I've been having trouble with this website so I have changed to a different blog. You can find it hy clicking here.
Or this is the address:
http://web.mac.com/tom_buchanan/Nothing_Half_So_Much_Worth_Doing
(Don't forget to bookmark it for next time!)
Saturday, February 16, 2008
Wednesday, February 13, 2008
Isla Grande, Los Testigos 11°22’87N, 063°08.11W
Los Testigos are remote. They’re around 75nm from the Venezuelan mainland. There is no port and no airport, so the only way to get here is by boat. It feels a very long way from anywhere. Only around 130 people live in the archipelago which consists of around 6 islands. We are anchored of Isla Grande in front of a small beach. The beach has a little fishing shack on it, and you can see where the fishermen have lit fires and cooked simple meals when it rains, and behind it is a beautiful little shrine with plastic flowers and melted candles. When it rains, it really rains: we have had two torrential downpours today; short lived but a spectacular amount of water. I’m always happy when this happens; not only does it make the most soothing sound below decks, but it also washes all the salt off the boat.
We had a good, long sleep (12 hours!). This afternoon I went for a walk on the island and took some photos. It’s covered in cactus, and a number found there way into my legs. The spines were so long they hit my feet after passing through my shoes! There are a few goats on the island but it’s otherwise very barren. One side has a huge, angry surf break, but the leeward side, where we have dropped our hook, is pretty calm.
Greg and I are learning Spanish from some CD’s that he bought in Trinidad. We’re up to lesson three, so we’re pretty fluent. I saw a local fishing boat tucked into a cove so I went over in the dinghy and gave them a solid ‘Hola! Como estas? Intienda ingles?’
They looked at me blankly. I guess they don’t speak Spanish, or perhaps they’re only up to lesson two.
Still, with international sign language they explained they were hand-lining with live bait. Far from being pirates they were friendly and engaging (although I swear one couldn’t take his eyes of my outboard) and we had a good chat in hand-span-glish. After a while I said adios and prepared to leave. One said something to guy who was obviously the captain and he nodded. He then dived into the hold and pulled out three fish, and gave them to me. Gracias! I went back to the boat and got them all a cold Heineken; I think they thought I was all right (for a gringo) after that. The sun is just setting, and they just steamed past, heading out past the islands for another nights fishing.
I am covered in scales from cleaning the fish; Greg has made a great marinade and the barbie is heating up (my American spell checker keeps wanting to capitalize Barbie, and it puts a ‘z’ in capitalise without me asking). We plan to leave for La Blanquilla at 0100 which should see us there by 1600 tomorrow, the 14th. It’s my mum’s birthday! Happy birthday mum!
13 Feb 2008
We had a good, long sleep (12 hours!). This afternoon I went for a walk on the island and took some photos. It’s covered in cactus, and a number found there way into my legs. The spines were so long they hit my feet after passing through my shoes! There are a few goats on the island but it’s otherwise very barren. One side has a huge, angry surf break, but the leeward side, where we have dropped our hook, is pretty calm.
Greg and I are learning Spanish from some CD’s that he bought in Trinidad. We’re up to lesson three, so we’re pretty fluent. I saw a local fishing boat tucked into a cove so I went over in the dinghy and gave them a solid ‘Hola! Como estas? Intienda ingles?’
They looked at me blankly. I guess they don’t speak Spanish, or perhaps they’re only up to lesson two.
Still, with international sign language they explained they were hand-lining with live bait. Far from being pirates they were friendly and engaging (although I swear one couldn’t take his eyes of my outboard) and we had a good chat in hand-span-glish. After a while I said adios and prepared to leave. One said something to guy who was obviously the captain and he nodded. He then dived into the hold and pulled out three fish, and gave them to me. Gracias! I went back to the boat and got them all a cold Heineken; I think they thought I was all right (for a gringo) after that. The sun is just setting, and they just steamed past, heading out past the islands for another nights fishing.
I am covered in scales from cleaning the fish; Greg has made a great marinade and the barbie is heating up (my American spell checker keeps wanting to capitalize Barbie, and it puts a ‘z’ in capitalise without me asking). We plan to leave for La Blanquilla at 0100 which should see us there by 1600 tomorrow, the 14th. It’s my mum’s birthday! Happy birthday mum!
13 Feb 2008
Tuesday, February 12, 2008
En route to Los Testigos
In the pitch dark at 0300 this morning we lifted our anchor, turned on our navigation lights and motored out of Chaguaramas Bay, Trinidad, against an incoming tide that flowed towards us like a swirling green river. This is a complex boat, and it takes a while for us to get fully set up for a blue-water passage, so we had the autopilot steering as we set up the sheets, took off the sailcover, and set up our harnesses and tethers. It was very, very dark and I was trying to get my nightvision tuned in, but inevitably at this stage of a journey we use our headlamps quite a bit while we get things set up, so it's a bit difficult to see much beyond the red and green glow from the nav lights illuminating the water off the bow.
While we were pretty confident, but careful, in Chaguaramas, we're very conscious that we're sailing into one of the world's simmering piracy hotspots: Venezuela. Indeed, from our anchorage it's only a 12nm shot to the Promontorio De Paria on Venezuela's east coast. There's been a lot of talk about Venezuela amongst the yachties we've been with because of the number of recent problems - mainly robberies against yachts - but some assaults, and armed robberies. And it seems that more recently things have really taken a turn for the worse. This is from the Isla De Margarita section of the blue-water cruiser's website Noonsite:
A report from the International Maritime Bureau has detailed another Venezuelan attack on a yacht in Bahia De Robledal, Isla De Margarita, in January 2008.
Five armed men boarded the yacht, assaulting the crew and demanding all their property. One crew member was shot and injured. The incident was reported to local authorities.
There have been several attacks on yachts in Robledal Bay in the last few years and yachts wishing to visit Isla de Margarita are strongly advised to stop at Porlamar only which is more frequented by yachts. Yachts should be vigilant at all times, especially at night, and take extra precautions.
'Extra precautions' for many yachts means cruising in a convoy. Others set up radio 'scheds' so they can check on each other using high-frequency radio bands that are unlikely to be accessible to pirates, and many others simply don't sail in Venezuela. Greg, in a perhaps uniquely American approach, wants to arm us with fully-automatic assault rifles so we can 'light em up' if we get any trouble. I can just imagine him on the bow, shoe polish covering his face and bandana wrapped around his forehead, machine gun blazing into the darkness and shell cartridges bouncing all over the deck ('don't worry mate, I checked it out and it was just a floating log, and it won't be bothering US again anytime soon'). While he's (half) joking, some folks do carry guns.
We don't. I hope to rely on Kiwi charm. ('Gidday maaaate! Thanks for letting yourself onto my boat at 3am, care for a drink? My that's a nice shotgun you've got there, scout! What's your interest level in good old-fashioned cold-hard cash? We've got plenty!'). For me the bottom line is that if you carry a gun, you'd better be prepared to use it, and fast, and I'm just not. It seems, from what I read, that pulling out your heat just seems to escalate the situation. You may get killed rather than robbed. I think of the famous New Zealand sailor Peter Blake who was murdered after grabbing his rifle while sailing in Brazil.
The risk is, of course, still pretty small. But I can assure you all this talk leaves you a bit on edge, and this was all running through our heads as we sailed out into the Gulf of Paria. The rhumb line (direct route) to Los Testigos is 100nm east northeast. We'd be told to sail NNE until we're about 20nm offshore, to be out of sight and temptation of the Puerta Mejillones pirogues; but adding about 10nm to the sail.
While Greg cleared up our reefing lines, I went below to check on our track through the islands. It's very tidal, so I switched on the radar to verify our position, and check we weren't being pushed into danger by the tidal flow. Suddenly I saw an orange dot screaming towards us out of the south. Now this thing was flying - each sweep of the radar seemed to bring it about a quarter nautical mile closer - I've never seen a radar target move so fast - and it was close. I yelled to Greg that there was a target closing fast on our port side; I saw him looking and straining: no lights. Oh boy, here we go.
By then I was on deck and I saw the wake of a long, sleek, very fast grey speedboat swooping out of the darkness in a white wall of spray. It closed on us and did a sharp, rounding turn close onto our starboard side then hit us with a bright spotlight.
It was the Trinidad Coast Guard in one of their new, American supplied, drug interdiction fast-patrol boats. These are dark gray 45' speedboats with triple 225HP outboards. Without taking the light off us they advised us to change course (by yelling, strangely no radios) and to proceed to the Coast Guard station for boarding and search.
