were school children in their uniforms. Some were gendarmes in their uniforms. There were cruisers like us; not local in any stretch of the imagination but not exactly pale/sunburned tourists either. The streets are narrow here and the cars, for the most part, are tiny. All of these people and cars and scooters came by that corner just so that we could see them. Amazing.

We walked through the town stopping at various stores that caught our attention and then over to where a marina was located on the interior part of the island. We chose a restaurant on the waterfront for lunch and enjoyed a wonderful meal.

On our way back to the Palace, we commented on more than one occasion that Michelle would love it here. There is a shoe store on every block with shoes in every color, decoration and heel selection known to man.

Marigot Bay, St. Martin
18.04.078N
63.05.682W

We arrived in St. Martin’s waters about 3:30 am sailing most of the way at 6 and 7 kts. I say most of the way because when we came to within 8 miles of our waypoint, we decided to do zigzags to kill some time; we aren‘t particularly fond of entering an unfamiliar harbor after dark. Then when the wind died, we turned on the engine pointed the Palace in the direction of the current and motored at 2 knots, not going anywhere.

When Dale came on watch at 5 am, he increased our speed to about 4 knots and we slowly crept into Margot Bay, the French side of St. Martin. As day broke, we turned and entered the harbor, found the nearest shallow spot and dropped our hook.

As luck would have it, the boat closest to us had an anchor Nazi on board who came out in her underwear and assumed the universal ‘I’m not happy’ pose (hands on hips, scowling in the direction of the offending party). Unfortunately, what she met was another ‘hands on hips’ person who desperately needed some shuteye. I shouted over to her that we only needed some sleep. I don’t know who was more surprised, Dale or me. I’m not usually the confrontational type.

In any event, we didn’t move the boat but dove for our pillows. Dale slept topside just in case we did swing closer in their direction than we had allowed for. I went to bed. About 3 hours later, we got up and moved the boat closer into the town and re-anchored.

We took the dinghy in to clear customs (conveniently located at the dinghy dock). Wahoo!! It didn’t cost anything; just the customary paperwork. Neat trash bins lined the street in front of the dinghy dock; more French restaurants than you can shake a fork at within walking distance; grocery stores, laundries and pharmacies all within a couple of blocks; this is a boaters heaven.

We spotted a restaurant a little off the street with a sign declaring it as a new enterprise. We climbed up the steps to see what they had to offer and stayed for lunch. The food was wonderful and, unlike the reputation of French restaurants in the States, plentiful.

For some crazy reason, we were still tired, so we headed back to the Palace for another nap and will save our sight seeing for another day.

Anegada Passage
18.13.372N
63.39.005W

We tried to sleep in this morning in anticipation of our crossing but instead, we arose early and kept ourselves busy by reading the cruising guides for St. Martin and becoming familiar with the charts of the area. Since I was able to access the internet from the boat, I took advantage of the service one more time.

Later, while we were sitting in the cockpit reading, a couple of boats caught our attention. They were crisscrossing each other and at first seemed to be racing for a point somewhere near us. When they came within feet of us, we really took notice. That‘s about the time we figured out that it was a group of charter boaters learning how to sail in 1 easy lesson. A group of three boats, 2 catamarans and one monohull, all of which were in the 36-40’ range, were being wrangled by one instructor on a radio zipping forwards and backwards; coming within inches of them himself in the boat he was on.

First, they all appeared to be trying to snare mooring balls. They would run over them, back over them, drift down over them; how they kept from fouling their props, I’ll never know. Next they were transferring people back and forth from one boat to the next. For the life of us, Dale and I never could figure out the purpose of that exercise. They were still in the midst of their careening all over the harbor, when it came time for Dale and I to leave. We never got to see the man over board drill, which probably would have been worth sticking around for.

Don’t get me wrong, Dale and I have chartered boats too; some of our best friends charter boats. However, I liken it to driving on a crowded street with a car that has “student driver” signs pasted all over it but only one person in the car. Chances are it’s the instructor at the wheel but you still have a tendency to keep an eye on it.

