An unforgettable pleasure and privilege to have our son with us for Christmas

Christmas Lights

by Val

After our inexcusable absence of several months, welcome back to all our family, friends, guests and mystery followers who take the time out to read our blog and occasionally to comment; of special note here, a previous owner of Gambit from way back, and the current owner of Finesse, who bought her in Lake Kentucky and now keeps her in St. Petersburg, Florida. These people had no other way of contacting us except through surfing the web and happening per chance upon the blog. It makes the effort worthwhile and rewarding.

So in order to catch up, I will have to back track some months to early December when we were anchored off Clifton Harbour, Union Island amidst radical daredevil kite boarders who zigzagged back and forth with pinpoint accuracy through all the yachts at anchor.

Clifton Anchorage with one of the many the kite boarders in the background

And our amazement that they managed not to get tangled in the masts? Well, we should have touched wood, for we were jinxed by the thought, and the amazement did not last long. Not long after, whilst around at Frigate Island a few miles from Clifton, exactly that did happen. A learner kite boarder whacked into the side of the boat entangling his lines through our rigging and snapping our danbuoy clean in half, damaging our wifi aerial and our windcharger, both of which have since lain wrapped in a blanket under a bunk.

Kite wrap

Damages negotiations

Without the aerial there has been no internet on the boat. It is very inconvenient to blog on shore, as it necessitates finding an internet café/pub, lugging the laptop and a multitude of cables, adapters etc, and setting up there for hours, such is the time consuming nature of keeping up to date. So I said ‘inexcusable’ absence, I actually meant excusable. For in the Caribbean very little can be accomplished in real world time, and it has taken until a couple of weeks ago to get the aerial fixed….

So back to Union Island where we last blogged, negotiated a thorny mountain and where we lost our aerial and wind charger. Now our energies needed to be channeled into sailing north to Martinique to meet Dylan who was arriving via AirFrance on the 13th Dec . Yes, Friday the 13th, he was flying from South Africa. Planes don’t even have row 13, such is the superstitious nature of people…..Anyway, we planned a route that took us via Mayreau, Canouan, Bequia, St. Vincent, St Lucia and finally to Martinique. Just for clarification, the islands from Grenada in the south of the Caribbean, to Martinique in the north, some 180 nautical miles (360km), are known as the ‘windward islands’, so named by the British as it was necessary to beat to windward in order to sail to any other of the Bristish colonies further north. Over December and January the trades blow stronger than usual, pretty much always from the north east, between 25 and 30 knots, sometimes more, and are known as the Christmas winds. A quick peek at the photo below will show that this lower portion of the Caribbean islands runs from South West to North East, the trade winds never abate, and so we began the long beat north. AAH, the Windwards are aptly named!

Windward Islands in the southern Caribbean

We day hopped our way up the chain, close hauled and sometimes motor sailing, for several hours a day across the channels separating the islands then anchoring in the lee in the afternoon in time for a swim, sundowner and a good night’s sleep. The lee of each island offers up a new surprise, different from the previous one. We found ourselves becalmed for short spells, alternating with strong gusts which funneled down the volcanic valleys from varying directions. Sometimes the wind simply dumps down off the volcanoes, rather like in Hout Bay, and on the northern tip of each island where the Atlantic swell meets land after some 3000nm, we rode some pretty big seas. From St Lucia, the islands start arching slightly to the north west, and we shunted the final 40nm to Martinique. All in all, we made good time and had some fun along the way, with a huge school of dolphin on one occasion, and a whale siting too. We were anchored off Fort St. Louis, near Fort de France, the capital of Martinique, two days before Dylan arrived. French flags were flying half mast across the city, a sombre reminder of the passing of Madiba a week or so earlier.

Anchored off Fort St Louis, Fort de France

Fort St Louis

Fort de France

The city of Fort de France is clean, colourful and lively, packed with shops and boutiques, restaurants and pavement cafes of both Caribbean and European flavour, and stretches along the coast, blending into residential, resort and industrial areas all the way to the airport and beyond. It is distinctly French in language and culture, especially their reluctance to speak English or try to interpret our ipad version of French. Other than the very friendly and accommodating staff at Sea Services Chandlery, (where one clears customs and immigration with a simple on line check in website in both English and French!), we found ourselves muted. We enjoyed a browse around town, lunch under an umbrella, and horrors of all horrors, we spent a couple of hours in a dreaded MacDonalds where the wifi was free, and found the ATM. We booked an Avis car online, and paid a taxi a small fortune in Euro’s to drop us off for the collection at the airport. Later on we found out that for a mere fraction of the taxi fare you can catch the equivalent of a mini bus taxi right to the Avis depot! Inevitably, the trip back to the anchorage was hair raising, there are highways and byways and flyoffs and spaghetti junctions, the steering wheel is on the wrong side, the concentration intense as Doug focused on driving on the right, negotiating circles anti clockwise. We had tried unsuccessfully to load the Martinique road maps on our Garmin, so had to make do with the tourist map which fell short of the job, but eventually found our way back unscathed, even managing to find the Galleria Shopping Mall where we wandered around the hugest and most gourmet supermarket I have ever been in.  

French ATM and cardboard bed

Wall of fame, see middle bottom

Wall of fame artist

Friday the 13th dawns and catapults towards evening, and it is difficult to stop the flutter of excitement and expectation of seeing our boy. It is only about 7 months since we waved him goodbye that early misty morning at Royal Cape, but more so, it is an ocean crossed, a family stretched from SA to the USA, a lifestyle changed that make it feel so very much more than that. We park the car in one the tiniest parking bays ever, and then move it twice more so that we can get the doors open without smashing into the car alongside. Insurance companies must be busy here. We find ourselves a spot at the only coffee shop there is, and drink a continental style coffee which gives me heart palpitations and hand tremors, on top of the tummy flutters. Eventually the flight arrives and we find a good vantage point to await the arrival of the passengers, and we wait and we wait. Finally there are no more passengers, and even Doug’s assurance that he will be along shortly, fades. Is it possible we missed him, didn’t recognise him and he’s waiting in the dark at the pick up zone?? We don’t want to even consider the worst. Doug stays at arrivals while I am sent on a scout, my heart thumping in my throat. Ten minutes later I return unaccompanied, just in time to see father and son re-united. It is an over-whelming relief and delight to join the hug. I can’t even remember what the delay was. We have to back the little red car out of the parking bay to get into it. Dylan is appointed the new navigator as there is no way he can fit his long legs in the back, especially after being cramped in a boeing seat for many hours, and no way I can endure any more nervous tension as we head home in the dark.

The next few days we spent exploring Martinique, wending our way along the coast on the narrowest of roads to the north, picnicking, hiking, sight seeing and generally catching up and being together.

Street scene on a Sunday afternoon

No caption necessary

Library

Colourful steps

Government building

Pedestrian walkway

Sacre Couer Martinique

Of interest was the town of St Pierre, which lies at the foot of the Mt. Pelée volcano, not impressive by our photos, but is documented as the worst eruption of the 20th century. The last of the original Carib residents were wiped out by the European settlers in 1658, and it is said that before the last ones died they invoked a curse upon the settlers, that the mountain should take revenge upon them, and so it did, for on Ascension Day in 1902 it erupted killing all but 2 of the 30 000 inhabitants, one of which was a prisoner in solitary confinement. Although the mountain gave plenty of warning, for political and financial reasons, the inhabitants were assured there was no danger, and so no evacuation took place. It makes for interesting reading.

See http://www.geology.sdsu.edu/how_volcanoes_work/Pelee.html

Mount Pelee with St Pierre in the foreground

St. Pierre waterfront with beaches of volcanic sand

Waterfront property

More waterfront property

and still more

taken from St Pierre anchorage

The cathedral prior to the eruption

and after the destruction

Modern architects make a mockery of the Cathedral in their restoration attempts

Keeping vigil over St Pierre

There are beautiful hikes in the northern parts of Martinique, and on one occasion we followed a dead end road up and over a precipitous mountain pass to the beginning of a gorgeous trail up to the impressive Couleuvre waterfall, so tucked away and under advertised that we were lucky to have found it.

Lush hiking trail

A small portion of the waterfall

Fresh water shower in a slither of sun

We did the obligatory rum distillery visit, ate baguettes, took a hike to the paragliding launch site although the wind was howling, and spent time in the evening on Katlyn.

Another hike

We spent a few extra days provisioning, as well as buying a much needed camera. Although a month seems a long time, we were anxious not to spend too long in Martinique and so it was time to sail south. We left for St. Lucia, with plans to be with some cruising friends in Bequia for a beach barbeque on Christmas Day.  With the north east still blowing, it was a great point of sail back to St Lucia and Katlyn took off, but our exhilaration did not last long when we discovered that we had two large tears in the genoa, presumably from catching on the spreaders at some stage. We had to furl away and yet again hoist the no. 3 that is lashed to the foredeck. What a disappointment, but we had planned a few days in Rodney Bay, and hoped that we could get it repaired there. Luckily Kenny from Rodney Bay Sails was very obliging, and despite it being high season and his work load enormous, he made time over the next few days to get the sail repaired.

Martinique and Diamond Rock behind us

One of my favourite spots

Getting towed alongside the handline

Torn genoa furled, time to hank on the no 3

No 3 up

Kenny’s sail loft in Rodney Bay

Kenny

This mishap coincided with the arrival of the ARC rally of over 200 boats from Europe, so there was a festive vibe with live music most evenings to occupy us, while we awaited our sail, tempered by the quiet spacious anchorage outside of the lagoon when the chaos became too much.

Reflection of Masthead Christmas lights on the water

Rodney Bay Marina waterfront

Live music, doing Santana brilliantly

Wifi at Cafe Ole, over local St. Lucia ‘Piton’ beers

IGY Rodney Bay marina with ARC bo

Liming in St Lucia (I also like my backpack)

Open Air laundry, queques, and Doug getting the gas filled

Dylan went hunting on the outside, getting thoroughly drenched (wet season), but coming back victorious with a Spanish mackerel.

I went gathering, or rather the fruit and veg vendor came to me on Katlyn

Local vege vendor

Finally our sail was ready and we set about hoisting it again, only to discover that now the roller furler mechanism was not working. After much fiddling and consulting of the manual, we realized that it needed a rigging specialist to look at it, this late on Friday afternoon.