Greg immediately starting flushing our huge cargo of St Lucian cannabis and loading his rifle. (okay, okay, I made this bit up for effect).
Ultimately, we tied up to their remarkable CG base and they conducted an absurd information gathering process. ("what's your date of birth? How old are you?") I was getting frustrated as the whole purpose of leaving at 3am was to arrive in Los Testigos in daylight; I don't like arriving in unfamiliar, reef strewn anchorages in the dark. However, we remained as polite as we could manage (which you need to realize, is very, very, very polite - they had big guns) and an hour later we were off again, sails up but well behind schedule. We cut the corner and raced directly down the rhumbline, next stop the little archipelago of Los Testigos, Venezuela (11 21'N; 063 07'W). It was my watch as the sun rose behind the misty, Venezuelan mountains and I set up the spinnaker - it's a reaching breeze and if were going to arrive before dark, we'd have to fly.
Later we came across five Venezuelan fishing boats, the chute slicing us through the waves at nearly 9 knots, a good wake chuckling and burbling out behind us. They seemed to be changing course towards us so I bared away as much as I could while keeping the kite full. Still they turned. Finally when we could see the whites of each other's eyes (mine a bit bigger than there's) I gave them a big wave - they all broke into big white smiles and waved passionately. Phew! The were hand-lining for tuna.
And what a sailing day! Greg woke me on his watch to show me the speedo at north of 10 knots, a big rooster tail ripping out behind us and foamy dots of spray flying in the breeze. YEAH! This is what we came for - we started trimming and singing and yahooing - and trying to squeeze out another tenth here and another tenth there, the boat getting big surfs as we lifted and careered down the ocean swells, our grins from ear to ear. The sense of exhilaration on a 13,000kg yacht surfing powerfully down ocean waves, only just in control (giving us the benefit of the doubt here), is a simply life altering experience!
Crack! Suddenly a noise like a rifle shot and the chute blew up into the sky. I thought one of the snatch blocks had exploded under the load, but it turned out to be one of our tired spinnaker sheets. It had parted in a puff of smoke and whipped out through the spinnaker pole. Fortunately it was the brace (windward) sheet so we got it down and under relative control pretty fast. But that, or course, was the end of the kite today. We soon had the genoa pulling us forward and were back on course, still trying to run down the miles by nightfall.
It's now midafternoon. We're 22.7nm from Los Testigos. We're sitting at a little over 9 knots, but this is a good part due to the equatorial current giving us some extra edge; it's bright and sunny and there's whitecaps to the horizon. The water has been a strange green today. Perhaps the run off from all the recent rain. So we're looking good to get there late afternoon after all.
Oh, and I just snagged a big tuna.
12 Feb 2008
While we were pretty confident, but careful, in Chaguaramas, we're very conscious that we're sailing into one of the world's simmering piracy hotspots: Venezuela. Indeed, from our anchorage it's only a 12nm shot to the Promontorio De Paria on Venezuela's east coast. There's been a lot of talk about Venezuela amongst the yachties we've been with because of the number of recent problems - mainly robberies against yachts - but some assaults, and armed robberies. And it seems that more recently things have really taken a turn for the worse. This is from the Isla De Margarita section of the blue-water cruiser's website Noonsite:
A report from the International Maritime Bureau has detailed another Venezuelan attack on a yacht in Bahia De Robledal, Isla De Margarita, in January 2008.
Five armed men boarded the yacht, assaulting the crew and demanding all their property. One crew member was shot and injured. The incident was reported to local authorities.
There have been several attacks on yachts in Robledal Bay in the last few years and yachts wishing to visit Isla de Margarita are strongly advised to stop at Porlamar only which is more frequented by yachts. Yachts should be vigilant at all times, especially at night, and take extra precautions.
'Extra precautions' for many yachts means cruising in a convoy. Others set up radio 'scheds' so they can check on each other using high-frequency radio bands that are unlikely to be accessible to pirates, and many others simply don't sail in Venezuela. Greg, in a perhaps uniquely American approach, wants to arm us with fully-automatic assault rifles so we can 'light em up' if we get any trouble. I can just imagine him on the bow, shoe polish covering his face and bandana wrapped around his forehead, machine gun blazing into the darkness and shell cartridges bouncing all over the deck ('don't worry mate, I checked it out and it was just a floating log, and it won't be bothering US again anytime soon'). While he's (half) joking, some folks do carry guns.
We don't. I hope to rely on Kiwi charm. ('Gidday maaaate! Thanks for letting yourself onto my boat at 3am, care for a drink? My that's a nice shotgun you've got there, scout! What's your interest level in good old-fashioned cold-hard cash? We've got plenty!'). For me the bottom line is that if you carry a gun, you'd better be prepared to use it, and fast, and I'm just not. It seems, from what I read, that pulling out your heat just seems to escalate the situation. You may get killed rather than robbed. I think of the famous New Zealand sailor Peter Blake who was murdered after grabbing his rifle while sailing in Brazil.
The risk is, of course, still pretty small. But I can assure you all this talk leaves you a bit on edge, and this was all running through our heads as we sailed out into the Gulf of Paria. The rhumb line (direct route) to Los Testigos is 100nm east northeast. We'd be told to sail NNE until we're about 20nm offshore, to be out of sight and temptation of the Puerta Mejillones pirogues; but adding about 10nm to the sail.
While Greg cleared up our reefing lines, I went below to check on our track through the islands. It's very tidal, so I switched on the radar to verify our position, and check we weren't being pushed into danger by the tidal flow. Suddenly I saw an orange dot screaming towards us out of the south. Now this thing was flying - each sweep of the radar seemed to bring it about a quarter nautical mile closer - I've never seen a radar target move so fast - and it was close. I yelled to Greg that there was a target closing fast on our port side; I saw him looking and straining: no lights. Oh boy, here we go.
By then I was on deck and I saw the wake of a long, sleek, very fast grey speedboat swooping out of the darkness in a white wall of spray. It closed on us and did a sharp, rounding turn close onto our starboard side then hit us with a bright spotlight.
It was the Trinidad Coast Guard in one of their new, American supplied, drug interdiction fast-patrol boats. These are dark gray 45' speedboats with triple 225HP outboards. Without taking the light off us they advised us to change course (by yelling, strangely no radios) and to proceed to the Coast Guard station for boarding and search.
Greg immediately starting flushing our huge cargo of St Lucian cannabis and loading his rifle. (okay, okay, I made this bit up for effect).
Ultimately, we tied up to their remarkable CG base and they conducted an absurd information gathering process. ("what's your date of birth? How old are you?") I was getting frustrated as the whole purpose of leaving at 3am was to arrive in Los Testigos in daylight; I don't like arriving in unfamiliar, reef strewn anchorages in the dark. However, we remained as polite as we could manage (which you need to realize, is very, very, very polite - they had big guns) and an hour later we were off again, sails up but well behind schedule. We cut the corner and raced directly down the rhumbline, next stop the little archipelago of Los Testigos, Venezuela (11 21'N; 063 07'W). It was my watch as the sun rose behind the misty, Venezuelan mountains and I set up the spinnaker - it's a reaching breeze and if were going to arrive before dark, we'd have to fly.
Later we came across five Venezuelan fishing boats, the chute slicing us through the waves at nearly 9 knots, a good wake chuckling and burbling out behind us. They seemed to be changing course towards us so I bared away as much as I could while keeping the kite full. Still they turned. Finally when we could see the whites of each other's eyes (mine a bit bigger than there's) I gave them a big wave - they all broke into big white smiles and waved passionately. Phew! The were hand-lining for tuna.
And what a sailing day! Greg woke me on his watch to show me the speedo at north of 10 knots, a big rooster tail ripping out behind us and foamy dots of spray flying in the breeze. YEAH! This is what we came for - we started trimming and singing and yahooing - and trying to squeeze out another tenth here and another tenth there, the boat getting big surfs as we lifted and careered down the ocean swells, our grins from ear to ear. The sense of exhilaration on a 13,000kg yacht surfing powerfully down ocean waves, only just in control (giving us the benefit of the doubt here), is a simply life altering experience!
Crack! Suddenly a noise like a rifle shot and the chute blew up into the sky. I thought one of the snatch blocks had exploded under the load, but it turned out to be one of our tired spinnaker sheets. It had parted in a puff of smoke and whipped out through the spinnaker pole. Fortunately it was the brace (windward) sheet so we got it down and under relative control pretty fast. But that, or course, was the end of the kite today. We soon had the genoa pulling us forward and were back on course, still trying to run down the miles by nightfall.
