By the time he discovered that a loose rope in the dinghy had gotten very entwined in the dinghy propeller, he was too far away from Jacumba to grab anything. I threw a line, but it just missed him. What now? There were no other boats in this bay, the sun was setting, Michael was rowing madly toward me against the strong current, and I was in a boat attached to the seabed by two anchors that wouldn’t come up. AAAGH!!!
Michael gave up on rowing, jumped in with the dingy line in his mouth, and was swimming, swimming, swimming toward Jacumba. He was barely making headway and quickly tiring out. I was scrambling around madly grabbing ropes and tying them together so I could swim out to meet him and pull us in. When I thought I had enough length, I jumped in and swam toward him (the current was whisking me there anyway), only to literally reach the end of my rope. I was near panicked at this point watching an out-of-breath and bug-eyed Michael desperately trying to reach my outstretched hands while the sun set behind him when finally we touched. Hal-le-lu-jah! (Must hear choir music here.)
While we were giddily hugging in celebration and treading water, guess what?
We touched ground. That’s right. Not only did our toes touch sand, we then stood up. I’m not even sure the water reached much past our hips. That godforsaken sandbar that had caused this entire drama extended all the way down the beach and quite a distance into the bay (no, it wasn’t on the charts). We walked hand in hand Jesus-like all the way back to the boat. Can you believe it?
I’ll bet you’re wondering about poor Melissa. Was she absolutely terrified? Making her plane reservations back to the States? Nope. She had been deep into a nap bordering on a coma right until we plopped our exhausted and slightly hysterical selves back on board. She walked out bleary-eyed, and possibly a little alarmed, as we laughed and cried, wiping our noses as we explained the whole ordeal to her. Maybe now she was wondering what she had gotten herself into.
LESSON 85: SWIMMING LESSONS A. If you can’t swim, stand up! B. If you can swim, do so around your boat after you’ve anchored to get an idea of what’s around you. C. As soon as you realize you have a boat/dinghy problem, get tied off again to something before you try to resolve it. If you’re in your big boat, get back to the dock or re-anchor/re-moor. If you’re in your dinghy, get back to the dock or your boat, rowing if you have to (something you might want to consider practicing; think of the toned arm muscles you’ll have). You’ll be surprised at how quickly the tide/wind/currents can take you out, and it’s difficult to go against them to get back to safety. D. Use your VHF (your handheld—you did remember to take it with you in the dinghy, right?—or your onboard one). We weren’t that far from the next bay, so someone could have come over and helped before things got out of hand. Sure we would have been highly embarrassed, because by the time the help would have arrived, we’d be walking back to the boat, but better to laugh over a rum tonic than cry into one later because your significant other was on his way to Africa. E. Get everyone involved. I should have woken Melissa, but I didn’t want to worry her. This was dumb. I could have shown her how to work the VHF and had her call for help should something have happened to Michael or both of us.
Remember LESSON 26, Role playing? Can you imagine Melissa waking up on a strange boat she knew nothing about, without a dinghy she wouldn’t have known how to use anyway, only to find that the boat had been deserted? She would have had no idea what happened, not known whether we were coming back, or how to get help other than yelling for it the next time someone anchored nearby. Scary!
Needless to say, we entered that sandbar location as an obstruction on our chartplotter (with a big red X through it).
We also moved to the next harbor to the north, Deep Bay (with a name like that, no sandbars right?). We were hopping north along the west coast because sea conditions were keeping us close to shore. Better to wean Melissa into the action anyway. Each hop, all motorsailing, was only 5 miles or so.
Once settled in, we thought we’d do some snorkeling on an old tug, but the rough waters hampered visibility. We climbed a nearby fort instead and took in the views. For our sundowner pleasure, we watched jumping fish and swimming turtles.
The next day we moved up to Dickenson Bay. We knew this location would be busier because the local Sandals resort meant Jet Skis and Hobie Cats, but we thought Melissa could use some excitement. How many days of just us lunatics could she take? We pumped up the kayak so she could get to and from shore, and life was full. She accidentally dunked herself only once before getting the hang of it. She also lost the paddle only that one time and got lucky when someone nearby saw it floating out to sea and retrieved it for her (gotta love the boater community).