Preparing to re-hoist the genoa unaware that we still had problems

Tourists at the local resort having more fun than us

We were told that the only people who could fix it were back in Martinique, and of course no one was open for business until Monday morning. The phone call in itself was a challenge, trying to explain the problem, but eventually they said they should be able to help us so back to Martinique we sailed. Whilst we appreciated that they got the repair done on the 24th Dec, their last job before Xmas, we were not prepared for the bill which came with it…..R15 000 for a few hours work and a small part. Shocking Xmas present. As they were tweeking the rigging, we got the boat ready to sail, still on a mission to do the 90nm to Bequia, and join some familiar faces for the Christmas braai.

Back in Martinique, working on the Profurl

and adjusting the rigging

The weather was favourable, now sailing north to south, and we got going with not a minute to spare. As we progressed we noticed that the actual weather and the weather report were not in agreement, and a huge storm starting building, more than the usual wet season squall.

Rainbow before the storm

Pitons, St Lucia

By the time we were adjacent to St. Lucia, the storm unleashed itself, and persisted into the night. I grew up in the Drakensberg where ferocious summer afternoon and evening thunderstorms were ‘normal’, and although I have a healthy fear of lightening, I am not a sissy about it. This storm outdid anything I remember. There was more lightning than darkning. Violent winds and torrential rain with seemingly never ending bolts of lightning and booming thunder, zero visability and all instruments turned off in a feeble attempt to avoid an electronic meltdown on Katlyn.

Best to bring in the handline

Dusk before the full onslaught

No, not again, wind foreward of the beam and we’re heading south

The deep valleys of St Lucia and St Vincent became raging torrents, sweeping away everything in their paths, and the sea became a muddy quagmire littered with all manner of debris, logs, trash etc which snagged on our rudders, and banged against the hulls. At one particular moment there was a scraping and a grinding beneath us which sounded like it would sever the boat in two, and we watched in amazement as a full size fridge emerged from between the hulls.

Snagged rudder yet again

Bamboo around the rudder

The storm hampered our progress, and it was only at 3am, Christmas morning, that we wearily dropped anchor in Admirality Bay, Bequia, and slept well into the day. On awakening, there was little movement on any other yachts, the weather was not conducive to beach braais, and we saw not another soul that day. We hibernated on the boat all day, made Christmas dinner, and wondered what Katie was doing.

Xmas dinner

Weary Christmas cheer

It was only a day later as word filtered in that the extent of the storm was realized, 13 people were killed, rivers broke their banks, roads, houses, livestock and pets were washed away in mudslides and bridges collapsed. People were homeless, and a seasons’ crops of the local farmers destroyed. Many places were declared disaster areas, and the damage was likened to that of Hurricane Tomas of a few years back.

Cow on roof in aftermath of storm

Flying fish on cockpit table in the aftermath of the storm. Or…dinner for one

Our boat is pretty leak proof, but fresh water does seep in more easily than salt, and combined with the wind we managed to be quite sodden by the time we arrived. My grumbles of leaking hatches and wet bedding and floors seemed trivial by comparison to the islanders’ misfortunes, and we felt glad to have escaped so lightly.

After the storm, Bequia Xmas afternoon

Beauty and the beast, Xmas day in Bequia with the tall ship and cruise ship silhouetted  against the remnants of the storm

………………… To follow soon – the beautiful St. Vincent and the Grenadines…………………..

Grenaida, Grenarda, tomaito, tomarto, what a lovely place however it’s pronounced

By Val

St Georges Harbour

Our departure from Trini was typical after one’s been in a place too long;  plenty of preparation, last minute things to do, goodbyes to old and new friends at the final braai, before finally loosening our umbilical cord to the mooring buoy which had become home for several weeks.  Typical in that so often when the boat has been a home rather than a sailing vessel, little irksome troubles present themselves, like huge billows of smoke belching out of the port engine, so that we had to shut down the engine with haste and circle around and pick up the mooring buoy again (fending off the two boats already trying to grab the newly available buoy in the process).  An inspection of the inner workings of our port engine showed no obvious problem, so we mulled over this for a while, that it only happened once in gear….and the inevitable dawned on Doug – it could be prop related.  Trini waters are not inviting, they are filthy in fact, but this is a necessity and Doug  goes overboard with mask and snorkel, only to discover inches of barnacle growth  which has all but solidified the prop, creating huge drag on the motor. Once in the water he decides to clean the entire boat as well and spends two hours in this filth doing a basic but labour intensive clean with paint scraper, screw driver and heaps of endurance, and finally three hours later, with a clean boat and a purring motor, we once again departed from Chaguaramas.  The third hour, by the way, was how long it took to clean Doug after he emerged from the water.  Hundreds, maybe thousands of disgusting little marine creepy crawlies had imbedded themselves in the hair all over his body,  creating an exoskeleton of crusty beasties that refused to be simply washed off.  Like a  contaminated radiation worker, we scrubbed and rubbed the blighters off, ‘til Doug looked like a Vaalie in Durbs for the summer holidays.  We followed this up with a thorough Betadine soaking, and then had to deal with the infestation in his baggies.  A mild inconvenience at least.  So finally we left, just in time to catch the slack low tide before the water started sucking in through the Bocas.  Following strong words of advice threatening an endless passage against the North Atlantic Current we had a plan…over to Doug

Filthy waterline, Trini

Last views of Chaguaramas

Passage to Grenada

By Doug

After all the hype over the 80nm crossing to Grenada, we were either very lucky with the wind and current conditions, or we sailed the leg very well.  Because of a 2 knot west setting current and a NE swell, we had heard that most yachts tended to end up being pushed west of Grenada. Under these circumstances, you would have to motor up into the wind and current to reach their destination, a slow, uncomfortable and hammering experience. Because of this we started out by motoring along the northern coast of Trinidad into a weak westerly current.  I was still bothered by this tactic as I felt we could point 45 degrees off the wind and lay a line for Grenada.  Anyway, it could do no harm so we made 12nm easting enjoying the beautiful North Coast of Trinidad. As any sailor would understand, motoring into a swell and current at 4.5 knots sucks!

Gonna get a wash….off the northern coast of Trini

When the time came to bear off and lay a NE course, I was itching to go and with a full main and genoa we were soon doing 8 to 9 knots. With the noisy “donkeys” put to rest, the boat was now filled with the magical sounds of the ocean sloshing and banging as we sped along through the night. We had allowed 14 hours for the passage with a planned arrival of 8am, but because of our point of sail and speed, we ended up arriving in Grenada at 3am. Anchoring at night is always tricky and it proved to be just that! The Prickly Bay Anchorage which we last visited in 1998, was filled with boats without anchor lights but we finally found some space and hit the sack for some well deserved sleep.

Prickly Bay with yachts as far as the eye can see

Prickly Bay and beyond

By Val

The first thing on wakening that assaulted the senses was that we had arrived in the Caribbean, surrounded by probably a hundred peaceful boats all anchored in turquoise water, against a backdrop of mountains and lush green vegetation, with gorgeous homes dotted randomly on the foothills down to the waters edge.  WHOOP WHOOP.  But first we had to clear customs and immigration, so we prettied ourselves up, launched the dinghy and went scratchy eyed ashore in search of the officials.  One thing about a Caribbean clearing office is that it is rustic and simple but pretty darn efficient.  Although the officials range from surly to over familiar, most of them get the process done without unnecessary delay.  Compare this with a tour through our South African neighbouring countries’ borders…the contrast is vast.  Once cleared, we headed east along the southern shore for an hour or so to Clarkes Court Bay, which is less crowded and with many interesting inlets and bays within it.  We met up with Panache, shared supper and sundowners, and found a charming internet café at the Whisper Cove Marina, which has just one small walk on accommodating 12 yachts.

Whisper Cove Marina and internet cafe

Looking out from Whisper Cove

We explored Hog Island and surrounds, enjoying the cleanliness of it after Trini.  After several days we headed back to Prickly Bay in search of some fresh produce and this is what we found

Strawberry shocker

Our excitement didn’t last long though, at EC$31.70 per pound.  That equates to about EC$70 per kg, which is about R280 per kg, for some tasty vitamin C.  Wimbledon would be hard pressed to compete.  Come on Mom, start exporting your strawberries!  It is a constant quest trying to get decent veges and fruit at affordable prices.  Tomatoes are about R100 a kg and not Woolies quality by any stretch of the imagination, spinach about R50 for a half size packet, potatoes about the same as tomatoes, a small cabbage about R65, a medium sized yellow or red pepper about R65, eggs about R90 a doz, milk is R40 for 2 litres. Most of the produce is imported, very little being grown on the island apart from spices . Spar and Woolies shoppers, you’ve got it great.  At least the long walk back to the anchorage was easy as we had very little to carry!  By contrast, the Panache’s found an HUGE Christmas turkey plus a few other bulky provisions which they bundled into their yacht trolley and laboured home with, looking like they had slaughtered an island goat on the quiet.   The wheels on the contraption kept getting caught in the crevices of the broken pavement and kerbs (where there was one), or in the dongas where we cross countried.  It was comical watching them negotiate this feast back to the dinghy, and then load it.  (Panache has an enviable deepfreeze and generator not common on cruising yachts….we plan to stalk them for Xmas dinner….)

Part of our returning to Prickly Bay was to make contact with a connection we had been given to a European holiday/charter operator based there.  They market Caribbean holidays, mostly to German and Austrian couples, which can include several days on privately owned cruising yachts.  The idea is affordable charters for middle to upper income people who want a realistic taste of the Caribbean from a cruise yacht, as opposed to the grandeur of a cruise ship, or the sophistication of a super yacht experience.  Whilst we are in this area, it seems a good idea, and will help top up our cruising kitty from time to time.  The concept is low key, with intermittent bookings rather than back to back charters with a frenetic turnover of guests, which we feel will suit us well.  We have accepted our first booking for next month, and will use this as a guide of what to expect and whether to expand on the idea and opportunity.

Fort George and the waterfront in St Georges

We spent a great day in and around St. Georges, the capital of Grenada, strolling along the waterfront and roaming the streets and market. It is one of the prettiest of all Caribbean harbours, and very popular with the cruise ships. The town wraps around the bay and lagoon, and is dominated by Fort George, built in 1706, which overlooks  both the Caribbean Sea and the harbour. Georgian architecture abounds, as does the French influence from nearly two centuries of Grenada changing hands between Britain and France.  The waterfront is lined with red roofed buildings ranging from dilapidated to beautifully restored, housing harbour industries, government departments, eating places and the odd vagrant.  The main fishing and cruise ship activities are within the town harbour (the Carenage), whilst the yachting and charter activities are in the lagoon, the horseshoe bay adjoining the harbour. There is an ancient tunnel under the fort, which links portions of the town. Grenada is known as the Spice Island of the Caribbean, and this is very evident in the marketplace where there are endless tiny little stalls loaded to capacity with every type of spice and essence you can imagine. There are more spices per square mile on Grenada than anywhere else on the globe, and a third of the world’s nutmeg is produced here.   I even found powdered  and fresh bergamot, famous for the flavouring in my most favourite tea, Earl Grey.  I discovered that bergamots are not intended to be eaten in their ‘citrus’ state; having cut one open to inspect, I ran my tongue over the flesh and ended up with numb zingy lips and mouth for hours after that.  Nothing could take the discomfort away, and now I look with suspicion at my little packet of powdered bergamot….any suggestions?? 