It's now midafternoon. We're 22.7nm from Los Testigos. We're sitting at a little over 9 knots, but this is a good part due to the equatorial current giving us some extra edge; it's bright and sunny and there's whitecaps to the horizon. The water has been a strange green today. Perhaps the run off from all the recent rain. So we're looking good to get there late afternoon after all.
Oh, and I just snagged a big tuna.
12 Feb 2008
Sunday, February 10, 2008
Chaguarmas, Trinidad 10°40.54N, 61°38.31W
We have our rigging issue underway, and it looks like we will be able to get that completed on Monday. We’re keen to move on to the Venezuelan islands of Los Testigos pretty soon. Chaguaramas isn’t a bad spot – certainly good for working on the boat – but it doesn’t have the beauty of many of the places we have visited so far. One factor is the water clarity. We’ve become accustomed to seeing 20m, even 30m underwater, but here it’s not clear at all. I don’t think it’s especially dirty; rather it’s the effect of the Orinico River pumping out millions of litres of muddy water south of us. There’s also a huge number of boats here. Pump-out facilities are almost non-existent in the Caribbean, so we’re not very excited about swimming. Not so good given it’s also hot and humid. Still, we’ve had dolphins swimming around the boat in the harbour where we’re anchored, and I almost hit a pretty big turtle while zooming with Greg in the dinghy.
So we knew we were here for the weekend. I took the maxi-taxi on the 20 minute ride into Port of Spain (90 cents), really more for a look around than anything else. We have so many people warning us that it’s unsafe that it leaves you a little paranoid, but what I found was pretty relaxed. Tight, windy, back streets and little pokey malls that crossed between selling cheap clothes, expensive high-powered stereo gear, and little carts and trucks blocking the streets selling vegetables, fruit, eggs. And guys pulling around giant speaker systems on tiny wheels pumping out SOCA (soul-calypso) beats at full volume. They’re selling counterfeit mixes of the big-hits from Carnival for about $3. We bought some and they’re great, although given every place in the country is blasting the same we’re getting close to saturation!
Later I met some local guys and we had a couple of Stags, the local brew. They worked in the petroleum industry and told fascinating stories about working on the rigs. It seems safety standards and the like are pretty high now, but it was pretty wild not long ago. One told a story about a gas seam blasting up through the rig, and bigger guys ripping lifejackets from the smaller; of course they didn’t have enough to go around. Greg called from the boat – we have local SIM cards in our cell phones – and we decided to see what was going on after dark. I think with usual care Port of Spain is okay; you need to be in the right area, and you need to push out of your mind that 40 people have been murdered this year already. Not bad for 1.3m people. Only get into a cab with an H plate or with a yellow stripe, and, or course, keep out of the shanties. I’d love to show you some photos but I just don’t feel comfortable breaking out my camera on these streets.
Finally, after what turned into around one-million drinks, our new mates left, and I think the bill was charged to BP. We had a club called Zen recommended to us. It was just around the corner. Fortunately Greg had bought in a pair of jeans for me and some sneakers; my shorts and flip-flops were never going to work (funny how in places like Trinidad the dress-code is so full on, whereas in New York you can kind of get away with almost anything). Now Zen was something else! A magnificent space backlit by candles and soft lighting, and all designed to look like the inside of a Buddhist monastery; soft reds, Chinese characters and ginormous Buddha statues. Well, a Buddhist monastery that pumps out full powered SOCA beats and hip-hop, that is. ‘Acoustic perfection’ as Greg put it, referring to the enormous but very good sound system, and as those of you who like clubs would know, a quite unusual benefit. It just seems so out of place in Port of Spain – I mean, it was a really good club. Drinks were horrible expensive by local standards, but still very cheap to us acclimated to NYC. And what fun! It soon filled up with locals – albeit the wealthier set and many back from overseas for Carnival - all ‘wining’ (that funny dance, previously described, in which girls shake their bum’s around in an exotic counter-rotation, and the guy gets effectively frotted with a somewhat astonished look on his face) and ‘liming’ (hanging out).
When the Soca big-beats came on everybody went crazy (here I’m thinking specifically of ‘Bring It – Ah Want me Rum Mix’ and ‘Thunder Waist – Leggo da Riddim Mix’ – let me know if you want a copy). If you don’t know SOCA it’s a super high energy Caribbean beat, a removed version of Calypso, and it’s designed to support all day drunken high-energy dancing Carnival marches through the streets. And that’s the lyric’s main theme: wining, liming, the road, going all day, and big, chunky Thunder Waists (of which, I suspect due to a large number of KFC’s, there are many).
Finally, somewhere in the early hours Greg and I were done, despite Greg talking us into the VIP. He’s just got an amazing gift for these things. Well, we got kicked out in the end, but we were big pimping rockstars for a while there.
Normally, you would just go home, but it’s a bit tricky in Port of Spain at 4am. It’s not really safe to walk around, taxis are highly infrequent, and local cabs are finished. It is also very hot and humid in jeans once you’re out of the super cold airconditioning. Ultimately we walked around Queens Park cricket pitch to the Hilton hotel – the fanciest in PoS and looking down on the city from the NE hills - on the basis that we would insinuate ourselves in and have a swim, and asses the transport situation there. And that we did after snaking over a security fence around the back, running up the bank behind the tennis courts and timing our run perfectly into the closed pool area, trying to keep our giggling and laughing quiet. After a swim we found they had those super recliner chair things, with a deep soft cushion, so we decided that would work fine. I presume we’ll get Hilton Honors miles for our stay. It got a bit chilly so I snuggled up under a towel; Greg was woken by a security guard sometime during the dawn with the advice that he should keep his computer-phone thing in his pocket (so they’re really good people when it comes down to it). We woke up well rested after a deep sleep to find people swimming laps, and perhaps a bit overdressed for the morning pool scene at the Hilton. At least Paris wasn’t there. Thank Heavens I had my sunglasses. But it all gets better! We went to the top floor and had one of those foreign hotel breakfast buffets where the variety of things stretches from horizon to horizon, eggs, fruit, ‘omelet station’, smoked salmon, fresh squeezed juice, croissants…absolute gold, and with a lovely view down on the city. You would never guess at Port of Spain’s more edgy elements when gazing down from the rarified air and leafy grounds of the Hilton.
I called Kady and wished her a Happy Birthday. She is skiing in Chamonix and was exhilarated having just skied a deep powder bowl. It’s just so hard to conceptualise that while looking at the hot, smoking and decrepit shanty villages, cooking smells almost visible in the heat haze, and the sea sparkling right across Golfo de Paria to the hills of Venezuela, the heat and moisture already causing big cumulous clouds to boil high into the sky as a steamy new day begins. What an amazing world we live in.
9 Feb 2008
So we knew we were here for the weekend. I took the maxi-taxi on the 20 minute ride into Port of Spain (90 cents), really more for a look around than anything else. We have so many people warning us that it’s unsafe that it leaves you a little paranoid, but what I found was pretty relaxed. Tight, windy, back streets and little pokey malls that crossed between selling cheap clothes, expensive high-powered stereo gear, and little carts and trucks blocking the streets selling vegetables, fruit, eggs. And guys pulling around giant speaker systems on tiny wheels pumping out SOCA (soul-calypso) beats at full volume. They’re selling counterfeit mixes of the big-hits from Carnival for about $3. We bought some and they’re great, although given every place in the country is blasting the same we’re getting close to saturation!
Later I met some local guys and we had a couple of Stags, the local brew. They worked in the petroleum industry and told fascinating stories about working on the rigs. It seems safety standards and the like are pretty high now, but it was pretty wild not long ago. One told a story about a gas seam blasting up through the rig, and bigger guys ripping lifejackets from the smaller; of course they didn’t have enough to go around. Greg called from the boat – we have local SIM cards in our cell phones – and we decided to see what was going on after dark. I think with usual care Port of Spain is okay; you need to be in the right area, and you need to push out of your mind that 40 people have been murdered this year already. Not bad for 1.3m people. Only get into a cab with an H plate or with a yellow stripe, and, or course, keep out of the shanties. I’d love to show you some photos but I just don’t feel comfortable breaking out my camera on these streets.
