How nostalgic to sail into Scarborough, the capital and main port of Tobago, after 15 years.  The same, but different. This time we held off till daybreak and then motored in at first light, our Open CPN software/nav system accurate to a tee, both motors responsive and purring.  Last time not so much fun…we were on Finesse, with 2 smallish children, and were hit by a violent squall as we approached. Viz was nonexistent, and of course Murphy chose to pop his head out of the bilge on that occasion too, as no amount of coaxing would get life to splutter into the 60 Perkins. Kids were ordered below as Doug and I tried to orientate ourselves and locate nonexistent buoys and markers which are supposed to indicate the reef and approach, all through the driving rain and gale force wind. Same in that still virtually none of the channel markers or cardinal buoys exist or work.  Same in that the enormous Trinidad/Tobago ferry was moored on the quayside of the terminal building but this time a glossy white super smart express turbo had replaced the rather dowdy heavy set ‘Panarama’ ferry, and the turbo was roaring and the mooring ropes being untied, but we thankfully had learnt from last time that you need to tuck right in to the anchorage for fear of having your stern shortened, or a quick conversion to two monohulls.

We were amazed that not another single yacht was there, but surmised it was probably due to the filthy water which we had not had in Scarborough last time.  Bleary eyed from lack of sleep and a surprisingly tough passage from Iles du Salut, we donned our step outs, inflated and launched the dinghy and got our documents together for the obligatory visit to the immigration and customs. It was a sweltering day and once we had dripped ashore we were thrust into the hustle and bustle of the day, and of Scarborough, bursting at its seams with people going about their business, and being school break, throngs of local holiday makers. After a pretty long and sweltering walk through the town and up the hill to the immigration offices, we were told that no, we needed to book in at the ferry terminal, all the way back at the docks! When we got there, queues of people, or rather crowds of people not in queues were pushing against all the entrance doors and angrily waving papers and complaining, while expressionless security officials refused access to most. We joined in trying to get heard, and eventually were escorted upstairs to the air-conditioned, relative comfort of the immigration office where we filled in copious quantities of forms with good old fashioned carbon paper, got our stamp and cruising permit and escaped the hordes of angry people still trying for a seat on the ferry.  Being holiday time, we discovered that although several huge ferries ply back and forth between Trinidad and Tobago, they are all fully booked several weeks in advance and so last minute traveling is very difficult with desperate people trying every trick to get wait listed.

We upped anchor and headed off to Store Bay, one of our favourite spots on Finesse, and were joined by a school of dolphins, mothers and calves in abundance. Still the water was dirty though, and this was a letdown after the crystal waters we remembered.  Even Store Bay, whilst better, was a disappointment.  We are in the rainy season, last time the dry season, (no summer and winter here), and so the rivers constantly purge themselves into the ocean, the worst culprit being the Orinoco whose mouth is just south of Trinidad.

Otherwise good ol’ Store Bay has not changed, the craft stalls and beach, the colourful glass bottom boats and the big spreading tree where we enjoyed so many sundowners with yachtie mates. When we enquired about the whereabouts of Jerome (the chair hire guy who we worked with to do clandestine day charters on Finesse), the new chair guy, aptly named Sugarlips, was quick to fill us in that he had taken over from Jerome who had moved to Germany with his German wife, and did his utmost best to sell us a boat trip! We went upstairs to the rustic bar that afternoon and sipped on some ice cold Caribs, the local beer, and discovered that Carib make an ‘oh so refreshing’ ginger shandy, the closest we have found to “Fresh” which is a similar low alcohol beverage made in Madagascar which we thrived on back in 1995!

Getting ashore this time was a far cry from back then, we simply rode the little swell onto the beach and pulled the dinghy above the high water mark – Elementary stuff.  But for some reason, back then there was a huge shore break; maybe the moon or the Orinoco, or even Neptune had a hand to play, but yachties dinghying ashore was a favourite entertainment for the tourists sunning themselves on the beach.