Tour guides – the boys from Panache

Tunnel…Hugenot…

St Georges tunnel to the fort and town

Pedestrians and cars squash in together

Although fabulous and varied eating places abound, we decided to have a burger as it was ‘Build a Burger’ day at the quaint little bakery set up by a South African cruising couple near the marina in the lagoon.  I doubt if I have eaten ten burgers in my life time, but this sure was a treat. 

Yuck Val

On another trip to St. Georges, we asked the taxi to drop us off at the Post Office, as I had a Xmas box to send off home.  We were surprised that the post office is not located in a business hub, just randomly situated near the ship container depot.  I had arrived expecting to find a nearby stationery shop or at least be able to buy a bubble wrap envelope or small box within the P.O., but the assistants were baffled when  I asked!  Eventually after much to-ing and fro-ing a battered box was found which we re-invented with sticky tape, but it needed to be covered with brown paper.  Two asymmetrical scraps were procured by our box helper, which we patched together with more sticky tape, the stamps and the parcel ticket, and finally we posted the box!  We noticed much covert amusement (or was it ridicule?) at our antics.  ‘Will this get to South Africa by Xmas?’ I asked rhetorically….it was about the 20^th November.  Not likely I was told, it has to go via the UK and will take about 2 months!!  Well, it’s the thought and wrapping that counts.  One particular day we got back to Katlyn, only to discover that Doug had left his darkglasses somewhere in town. Luckily he thought he could remember where, so the next day he had to go in search of them – no problem, they were still there, exactly where he had left them!  What was different about this trip though, was that a large liner was on the dock and instead of the town was flooded with thousands of tourists eager to find that special souvenir.

Picturesque waterfront, The Carenage, St Georges

St Georges church steeple

Influx of tourists in St Georges

While we were in the Prickly Bay anchorage,  we drew up a basic schedule of dates, anchorages and distances in nm, so we could plan our timing and route to Fort de France in Martinique, where we meet Dylan on the 13th Dec.  Included in the schedule was stops at all the places on the ‘charter’ route for our first guests at the end of the month. With all these stops to fit in, and the fact that the passage northwards is always a beat into the NE trades, we decided it was time to get moving.

Alongside the marina jetty taking on water

Grand entrance to the marina, with Katlyn on the end. Doug in the distance

Chandelier fit for Phantom of the Opera on a marina

A couple of days later, filled with our first bought water and ready to move on, we sailed around to St. Georges and anchored off.  Here we were greeted with the sight of a huge passenger liner on the dock nearby. What is so amazing is that they come into relatively shallow water under their own steam, totally unaided by pilots or tugs, you’ve got to admire that. The setting is gorgeous, with the scenic town and commanding fort against the mountains, the crisp white cruise ship, the yachts, resorts and beaches.  As evening settled in, all the lights started flickering on and the view was quite surreal.  Whilst not one our favourite sights, the cruise ships do look truly amazing all lit up at night. Unfortunately we haven’t bought a camera since Katie went off with hers, so our rather shoddy photos are a result of using a cell phone or iPad instead.

Pretty lights in St George harbour

Grenada to Carriacou

By Doug

For the last month the wind has hardly changed, NNE to ENE – 15 to 25 knots. The lower half of the Windward Islands run NE to SW, so as we planned our passage to Union Island via Ronde Island and Carriacou, we knew it would entail a fair amount of motor-sailing. The general tactic is to sail North in the lee of the island and as you round the top of the island, you try to make some easting before heading NE across the passage. It has been 16 years since we last sailed these waters and one tends to forget that each little island passage, along with different wind and current has changing characteristics. What might work one day does not necessary work on another.

 At first light we were under way and as we rounded the Northern end of Grenada we were reminded what Caribbean sailing can be like. It was like a washing machine, the swells were coming from all directions and trying to beat into that was not going to happen. So it was on with the donkeys and we crashed our way along, losing ground to leeward at an alarming rate.

It was then that Val, whilst on galley duty (no comments please) noticed water pouring into the bilges. Now I have always found that this kind of scenario tends to raise the heart rate, but “luckily” I have been in this situation on a few occasions before.  So I traced the source back to the Port stern section and on inspection, I found the area around the rudder post in about 2 feet of water. The biggest fear is water coming in from the rudder post as this is near impossible to repair at sea.  I remember many years ago when I was new to sailing, an “old salt” telling me what to do in this situation. So I simply scooped up a handful of water and tasted it. It was fresh. Obviously this eliminated most of the worries other than us losing our precious, paid for,  fresh water.

We beat and bashed our way to the remote anchorage at Rhonde Island, skirting the 1.5nm exclusion zone demarcating the active volcano lying just west of Rhonde. It is easy to understand why this part of the passage is so unpredictable and uncomfortable.  The depths over these few miles range from 1200m surrounding the volcano, to 500m in the crater, with parts of the rim and the approach to Rhonde being 100 or so. This creates currents and swells from all directions.  We anchored and proceeded to bail all the water out. It turned out to be a ruptured water pipe for the transom shower which I isolated from the fresh water system. Unfortunately, with any kind of flooding, it always involves packing out all the wet gear (luckily it was our Scuba Gear) to dry out. After a snorkel and lunch we headed through a narrow passage, same revolting  sea, and beat the rest of our way to Carriacou. Once there we discovered that the hatch above our bunk had been a crack open through this tossed up sea….

In the lee of Ronde Island with Diamond rock on the left. This is where we isolated the water leak

Tyrrel Bay

By Val

Tyrrel Bay, Carriacou, is a convenient stop over.  Not remarkable, but certainly peaceful and simplistic.  We busied ourselves with repairing the water leak, unpacking under the bunk where it was flooded, bailing, rinsing and drying out the BC’s and other gear, and drying out the deepfeeze where it had been standing in water.  Luckily, despite the electrics sitting in water, the freezer has not complained.  Also a fairly time consuming and water expensive exercise was rinsing the saltwater out of our bedding, most notably the mattress covers and mattress protectors.  The hatches all have a setting where they can be just ‘cracked’ open, but still secured with the latch, and a cursory glance when checking will not notice this oversight…..one needs to make sure!!

View down into Tyrrel Bay, Carriacou

We explored the rustic and simple waterfront, basic shops ramshackled along the street, all local and unsophisticated. Then it was time to do the obligatory taxi ride to see the lay of the land further afield, so we waved down a taxi and wound our way to Hillsborough, the capital.  En route we saw a grassy hillside cemetery in the distance, with white washed tombstones interspersed with vegetation and creepers.  Looked like a peaceful way to spend eternity, until we rounded the corner and got stuck in a funeral traffic jam.  The road is windy, and cut into the hillside, so two cars can only just pass each other, but not if the funeral procession has parked along the road.  A good amount of cussing and complaining was happening, with a continuous commentary from the passengers as a free for all situation developed with cars and taxis trying to shoulder each other out of the way, others reversing haphazardly.  On the grassy hillside where last respects were being paid, the audience was more enthralled with the traffic snarl up than the eulogy. It was very entertaining.  Eventually after a good 20 minutes or so, the local force arrived and traffic sense was restored.

The taxi dropped us off in Hillsborough, a rather run down town boasting the loftiness of capital.  We wandered around trying to be inspired, but it really did not appeal to us.  We inspected the local beauty salon and bar alongside, bought a top up of veges at a stall and taxied back to the anchorage where we had beers and an early supper on shore at a lovely beach restaurant. 

Closed for business…damn

Sports Bar, not showing the rugby…DAMN

Could’ve worked well to have a facial while Doug watched the rugby, the two were alongside each other…..

Beauty and the beast (salon and bar)

Maybe some bread from the bakery

Settled on a few sad tomatoes and some mouldy onions

En route to Saline Island

Carriacou to Union

By Doug

It was time to head off again and we rounded the Southern Point of Carriacou and motored the couple of miles to stunning Sandy Island. This is just a strip of pure white sand surrounded by azure waters, with a little bush and a few palm trees.  We anchored in 4 meters of water and swam ashore with our masks only.  We walked up to the Northern point , re-entered the water and snorkeled all the way back down. The sea life was amazing with lots of fish, schools of squid, coral and plenty of lobster.  It is a marine reserve and it took all my self-discipline to stop one or two “jumping” into my baggies!

Sandy Island, Grenada

After lunch at this lovely spot, we upped anchor and headed for the dreaded Northern end of the island for the short passage to Union Island. Surprise, in the same conditions as before, the sea was flat and we covered the short distance in no time at all, pointing 45 degrees to windward with main and close hauled genoa. The barber haulers we installed on the coach roof worked incredibly well.  In Union, we anchored in 3m of water off Clifton Harbour,  behind an exposed reef.  Other than a small swell on the beam, it is reasonably comfortable. (unless you only have one hull).

A quick word on that point.  As most of you know, I have sailed monohulls most of my sailing life. I will never have a bad word to say about them and I truly have fantastic memories in the 6 years we cruised on them. But boy, do I feel the pain for my fellow sailors on a slightly roly anchorage. This is especially evident at night, when all the anchor lights on the masts compete with each other to see who can create the widest acute angle. I can remember times when we literally were rolled out of our bunks on anchor. Both Mono and Multihulls have their pros and cons, but the two biggest factors that we have come to realise are that one, we spend the majority of the time sailing in the favourable wind vector of 270 degrees and two, that of all the time we spend aboard, only a minimal amount is spent actually sailing. The rest is mostly on anchorage. The volume, stability and comfort on the most basic boat is not to be under estimated, and so cruising on a catamaran is, for us, preferable. Having said that, I still love to sail a monohull!

Clifton, Union Island

By Val

The anchorage in Clifton Bay is breathtakingly gorgeous, protected to the north by an expansive reef in a kaleidoscope of colours,  but with an unobstructed view towards Mayreau and the Tobago Cays.  Kite boarders are prolific, traversing the gap between the yacht anchors and the reef with such speed and precision that our initial fears of a kite boarder tangled in out mast quickly evaporated. 