Finally, after what turned into around one-million drinks, our new mates left, and I think the bill was charged to BP. We had a club called Zen recommended to us. It was just around the corner. Fortunately Greg had bought in a pair of jeans for me and some sneakers; my shorts and flip-flops were never going to work (funny how in places like Trinidad the dress-code is so full on, whereas in New York you can kind of get away with almost anything). Now Zen was something else! A magnificent space backlit by candles and soft lighting, and all designed to look like the inside of a Buddhist monastery; soft reds, Chinese characters and ginormous Buddha statues. Well, a Buddhist monastery that pumps out full powered SOCA beats and hip-hop, that is. ‘Acoustic perfection’ as Greg put it, referring to the enormous but very good sound system, and as those of you who like clubs would know, a quite unusual benefit. It just seems so out of place in Port of Spain – I mean, it was a really good club. Drinks were horrible expensive by local standards, but still very cheap to us acclimated to NYC. And what fun! It soon filled up with locals – albeit the wealthier set and many back from overseas for Carnival - all ‘wining’ (that funny dance, previously described, in which girls shake their bum’s around in an exotic counter-rotation, and the guy gets effectively frotted with a somewhat astonished look on his face) and ‘liming’ (hanging out).
When the Soca big-beats came on everybody went crazy (here I’m thinking specifically of ‘Bring It – Ah Want me Rum Mix’ and ‘Thunder Waist – Leggo da Riddim Mix’ – let me know if you want a copy). If you don’t know SOCA it’s a super high energy Caribbean beat, a removed version of Calypso, and it’s designed to support all day drunken high-energy dancing Carnival marches through the streets. And that’s the lyric’s main theme: wining, liming, the road, going all day, and big, chunky Thunder Waists (of which, I suspect due to a large number of KFC’s, there are many).
Finally, somewhere in the early hours Greg and I were done, despite Greg talking us into the VIP. He’s just got an amazing gift for these things. Well, we got kicked out in the end, but we were big pimping rockstars for a while there.
Normally, you would just go home, but it’s a bit tricky in Port of Spain at 4am. It’s not really safe to walk around, taxis are highly infrequent, and local cabs are finished. It is also very hot and humid in jeans once you’re out of the super cold airconditioning. Ultimately we walked around Queens Park cricket pitch to the Hilton hotel – the fanciest in PoS and looking down on the city from the NE hills - on the basis that we would insinuate ourselves in and have a swim, and asses the transport situation there. And that we did after snaking over a security fence around the back, running up the bank behind the tennis courts and timing our run perfectly into the closed pool area, trying to keep our giggling and laughing quiet. After a swim we found they had those super recliner chair things, with a deep soft cushion, so we decided that would work fine. I presume we’ll get Hilton Honors miles for our stay. It got a bit chilly so I snuggled up under a towel; Greg was woken by a security guard sometime during the dawn with the advice that he should keep his computer-phone thing in his pocket (so they’re really good people when it comes down to it). We woke up well rested after a deep sleep to find people swimming laps, and perhaps a bit overdressed for the morning pool scene at the Hilton. At least Paris wasn’t there. Thank Heavens I had my sunglasses. But it all gets better! We went to the top floor and had one of those foreign hotel breakfast buffets where the variety of things stretches from horizon to horizon, eggs, fruit, ‘omelet station’, smoked salmon, fresh squeezed juice, croissants…absolute gold, and with a lovely view down on the city. You would never guess at Port of Spain’s more edgy elements when gazing down from the rarified air and leafy grounds of the Hilton.
I called Kady and wished her a Happy Birthday. She is skiing in Chamonix and was exhilarated having just skied a deep powder bowl. It’s just so hard to conceptualise that while looking at the hot, smoking and decrepit shanty villages, cooking smells almost visible in the heat haze, and the sea sparkling right across Golfo de Paria to the hills of Venezuela, the heat and moisture already causing big cumulous clouds to boil high into the sky as a steamy new day begins. What an amazing world we live in.
9 Feb 2008
Thursday, February 7, 2008
Chaguaramas,Trinidad 10°40.54N, 61°38.31W
Although our main reason for coming here was to ‘play mas’ at Carnival, Chaguaramas, where we are anchored, is also a main hub for sailboat construction and maintenance in the Caribbean. The bay is surrounded by six huge boatyards, and there are probably 1,500 yachts here of various size and description. All of the major equipment brands are represented here, and you can get everything from new electronics installed to teak decks. A key attraction for many people is that labour is cheap, especially when compared to North America.
We have a small lingering issue with our rigging. Although the boat is almost new (now 4 years old), I think when it was originally rigged the shrouds that support the mast were built a touch too long. It’s normal that new wire will stretch a little bit over time, and for that reason, the shrouds terminate in a turnbuckle, a device that allows the rig to be tuned by adjusting the tension.
The turnbuckles on our capshrouds, and one of the intermediates, are fully closed, which means they can’t be tightened any more. The shrouds are not so loose that we’re risking our rig, but given we’re blue-water sailing it’s time to do something about it. The answer – I think – is to cut the rigging off at the swages, and install new mechanical rigging terminals called Sta-Loks. They’re reasonably simple to install because they don’t need a machined swage, but we need to source the parts and make sure that once cut the new parts will fit in the turnbuckles at just the right point. No room for mistakes! Fortunately we’re in a good spot with several riggers around.
Chaguaramas is also base to a some of the commercial ships that support the offshore oil platforms, of which there are many in Trinidad (including a number run by BHP) so we see them docking and loading frequently – a number have helicopter pads.
7 Feb 2008
We have a small lingering issue with our rigging. Although the boat is almost new (now 4 years old), I think when it was originally rigged the shrouds that support the mast were built a touch too long. It’s normal that new wire will stretch a little bit over time, and for that reason, the shrouds terminate in a turnbuckle, a device that allows the rig to be tuned by adjusting the tension.
The turnbuckles on our capshrouds, and one of the intermediates, are fully closed, which means they can’t be tightened any more. The shrouds are not so loose that we’re risking our rig, but given we’re blue-water sailing it’s time to do something about it. The answer – I think – is to cut the rigging off at the swages, and install new mechanical rigging terminals called Sta-Loks. They’re reasonably simple to install because they don’t need a machined swage, but we need to source the parts and make sure that once cut the new parts will fit in the turnbuckles at just the right point. No room for mistakes! Fortunately we’re in a good spot with several riggers around.
Chaguaramas is also base to a some of the commercial ships that support the offshore oil platforms, of which there are many in Trinidad (including a number run by BHP) so we see them docking and loading frequently – a number have helicopter pads.
7 Feb 2008
Tuesday, February 5, 2008
Carnival!
My photos probably do it more justice than trying to explain - click here!
(somebody seems to have borrowed my camera in the middle there).
For best viewing, select slideshow in the bottom left.
For best viewing, select slideshow in the bottom left.
Sunday, February 3, 2008
60nm north of Trinidad
I am on watch, and we are about 60nm north of Trinidad. It's the most beautiful night for sailing. The breeze is warm, and it's gentle, varying between 10 and 14knts most of the time. We have the full main and genoa pulling as along, and that combination is giving us speed over the ground (adjusted for current) in the 7's but we've had a few minutes at nearly 9 knots in a puff; an exhilarating sleigh ride through the darkness.
But the most delightful thing is the sea. It's normally pretty lumpy around these parts, but tonight, after several days of lighter than normal winds, the seas have moderated allowing us to effortlessly slide over the water with just a gentle rocking motion, and a low frequency rise and fall caused by the larger undertone of the ocean swells, really only noticeable looking at the other boats out here.
It's dark. There's no moon. The heavens are littered with stars that run from horizon to horizon. I'm looking for the Southern Cross. It's an important constellation for us Kiwi's as it's in our sky much of the time, and of course it is on our flag. I haven't seen it yet, but we're only 11 degrees north of the equator now and I think it'll show itself soon. Behind us is a glowing trail of phosphorescence caused by the rudder and keel slicing through the warm water. It looks like a faint meteor trail casting back to the horizon.
I'm also watching a freighter that is slowly overhauling us. I can tell from its lights that it's several hundred feet long, heading approximately in our direction, and the green light signals that I am looking at its starboard side. It's almost certainly heading to Trinidad too. The night is so clear that I put the radar antennae to sleep to save power. From time to time I take a transit - just simply by lining up a lifeline stanchion and the boat. If the angle changes over time you can see the boat will pass clear of us; if it doesn't we're on a collision course and we'll need to do something. Tonight though it's easy - I can see this freighter will pass to the north of us.
The can probably see us too. We are flying a tri-colour light on our masthead. This signals we are a sailboat under sail. We also carry a radar reflector near the second spreader on the mast, and this should be giving a clear response each time their radar sweeps us.
Greg is asleep. His watch starts in about 45 minutes. I don't really want to wake him. Although I am typing this with my laptop on my knees in the cockpit (how nice is that - there's normally way too much spray and movement), I'm keeping a good look out, especially in the blind spot behind the genoa. This is because there are quite a few local fishing boats off the northern Trinidadian coast. Many don't carry fixed lights, but they may flicker a flashlight at you when they see you coming.
