This is where having a catamaran instead of a monohull really stinks. There is a lot of area to cover on a catamaran (yes, I’m shouting). Two hulls with two sides and a wiiiide in-between (bridge deck). Whose idea was this? We worked and worked and worked.
We needed to address the chunk we had taken out of our keel on Antigua, so we hired a fiberglass repair guy to fix it. We also had to replace our zincs (sacrificial metals that help protect the other metals on the boat from electrolysis), which were located on the saildrives beneath the boat. Getting the new zincs required a long round-trip to another boatyard on the island. There went half a day.
We also had to hire someone to do a rigging inspection (yes, we had to; our surveyor had added that requirement to his survey report to our insurer). When the rigging inspector finally showed up 36 hours after he said he would, we were pleased to hear that the rigging was in good condition considering that it was mostly original. Only one part was missing—a rather important part, but easily remedied.
The day we were supposed to relaunch, the fiberglass guy came to put one more coat of something or other on the keel. It melted whatever else had been on there, and the whole repair job dripped onto the ground. It would have to be redone. NOOO!
We were already two days late getting back in the water, and our visas were due to expire in four days. We wanted to be back to the Grenadines in four days, not renewing our visas! Work faster! Finally, after lots of hand-wringing, we were plopped back into the harbor—to the sounds of clapping. Everyone around us commented that they’d never seen two people work so hard. I’ll bet! I know that I was quite happy to have our paint-splattered, dust-covered, soaked and sweaty selves be done with it all. I felt as though I had just given birth (or at least I imagined it felt that way).
Jacumba looked fantastic. We were pretty impressed with ourselves and the outcome. We also vowed never to do that again.
We sooo deserved this upcoming trip. Heaven awaits!
Well, there was the obvious haulout and survey, which was a lot of work. We probably saved ourselves about $1,000 doing the work ourselves. The survey was cheaper as well, but we still ended up saying good-bye to about $3,000 at the end of it all. We also cleaned the dinghy bottom, the metalwork, and the cushions, and fixed the still-leaking windows. (Why does this keep coming up? Because it wouldn’t stop raining! This is a recording.)
We replaced some of the running rigging, including genny sheets, mainsheets, and lazyjacks. They were so old that they were swollen and frayed and not going smoothly through the clutches and other things that lines go through.
33
St. Vincent and the Grenadines, Otherwise Known as Paradise
First things first.
Carriacou
While not actually part of the Grenadines (but the sister island to Grenada), Carriacou is close enough in proximity so I snuck it into this chapter. We got pretty beaten up heading from Grenada northeast to Carriacou, and conditions continued to deteriorate once we got there. While we were hunkered down in Terrell Bay, on the southwest side of the island, we noticed our pals Booker and Dave on catamaran Tortuguita motor in and anchor. We had last seen them on St. Martin during New Year’s. What a fun surprise!
The next day, all four of us jumped on a bus that went all around Carriacou to get a feel for its size, the towns, and the people. It was a sleepy little island. All four of us are vegetarians and were having problems finding a place for lunch when we mentioned our predicament to a local store owner downtown. The next thing we knew, she was on the phone calling a relative and sending us down the street. By the time we found the little kitchen, there were four home-cooked meals waiting for us. Couldn’t beat that!
We later hit the fun little bar floating in the middle of the harbor, popped some popcorn, and hung out on Tortuguita for movie night. Life was full.
Sandy Island
Just about every major island has a tiny, uninhabited “Sandy” something or other within puttering distance. Carriacou does too. We motored the 4 miles northwest into 30-knot winds to get over there and anchored ourselves so our boat’s rear was within swimming distance of the reef. Being able to do this is so rare (Turks and Caicos and the Bahamas were two of the few places with the right conditions) that it was a treat.
A lot of the reef had been beaten up by various hurricanes, and warmer waters were bleaching much of the coral as well, but it was still fun. This was supposed to be a day anchorage, but we loved it so much we decided to stay the night.
The moon was so bright we could see the bone-white sand on the spit glittering all night long. We could also see not only the lights of Carriacou but Union Island beyond it … beckoning.
Back to Carriacou
We sailed back to Carriacou the next day, with the high winds behind us this time, and checked out. Then we headed for Anse la Roche, in the southwest corner of the island (yes, we had checked out, but we had 24 hours to leave). We were all by ourselves, off a public but hard-to-get-to-by-land beach surrounded by rocks and waters begging to be snorkeled. There were more fish to see here than off Sandy Island, but both places were worth doing. We highly recommend this anchorage.
Union Island
The weather was finally supposed to improve—for several days, no less! We had a slow sail north to Union Island thanks to a strong current against us (we did check for crab pots on our props!), but it was only 6 miles away, so we just enjoyed the view and the ride.
Once we got to Clifton Harbor, on the southeast side of Union Island, I was surprised to see reefs inside the anchorage. They had been on my chartplotter, but it was still jarring to see them occasionally peeking out of the water in there. And the harbor was crowded. We cautiously motored around until we found a good spot off the man-made (of conch shells) Happy Island, which supported one bar. We anchored behind a reef, with only open ocean in front of us, as on East Caicos. It was beautiful.