Anchored behind Newlands Reef, Clifton Harbour, Union Island

The town of Clifton is charming and beguiling, full of colour and character. It has a cosmopolitan feel about it, mixing the hustle and bustle of an airport, a port, a vibrant tourism and day charter industry, and locals going about their daily business. A Twin Otter regularly lands at the adjacent airstrip to drop off a new batch of tourists.  A few upmarket boutiques nestle unpretentiously in colourful buildings alongside kiosks and local souvenir shops, fruit stalls and kids playing in the street.  Joys of all joys, I encountered Signa, whose husband sold his fishing boat (good move, there appear to be no fish in this sea ) to buy a plot of land.  He now farms fresh produce, while Signa runs the kiosk.  For the first time since SA, I bought fresh rocket, basil, coriander and mint. It was expensive by SA standards, but fresher and friendlier you could not get.

Kiosks in Clifton, Union Island

More of Union

By Doug

The next day we took the dinghy to Palm Island, a privately owned island with a hotel tastefully tucked away between the Palm Trees. You are allowed ashore to walk the beach and swim, but not into the hotel itself unless you are dining there.  We had a very disappointing  snorkel  on the adjoining reef.

Palm Island looking towards Union Island

Palm Island Jetty

Our favourite anchorage in Union Island has to be at Frigate Island, a spit jutting out into the ocean, with a rugged koppie perched on its end. The little town ashore is called Ashton, here is the Welcome sign!

Welcome oxymoron

But there are some pretty homes in the village!

Customer at vege stall

Frigate Island and bay with the Pinnacle in the background

It has a lovely reef with good snorkelling on the windward side and pure white sand on the other side.  Some years ago extensive work started on developing a 300 boat marina, but the project went bankrupt, and the remains are still evident.  It is in fact where we are at the moment, anchored in 2m of water.  You can snorkel around the boat collecting Sand Dollars (Pansy Shells) on the sandy bottom, and checking out the multitude of huge starfish, and the odd ray, in the crystal clear water.

Frigate Island anchorage

The island topography is made up of a series of mountains of which the highest peak is about 350m. They are covered in very dense bush, thorn trees, sisal plants and various cacti and prickly pears. How do I know this, well that leads me to our next adventure.  We both love hiking and climbing mountains so yesterday Val suggested we climb one of the peaks above the anchorage. So while she got her things together, I packed the lunch (who says I don’t do galley duty – no comments please). So, I did what any guy would do, I grabbed a tin of sardines, half a baguette, left over coleslaw and my Swiss army knife. Val had done some research on the route and had a good idea of where to go.

Blissfully unaware of the challenge ahead, with Frigate Island (the pointy one) in the background

On the way ashore, we stopped at one of the local boats to ask them to keep an eye on our boat while we were gone and in conversation, they told us of a different route (who says men never ask for directions). So with a small backpack containing our “lunch”, lots of water and a machete we headed up the mountain. We walked up a local road, sharp left onto the grassy slopes, boy were we making good time! Doug’s secret route was proving a great success. It was at about this time that the bush started to get thicker and I was being forced to cut away sections of the prickly pears, stopping all the more frequently to pull thorns out of my anatomy.

Declaring war on the prickles

Boy, we were no longer making such good time. From that point on it just got more and more difficult and about 75% of the way up, while sucked in against a vertical rock face, Val quietly questioned if this was a route at all.  After hacking our way and climbing some more difficult sections, we finally reached the top of the Pinnacle! Not a walk in the park!

On top of The Pinnacle with a cheshire cat grin, Mayreau in the background

On top of the Pinnacle

What a view! You can see from St Vincent in the North all the way to Grenada in the South. Once again our ‘camera’ does not do justice to the breathtaking vista

Looking south to Frigate Anchorage and abandoned marina, with Carriacou and Grenada in the distance

Clifton Harbour and Palm Island to the east

The view north up the Windward Islands, Mayreau left mid pic, behind that is Canouan and in the far distance Bequia. To the right are the turquoise waters of the Tobago Cays

When we settled down for lunch, it dawned on me that I had not packed any eating utensils, so we improvised with the Swiss Army knife and a container lid (called a ‘Nicky’ in our galley as these are indispensable containers donated by Nic and Gugs Waterson).

Lunch with Mayreau and Tobago Cays in the background

A ‘Boy’ lunch

Eating like a bergie, using a lid for a spoon

Up there, perched all alone on that little piece of paradise – who gives a damn about the 22 thorns still sticking out of my backside! We took the tourist route down – funny that it should be exactly where Val said it would be. But it was not as exciting as my secret route, so secret that even I wouldn’t be able to find it again! How impressed I was with Val for completing the arduous journey with far less thorns in her butt.

Frigate Island Anchorage – Union Island

(Turquoise water, trade winds, mountains)

Irritation:  No fish to catch in this part of the sea

Cost of a coke:  EC$ 5

Polish singer, the Fiddlers and us on my birthday

The trip from Tobago to Trinidad is only 70 or so nm, aided by a west setting current, until the passage through the bocas, which are channelsor passes through a series of islands, where dependent on the tide and prevailing wind, the current can either aid or abate your trip.  There are stories of boats taking hours to complete the last few miles of the trip, and we were amazed at the counter current we had to push against, and the effect it had on the sea state.

The passage through the first boca, under way to Trini

Current and tidal effects through the boca

For those of you who are not familiar with Trinidad, let me fill you in.  The hurricane season runs from June to the end of November each year, and affects a vast area in the North Atlantic, Gulf of Mexico, and pretty muchthe entire Caribbean area.  Trinidad is on the southern boundary of this area and has not experienced a hurricane in over 100 years, and as such has evolved into an enormous yachting mecca for storing, maintenance and provisioning while yachties wait out the season.  Chaguaramas, where the boating world dominates,  is on the southern coast of the north western peninsular of Trini, and stretches out along the coast against a backdrop of rainforest clad mountains, with eleven  small forested islands  just offshore.  It  is a section of several kilometres where boatyards, jetties, moorings and marinas, sophisticated  travel lifts and outhaul facilities, associated boating industries and chandleries, restaurants, internet cafes and the like exist side by side for the exclusive purpose of providing a service to yachties and liberally lining the pockets of the tradesmen and entrepreneurs who have had the foresight to establish their businesses here.  At any one time there is an average of 3000 boats here, most of them ‘on the hard’ busy with repairs, or in storage.  When leaving Tobago, we were considering heading straight to Grenada,  but having missed Trinidad on our last travels, decided to pop over to Trini for a brief visit, just so it we didn’t feel cheated.  Our plan was to stay for a week or so, it has turned out to be the ‘or so’ bit, we can’t quite fathom why, but we have now been here well over a month.  Unless you own a boat, you probably will never appreciate the on-going and unrelenting work involved in the upkeep of Katlyn, so coupled with jobs never finished in SA, and new challenges of the bilges, we have been on a continued slog, Doug mostly buried in the engines, battery lockers or bilges,  or up the mast, and me at my sewing machine creating summer clothes for Katlyn, or the never ending task of keeping the boat fungus free and clean and Doug’s tummy full.

Katlyn anchored off Chaguaramas with some of the boat yards in the background

and our ‘family car’ in one of the many parking lots for dinghys,(we are just in front of the orange dinghy, almost invisible)

The added bonus of such an extended stay has been meeting up again with our very good friends Ian and Chrissie Bruton on Solvesta, with whom we spent a good deal of time in the Indian Ocean on Gambit.

Solvester being moved

Doug and Ian enjoy a beer after a dirty day’s work

On arrival we anchored off the TTSA (Trinidad and Tobago Sailing Association) clubhouse for a couple of days and enjoyed their crystal clear pool and flatscreen TV facilities, but as it became apparent that we would need shore power and the convenience of being on a mooring to undertake work, we moved around to Power Boats, one of the repair yards, where we took a berth for a week and started on all these jobs. Our mooring neighbours were a bunch of four paunchy, hairy, crass, middle-aged Italians who were having some stainless steel work done on their boat, which required them to be off the boat during the day.  They set up camp at the stern of our boat each day, and clad in the most un-enchanting  of yachtie wear, gave us a full experience of their bohemian lifestyle, their nether regions, and their uncouth manners. Yuck.

Alongside at Power Boats Marina

Another pic, same place, note the gang plank for boarding, easy at high tide, but tricky at low.

Doug at work, me back from a shopping trip in Port of Spain

Of course a week turned into more, nothing proved as simple as it should have been, so we settled into life in Chaguaramas, as yachties tend to do, intermingling days of very hot sweaty work with some lighter moments. These are some of the happenings in our world over the last few weeks.

The early bird catches the worm wake up call….every morning without fail, this little chappie perched on our guardrail well before dawn, to welcome the new day.

He is a kiskadie, and pretty persistent about his message.  There was no way to be disgruntled as he serenaded us into the darkest mornings, well ahead of his other feathered counterparts.  Just got up and put the kettle on the gas, (interestingly, our boat brained minds took a full four days to register that we were on shore power and had an electric kettle..)

The late night wake up call…. Kate and I were busy with girl stuff, Doug fast asleep in his bunk, when our peaceful world was shattered with a rumbling and a grumbling and a vibrating and gyrating so intense and scary, it seemed we were being run down by an enormous ship. But as we were in a mooring berth, this couldn’t be.  Kate and I watched as the pylons to which ours and all the other boats mooring lines were secured to, shook and vibrated like jack hammers at work, the surrounding water was rippled and confused, and Katlyn shuddered all over.  The masts of the boats on the hard did the same, and the noise persisted.  Then it was all over after several minutes, Doug was bolt upright in bed, and we were just aghast – so what was that? Could only have been an earth tremor, we thought, but what a ridiculous notion, no-one has mentioned that possibility ever.  But turns out it was, 7.4 on the richter scale, but the epicentre some distance away from us.  Solvester  said the next morning that they envisioned the domino effect their boat would have caused if the props holding them up on the hard had collapsed.  As there are monohulls interspersed with catamarans all over the dock yard, his interpretation was a series of desperate meouws!

The early evening swim… ok, so now’s the time to mention the water.  For all things good about Trini, the water is not.  Fair at times, but mostly  foul and littered, sometimes with a thin smelly layer of diesel and slime,  just for an extra touch of disgust,  and add to that us being in the corner mooring which creates an eddy perfect for the accumulation of such filth.  On such a day, at low tide, when boarding the boat is tricky to say the least,  Katie’s  special dark glasses (a gift from her brother) fall into the mess while she negotiates the rather precarious plank laden with goodies from a day of shopping in Port of Spain.  Needless to say, there was no choice but to quickly grab a mask and snorkel, and fully clothed  she slipped gingerly into the water between the plastic bottles and bags, bobbing beer bottles, chip packets, and diesel,  luckily managing to find her glasses on the bottom in the gathering dark.  We hosed her down like a dog that’s been rolling in ….well something.