The chart also shows Hibiscus, and I have plotted our course such that we will pass within about a mile of it. Hibiscus is a large offshore oil platform, and there is a second platform 4nm to its NE. Although we navigate by GPS which gives us real-time position updates, I still like to cross-check where we are using other indicators. This can be through depth, lighthouses, navigation markers etc, but an offshore oilrig that looks like a city at sea should also work pretty well! Should visibility fail later, the rig is fitted with a RACON. This is a radar transponder. When our radar signal hits it, it shoots back a powerful pulse that shows clearly on the screen. It also transmits a morse code signal that is also drawn on the radar (say, a long then short line).
We're sailing through the equatorial current which is approximately west setting, although it appears to be more NW nearer Grenada. It's quite meaningful at around 1.2knts, so the course we are steering is almost 15 degrees to port (east) of our course over the ground (COG). It's like we're aiming to go down the east coast of Trinidad, or near Tobago, but in fact we will sail down the west coast into the Golfo De Paria, get past the islands, then come hard on the wind by steering east for the short sail into Chaguaramus. Chaguaramus is a port of entry, so we will clear customs on arrival.
Grenada has passed astern of us, and I can just see the loom of Trinidad on the horizon, despite that we have most of the night still to sail to reach it. I have an LED headlamp on but I keep it off to keep my night vision sharp, and it's amazing the glow that Trinidad is putting out! The country has 1.3m people, so it is by far the biggest island we have been to for a long time. Tomorrow night is the start of Carnival and Greg and I are both excited. One of my favourite costumes is a Moko Jumbie. For this, you wear super high stilts and colourful pantaloons. Moko Jumbie's are supposed to be able to see evil coming before normal people. I will try and photograph one to show you. I also want to see a Red Ibis; Trinidad's national bird.
The freighter has now passed us and pulled ahead. The green starboard light is gone, replaced by its white stern light. The most telling sign that it's clear however, it having passed and pulled ahead to windward, is that I can just smell its diesel exhaust on the wind. I've smelt this cruising in thick New England fog and, when you can't see the ship that creates it, it's terrifying!
Time to wake up Greg. I have to unclip my tether from my harness and lifejacket. It has a very elaborate shackle on the boat end (so it can be twisted without undoing) but a quick release on the harness end (just in case you need to get it off fast)) so it's fast and easy. Although it's lovely sailing conditions, we always sail with harnesses offshore and always at night. There's only one of us on deck at a time, so if you went over without being tethered to the boat, goodnight nurse! Occasionally we have to go forward into the bow. For this we have jacklines, which are tapes that run up and down each side of the boat. You snap you tether on these and you can slide it up behind you. Not as good as the fixed padeyes we use in the cockpit, but they're a lot safer than bounding forward between waves!
Have to go. I'm up again in three hours. Goodnight!
But the most delightful thing is the sea. It's normally pretty lumpy around these parts, but tonight, after several days of lighter than normal winds, the seas have moderated allowing us to effortlessly slide over the water with just a gentle rocking motion, and a low frequency rise and fall caused by the larger undertone of the ocean swells, really only noticeable looking at the other boats out here.
It's dark. There's no moon. The heavens are littered with stars that run from horizon to horizon. I'm looking for the Southern Cross. It's an important constellation for us Kiwi's as it's in our sky much of the time, and of course it is on our flag. I haven't seen it yet, but we're only 11 degrees north of the equator now and I think it'll show itself soon. Behind us is a glowing trail of phosphorescence caused by the rudder and keel slicing through the warm water. It looks like a faint meteor trail casting back to the horizon.
I'm also watching a freighter that is slowly overhauling us. I can tell from its lights that it's several hundred feet long, heading approximately in our direction, and the green light signals that I am looking at its starboard side. It's almost certainly heading to Trinidad too. The night is so clear that I put the radar antennae to sleep to save power. From time to time I take a transit - just simply by lining up a lifeline stanchion and the boat. If the angle changes over time you can see the boat will pass clear of us; if it doesn't we're on a collision course and we'll need to do something. Tonight though it's easy - I can see this freighter will pass to the north of us.
The can probably see us too. We are flying a tri-colour light on our masthead. This signals we are a sailboat under sail. We also carry a radar reflector near the second spreader on the mast, and this should be giving a clear response each time their radar sweeps us.
Greg is asleep. His watch starts in about 45 minutes. I don't really want to wake him. Although I am typing this with my laptop on my knees in the cockpit (how nice is that - there's normally way too much spray and movement), I'm keeping a good look out, especially in the blind spot behind the genoa. This is because there are quite a few local fishing boats off the northern Trinidadian coast. Many don't carry fixed lights, but they may flicker a flashlight at you when they see you coming.
The chart also shows Hibiscus, and I have plotted our course such that we will pass within about a mile of it. Hibiscus is a large offshore oil platform, and there is a second platform 4nm to its NE. Although we navigate by GPS which gives us real-time position updates, I still like to cross-check where we are using other indicators. This can be through depth, lighthouses, navigation markers etc, but an offshore oilrig that looks like a city at sea should also work pretty well! Should visibility fail later, the rig is fitted with a RACON. This is a radar transponder. When our radar signal hits it, it shoots back a powerful pulse that shows clearly on the screen. It also transmits a morse code signal that is also drawn on the radar (say, a long then short line).
We're sailing through the equatorial current which is approximately west setting, although it appears to be more NW nearer Grenada. It's quite meaningful at around 1.2knts, so the course we are steering is almost 15 degrees to port (east) of our course over the ground (COG). It's like we're aiming to go down the east coast of Trinidad, or near Tobago, but in fact we will sail down the west coast into the Golfo De Paria, get past the islands, then come hard on the wind by steering east for the short sail into Chaguaramus. Chaguaramus is a port of entry, so we will clear customs on arrival.
Grenada has passed astern of us, and I can just see the loom of Trinidad on the horizon, despite that we have most of the night still to sail to reach it. I have an LED headlamp on but I keep it off to keep my night vision sharp, and it's amazing the glow that Trinidad is putting out! The country has 1.3m people, so it is by far the biggest island we have been to for a long time. Tomorrow night is the start of Carnival and Greg and I are both excited. One of my favourite costumes is a Moko Jumbie. For this, you wear super high stilts and colourful pantaloons. Moko Jumbie's are supposed to be able to see evil coming before normal people. I will try and photograph one to show you. I also want to see a Red Ibis; Trinidad's national bird.
The freighter has now passed us and pulled ahead. The green starboard light is gone, replaced by its white stern light. The most telling sign that it's clear however, it having passed and pulled ahead to windward, is that I can just smell its diesel exhaust on the wind. I've smelt this cruising in thick New England fog and, when you can't see the ship that creates it, it's terrifying!
Time to wake up Greg. I have to unclip my tether from my harness and lifejacket. It has a very elaborate shackle on the boat end (so it can be twisted without undoing) but a quick release on the harness end (just in case you need to get it off fast)) so it's fast and easy. Although it's lovely sailing conditions, we always sail with harnesses offshore and always at night. There's only one of us on deck at a time, so if you went over without being tethered to the boat, goodnight nurse! Occasionally we have to go forward into the bow. For this we have jacklines, which are tapes that run up and down each side of the boat. You snap you tether on these and you can slide it up behind you. Not as good as the fixed padeyes we use in the cockpit, but they're a lot safer than bounding forward between waves!
Have to go. I'm up again in three hours. Goodnight!
Saturday, February 2, 2008
En Route Trinidad 11-55'.01N, 061-45'.9W
We just left Prickly Bay, Grenada, at 1630 for the overnight sail to Trinidad. We're about 20nm offshore and making a steady 6.8knts down the rhumb line; no other yachts in sight but one container ship on the horizon. We should be there in the morning, looks like 0500 for now. A good sleep when we get there, a coffee, and we'll be ready for Carnival!
(and Greg, a Giants fan, will be ready for Superbowl Sunday!)
I am making a pasta sauce out of all or our leftovers: a bit of steak, some courgettes, onions, garlic, potatoes...solid boy food.
Looks like the best radio propogation is out of Panama at this time of day (you would think Trinidad); if you're reading this it worked! If I can get a signal I'll update our position overnight.
(and Greg, a Giants fan, will be ready for Superbowl Sunday!)
I am making a pasta sauce out of all or our leftovers: a bit of steak, some courgettes, onions, garlic, potatoes...solid boy food.