We hurriedly checked in so we could hike all around the island and take in our surroundings. The incredibly clear, multihued waters were breathtaking from every angle.
On our way back to the boat, we stopped off at a park square that was home to several vendor huts selling produce. I’m embarrassed to say what we got suckered into paying for a bag of veggies. We were later told that there were tourist prices and local prices and we should have asked for a “mixed” bag, which would have been the right lingo for a deal. Good to know.
We spent a nice evening at Happy Island getting happy and picking owner/builder Janti’s brain about all things Grenadine.
We debated anchoring in Clifton Harbor for the rest of the hurricane season because there was a hurricane hole for shallow-draft boats like ours nearby, but then we decided we’d be too isolated. Oh well.
Tobago Cays
Our next sail was only about 6 miles northeast and entailed some reef reading, but, as in the Bahamas (only with more experienced eyes), the reefs were easy to read. A few well-placed buoys helped too. If you avoid the ugly brown/black patches and watch your depth sounder, you’re good to go.
What can I say about the Tobago Cays? You’ll just have to go there and see them for yourself. If I had to choose a word, I guess I’d go with “spectacular.” Talk about saving the best for last. We didn’t have to work on anything on the boat, had a few sunny days, and were surrounded by indescribably beautiful water.
There was plenty of room to anchor (although moorings have since been installed and now must be used in lieu of anchors), lots of small uninhabited islands to hop around, palm trees to climb, reefs to snorkel, turtles to swim with … Happiness. We were relaxed and were even getting our tans back. And because we were there before the crowds, we had room to spread out and just take it all in. Did I mention it was paradise?
I’m not even afraid that my superlative-laden description will set you up for disappointment, because that’s just impossible.
We snorkeled and snorkeled. Although the reef had damaged and bleached spots, it still had quite
a bit of sea life, and the water was so clear that it was like swimming in an aquarium. Tip: You must have an underwater camera by the time you reach this place.
Canouan
Continuing on our northeasterly course, we sailed another 8 miles to Canouan simply for the Internet access, the most powerful we experienced in all of the Caribbean thanks to The Moorings, a charter-boat company. We hadn’t read about anything special enough to keep us there, so we didn’t do much. This turned out to be a mistake, because several other boaters later found some wonderful reefy places off the north coast to enjoy. Do your research on this island.
Our timing couldn’t have been better, though, because we found out we’d have another visitor in just a few days! J.D., a friend from our Arizona days, was a commercial airline pilot and could finally break away—yay! He and his wife had been tossing around the idea of becoming liveaboards some day, so J.D. wanted to try out a catamaran (which is what his wife wanted). We’d be picking him up on St. Vincent in less than a week!
Bequia
We had planned to stay on our northeasterly trek for another 16 miles to Mustique, but we were having such a good sail that we decided to keep going and ended up at Bequia, 24 miles north (west of Mustique). The winds were higher than expected (and it rained), but we had an invigorating sail.
Once inside the anchorage in Admiralty Bay, we found even higher winds—like the ones in Deshaies, Guadeloupe. They slowed us to a crawl once they hit us head-on. I thought we’d never get to the beach. Once we neared the shore, the winds died, making our wind generators worthless. Hrmph.
We wandered around onshore (looking for alternator belts, not realizing that we had run through all our spares) and made a point of giving our middle fingers to the Whale Boner Bar & Restaurant (“decorated” with real whale bones).
Small rant here: Bequia is the only island in the Caribbean still whaling because they feel a sense of “tradition.” Here’s how they define tradition: They started slaughtering whales in the 1870s when a Scottish guy, who moved to Bequia, visited Cape Cod in the USA. He liked whaling so much that he came home and built the island’s first whaling station. Whaling became a free-for-all throughout the Caribbean (mostly by non-Caribbean people) until there were barely any targets left.
Most islanders are smart enough to realize that slaughtering whales isn’t good for business so they don’t participate in the bloodbath themselves. Bequia hasn’t found its conscience yet.
Lest you want to dabble in this “tradition,” be forewarned. Bequia’s quaint method is to harpoon the whale (tiny harpoon, very large whale) and drag its slowly dying, bleeding body into the harbor. There they cut it up—most likely while it’s still alive, as harpooning is incredibly inefficient and it can take days for a whale to succumb to its injuries—and then they bathe in the blood-filled waters to celebrate. Good times …
Let’s hope that by the time you read this, such ruthlessness is banned. Remember, whales aren’t fish—they’re mammals—and we don’t even allow farmers to treat livestock this badly. Please don’t participate in this bloodbath; ask for a whale-watching tour instead.
End of rant.
We had debated boycotting Bequia over this issue, but I chose to write several articles about it instead and decided to see what else the island had to offer.
Such as turtle conservation. We rented a couple of mountain bikes (yes, you need them on the regular roads, which are steep!) and tootled around much of the island. Despite the “one main road,” we still got lost a lot but had fun doing it. As with mopeding, the locals waved and said “hi” and yelled when we were on the wrong side of the road. We went to an art/pottery gallery in an old sugar plantation and eventually made our way to the turtle sanctuary. I asked about the disconnect between the islanders trying to save the turtles while still killing whales, and got the response that they hoped that whale killing would be stopped one day. Too soon, it was time to pedal our sore bums back.