Unwelcome swim

A word about the litter – this is not filth created by yachts, this is a working port and huge ships are tied up.  Their practise is to empty their waste directly into the bay.  As we speak, a huge container ship is berthed just 100 metres from us, and a night or two ago, as we were dinghying back from braaiing ashore, we were horrified that the entire bay was afloat with litter, the spaces between each item not more than 30cm apart, all soaked in a liberal film of oil.  It seems no one cares, certainly no one reacts. Onto happier activities.

My birthday a super relaxing day spent skyping with Dylan and Mom, opening a pile of fabulous pressies cleverly thought out by Doug and Kate, and a festive braai in the evening.  I was treated with the hanging of two awesome pics using some clever 3M product called Command picture hangers which ensure that the picture can be removed and rehung at any time (our pictures now cover unsightly but essential to access cupboards), and the hangers themselves can be removed without leaving a trace. Smart eh?

One of my two birthday pics

Also some brass plaques for the cabin doors naming each cabin (we are tired of – it’s in the aft starboard cabin, you know the one where Dylan was sleeping but now all the canvas work is).  4 previous boats, 4 cabin names!

Brass plaques to name the cabins

And some friendly geckos, girlie stuff and more.  Very spoilt I was.

Colourful geckos

Not so relaxing for Kate and Doug; we had an electrician aboard doing some troubleshooting for us while Katie did the birthday baking, two carrot cakes, one for the evening braai, one for the boat, a milk tart etc. All was in the gas oven when an untimely turning off of power caused the gas solenoid to shut off, unnoticed by the chef at the time, so birthday cakes were dubious in quality but not a crumb remained.  Well done Katie for all the hard work, cake mishaps and salad calamities included, and thank you Chrissie for baking too, your choccy cake was amazing and helped feed the hoard of yachties.  One of the highlights of the evening braai was a serenade by a polish chap, who arrived on an old fashioned bicycle adorned with bells and whistles,  and a guitar in a case.  Without any intro, he broke into the chatter with the Polish Happy Birthday, loud, spirited and jangly, then he had everyone joining in with the traditional one, and finally, Jan Pierewit! Turns out this adventurous traveller has cycled most continents, and his most recent trip was from North Africa to Cape Town before catching a ride on a yacht across the Atlantic.  He certainly has a story or two to tell and was even sporting a Sharks T-shirt. (see first photo).  Thank you Jim, from ‘Fiddler’, who we met in Tobago, for organising this –  it was a novel idea.

Happy Birthday serenade

Group photo with the Fiddlers, the polish singer and Kate and I

Shopping…….Port of Spain is the capital city, about a half hour maxi taxi ride.  The maxis are super-efficient and very easy to catch, you simply stand on the side of the road and signal with a lift of your hand, and within a few minutes you are bouncing and bobbing and weaving along a winding road just wide enough for two cars.

Into the maxi taxi

Every now and then you stop to load a passenger, and so do all the cars behind you stop, for there is nowhere to overtake, but there is no road rage, no hooting, no cursing.  ‘Caribbean time mon’.  Although most of the taxis are in various stages of disrepair with weird clunking sounds and disembowelled air-conditioners , all their sound systems work well…enough said.  It costs a mere TT5 (5 Trini dollars, about R7.50) for this experience, and you get loaded off at the taxi rank in Port of Spain. Not so efficient was a private car taxi which we caught once.  The shabbily dressed slacker spent the best part of the trip answering his cell phone and arguing with someone in a mixture of English and their local dialect, distracted on the road and rather unnerving.  Justice was served when we got pulled over by the police, and he was fined for no seatbelt and talking on his mobile, TT1000 (R1500) per offence.  Our taxi fare didn’t cover it.  This guy was sure having a blue Monday.  Back to shopping –  It is a fascinating experience spending a day in town, the vibe is bustling, busy, somewhat dirty, somewhat ‘looking over your shoulder’, and the contrasts remarkable.  Boutique shops with upmarket designer clothing rub shoulders with cheap Chinese imports on vendor’s stalls, expensive goldsmiths and jewelry outlets compete with jangly costume pieces, there are fabric shops galore, draped with colourful samples across their doorways and the pavements are bursting with hawkers.

Fabric shops in Port of Spain, can you see me?

Street scene

And more!

There are food courts and street vendors selling local food interspersed with the odd restaurant. Efficient businessmen and women in corporate dress, step around vagrants sleeping on cardboard boxes.

Evidence of food courts

One of our favourite shops was the carnival costume supply shop.  Check out the pics!  One can lose oneself in the vibe and before you know it, be queuing along with 500 others for a taxi home at the end of a day (this is now a two hour affair).

Baboon Spiders

Some cultural and eco-tourism…Kate did some research and planned a day around Trinidad, taking in the main attractions, including a cathedral.

a labyrinth…

a monastery…

Where Doug was more interested in removing the wires for a perfect take off site and I listened to his plan of action with pseudo interest!

a mosque…

Hindu temple and Hanuman statue…

We took a trip down to the pitch lake, a slowly churning lake of natural bitumen which you can walk on with intermittent warm springs bubbling through, which provided bitumen for road coverings worldwide.

Squelching our feet in the bitumen

Bubbling gases and hot springs

We visited the Pointe-a-Pierre Wild Fowl Trust, and were impressed by the beautiful set up and incredible bird life, as well as the amazing work this organization is doing in environmental education and rehabilitation of endangered species.

The office at the bird sanctuary

Scarlet ibises

Pretty surroundings

Whistling tree duck

Unfortunately our tour of the sanctuary was hampered by torrential and unrelenting rain!

Rained out tour, but spirits not dampened

A brief reprieve

One of the highlights of our touristy occupations was a visit to the magnificent Gasparee Caves on one of the outlying islands, marred only by the rabble of fellow tourists who completely ignored the guides attempt to educate them, munched and slobbered on chips, and of course had no volume buttons or courtesy at all.  The guide eventually gave up and concentrated his efforts on the few of us who appreciated the ‘serenity’ and awesomeness of being underground in a fairytale world.  The laugh was on us, when as a special treat, we were given the unprecedented thumbs up to swim in the underwater lake; of course the ‘non-swimmers’ couldn’t join in!

Swimming in the cavern

Mermaid

Beautiful formations of limestone

Diwali…Jesse James, a local and well supported tour operated organized a special evening into a hindu village to experience the festival of lights and the honouring of the Hindu Goddess of light, beauty, riches and love, Lakshmi.  We were entertained by drummers and dancers (whose unusual and captivating style of head and arm movements was amazing), given a traditional vegetarian curry meal served on banana leaves, and then we strolled around the village viewing the thousands of flickering deyas (tiny clay pots with candle wicks and oil), the beautifully lit and decorated homes and streets, and collecting gifts of sweets from some of the locals, who are all dressed in glittering traditional costume for the occasion.

Street lighting at Diwali

Banana leaf plates and eating with out hands

Rhythmic drummers

Colourful Shrines

Hunting and Gathering….well, not a place for hunting, the rods are out of the rod holders and temptations way, down in the forepeak storage, so gathering it must be.  The local supermarket is the Hi Lo, the larger stores are probably equivalent to a Pick and Pay back home, and the smaller ones similar to a Friendly or 7/11. There is also a Price Smart which is a membership  bulk shopping store similar to Makro.  You can get most commodities here, including liquor, for about  one and a third times home prices, and with this in mind we have done a substantial provisioning, as the further north one goes , the more expensive it gets.  Fresh produce is a challenge, these people are not farmers by either choice or expertise.  Most of the produce is imported and that which is locally grown is so scant that it too, is expensive.  An average sized paw-paw is R35, (on a tropical island?!) a kg of tomatoes is R38, potatoes virtually unaffordable as is other fruit except apples and bananas, which are R6 each.  Packeted potato flakes are what we are reduced to.  Free range chickens are a figment of the imagination, as is karoo lamb, but the Trini mutton is ok, better that goat, which is the preferred staple with the locals, and we have adjusted our minds to battery chickens. Bodi beans have become a favourite, they are very long, about 50 to 60cm, and are delicious just steamed (yes, I do cut them to fit in the pot, sillies). We hired a car for a day, after getting caught without  ride home one day – the taxis will not stop if you have more than one or two bags.  Doug and I had managed to hustle a coolerbox in to the empty taxi on the ride in, but no joy on the way back to Katlyn!

Gathering in the absence of hunting

Doug is always astounded at the amount of toilet paper bought and stashed In the most inaccessible of cubbyholes and lockers.  This is a reminder why…..

Laundry…instead of putting my baby twin tub to work, I have been doing loads in the super -sized machines ashore, well priced at 15TT a load (R22), and bringing it back to the boat to hang on the guardrails. This is of course still an exercise as the loading and dinghying ashore, lugging it to the Laundromat, waiting for a machine (yes, we queue for the privilege of an automatic) and then for the cycle to complete, lugging back down to the dinghy and then to the boat, all requires some effort….oh,  its just dawning on me right now that I am the laundry lugger and Doug is the water lugger….go figure, no wonder he approves. (jokes aside, he does help lugging)

Canvas work…finally, after weeks of really time consuming and labour intensive sewing, I have embarked on and completed all the major canvas work that there was no time for back home.  We have roll down sides for the cockpit bimini, which act both as sun screens, rain screens  and ‘privacy curtains’ (new terminology bandied around here), a full on roll away bimini over the entire coach roof to shield the vast saloon windows from heat absorption, a fold away bimini for the trampoline, clip on saloon window sunscreens to replace the old ones and further insulate the saloon, a dinghy cover, and outboard motor cover and harness, as well as mosquito nets for the cabins.  When my work was done and dusted on all these creations, it still required some ingenuity and many days’ work for Doug to attach or install all Katlyn’s new clothes.

Katlyn with her new biminis

Doug working on attaching the dinghy cover

Dougs work….days and weeks of maintenance including fitting a new wind instrument, which proved tricky as it turned out the one pin had broken off the sender unit and was lodged in the cable at the top of the mast, (luckily Ian was very obliging and helped with this protracted repair), re- conditioning of alternators, fitting of new Yamaha ignition boards, making new outboard motor stands on the guardrails, putting a shelf in the galley, arguing with the bilge pumps and re-aligning and troubleshooting pulleys and belts in the engines. He was also hard at work braaiing supper some evenings and competing with Ian for the most South African joke over a few beers.