Looks like the best radio propogation is out of Panama at this time of day (you would think Trinidad); if you're reading this it worked! If I can get a signal I'll update our position overnight.
Friday, February 1, 2008
Prickly Bay, Grenada 11°59.8N, 061°45.7W
What a spectacular sail! We left Petit St Vincent early after an unpleasant rolly night, hauled up the main, pointed the bow south and started to roll down the waves, the sea floor rushing past 15m below us.
The day started bright and cloudless, and the breeze quite unusual: NNE, I think for the first time since we’ve been here; it’s almost always more easterly. This downwind sailing is perfect for our big kite, so we rigged up the sheets, clipped the snatch blocks to the toe-rail and hoisted the chute into the breeze. This is a bit of a challenge for two people, but Greg and I have it approximately sorted. And it’s so fun to sail. The speed increase is phenomenal, especially on a boat with a hull that is so easily driven.
We left it up all day, sailing down the windward side of Carriacou, past the natural hole in the rock, near (but not over) the active underwater volcano called Kick em’ Jenny, and then opted to run down the windward side of Grenada. I had had this passage recommended by the Shafers (the former owners of this boat) and it’s a tremendous and beautiful run. So we’re not anchored in Prickly Bay, on the island’s southern end. After spending last night rolling from one side of my bed to the other, this bay is beautiful, calm and quiet.
Grenada has had a striking recovery too. I was last here in 2001, and it’s much more developed and a lot more fancy than it was then. And you have to remember that hurricane Ivan absolutely destroyed Grenada a few years ago. No wonder everything looks new. Still, it’s the most modern island we have been to in a while, and there’s a lot of yachts here. I just took the dinghy into the Prickly Bay marina and there must have been 50 other dinghys tied up. Ah, happy hour!
We have a few things to do here: it’s duty free so we’ll buy some beers and food, and some diesel. There are good marine chandlers too, so the inevitable series of broken boat parts and spares can be replenished.
From here the day-sailing is over: we have an overnight passage ahead of us. But we do have a choice. We can head south, by pass Tobago and head to Trinidad. This holds some excitement as the annual Carnival starts today. If we leave tomorrow at dusk, we can be there in time for the real festivities that start Sunday.
Alternatively, we can head SW to Los Testigos. A small island off the coast of Venezuela. A friend we met in Bermuda and who has sailed all over these parts for the last three years, said “in my opinion, knowing the passage you’ve done and islands you’ve been to so far, Los Testigos will be your first taste of real Paradise”.
Heavens. We’ve seen some incredibly beautiful spots! What on earth can he be getting at?
1 Feb 2008
The day started bright and cloudless, and the breeze quite unusual: NNE, I think for the first time since we’ve been here; it’s almost always more easterly. This downwind sailing is perfect for our big kite, so we rigged up the sheets, clipped the snatch blocks to the toe-rail and hoisted the chute into the breeze. This is a bit of a challenge for two people, but Greg and I have it approximately sorted. And it’s so fun to sail. The speed increase is phenomenal, especially on a boat with a hull that is so easily driven.
We left it up all day, sailing down the windward side of Carriacou, past the natural hole in the rock, near (but not over) the active underwater volcano called Kick em’ Jenny, and then opted to run down the windward side of Grenada. I had had this passage recommended by the Shafers (the former owners of this boat) and it’s a tremendous and beautiful run. So we’re not anchored in Prickly Bay, on the island’s southern end. After spending last night rolling from one side of my bed to the other, this bay is beautiful, calm and quiet.
Grenada has had a striking recovery too. I was last here in 2001, and it’s much more developed and a lot more fancy than it was then. And you have to remember that hurricane Ivan absolutely destroyed Grenada a few years ago. No wonder everything looks new. Still, it’s the most modern island we have been to in a while, and there’s a lot of yachts here. I just took the dinghy into the Prickly Bay marina and there must have been 50 other dinghys tied up. Ah, happy hour!
We have a few things to do here: it’s duty free so we’ll buy some beers and food, and some diesel. There are good marine chandlers too, so the inevitable series of broken boat parts and spares can be replenished.
From here the day-sailing is over: we have an overnight passage ahead of us. But we do have a choice. We can head south, by pass Tobago and head to Trinidad. This holds some excitement as the annual Carnival starts today. If we leave tomorrow at dusk, we can be there in time for the real festivities that start Sunday.
Alternatively, we can head SW to Los Testigos. A small island off the coast of Venezuela. A friend we met in Bermuda and who has sailed all over these parts for the last three years, said “in my opinion, knowing the passage you’ve done and islands you’ve been to so far, Los Testigos will be your first taste of real Paradise”.
Heavens. We’ve seen some incredibly beautiful spots! What on earth can he be getting at?
1 Feb 2008
Thursday, January 31, 2008
Petit St Vincent 13°32.0N, 61°22.9W
We sailed out of the Tobago Cays this morning and rounded Mayreau before heading south. There’s a shortcut out the back through the reef that would have taken perhaps an hour off today’s sail, but so many (usually charter) boats run aground on the reef it just didn’t seem worth it – local knowledge only – and it was a pleasant sail under mainsail alone running down the whitecaps.
I’m still amazed by the clarity of the water here. Sometimes the sounder is showing 25m and we can see the bottom rolling past.
Greg and I try really hard to keep a clean wake. For one, we’re always friendly to all the boatboys and local crowd, the kids and urchins, and we keep an eye out for the other sailors we see. We’ve rescued more than one dinghy we’ve seen blowing forlornly across an anchorage, and we’re quick to help with anchors, and when I dive on ours I keep an eye on the anchors of the boats around us.
However, today, once again being a muppet, I put our garbage bag on the transom to remind me to take it into shore. Of course I forgot about it and as we were concentrating on hoisting our mainsail in a fairly big swell, the inevitable happened. I turned around to see the bag tear open and all sorts of stuff you absolutely wouldn’t want to see in the ocean was suddenly in the ocean. We dumped the main and retrieved what we could with our boathook, but I still feel terrible, a few bits and pieces of nasty plastic waste blew away. Oh dear. I’m going to have to do something very good to make up for it. And these are such beautiful waterways too.
Sadly, this is not often noticed by the local residents. We see a lot of garbage being burnt on the beach. Boatboys offer to take your garbage away for a few EC$. This is handy, as there’s just really no good place to store several day old rubbish on a sailboat (yacht designers please take note). However, we’ve been warned that the boatboys collect the money and then dump the garbage on a beach somewhere, and there’s certainly evidence of this occasionally (or everywhere in Dominica). It’s the sad paradox of poverty: it’s the beauty of these islands that attracts tourists – a sure way out of the poverty continuum – and yet it’s typically the locals (except, sadly, today) that don’t seem to care.
I often think of China in this way. China impresses the socks of the western world with its rapid economic growth, and I’m aware of no group of people so industrious to get their kids to school and improve their family’s quality of life, yet this occurs with, it would appear, little regard for the environment in which they live, and the beauty of their country. I can understand it to some extent: if you are so poor you just want to put food on your family’s plate, of course the environment takes a back seat. Still, once the food is there, it’s a hard cycle to break. Westerners of course were no better as we industrialized – and after - the Hudson River is still horribly polluted from GE’s electrical conductor plant in Schenectady, New York, and they still refuse to do much about it.
In any case, I guess the transom is not the place to put a garbage bag.
After nearly three weeks we cleared out of St Vincent and the Grenadines by visiting the small airport at Union Island, followed by a short sail to Petit Martinique, part of Grenada. We were told diesel is very inexpensive here, and there’s a very modern fuel dock. Well, that’s true, but the surge made it impossible to use as we realized at near the last minute. So we motored off and anchored in the lee of Petit St Vincent; as it’s name implies, part of St Vincent. Hopefully the Coast Guard are not watching too closely. Actually, we’re told they exist but we’ve never seen them, ever.
Greg is feeling unwell. I could cook an egg on his forehead I suspect, I think he has a fever. That should save propane in any case.
Hopefully he feels better soon – it’s highly unusual that he’s not grinning and telling stories and planning some preposterous new adventure.
Tomorrow we plan to sail down the windward side of Grenada. It’s a decent sail, and we’ve been talking today about how suitable it would be – should the wind remain in its current sector – for a good all-day spinnaker run. YAY!
For now this anchorage, while beautiful with a white sandy seafloor and pristine water, has proven to be quite rolly as the sun has set. I hate rolly anchorages. HATE, HATE, HATE rolly anchorages.