The next stop was supposed to be Barbuda (about 35 miles north), or at least a sneak around the northern part of Antigua where all the reefs were, but sea conditions were not cooperating. Those pesky Christmas winds just wouldn’t stop despite the fact that it was now February.
While we waited, we read; and while reading I ran across an article on “hashing.” No, not that kind of hash. I go into detail here because we have turned into die-hard hashers, and it’s something I think everyone should try at least once. No, I’m still not talking about that kind of hash.
Turns out that in 1938 the good ol’ Brits came up with a way to pass the time while they were—um—protecting Malaysia. They started a group called the Hash House Harriers (HHH), which combined socializing, working out (hiking and running), and drinking. Chapters now exist all over the world. There are a few adults-only chapters, but for the most part they’re mixed—young, old, local, expat, human, dog …
One such chapter was on Antigua! Each island does things a bit differently and at different intervals, but all have a hasher come get you if you tell them you’re interested in going and don’t have a ride. And that’s what we did. We got a ride to the meeting place and, well, hashed/hiked. What’s so great about this group is that you will get to go places you would never get to go normally, either for free or for a nominal fee (maybe $1). In this case, because some hashers wanted to go straight to a cricket match after the hike, our first hash took place around the cricket stadium and the airport. A bit unorthodox, even for them.
In order to make it special for HHH, however, the group organizers set it up so we could climb an observation tower not normally open to the public. We got a great view of the airport, stadium, and island before grabbing an Antiguan flag, provided just for us, and running back down. At the end of a hash, food and drinks are brought out and rituals performed. I won’t detail them here, but it was a lot of fun. If you can’t stand to hike, you can become an HHH groupie and just wait at the meeting point (the hikes begin and end in the same place) while enjoying your surroundings and chatting it up with your new friends. It’s a great way to meet people, go to places you never would have found without this group, and get some exercise. Google HHH and find a group near you or near to where you plan to visit!
After waiting what seemed like forever for the weather to improve and realizing it wasn’t going to happen anytime soon, we decided to head back south. Barbuda was just not in the cards and we still had a lot of the Caribbean to see before hurricane season kicked in. After making some short hops back down the coast, we finally had a little weather window to make the 55-mile leap south to Guadeloupe. Seas would be high, but the intervals between the waves were supposed to be long and the winds were expected to be 20 to 25 knots. Good enough.
We didn’t know it at the time, but that sandbar had damaged our port-side keel (on the left side of the boat, the slightly deeper portion of our hull/bottom). It may have been sand, but we hit hard enough and often enough that a good-size chunk of it was whittled away. It looked as though a shark had taken a bite.
24
Graffiti and Guadeloupe
The forecasts were true, if not a bit underreported. We headed into the cut between Antigua and Guadeloupe (much wider than the cuts in the Bahamas) and found 10-foot seas and winds gusting to 27 knots. A
h, yes, Melissa’s first sail. Why do I want to keep referring to her as “poor girl”? We had quite a ride, with waves ramming us from the rear port side. We’d go up a wave only to slide back down it sideways. Then ram, spin, straighten … uuup … But we went fast (despite our reefed sails).
We flew across the cut and were relieved to skedaddle behind Guadeloupe and its much desired protection from the waves. Although the island did block the seas, the winds unexpectedly shot up to over 35 knots. What the heck?! That was the first time that had happened. Normally, you get behind an island and lose the wind completely. Not here! In fact, the closer we got to our anchorage, Deshaies, the worse it got. Winds were gusting to 40 knots, just about pushing us backward. We had never anchored in conditions like that, but the harbor had good holding and before we knew it we were securely fastened to the seabed bottom. Whew!
I don’t think Michael and Melissa could have gotten off the boat any faster. While they checked in and got their feet back under them, I remained on the boat to make sure it stayed put. We were reminded that this was a French island when we discovered that checking in was free! Merci beaucoup!