Ian helping Doug who is up the mast

there’s Doug

Safely down

American Visas…..well these had to be done somewhere, so we embarked on the convoluted process of the online application, payment (only at a Scotia Bank, no we don’t accept your credit card, oh the machine is out of order, oh, you will have to do it in two steps as your daily limit will not allow for the exorbitant visa fee etc)  , create an appointment on line, and then wait in the hot sun for an hour, followed by another two in the holding cells of the embassy…, but that all said and done, 10 year multiple entry visas ticked off the list. For obvious reasons, there are no photos of this encounter.

And Katie’s exodus to the USA… in search of a paying job (tired of skivvying on Katlyn, and time to get real.)  Two weeks ago, after nearly a year living on Katlyn, and 5 months cruising with us, we did the early morning airport trip,(had to be there at 4.20 am for a 6.20am flight), and we bid farewell to Kate, headed to the Miami Boat Show in the hope of getting a  berth and job on one of the super yachts, her life packed into one backpack and a small tog bag. Good luck my darling, you are sorely missed on “Katlyn” and we hope your plans come together. Perhaps we will intercept along the chain of islands as we head north, and you south aboard your new home.

And last but not least…the inevitable search and conquer of the internet cafe, without which all things cyber, banking, corresponding, blogging, querying, skyping, cursing, and socializing would cease to exist, and where I sit close to hyperthermic in the ice cold chill of an overworked air-con trying to get the blog updated before we sail to Grenanda in a day or two’s time.  This internet cafe closes at 4pm each day, and the stragglers move outside to continue their skype conversations, movie downloads and the likes on the steps of the local chandlery.

Internet stragglers

As always it seems the blog gets updated just before we head off to a new location and it is the first time that I have had to do the formatting and input of the blog myself. That didn’t go so well… So on the eve of our departure to Grenade, I have got Kate sitting in Florida formatting the blog.

Looking forward to proper Caribbean waters and sending you all some more stories.

>>>>>Remember to have a look at the rest of the pictures <<<<<

– Val

Trinidad, West Indies

(Lights, Litter, and Yachts, yachts and yachts of yachts)

Bargain: Free Wifi in an air-conditioned room with printer and I.T. services.

Irritation/Quirk: Yachties owning dogs who bark when your yacht turns on anchor.

Cost of a coke: TT$6.00

Setting himself up to land on the beach.

One morning we woke up to a westerly wind, pretty uncommon in the Caribbean at this time of the year, and instantly knew it heralded an ‘out of the ordinary’ day.  Previously, on our road trip around the island with Trevor and Linda, Doug had identified only one possible paragliding take off spot on the whole island (a steep terraced slope high above the picture postcard fishing village of Castara on the north eastern shore) but it could only work on a westerly.  With not a moment to lose, we lifted the anchor as the sun was rising and set off north for an hour or two, dropping anchor again just off the beach.

The contrast between ‘father and son’ take off spots. Dylan climbed to the top of Stellenbosch Berg (Mountain) in SA, with his kit on his back and in the bitterly cold weather, from where he did a high altitude solo flight with magnificent views of the surrounding mountains.

Once on shore with his paraglider, Doug needed to get up the surprisingly steep hill to his spot. He approached a local (who Kate and I bumped into a few days later – and still recognized us) and the conversation went something like this:

Doug:  Morning there, I’m looking for a ride to the top of the hill, would any of you be going that way and help me out?
Local: Hey mon, wa you wont do un top der hill?
Doug:  I’m going to try fly off the top.
Local:  (Deep deliberate slow laugh emanating from his belly) hah hah hah hah, I gotta see this, jump in my car I take you up….

And that was the first time the Carabiners (so named ‘cos they tend to hang around a lot) got to see a man fly.  With the help of his disbelieving driver, Doug managed a rather tricky launch but enjoyed a laid back, hour long flight along the coastal ridge, among the frigates with views of the beaches, coves and islands surrounded by warm tropical waters, before executing a perfect landing on the narrow beach, much to the amazement  of the handful of tourists and locals – the scenery in startling in contrast to Dylan’s flight!

The paparazzi of Kate and myself made sure the historical moment was captured on film, Katie  taking the dinghy to below the launch site about 3km from the anchorage, and then to the beach to take some snaps (and in the process getting to see a fabulous sting ray in the shallows), and I managing to get a video of the antics, which I will upload soon.

So that’s my version of the morning – it would have been nice to get a personal perspective from the pilot but he is too busy being a Carabiner himself.

The day was still young so we took the dinghy around the point and did a drift snorkel along the shore, towing the dinghy with us.  How lucky we were to see a green turtle that settling into the sea grass among the rocks where we could do repeated dives to get a really close look.

A balmy lunch followed, and then Doug did another flight, complete with paparazzi.  Of course, the unusual wind had to have repercussions, and later in the evening the onshore swell built in the confined bay and we spent a wild and worrying night on a bucking bronco,  with a close lee shore.

Our day in Castara had been perfect , and it created  the catalyst we needed to start moving on.  We had some unfinished business though, that needed to attend to (no, no  fixed appointments, no deadlines, just little things to do). We had been waiting weeks for  Doug’s belated birthday present of a fabulous book called Reef Fish Identification of the Caribbean, Bahamas and Florida, with interactive software.  Once back in Store Bay, Doug and Kate caught a taxi back to Scarborough post office to check for the umpteenth time for the parcel, and were relieved and excited to finally have it in their hands.  It is truly a compilation worth investing in with our lifestyle, and the DVD is an extension and elaboration of the book, incorporating videos, masses of photos and a personalized log of sightings.

We also needed to go back to Buccoo to say goodbye to the horses and get a few photos.  Katie’s initiative to get involved on a volunteer basis and was rewarded with making some lovely friends, spending time with the horses, having magical (free) beach rides and swims, meeting amazing visitors and in the evening, roaming among the fireflies where the horses are camped under the trees our on the shore edge.

Whilst back in Buccoo we decided to risk the wrath of the authorities and pay another visit to the Buccoo reef (off limits except for licensed tour boat), so we got up early and took a dinghy ride over to the reef . The snorkeling isn’t amazing but is very different from the shore line snorkeling in that here is more coral and vegetation.  We saw a large green moray, along with the normal array of angelfish, wrasses, surgeon, parrot, butterfly etc. Kate had finally dusted off the GoPro and had it with her which added a lot of excitement and focus to the outing, but frustratingly, there seems to be a gremlin living within as nothing recorded.  We also took a dip in Nylon Pool, where the depth drops off to 10metres or so within the confines of the reef (with our new interactive route map, you can click on satellite and zoom in to the reef and actually see the round deep pool on the satellite image).  Rumour has it that a dip in the pool makes you look ten years younger, so I was overboard in a heartbeat.  Not so Doug who either believes he already looks ten years younger, or doesn’t take heed of mythical rumours! Nylon pool was named by Princess Margaret in 1962 who swam here in her stockings during her honeymoon.

I had baked some early morning bran muffins so had packed a picnic breakfast of grapefruit juice, apples and muffins,  so with rumbling tummies we decided to get away from the reef before we got waylaid by the coastguard,  and head up into the Bon Accord lagoon, which is tucked up into the mangroves within the protective boundaries of the reef.  Bon Accord is an accepted hurricane hole, off limits to yachts unless a named hurricane is approaching, but makes a perfect spot to enjoy our breakfast picnic.

It was full moon that evening, and as the sun went down and the moon rose, we motored Katlyn back around to Store Bay.  It was a magic few hours with a pink and lilac sky and shimmering reflections on the water, which soon transformed into phosphorescent trails.

The next day we had sun downers at Coco reef hotel, which is the most beautiful setting and surprisingly well priced, and we left for Trinidad in the early hours of the next morning.

– Val

Have a look at the Gallery for more pictures.

Tobago, West Indies

(Steel drums, Rotis, Glass bottom Boats)
Bargain: Diesel at TT$1.50 per litre (R2.25) and Petrol at TT$2.75 per litre (R4.00)
Irritation/Quirk: Being hassled and propositioned by local Rusta gigolos, even with their baby on their lap and their wife in ear shot.
Cost of a coke: TT$18 (R27) tourist venue, TTS5 (R7.50) local venue.

After countless hours of arguing with Google Earth, my computer (the fan has just broken and now it overheats), strange looking codex languages of the technologically gifted and the low patience threshold of both mom and myself…

We are happy to say that we have a new interactive map (our routes tab) of all our previous and current travels for you to browse, explore and enjoy.

>>>>> Check it out here <<<<<

Store Bay after all the Holiday makers had left.

We’ve decided to head back to Store Bay now that the novelty of Wi-Fi has gone and been replaced with oppressive boredom. We only stay in Plymouth for the internet, to make some Skype calls to Dylan and do our necessary admin. So a quick 1 hour sail round to Store Bay– it’s changed in the last two weeks. The masses of local tourists have all returned to Trinidad, leaving the beaches peaceful and quiet, particularly since all the thumping glass bottom boats have stopped their tours, its bliss! The water has cleared, yachties have returned and all the ‘neighbours’ have decided to get together for dinner ashore at Curves Restaurant.

Dad contemplating the difficulties of life – while we buy our fresh produce.

We set off feeling like this was more familiar territory and what we had experienced in our previous sailing years. It was fantastic to laugh and exchange similar stories and knowledge. We met two South African single handers (so Dad got to whip out some Afrikaans again) and an Italian, Raphael, who has a wicked sense of humour. He crossed over from the Med with only a handful of GPS coordinates, absolutely no charts, and still managed to arrive in one piece. Mom got to know Linda and Trevor, originally from Canada, they had been cruising on and off for 22 years before settling here in Trevor’s home country. They were kind enough to offer to take us on a round trip of the island and give us the inside scoop of what is a must see here.

Trevor, Mom, Dad, Linda and myself.

Before we went up to Mt. Irvine to meet them, we planned a trip into Scarborough. The ‘taxi’ service here is hellava simplistic. You stand on the side of the road as if to hitch, a seemingly random car will pull over within 2 minutes, and you’ll be given a price to get to your destination. This system is more for the locals so you inevitably get guys trying to rip you off, but thanks to some helpful hand signals from the rest of the car’s occupants you get to know the status quo. In Scarborough we walked in the punishing heat all the way to the top to see Fort George, the beautifully maintained gardens and buildings and I tried to revisit some distant memories.