We shopped at a small produce market while we were there and bargained like crazy for our stuff. This, of course, made our taco salad taste that much better.
We thought Bequia was pretty with its gingerbread-style houses and quiet streets, but we weren’t as enamored with it as many other boaters seem to be. Apparently Christmas is special on this island though. Bequia is worth a stopover or two, but we thought that about all the islands.
On to …
Mustique
Mustique is 14½ miles southeast of Bequia, which means going into the trade winds. We tacked three times and screwed up only once, so I declared our sail a great success. Once on Mustique, you must pick up a mooring. The required mooring fee of $75EC (about $28US) was for three days, even if we’d be staying only one or two days, but we were determined to see all the islands so we sucked it up. I think the price has gone way up since we were there (to about $75EC per day), so I guess you have to really want to see it.
We felt about Mustique the way people did about Bequia. Mustique smelled good—so good that you noticed it. No sewage ran down the street gutters, no farm animals were in the road, no trash littered the ground. It was maybe a bit make-believe, the place is very exclusive after all, but it was beautiful. There was a ranch with horses, a picturesque airport, stunning beaches, and huge houses. We couldn’t afford to rent a golf cart like everyone else, so we just walked. The island was bigger than we thought. You might want to splurge.
Although the island is too big to walk in its entirety, the “downtown” consisted of only four buildings. After exhausting ourselves walking up the street, we went to the famous Basil’s, where Mick Jagger, David Bowie, and friends were known to jam on occasion. As it turned out, Mick had left just a week before we got there, but his little white dog was still out and about (with a dog walker). Maybe on a star-studded night packed with folks, liming/relaxing at Basil’s was fun, but we thought the staff was surly and were shocked when we ordered two local beers and paid $25EC for them (the night before in a Bequia bar, the same order was $8EC). Ouch!
We spent another day hiking, walking through the beautiful neighborhoods and wondering who lived where, climbing down to pretty beaches, and eventually stumbling across the Cotton House restaurant. The staff was friendly, the prices were reasonable, and it was on a small beach. It also had a view of the little airport landing strip so you could see who might be visiting.
We had a great time on Mustique with only a single interruption to our bliss. One morning at about 5:30 a.m., I heard some yelling under our boat. When I got out of bed, I realized we were surrounded by a fishing net and several fishing boats while two scuba divers were under Jacumba trying to herd the fish hanging out in our shadow into the nets. The divers were scratching our newly painted hulls with their tanks and literally getting handprints in our brand-new antifouling paint—remember, it is intended to slough off. AAAGH!
I asked them if they wanted us to move, but they just waved. I shrugged and waved back but was glad it didn’t happen the other two mornings we were there.
If we could have stayed in someone’s pool house, we would never have left. The island had a grocery store and a library. What more could one ask for? Money? A job? Oh, yeah. Guess we’d have to keep looking.
St. Vincent
We had one fast sail over to St. Vincent, 18 miles due north. Winds were twice what they had been reported to be, and a few waves came over the bow and drenched us, but surfing at 10 knots was a blast. With winds at an optimum angle off our beam, we got there in record time.
With its reputation for crime against boaters, we were choosy about where we wanted to go, so we picked the southern anchorages near Young Island. Similar to Dominica, a couple of “helpers” came out to us, but unlike Dominica they got into a fight about who would get our business. It was awkward. We went with the guy who had reached us first and told him we wanted to anchor. As he was leading us in, we ran out of fuel in one engine (who’s responsible for checking those?!), so we anchored in the only spot avail
able away from all the moored boats. But it was too close to the beach and would be too tempting to curious swimmers. We emptied our reserve diesel into our tank and then dinghied over to the nearby lagoon, the Blue Lagoon if you can believe it, to see what it looked like.
I’m a lagoon snob—too close quarters, too filled with waste—and will do everything in my power to avoid them, but this lagoon was different. The anchorage was encircled by a low-lying reef that protected it from the elements but allowed the bad stuff to flow back out. Our guides had made this place sound difficult to get into, and our chartplotter was way off in this area. After looking at the entrance via dinghy though, I felt confident that we could get through the reefs without incident, so I decided to make a move. If in doubt, scout it out! Also known as LESSON 80, Investigate.
We moved the boat, zoomed to shore, and flagged a taxi to the airport.
Welcome aboard, J.D! By nightfall we had introduced him to the world of provisioning, given him a tour of the boat, and were preparing to head back to Bequia, just 10 miles southwest.
Bequia (Again)
J.D. had been taking lessons on a monohull, so he wasn’t completely clueless, but he enjoyed learning the nuances of our catamaran as we sailed in the perfect winds.
The last time we were sailing to Bequia, I had noticed a few boats cutting between some rock cliffs that seemed too narrow to allow passage. I was intrigued. Although I’m not a sheep (LESSON 40), I do learn from others, so I thought I could at least look at it. If I didn’t feel comfortable, I’d add the 20 minutes back on and go around.
A Sail of Two Idiots Page 27