Time for some more hiking! Well, for Michael and me. Melissa was still sore from our hashing escapade the other day. The hike turned out to be a boulder scramble to a little waterfall. It was pretty, but after two hours we were relieved to find a road that would take us back to the dinghy dock. Maybe Melissa had the right idea.
Deshaies was a nice enough little town, but the weird, gusty winds were unnerving. Although we wanted to leave, we waited and waited as an infernal rain cloud loomed overhead. Weather gurus kept flip-flopping. Finally we couldn’t take it anymore and headed down the west coast. Winds ranged from 6 to 29 knots and hit us from every direction, so we motored the whole distance.
We had been looking forward to snorkeling Pigeon Island, a Jacques-Yves Cousteau underwater park located about midway down the west coast (about 10 miles), and were pleasantly surprised to see a bunch of people snorkeling despite the weather. We were tied to a mooring and in the water quicker than you could say “octopus.” It was well worth the stop. If the waters are clear, jump in!
Our next anchorage was the southern tip of Guadeloupe’s coast, Basse Terre, another 15 miles. Onshore was a nice produce market and a pretty church, but the cove was ugly, unprotected, and inaccessible to anything noteworthy. It felt like a ghetto, with graffiti everywhere and islanders hissing at us. Hissing? Translation please. Never mind. I don’t want to know.
In desperate need of sleep, we longed for a protected anchorage and chose Pointe-a-Pitre, 33 miles to the east. Oh yeah, that was much better (apply sarcasm). Let’s start with the good. It was protected. Now the bad. It was soooo ugly, loud, and commercial. Ugh. We immediately started calling it Port-o-Potty. I’d say that we were the crabbiest we’d ever been at this point. We had disliked every harbor we had been in for almost a week now, and we were tired and hungry. Grrrrr.
Let’s see if we could tackle the hungry part. We were too tired to cook but were surrounded by nothing but ghetto. While I was trying to control a tantrum coming on, Michael noticed a nearby boat that belonged to a young couple we had last seen in the Dominican Republic. They had left in the middle of hurricane season months before and we thought they were long gone. Turns out that they had discovered that “they” were pregnant and were regrouping. They also directed us to some invisible restaurants behind a marina (Marina Bas du Fort) that could feed us. Aah, thank you.
The thought of dinghying all the way over to the marina and walking all the way to the restaurants put Michael in a permanent pout, so he stayed behind. Melissa and I were determined to find a pizza place, so we lowered the dinghy. I know, I know, we were in France, but pizza is cheap worldwide and we were in the land of the euro (ca ching).
Restaurant row turned out to be a hidden gem, with a setup much like the Marina Royale in Marigot, St. Martin (another nice spot). We never would have found it ourselves. Luck was on our side when a place was open, despite the early hour (Europeans aren’t exactly known for their early-bird specials), and it served pizza. Our luck ran out when we ordered two sodas, started reviewing the menu, and the power went out. Merde!
We hadn’t ordered yet and we were starving! Plus I had planned on paying by credit card and had no cash. How to pay? We waited in the dark for 20 minutes and then asked if there was an ATM nearby (we had to find someone to translate this question). We could only hope that the machine was up and running despite the power outage, or we would have to wash our glasses to pay for our sodas. We lucked out, got some money, paid for our sodas, and walked across to the only restaurant that still had lights on.
Our luck ran out again when we ordered two beers this time, only to sit there in complete amazement when the lights went out in that restaurant but came on in the place we had just left. Is this some kind of Parisian joke? Ha ha—now give us some food!
We really did have to laugh at this point. We wandered back over to the other place, received and downed our pizza, and contentedly dinghied back to the boat. The boat next to the loading cranes. Did I mention that all the freighters came into Pointe-a-Pitre to load and off-load? This was a very industrialized port.