Fort George gardens

We took a walk around to Bacolet Beach to check out a restaurant for another night and had a drink at the hotels bar which is on a perfect beach; this got Dad and me talking about finding our flawless spot where we can lure unsuspecting tourists to spend vast quantities of money! R38 for a 275ml coke that was warm… madness! Especially when down the road its R9 for a 500ml at Retas’s Roti Shop, a local place that Lennon had sworn by. Lunch here, with a continuous stream of people from causal labourers to pencil skirted lawyers moving through it as Reta and her family turned out their delicious food.

Bacolet Bay

Rolling out of there having eaten far too much, we stopped off at TT Post to see if our new Reef Fish Identification software had arrived, 3 – 5 days express apparently means two or more weeks in Caribbean time. On the way back we stopped in at their ‘mall’ (something I encouraged with my birthday just around the corner), this is a huge building to rival any of SA’s malls, but with a pitiful amount of stores, if they even decided to be open. I have come to conclude that opening times are completely at random and at the discretion of the owner. Open from 9:00 to 12:00, then closed till 12:30, then closed from 14:00 to 16:00 and open until 18:00… how is anyone supposed to navigate their day through this?

Back up to Mt Irvine to meet Linda and Trevor at 9:00 on the beach. We wound around endlessly beautiful beaches and coves, with Linda’s informative running commentary and a humorous comment now and again from Trevor. Dad found a possible paragliding spot looking down on Castara Bay, but as always it depends entirely on whether the wind decides to be accommodating. A little further on at Parlatuvier (Par-la-too-vi-air), no laughing at my pronunciation French speakers; we stopped to walk inward to their waterfall. Tobago has 6 marked waterfalls and after harassing locals for the best one to visit we had decided to go to Argyle. Linda proved indispensable yet again as she explained that only the waterfalls that are government owned are displayed on the maps since you pay an entrance fee and in exchange you get a pathetic trickle of water ending in a muddy puddle. She showed us Parlatuvier falls, and although not overly spectacular, it boasted a beautiful deep pool for swimming after an awesome walk through the impressive bamboo tunnels. We were all sad to hear that the government has recently bought this land and newly constructed outhouses and pay stations were evidence of a soon to be crowded tourist spot.

Trevor, Mom and myself taking advantage of the free back massage.

We headed inland from here, along the aptly named Roxborough Parlatuvier Rd to (you’ll never guess) Roxborough, a town on the windward side of the island. Traveling further up the coast, we stopped at Speyside, a divers’ paradise as the land based launch pad for over 30 renowned dive spots. We decided to stop off at Jemma’s Seaview Treehouse, a restaurant built on and in amongst the trees on the water’s edge. In much need for a refreshing beverage, we were told that they don’t serve alcohol, about turn! We made a beeline instead for the Blue Waters Hotel (completely stunning), that looks onto Batteaux Bay. We will definitely be stopping off here with Katlyn, who knows maybe Dad can charm the Wi-Fi password out of them… We also found out where ‘Fiddler’, a cruising yacht we had previously made friends with, was hiding out.

Blue Waters Bay at Speyside, definitely will be heading this way soon.

Jemma’s Treehouse

Englishman’s Bay

We drove back via Man ‘O War Bay, a gorgeous place flanked by high rising tropical vegetation which I still remember climbing back in 1998. To compensate for Linda and Trevor’s hospitality, Mom made them two beautiful place mats and we were thrilled to have them join us for supper, along with Raphael, some delicious Italian wine and more than a few beers!

Looking on Castara Bay

I had a fantastic cruisers birthday, with a stunning bikini and bag made up by Mom, brand new earphones for skyping from Dad and the ickiest, stickiest chocolate cake made by yours truly. Up until now I’ve been using fins clipped over booties (an annoying complication particularly in water hotter than my bath) and so a new pair of fins meant I spent a large portion of the day snorkeling. While I was checking out some caves I found an arb creature starring back at me. It was definitely a crustacean of sort, easily 15cm wide and 45cm long with a hard grey-yellow shell. It had creepy crab-like legs and a near non-existent head but for two large fake yellow eyes not unlike a butterfly. Well out goes all my well ingrained respect of the ocean, I had to touch it… but there was no way I would with my bare hand. So off came my snorkel which I used as a hooking device to tip him out of his hole and watched while he flounder around before climbing back in. So I hooked him out again (typical human) and in the end he got fed up with me and high tailed it out of there in his backward swimming manner. Later I was to discover from Trevor that that is what a fully matured local lobster look like! Dammit, there goes dinner…

New Fins

Decisions needed to be made about whether we were going to take the Ferry down to Trinidad (a convenient place to avoid the hurricane belt and an absolute Mecca for boat repairs) or sail down ourselves and submit to the somewhat unpleasant beat into the wind to get back. Either way we have planned to head up along Tobago stopping in at the beautiful bays we saw on our car trip before heading in that direction. Then we will be getting itchy feet and move on up to Grenada to find some perfect spots to take Dylan to when he arrives in 3 months’ time… ah, the leisure.

– Kate

This is the Copper rumped hummingbird, one of the many sun birds species found on this Island.

>>>>> Have a look in the Gallery for more pictures <<<<<

Mom having fun behind the dingy!

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.

The ferry traveling at 33 knots passed us… Yikes!

The ferry’s AIS details.

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!

A Fresh on Gambit back in August 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.

Yes, I know this is hard to imagine from this pic…

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.

Buccoo Bay

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

Dad milking a small 2ft wave at Mt. Irvine.

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

Mom trying to drop in on another one of Dad’s waves… tisk tisk

Internet Bay

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!

Roti Heaven!

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.

Me on my wild goose chase.. 🙂

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.

Lennon helping a child during this years camp.

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.

The only photo we have of the horses, courtesy of mom and dad on the dingy.

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!

Nope, not one of us in this pic 😦

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

On the cliff at sunset.

>>>>> Check out the rest of the pics <<<<<

The 7 day sail was our last long leg and yet entirely different from crossing the Atlantic. We had to be on ‘active’ watch at all times, as we negotiated the shipping channels and played chess with unregistered, illegal fishing vessels that only turned on their lights at the last moment.  Dad and I had picked up some or other flu virus that made the unbearably hot days even worst, and made me want to sleep for days. At least we had great sailing and averaged 8.5 knots on Day 2, doing 203 miles in 24 hours, with the help of 1.5 knots of current. The temperature was at 29˚C at 08:00pm at the end of the day, having crossed the equator earlier with all our traditional ridiculousness and we had made the monumental sacrifice of one beer to Poseidon (or Neptune) to keep him in his good natured and jolly mood! We had some strange warm gusts of wind which would come through at complete random and heat up the already stifling days. We were particularly lucky to be joined by dolphins, with 6 or 7 pairs of mother and calf. We put on the deck light and lit up the water in front of us, with them putting on a show of jumps and splashes! Every now and then they would come directly underneath us and turn sideways to get a better look.

Games of Rummikub, baking bread and reading any book that had not yet reached its 3^rd cycle kept us occupied. The large amount of river water entering the Atlantic in this rainy season meant that we lost our turquoise water, as well as our fish.

We had some hassles with our wind instruments, which we picked up when it started acting like a Stellenbosch first year after a particularly good night at the pub. Hilariously so, we reverted to tying red wool on our shrouds to see the wind direction. This was a particular favorite of the Heinz, the 72 year old previous owner who had an enjoyed using the notorious red wool to earmark every process and piece of equipment – Not a favorite of Dads and yet here it was coming into use again! We had a good chuckle at the irony and remembered the quirks that made Papagena uniquely theirs. We also got a few tears in our Genoa from the hank ons on our No.3, which required a ‘en route’ fix to ensure that they did not tear further.

We arrived at Iles du Salut in the dark on the 4^th August, in time for Dad’s Birthday on the 7^th. It is made up of 3 islands not 200m from one another, Ile Royale, Ile Saint – Joseph and Ile du Diable (no translation required). Devil’s Island is the smallest of the three, and the group lies about 9 NM (14 km) off French Guyane (Guiana to the French). This island rises about 40 metres out of the sea and is only 14ha, made up mainly of over populated coconut palms, vicious rocks and an undergrowth of re-sprouting coconuts and dead leaves. It was part of the French penal colony for 101 years, till 1953, and favoured by the government of Emperor Napoleon 3^rd and so earned its name for being the infamous exile of political prisoners.

Devil’s Island was originally used to house the leper colony of the prison and since no understanding of the cause of Hansen’s existed, victims were quarantined there until 1895 when they were replaced with France’s political prisoners, and the most hardened of thieves and murderers. Back then Ile du Diable was so perilous that prisoners of Ile Royale constructed a cable car system for officers to reach the island that is surrounded by rocky outcrops, hidden reefs, vicious cross currents and shark-infested waters. Needless to say that the islands were naturally walled in, and those imprisoned for less severe crimes on Ile Royale would be allowed relative freedom. The small prison facility on Ile du Diable did not hold more than 12 convicts. Ile Saint-Joseph held the solitary confinement cells.

A limited number of convicted women were also sent to French Guiana, with the intent that they marry freed male inmates to aid in settlement and development of the colony. As the results were poor, the government discontinued the practice in 1907. Life in this penal colony gained a reputation for ruthlessness and cruelty, inter – prisoner violence was common, and tropical diseases were widespread. The sanitary systems were limited and the region was mosquito-infested. Only a small minority of broken survivors would return to France to tell how horrible it was and terrify other potential criminals. This system was gradually phased out and has been completely shut down since 1953. The majority of the 80,000 prisoners sent to this penitentiary never made it back to France. The only exit from the island prisons was by water, and few convicts escaped.

However Clément Duval, a revolutionary, was sent to Devil’s Island in 1886. Having initially been sentenced to death, he received a commuted sentence of hard labour for life on the island where he contracted smallpox, but escaped in April 1901. Duval fled to New York City, where he remained for the rest of his life, eventually recording his imprisonment in a book called Revolte.

Three Frenchmen by the names of Francois Frean, 37, Paul Renuci, 32, Raymond Vaude, 35, and an Italian, Giovanni Batistoti, 35, managed to escape and arrived in the Virgin Islands on 18 October 1936. Their hand made boat was in bad shape and was nearly wrecked on the reef when the convicts were found.

Henri Charrière’s describes his successful escape from Devil’s Island, with fellow inmate, Sylvain in his bestselling book Papillon in 1968. According to his book, the two men threw themselves into a raging sea, using only two sacks filled with coconuts to float and drifted to the mainland over three days.  Sylvain periled in quicksand once on shore. This book caused significant controversy, enraging the French authorities with its public descriptions of the extreme brutality and inhumane treatment of the prisoners of Ile du Diable. The Authorities disputed it entirely and eventually released penal colony records that contradicted his account. He had never been imprisoned on Devil’s Island, but apparently escaped from a mainland prison. French journalists and prison authorities found other dubious foundations of his book, believing that he had invented many incidents or adopted experiences of other prisoners. Critics said he should have confessed to fiction.