We would motor in to the back set of waves and then crisscross back and forth waiting for a lull.  Once committed, there was no pulling out, and the outboard would be gunned, riding in on the back of a wave, and in a well-executed manoeuvre of timing and expertise (Doug of course), we would beach ourselves, leap out and drag the rubber duck up clear of the next crashing wave hell bent on embarrassing the occupants. Once we had just done a perfect instruction manual beach landing when we looked up and saw a large dinghy motoring towards the shore from a bareboat Moorings charter yacht anchored close to us. Then, with a mixture of horror and amusement we watched as it became evident that the poor skipper had no idea what awaited him.  With his oblivious wife perched on the seat in a pretty frock, handbag and sandals in one hand and the other hand holding on a wide brimmed straw hat, (silly girl, basic rule is one hand for yourself, one for the boat at all times), they didn’t even  hesitate, just rode straight in ending up side on to the huge breaking swell which picked them up and hurled her overboard in a very undignified fashion, before crashing onto the shore full of water, crunching motor and boat into the sand.  We all hurtled down and grabbed the boat handles to haul it up but of course the weight of water in the boat rendered it almost impossible to budge and Doug succeeded in ripping the handle off the boat instead.  All in all a fabulous distraction to all the bored burnt tourists still sunning themselves on Jerome’s deckchairs.  

Anyway, back to the here and now, several caribs later and we went back to Katlyn in that semi-comatose state induced by too little sleep, too much beer and the euphoria of having ‘arrived’ after the final leg of an Atlantic crossing, had a simple supper and slept. That final leg had been longer and tougher than the mere 4 days it took to do indicated.  Once one leaves French Guyane, for about a day or more, the water is shallow, perhaps between 15 and 30 metres or so, and therefore littered with masses of fishing boats who stay out at night, often unlit, without AIS, (Automatic Identification System which is an integrated transmit and receive software system which identifies vessels and relays the information onto our Open CPN Nav system), and too small to pick up on the radar with the general sea clutter. This makes watches long and laborious and tiring; add to this the lack of wind and the constant and repetitive sail changes trying to coax speed out of the boat for a few days, and it doesn’t take long for the lethargy to set in, and general boat and galley chores to become unpleasant challenges.

On day three our woes were heard, and wind was sent, plenty of it, but from a direction we were unaccustomed to (I think you made a mistake wind god, we ordered a downwind sail, not from all over, not with intermittent squalls and rain, not varying from 15knots to 35knots; just nice and constant, like we’ve had for nearly two months), and the sea got lumpier and choppier, and swells seemed to come from any direction they chose, making the ride jerky and sporadic and the crew grumpy, hot and sweaty.  And so it happened that one night I was off watch trying to fall asleep while Doug tried to improve the motion of the boat by tweaking the course and the sails, and my hatch was cracked open to provide just a smidgen of ventilation, when some rogue wave swamped the boat, the pressure of it lifting the hatch further and dumping gallons of water into our cabin, swamping the entire bed and mattress, it gurgled over the edges of the mattress and into the storage beneath, wetting all the spares , flags, charts, etc seeping into all the protective plastic covers.  I was drenched, truly and utterly drenched, like as if I was standing under a waterfall, and truly and utterly unimpressed, as the mop up operation under the circumstances was more than I felt capable of doing… I would rather have flying fish in my bed again, like on the last passage when I woke up with a foot long slimy flying fish nestled into my duvet cover next to me. Imagine how advanced his nav system must be to have negotiated the small ‘post box like slot’ in the hatch above our bunk and come to rest with his head just close enough not to be too intimate. He was a bit inconsiderate though, because he touched down midway up the bed and left a long, bluish green skid mark of fish dye and scales before coming to his final resting place. I seem to remember that fish scales were once used as dye, so it took a fair amount of effort to get the mark out of the duvet cover. Back to Doug tweaking sails and course, he was also avoiding getting run down by ships, now in deep water and in the shipping lanes.  Here’s a snapshot of the AIS picture one night.  You know the basic navigation rule that vessels under sail have right of way over those under power… forget it, might is right and you get out of their way as you can see we did (we are the red boat, the arrows are ships traveling on various courses at varying speeds.