At this point, we knew Guadeloupe only by its anchorages and ports and were not impressed. It was time to rent a car for a couple of days and explore. The first day we dedicated to waterfalls, going to La Cascade aux Ecrevisses, which was an easy hike; and then to the first of three of the Carbet waterfalls. Carbet turned out to be a grueling four-hour, muddy, slippery trek that resulted in Melissa never hiking with us again. The next day we drove around the whole island for a more overall feel. Guadeloupe had a pretty interior but mostly ugly towns. To be fair, we missed the beautiful botanical gardens in Deshaies and a fun rum distillery tour, and weather did not permit us to explore the reefs to the north. But we decided that Guadeloupe was our least favorite island so far. Next?
Despite the pounding that Jacumba took, nothing, thank you.
25
Oh When Des Saintes
The Iles des Saintes (Les Saintes) are several islands within the overseas department of Guadeloupe and 27 miles south of the big island. They might as well have been 1,500 miles away because they were so different. We anchored off the deserted island of Cabrit (quieter) and dinghied the 2½ miles over to the larger, populated island of Terre-de-Haut. Mon cheri.
We were in love. We had been transported to a beautiful suburb of Paris. It was like being on a movie set. There were narrow streets with cute little shops on both sides and a boulangerie (bakery) with the best French bread we had anywhere (before and since). Friends and family sat at sidewalk cafes, smoking, drinking, and gesticulating. People of all ages rode bicycles. Roads had signs! Families with prams and skipping children meandered to a beautiful public beach. It was so relaxing, so clean, so quaint, so unexpected, and so needed after the week we’d just had.
We were further enthralled when we experienced not only a lunar eclipse but a night rainbow (a moonbow, as it were). We had never heard of such a thing, but they do exist! The moonbow was varying shades of glowing grays, and we could see its arc separate from the darker grayness around it. We could not have had a better day or night. Days like that happened just often enough to remind us what we were doing out there. We’d forget the drudgery, the bad sail, and the lack of sleep and could just lose ourselves to the moment, knowing that we’d just had an experience we never could have had any other way. Beau.
The next day while I was charting our trip to Dominica, I looked up and panicked. A boat I had been using as a reference point was no longer there. I immediately assumed that we were on the move yet again, but then I quickly realized that they were dragging (the holding is not the best off the Ilet a Cabrit). They were bearing down on a catamaran behind them whose crew was getting into defense mode.
Michael jumped onto the deserted, dragging monohull, but the key wasn’t in the ignition so he couldn’t motor it forw
ard (remember LESSON 84, Ignition a go?). The catamaran folks lifted their anchor and got out of the way. They also towed the drifting boat away from the beach and gave Michael their second anchor to toss out until the owners of the drifting boat came back. Oddly, the returning boaters seemed completely unfazed and didn’t thank anybody. Oh well, Michael had still done the right thing.
That was pretty much it for Les Saintes, so we bought some extra baguettes and turned toward Dominica.
Something wasn’t right with our port-side engine. We didn’t know if it was the fuel, the fuel line, or the pump, but it was out of commission. There weren’t any marine stores on Les Saintes, and we were not going back to Guadeloupe, so we could only hope to resolve the issue on Dominica.
26
Lush-Ous Dominica
If you read the prior What Broke? section (I’m guessing that some of you are skipping them), you know that we were on one engine. Pros at this from the Bahamas, we weren’t worried. Plus, all we had was a three-hour (25-mile) jaunt between Iles des Saintes and Dominica and a quick little jut into Portsmouth, on the island’s northwest coast. With moderating winds, this would be a piece of cake. Let me just say that if conditions had “moderated,” as reports suggested, they must have been pretty rockin’ before, considering we were again dealing with 25-to 33-knot winds and high waves. Can you spell B-A-R-F?
We got about midway there, flying right along, when the wind suddenly changed direction at 30 knots and backwinded our genny momentarily. We came to a complete stop and then started getting shoved backward. The winds were so funky and so high that the genny was flapping enough to shred, so we completely eased the sheets so the sail wouldn’t catch any wind at all (while making it easier to tighten the sail again if the winds cooperated).
A Sail of Two Idiots Page 24