The nightmare of the penal colony was publicized during Captain Alfred Dreyfus case, where the French army captain was unjustly imprisoned for treason in January 1895.  (en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Alfred_Dreyfus). This lead to public outrage in 1938 when Rene Belbenoit published his book, Dry Guillotine, denigrating the penal system. The French government’s plans to close the colony down were delayed during World War 2, but from 1946 until 1953, one by one the prisons were closed. The Devil’s Island facility was the last to be closed. The cable car system deteriorated and the island is closed to public access.

During 1965, the French government passed on the responsibility of the islands to its newly built Guiana Space Centre. The Islands have to be evacuated during rocket launches as they are under its trajectory. We were bitterly disappointed to have missed a launch not 5 days before we arrived. The islands have all sorts of weird and wonderful apparatus to measure and record the space launches. Now Iles du Salut is a very popular tourist destination, with hordes of charter cats arriving each morning and thankfully returning to the mainland in the afternoon. Facilities have been added, and the old prison buildings restored to receive the 50,000 tourists each year, however only the two larger islands are open to the public. Devil’s Island and the surrounding prisons eventually became one of the most infamous prison systems in history.

Some of the ruins that we had previously been allowed to explore had been closed off to the public and the daily tourists gave the islands a less ominous feel from last time. Dad spent an afternoon collecting and husking coconut to store on the boat from making cream for curries and to just to chow – we had forgotten how rich they were. I collected shells and whiled away time reading the prisoner tombstones and wandering if their crimes were merely being of a different opinion or something more threatening. The water was never perfectly clear, but still warm and inviting. We went trawling in the mornings on the dingy and consistently caught a variation of Spanish Mackerel, as well as a particularly stupid, rather ugly and impossible enormous Tarpon, which took us some time to get off our line, without it ripping a hole in our pontoons.

We could hear the monkeys screaming and chattering in the trees from our boat and got some pictures of them on one of our walks. Surprisingly they were not spoilt by the amount of visitors and were neither afraid of us nor aggressive and begging. We got used to the afternoon electrical storms, but our hatches’ seals were seriously put to the test and we had to keep the yacht power off the whole time for fear of shorting out the system. So here I am trying to cook dinner with a hatch dripping water on me, a headlamp on my head and swell knocking us about – naturally it was a culinary masterpiece. Hey, at least we caught a lot of rain water.

Dad’s birthday was simplistic and relaxing, with a new homemade leather helm cover and beautiful one for the helmsman’s chair. The celebrations were nearly interrupted when a large navy ship pulled in and we were mildly concerned they might come over, considering we had decided not to check into Kourou – Eish!

We took a trip in on one of the days to refill our gas and buy supplies. Our first problem was that the river up to Kourou was pretty hectic and when we weren’t dragging anchor, we were sailing on it; riding over our chain and at times 90˚ to the other boats and dangerously close to shore. Mom volunteered to be on anchor watch and so Dad and I headed into town. It is an arb, dusty patch of earth with foul smelling mud and vultures on the shore – a far cry from the islands lying just off their coast. We were met with the same problem we had had in Brazil of an incompatible gas canister. Have you ever tried to understand a Chinese man that looks about 200 years old, explain to you that they don’t fill American canisters, in French with a Chinese accent? It goes like this ‘Non, non, non, non’! We got the gist… So we got hold of a ludicrously heavy French canister, some fresh veg, beers and a jerry can of petrol only to be told that taxis cannot transport flammables. Y’ell! Thankfully some local guys were filling up and were kind enough to give us a ride in exchange for two cokes. We were in and out in 3 hours in time for the tide to change, and high tailed it back to Iles du Salut and its relative comforts. The next day we started on our final 4 day leg to Tobago, which we were itching to complete as it was the last bit before the Caribbean where island hopping would never be more than a day sail and well… it’s the Caribbean!

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– Kate

Iles du Salut, French Guyane
(Coconuts, Sundowners, Tourists)
Bargain: The cheap imported french wine and unexpected fresh produce available.
Irritation/Quirk: The main ruins being closed to the public and the ‘no entry’, ‘restricted access’ and ‘no swimming’ signs around every corner.
Cost of a coke: €1.30

The church lit up at night, it changed from blue to red, green, orange etc…

During our last few days at Fortaleza we met Rob, the South African skipper on the neighbouring Italian yacht.  It was fantastic to have a conversation that was closer to home and hear about his adventures and travels, with Kilimanjaro planned for September. Having spent time in Fortaleza before, Rob introduced us to Gheller Churrascaria, a restaurant about a 4km walk from where we were moored. This gem of a place offers a buffet of salads, fresh produce, warm side dishes and unlimited sushi. You are given a cardboard disk on arrival, that you turn over to the ‘Sim, Por Favor’ side. This little green circle has every passing server offer you your choice cuts from their rotisserie selection… steak, rump, chicken, lamb, sausage, chops, quail… You name it, they got it. When you simply cannot fit in anything more, you turn your disk over to the red ‘Não, Obrigado’. This ‘all you can eat’ experience costs a mere R$20.00 (R100.00) per person – on reflection, maybe it was actually goat and roadrunner? Either way this was a particular treat, not only as South Africans, but ones who had subsisted off fish for far too long! We have come up with a number of ingenious ways to eat fish; sure there is the usual like baked, fried, battered and braaied… the exotic, such as steamed, curried, pickled or sashimi… and then just the plain weird – fish surprise a la macaroni and cheese.

Gheller Churrascaria

We also got to see the delivery crew of the Mooring’s yacht that had been stuck in Ascension for weeks on end with engine trouble, who arrived the day before we left. Checking out at customs involves the usual – a perfectly competent, yet entirely unmotivated, snotty customs official, who of course is the only one manning the desk. However unlike South Africa, he only has two people in the queue to deal with, and still manages to make a blind, 3 legged cow look more active. Waiting in the queue behind us were two Canadian brothers who have embarked on an epic kayak adventure, where they are traveling from Belem, Brazil to Florida, a total of 6500km which they aim to do in 7 months. Pity we met them so late as they had been arguing with customs for weeks to get hold of their kayaks, but it was time to press on to Guyane, taking along the hotel’s ice bucket as a souvenir.

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– Kate

Full moon.

Some time ago I met someone who declared unequivocally that Atol das Rocas was the most beautiful place on earth. So being an overnight sail from Fernando de Nora, we decided to go and see for ourselves. We googled it first and were disappointed to find that it fell into the same restricted Marine Reserve as FDN, but as it was en route, set sail there anyway. As we approached we kept a close surveillance with binoculars, but if we thought we had any chance of staying there it was quickly thwarted when we were apprehended on the VHF, asked why were were there and told in no uncertain terms to keep going straight on by. Atol das Rocas is made up of two small sandspits with a few scraggly windswept Cassaurina trees, two basic lean-to shacks and a huge aerial. It is surrounded by reef and rocks, but no coral and teeming with bird life. Pretty, but not heartbreaking to miss. We were treated to a squall, a rainbow, and a breaching dolphin that of course we couldn’t get on camera.

Learning the correct way to fillet a fish.

We approached Fortaleza a couple of days later in the early hours of the morning. A fat waxing moon set over the city like an orange ball, its glow being diffused by the smog to create an eerie yet beautiful sight with the huge city skyline silhouetted below. In the pitch dark we crept through the hazards of Fortaleza harbour (plenty of unlit wrecks and shallow areas) in the general direction of the marina and dropped anchor to await daybreak. We noticed 2 things in the light of dawn – we had dropped anchor alarmingly close to a submerged wreck, but also right in front of the marine entrance, neither of which were on our nav system. We moored up in the med style very professionally but must have done something offensivebecause the French yacht alongside us instantly moved further down. This initiated our hypothesis on…

The Reasons why the Frenchies moved:

1. Because they are French…
2. Saw the RSA flag and thought we’d steal off their boat.
3. Saw the RSA flag and thought we’d steal the whole boat.
4. They were worried that Kate and myself would become to attached to their cat.
5. Saw the RSA flag and thought we would eat their cat.
6. Were daunted by Katlyn’s sleek lines & utter elegance beside their shoddy yacht.
7. Politely moved so as not to spoil our view.
8. She thought she noticed her husband ogling Kate.
9. She couldn’t resist ogling Doug. (Don’t worry Doug doesn’t read the blog)
10. Who cares, they’re French. (Jokes Yvanne 🙂 )

Fortaleza is an absolutely gigantic city, skyscrapers piece the sky for as far as the eye can see, the roads are congested, the population huge. Like any big city poverty and wealth exists side by side. There are stunning architectural masterpieces flanked by smelly, derelict, graffitied hovels and designer dressed yuppies stroll by the destitute. Crime is rampant, everywhere we go we are warned to be extra vigilant.

All the buildings are tiled, since tiles are made in brazil and work out to be more cost effective and longer lasting than plaster and paint.

We are today at the Iguatemi Mall which would equal or better any mall worldwide, but on the way to catch the taxi here we crossed the road and saw a homeless person who had set up home in the culvert under the road. Why is it that South African poverty seems to headline world news?

Brazil has a palpable vibe and energy to it and we have enjoyed being part of it. The Marina is in front of a large hotel over flowing with Brazilian tourists. The swimming pool is clean and surrounded with four poster day beds draped with chiffon and bikini clad Brazilians. It should be noted that the American diet seems to have ‘spread’ south to Brazil. We spent an afternoon browsing at the local market which equates to 5 stories of spiraled staircases and walk ways filled with stalls overflowing with everything imaginable. It was fascinating. We also paid a visit to a incredible gothic church whose sheer size was impressive but its interior was an utter marvel with stain glass windows to rival the Notre Dame, which no camera can do credit to.

The local market place is 5 stories of endless shops and bargains.

Beautiful gothic church.

Brazil is such a large independent country that nobody needs to speak English… and nobody does. English seems as foreign here as Xhosa. All in all a worthwhile stop, a new piece of culture and an opportunity to clean and restock Katlyn for the next leg.

A photo shoot on our boat in exchange for a free day in the marina.

More pictures in the gallery.

– Val

Fortaleza, Brazil
(Bustling, Contrasting, Skimpily clad)
Bargain: The tastiest, cheapest pawpaws ever! Particularly to yatchies in need of fresh produce.
Irritation/Quirk: Having to watch your back and backpack the whole time.
Cost of a coke: R$4.00 (Reals) at the Pub, R$1.69 at the supermarket.