So our first day in Store Bay involved fetching water and washing linen and mattress covers, wiping down the cabin and storage and drying out the spares and generally tidying up. We also met Dimitri and Michelle with their two boys on ‘Wind Chasers’, those who have been involved in kite surfing might know them, they have the kite school and guest house of the same name up in Langebaan, right on the lagoon, and have spent their cruising time searching for an appropriate location for opening another school in the Caribbean. While you do see the occasional kite out and about on windy days, they say that good spots are few and far between.

Tobago is understated and underrated; it just has a lovely rhythm to it where life is simple and relaxed. Villages are shabby chic, with tumble down houses interspersed with neat little houses, colourful manicured gardens competing with rampant vines, lantana and litter, pavement bars and airtime kiosks.  Grocery shopping is at local road side stalls or shops comprising a maze of inter – leading rooms stocking everything from kitchen ware to car spares to veet and bikinis, fresh bread and freshly caught fish.  Mostly anything you need you can find, maybe not Woolies muffins, or Checkers matured steaks, but I said ‘need’, not ‘want’. But how I wish I could just find a shop that sells the luxury of an indulgent magazine, though!  Prices vary, mostly just a little more than home prices on most things, but here’s the winner, R2.25 a litre for diesel! I repeat, R2.25 for diesel.  Unbelievable.

So we have settled into a mixture of yachtie and village life, meeting other boats and moving up and down the leeward coast of Tobago between the anchorages and bays, discovering the unique something that sets each apart from the other; surfing and boogie boarding and snorkeling at Mt. Irvine Bay; horses and fire flies, steel drums and yoga at Buccoo Bay, (pronounced Book – Koo), and the steel drum orchestra is called the Buccooneers! Then Plymouth, better known to us as Internet Bay as we have through Wind Chasers discovered that if you anchor in nice and close, and have in some manner procured the password for Rex Resorts wireless connection, you have unlimited internet access, especially valuable for blog updates and gmail.

All the while the water is cleaning up by the day, we are swimming to keep clean and cool, and intermingling relaxed boat life with the constant need to finish all things started before we left, biminis, cockpit cushions, etc… and of course attending to the unrelenting list of things to be fixed or serviced.

Tonight we are anchored again at Internet Bay, and have taken the opportunity to research and book Dylan’s ticket to join us for a few weeks at the end of the year. A flutter of excitement, can’t wait!

– Val

A real sense of nostalgia was felt as we sailed into Mt Irvine Bay. Found memories flooding back from our last visit way back in 1998. What is so great about this little anchorage is that there is a cool surfing spot in the corner of the bay. The natural coral reef serves as a platform for a perfect right hand break and when the swell is running, it is a lot of fun! This must rate as one of the prettiest surf spots in the world. During our stay here we have been unlucky with the amount of swell we have had, but I have still been fortunate enough to surf in two foot waves on numerous occasions. When the surf is flat there is the added bonus of having really good snorkeling on the coral reef, so it’s a winner either way. Let’s hope the swell picks up. The location itself consists of a small village dotted with quaint little cottages, guest houses, the inevitable bar and eating place.

– Doug

Internet while sitting in the comfort of your yacht is an immensely luxury, but after updating the blog, answering emails and trying to work out the difficulties of getting the particular reef fish identification book I wanted (from Canada), I was over being cooped up. Earlier in the week we had gone for a Roti roll at one of the local spots in Store Bay, before heading to the info centre. The lady there operates out of a tiny Wendy house structure and is considered the best Roti (a pancake/tortilla with curry, pumpkin and chickpeas inside) in the area. She has a tiny verandah with two tables where we sat and watched as the locals arrived for lunch, drive through style. They pull over to the wrong side of the road, so that all the oncoming traffic must negotiate their way around them, the lady comes out and catches up on news and takes their order. When it’s ready they move on, this is probably the only part of the world where road – ragers wouldn’t attempted to kill you, everything is a bit slower – iz da Caribbean mon!