I dived under the boat and spent most of an hour scrubbing slime and the odd barnacle off the hull, and it was bouncing around like a cork. Good breath-holding practice in any case.
Haven’t had internet for about a week, so these blogs are building up a bit.
31 Jan 2008
I’m still amazed by the clarity of the water here. Sometimes the sounder is showing 25m and we can see the bottom rolling past.
Greg and I try really hard to keep a clean wake. For one, we’re always friendly to all the boatboys and local crowd, the kids and urchins, and we keep an eye out for the other sailors we see. We’ve rescued more than one dinghy we’ve seen blowing forlornly across an anchorage, and we’re quick to help with anchors, and when I dive on ours I keep an eye on the anchors of the boats around us.
However, today, once again being a muppet, I put our garbage bag on the transom to remind me to take it into shore. Of course I forgot about it and as we were concentrating on hoisting our mainsail in a fairly big swell, the inevitable happened. I turned around to see the bag tear open and all sorts of stuff you absolutely wouldn’t want to see in the ocean was suddenly in the ocean. We dumped the main and retrieved what we could with our boathook, but I still feel terrible, a few bits and pieces of nasty plastic waste blew away. Oh dear. I’m going to have to do something very good to make up for it. And these are such beautiful waterways too.
Sadly, this is not often noticed by the local residents. We see a lot of garbage being burnt on the beach. Boatboys offer to take your garbage away for a few EC$. This is handy, as there’s just really no good place to store several day old rubbish on a sailboat (yacht designers please take note). However, we’ve been warned that the boatboys collect the money and then dump the garbage on a beach somewhere, and there’s certainly evidence of this occasionally (or everywhere in Dominica). It’s the sad paradox of poverty: it’s the beauty of these islands that attracts tourists – a sure way out of the poverty continuum – and yet it’s typically the locals (except, sadly, today) that don’t seem to care.
I often think of China in this way. China impresses the socks of the western world with its rapid economic growth, and I’m aware of no group of people so industrious to get their kids to school and improve their family’s quality of life, yet this occurs with, it would appear, little regard for the environment in which they live, and the beauty of their country. I can understand it to some extent: if you are so poor you just want to put food on your family’s plate, of course the environment takes a back seat. Still, once the food is there, it’s a hard cycle to break. Westerners of course were no better as we industrialized – and after - the Hudson River is still horribly polluted from GE’s electrical conductor plant in Schenectady, New York, and they still refuse to do much about it.
In any case, I guess the transom is not the place to put a garbage bag.
After nearly three weeks we cleared out of St Vincent and the Grenadines by visiting the small airport at Union Island, followed by a short sail to Petit Martinique, part of Grenada. We were told diesel is very inexpensive here, and there’s a very modern fuel dock. Well, that’s true, but the surge made it impossible to use as we realized at near the last minute. So we motored off and anchored in the lee of Petit St Vincent; as it’s name implies, part of St Vincent. Hopefully the Coast Guard are not watching too closely. Actually, we’re told they exist but we’ve never seen them, ever.
Greg is feeling unwell. I could cook an egg on his forehead I suspect, I think he has a fever. That should save propane in any case.
Hopefully he feels better soon – it’s highly unusual that he’s not grinning and telling stories and planning some preposterous new adventure.
Tomorrow we plan to sail down the windward side of Grenada. It’s a decent sail, and we’ve been talking today about how suitable it would be – should the wind remain in its current sector – for a good all-day spinnaker run. YAY!
For now this anchorage, while beautiful with a white sandy seafloor and pristine water, has proven to be quite rolly as the sun has set. I hate rolly anchorages. HATE, HATE, HATE rolly anchorages.
I dived under the boat and spent most of an hour scrubbing slime and the odd barnacle off the hull, and it was bouncing around like a cork. Good breath-holding practice in any case.
Haven’t had internet for about a week, so these blogs are building up a bit.
31 Jan 2008
Sunday, January 27, 2008
Tobago Cays National Park, 12°37.69N, 61°21.54W
Getting our water tanks filled in Bequia (from Daffodil’s floating barge) took an age, so we didn’t make it to the Tobago Cays as planned, instead stopping in at Canoun. This morning we woke early and took up what is now my favourite position in the Tobago Cays: just in front of Jamsby island, anchored off the beach in about 3.8m of water. The sea is crystal clear and warm, it’s hot, and there is a turtle colony that leads to the odd interesting encounter. We’re just back from a snorkel on the reef. Because it’s a National Park there are small dinghy moorings to tie up to, so we tied up there and bobbed about in the current.. The water is spectacularly clear, but the effect of hurricanes (I’m told) has led to some degredation of the reef – it’s cool but not like the photos you see in National Geographic. The fish life however is vibrant. I’ll also never tire of that helicopter like effect you can get zooming underwater propelled by flippers, zooming over the ridges and valleys, scaring all the fish and sending the darting for cover.
So it’s been a fun day. There’s a giant cruise ship here called Club Med 2. It has about six masts and it hoists sails that look like jibs from them. As Greg observed, they’re just too short to be effective. We reckon they’re almost completely for show, and suspect there’s a couple of 10,000HP engines below decks quietly proving the propulsion. Still, as Greg again observed, looks good at night, and having an excuse to go really slow must be good for fuel economy!
From here we will, I guess tomorrow, head towards Grenada, with a stop at Petit Martinique as we need to buy some diesel. Perhaps a stop at Carriacou to clear out of St Vincent and the Grenadines and into Grenada. I was in Grenada in 2001, but since then it was – if you remember – absolutely SMASHED by a hurricane. I read about it in US sailing magazines (that’s how I normally get through the winter)
27 Jan 2008
So it’s been a fun day. There’s a giant cruise ship here called Club Med 2. It has about six masts and it hoists sails that look like jibs from them. As Greg observed, they’re just too short to be effective. We reckon they’re almost completely for show, and suspect there’s a couple of 10,000HP engines below decks quietly proving the propulsion. Still, as Greg again observed, looks good at night, and having an excuse to go really slow must be good for fuel economy!
From here we will, I guess tomorrow, head towards Grenada, with a stop at Petit Martinique as we need to buy some diesel. Perhaps a stop at Carriacou to clear out of St Vincent and the Grenadines and into Grenada. I was in Grenada in 2001, but since then it was – if you remember – absolutely SMASHED by a hurricane. I read about it in US sailing magazines (that’s how I normally get through the winter)
27 Jan 2008
Saturday, January 26, 2008
Bequia, St Vincent
We’re anchored in Bequia. It’s a beautiful night, with not a cloud in the sky and the most amazing array of stars spanning across the heavens. It’s also absolutely calm leaving the sea an oily black in the darkness. Quite unusual: I’m not sure I can think of such a calm night since we arrived in the Caribbean; it’s normally always windy.
So the last week has been eventful. While Kady was here we noticed that the batteries were not charging like they should – we had some charge, but not enough for our electricity charged lifestyles (you see, Club Bandit requires strobe lights, lasers and sound systems for dancing each night). It turns out our alternator had burned out and was just putting out a trickle of power. We sailed back to Kingstown, St Vincent as there was apparently and alternator expert there. I disconnected it, and hired Conway, a local do-everyting-mon, to haul me up to the high hills of St Vincent where the shop was. It worked out well as they were confident they could repair in within the day – great, without it we have no lights, refrigeration etc. and we were keen to get cracking.
Three days later it still wasn’t repaired. So, can you repair it? “no mon”
Turns out it needed parts from the US which were too much of a hassle to get.
So I called a few companies for advice, then jumped on a flight to Barbados which connected to Miami which connected to New York so I could pick up a new alternator and regulator. New York was great and I saw my mate Sylvain and his partner Therasa which is always fun and thought provoking (we discussed the electoral Primaries which I have struggled to follow) and I also saw my solid mate Henry and his sharp fiance Liz; it’s good to see your mates going off and is a champion. Anway, the new alternator is now installed and working well, and it has a nice little LED display that tells you it’s working and pumping out amps; all magic as far as I am concerned. It also explains nn what we’ve been doing for the last couple of weeks. The regulator I bought can control two alternators, so later we may reinstall the old one and we’ll be able to sell surplus power into the National Grid.
26 Jan 2008
So the last week has been eventful. While Kady was here we noticed that the batteries were not charging like they should – we had some charge, but not enough for our electricity charged lifestyles (you see, Club Bandit requires strobe lights, lasers and sound systems for dancing each night). It turns out our alternator had burned out and was just putting out a trickle of power. We sailed back to Kingstown, St Vincent as there was apparently and alternator expert there. I disconnected it, and hired Conway, a local do-everyting-mon, to haul me up to the high hills of St Vincent where the shop was. It worked out well as they were confident they could repair in within the day – great, without it we have no lights, refrigeration etc. and we were keen to get cracking.