In any event, when it was time for us to leave, we dropped our mooring and scooted out between Saba Rock and Virgin Gorda before the sailing class came in our direction again. There’s a shallow, narrow passage between the two islands and an opening in the reef further out that saved us about an hour in transit time.

Once we cleared the reef, we turned toward St. Martin, unfurled our sails, set a course and have sailed the whole way doing between 6 and 7.5 kts. This is what I enjoy. The beautiful water, a steady breeze, slow swells that gently lift you up and down, the only clouds are too high to pose a threat; what can I say? Another day in paradise.

Virgin Gorda, BVI
Bitter End
18.30.092N
64.21.589W

Happy Birthday Valerie! We love you.
Happy 50th Gerry! We love you too but Valerie is cuter.

Today we sailed! Actually, we raced but the two boats we were competing against didn’t know it.

We left Trellis Bay about 9:30 am and once out into the channel, we unfurled the sails and turned off the engine. We only had about 15 miles to travel, so it didn’t matter if it took us all day. As it turned out, the light winds filled in and we had a nice sail for most of the trip.
We slowed to a crawl as we rounded Virgin Gorda to the north where the mountains shielded us from the wind but then our speed picked up again when we came from behind the mountain to get the first gusts of a squall developing.

We had originally thought that we would anchor at the Bitter End Yacht Club but with the skies darkening we changed our minds and took a mooring. The bar that had been located on Saba Rock, the tiny island next to the Yacht Club, has expanded to include a restaurant, hotel and gift shop and has a nice dinghy dock running the breadth of the front. The Yacht Club itself appears to have expanded a bit but still looks pretty much the same as it did 12 years ago with the exception of an expanded dinghy dock and the nurse sharks in the pen are quite a bit smaller. We visited both establishments to explore a little and then returned to the Palace before the rain came.

We only caught bits and pieces of the weather information on the single side band this morning but we caught the information that the weather is pretty unsettled for the next week. Light winds except in the slow moving squalls where the wind gusts can be pretty extreme.

This evening as I sit here, the wind is howling; 20 kts with gusts up to 30 kts. The rain moved through more quickly than I thought it would but the gusts have continued for a couple of hours now. I’m glad we not out in it.

We watched as a sailboat came in after dark in the midst of the wind and rain and tried several times before they were able to snag a mooring. We guessed that there were probably only 2 people on board, like us, and that the one on the foredeck was juggling a flashlight, a boathook, a mooring line and trying to direct the helmsman which way to steer in the gusting winds. They were not having fun. We empathized with them greatly.

We’ll download the weather tomorrow before we make our decision as to whether we’ll take off tomorrow afternoon for St. Martin or sit here for another couple of days.
As always, wish us luck and good weather!

Beef Island, BVI
Trellis Bay
18.26.848N
64.31.891W

After a leisurely breakfast, we hoisted our anchor and left Charlotte Amalie Harbor and eased our way out into the ocean. We tried to radio Gate and Darby on Nicolino but no one answered. Dale made a quick check to make sure the dripless seal was still dripless and then off we went.

The winds were light, so we were forced to motor all of the way to Beef Island. Once into the Sir Francis Drake Channel, the wind picked up a bit and we were able to unfurl our jib to add another knot to our speed. At one point, we were making about 9 kts. over the ground in the relatively flat seas. We weren’t really sailing but I enjoyed our transit in the sunshine where we passed two “races”. One with spinnakers (the big colorful sails) and the other was with little day sailers.

We pulled into Trellis Bay about 2 pm and easily found a mooring ball. I was entertained throughout the remainder of the day by a hawksbill turtle who would poke his head out of the water to give us a cross eyed look. I snapped a picture of him during one of his circles around us and wondered which one of us was on display.

Several young boys on the charter boat next to us caught a small shark on their fishing line. They brought it up to the back of their boat, called for a camera, posed with it and then released it back into the harbor.

When dusk fell, we went in for dinner at The Last Resort and met Dave and Joanne who were chartering for the first time in the BVI’s. Though we sat at different tables, we enjoyed a conversation with them throughout the evening.

Tomorrow we’ll make our way to the Bitter End in Virgin Gorda where we’ll wait for a weather window to make an overnight crossing to St. Martin.