In the info centre I found out that there are two operations that offer beach horse rides. So when we were up in Plymouth I headed to the closer of the two. On the way there I hitched a ride with ‘Lennox’, a health and safety inspector for TT (Trinidad and Tobago), who proceeded to take me the long way around via the coast, into each of the villages, including Black Bay near Mt Irvine Bay. Later on in the week I met an American boat with a SA girl onboard, and we all headed to one of the local Reggae bars here – an experience. Lennox dropped me off on the edge of Buccoo Bay and I walked up to the ‘Healing with Horses’ stables. Admittedly I went for a bit of a wild goose chase as locals directed me onto cliffs, to ramshackle houses and places where dogs chased me. As I was retracing my steps I bumped into two guys fixing a car, and woe and behold, I meet Lennon.

Lennon and Veronika started the foundation ‘Healing with Horses’ to aid disabled children and help them to connect and learn with horses. Their 6 extraordinary horses each have their own unique backgrounds, some found on Tobago in need of a home, other sent over on the ferry from Trinidad.  Check out their website www.healing-with-horses.com.

They are impeccably looked after, fit, shiny and happy. They work as a herd and one is never separated. Each and every day they ride through the town of Buccoo, in the mangroves and along the beach at a leisurely walk, before swimming (trotting and cantering with only their heads or top of their backs out the water) a good 1.5 km in the waves and giving tourists one hell of an experience. They are rated the top activity in Tobago on Trip advisor. Veronika and Lennon have equally come from unique backgrounds. Veronika is from Germany and spent many years riding horses in a well-known European traveling circus and Lennon is from South Trinidad and grew up on a 250 acre stud farm. And so I have joined in their day to day activities, taking the guests along the beach since it is school holidays and the children are taking a break from riding lessons. Swimming horses in the sea is an entirely different kettle of fish to swimming in dams and rivers back home – and tremendous fun! After a few days of long walking in the heat to get there and some interesting hitched rides, we moved the boat around to Buccoo Bay. This turned out to be a beautifully protected spot where we were the only yachties. So the ultimate goal of finding a new activity has been accomplished, with the added bonus of meeting some truly remarkable people and learning some local inside information.

Sunday School is a weekly market and barbecue, that was particularly big this week with the added hype from the Great Carib Race, a 84 mile speed boat race from Trinidad to Tobago with a huge beach party. The steel drums were fantastic! Unfortunately my little camera recording feature couldn’t capture it in all its glory. Hilariously an old man was having a seriously good time dancing with his Caribbean ‘lady’ (a slim cross dresser in the tiniest of shorts and high heeled tackies) taking grinding to a new level and providing shocked entertainment for all the unwilling crowds. Dad taunted me with ideas to go and start dancing on the dance floor, which I told him I would easily have the balls to do – he retorted that so did she!

Mom and Dad were treated to stunning snorkel (now that the water has cleared) on the Buccoo reef that is about 6NM². Tobago is the number 1 eco-tourism destination and boasted the largest brain coral mountains in the world. Bitterly disappointing, I have an ear infection and was left behind!

Buccoo bay is the same as most of the quaint villages but is proud to host the Goat racing stadium, a true TT sport that is taken very seriously. There is also a beautiful 18 hole golf course at the edge on the town. Dad played with the children on the docks and took them for rides in the rubber duck, pulling the rest of them on their old broken windsurfer – ever since we can barely get ashore without being inundated with requests. On our last night, I joined Veronika and some friends for meditation, (Yes, contrary to what some of you may think I am capable of sitting still and keeping quite) a bonfire and a picnic on the cliff where the horses graze. Lennon has promised to show me the fireflies next time we are in Buccoo, and we will be back in a week or two since I forgot to take any photos of the horses! We were headed back to Plymouth this morning in the clearest water, only to be hit by a huge rain storm which has made all the rivers flow and turn the water brown again.

– Kate

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