Three days later it still wasn’t repaired. So, can you repair it? “no mon”
Turns out it needed parts from the US which were too much of a hassle to get.
So I called a few companies for advice, then jumped on a flight to Barbados which connected to Miami which connected to New York so I could pick up a new alternator and regulator. New York was great and I saw my mate Sylvain and his partner Therasa which is always fun and thought provoking (we discussed the electoral Primaries which I have struggled to follow) and I also saw my solid mate Henry and his sharp fiance Liz; it’s good to see your mates going off and is a champion. Anway, the new alternator is now installed and working well, and it has a nice little LED display that tells you it’s working and pumping out amps; all magic as far as I am concerned. It also explains nn what we’ve been doing for the last couple of weeks. The regulator I bought can control two alternators, so later we may reinstall the old one and we’ll be able to sell surplus power into the National Grid.
26 Jan 2008
Monday, January 21, 2008
Tobago Cays National Park
Kady has been here for the last week. She and I sailed from St Lucia to Bequia, Canouan, Mayreau, the Tobago Cays National Park, Mustique, then back to Bequia and to Young's Island, St Vincent. Spectacular week, more details of which will follow, but have a look at these pics meantime.
Wednesday, January 16, 2008
Wallilabou, St Vincent
My head hurts. This, courtesy of some rum punches at this little shack on Wililobhy, St Vincent. They taste like sour fruit juice, but we found later they’re made using original St Vincent ‘Real Strong Rum’. It’s 87.5% alcohol. Goodness me.
Still, the proprietor, an elderly Vincey, danced to the latest reggae hits and sang over the top or provided background vocals from a microphone he’s installed behind the bar, and it was real good and fun. Before we knew it, the place was pumping with dancing and laughing (lubricated, no doubt, by the RSR). The highlight however was the launch of a new music video that had been filmed in this bay (it was also where Pirates of the Caribbean was filmed) and we had an advanced copy to preview. It was by a local reggae gangsta called Bomani, and the song is called Shake Your Booty.
Now, many of you have probably heard something about this particular fascination. I had thought it was more of a South American thing, but I can assure you at this point that the Caribbean islanders do appreciate some good booty. Indeed – good gracious me! – they may be the most focused aficionados out there – stand aside Brazil – and the booty they like is voluminous, and being jiggled at an apparently random yet rapid pace and within a sort of circular motion provided by the hips. It’s harder than it looks, and requires coordination and physical fitness beyond that able to be achieved by Greg and I.
The chorus (remembering this is like trying to think through a good Maine fog) goes something like this:
Shake your booty, shake shake
Shake your booty, shake shake
Shake, shake, shake
So it’s not that difficult to learn.
Especially, being a new release, and as I mentioned, ahead of it’s musical release, we had to watch it a lot of times. I mean a lot of times. The prop was very proud that he’d managed to get a copy. At the start of the video there was a nasty, high volume beep – penetrating and excruciating – and each time it occurred we mirrored the owner’s comment “a necessary evil”.
Rum punching with us were some cheerful and funny Norwegians (another stereotype shattered). They were a poker club, that instead of gambling for money, seemed to gamble for mojo. Still, the money they would have lost they put into a kitty, and at the end of the – what do you call it? – poker season I suppose – they spent the money on a yacht charter in the Grenadines. The funny thing is the losing half have to do all the work and the winning half just chill out and demand another icy cold Hairoun. All good fun.
We have a VIP showing up this week – Kady in from London.
10 January 08 (running a bit behind given very poor access to the net)
Much later (in fact in a hotel room in Kuala Lumpur 30 Aug 08): this may link to it....
Still, the proprietor, an elderly Vincey, danced to the latest reggae hits and sang over the top or provided background vocals from a microphone he’s installed behind the bar, and it was real good and fun. Before we knew it, the place was pumping with dancing and laughing (lubricated, no doubt, by the RSR). The highlight however was the launch of a new music video that had been filmed in this bay (it was also where Pirates of the Caribbean was filmed) and we had an advanced copy to preview. It was by a local reggae gangsta called Bomani, and the song is called Shake Your Booty.
Now, many of you have probably heard something about this particular fascination. I had thought it was more of a South American thing, but I can assure you at this point that the Caribbean islanders do appreciate some good booty. Indeed – good gracious me! – they may be the most focused aficionados out there – stand aside Brazil – and the booty they like is voluminous, and being jiggled at an apparently random yet rapid pace and within a sort of circular motion provided by the hips. It’s harder than it looks, and requires coordination and physical fitness beyond that able to be achieved by Greg and I.
The chorus (remembering this is like trying to think through a good Maine fog) goes something like this:
Shake your booty, shake shake
Shake your booty, shake shake
Shake, shake, shake
So it’s not that difficult to learn.
Especially, being a new release, and as I mentioned, ahead of it’s musical release, we had to watch it a lot of times. I mean a lot of times. The prop was very proud that he’d managed to get a copy. At the start of the video there was a nasty, high volume beep – penetrating and excruciating – and each time it occurred we mirrored the owner’s comment “a necessary evil”.
Rum punching with us were some cheerful and funny Norwegians (another stereotype shattered). They were a poker club, that instead of gambling for money, seemed to gamble for mojo. Still, the money they would have lost they put into a kitty, and at the end of the – what do you call it? – poker season I suppose – they spent the money on a yacht charter in the Grenadines. The funny thing is the losing half have to do all the work and the winning half just chill out and demand another icy cold Hairoun. All good fun.
We have a VIP showing up this week – Kady in from London.
10 January 08 (running a bit behind given very poor access to the net)
Much later (in fact in a hotel room in Kuala Lumpur 30 Aug 08): this may link to it....
Monday, January 14, 2008
Wallilabou, St Vincent
Hiedi got away safely. She was great to have on the boat and I hope she comes back soon (thanks for the tremendous meal at Ladera mate!).
Greg was up early this morning (his astonished friends will understand the significance of this) so we could push off from Vieux Fort, St Lucia for the sail to St Vincent. Greg had an errand to do, and wanted to buy a couple of things at the 'super' market, so I took on the straightforward task of clearing us out of St Lucia with Customs & Immigration. To do so, Greg dropped me at the commercial container wharf and I scurried up a rusty ladder near the bow of a coastal freighter, and popped up next to a bunch of fellas killing time.
"Ten EC$ I watch your dinghy!"
"thanks man, it's okay, we're not leaving the dinghy here" (as Greg drives off towards the fishing pier)
"but you owe me EC$10 anyway because I watched it last time" (we'd never been here before).
"ya mon" (as I walk off)
(BTW, US$1 = 2.6 Eastern Caribbean Dollars, or EC)
The Customs people were very polite. I double checked that I could complete formalities here - ya mon! - as we needed to get an early start. After a small problem caused by failing to turn over the carbon copy paper* resulting in another half dozen forms to complete, it seemed I was done.
(*to younger readers = this is an inky filmy paper that, when put between two forms, makes an imprint on the lower form when you write on the upper form, causing a 'carbon copy' to be produced. It has nothing to do with the cc line on email, except naming rights. BCC - or Blind Carbon Copy - has never existed; even this wonder paper can't do brail).
"so we're good to go?"
"Ya mon! Customs finished. You just need to go to the airport to clear Immigration!"
Oh man.
The airport is about 40 minutes walk each way - say 10 min by car - or you can pay the extortionate fee of EC$54 for a taxi, or about US$40 for the return trip.
I wandered into town and sat on a wall. "Gidday mon!" The local St Lucians are great. If you're friendly, so are they (although Greg tells me he got a "HEY WHITE MAN GIVE ME FIVE EC!". I shudder to think of the reply). But by and large they are tremendous and spirited.
An old man that looked like a street beggar toking on a a giant splif came up to me, his eyes, like many people here, covered by cataracts from too much fishing without sunglasses:
"You American?" I said no, I'm from New Zealand.
"Enjoy it. We're happy to have you here! Enjoy our beautiful country"
And if you sit on the wall and go through the process you can work out stuff.
In the end I got a lift to the airport, and my attempt to hand over a fistful of EC for some petrol was enthusiastically refused.
Immigration was easy, although I wasn't able to sign Greg's name on the form but magically when she - the Immigration Officer - sent a text message to her friend and looked the other way, and when Greg had in the meantime mysteriously signed it, it was okay mon.
Then I got the local bus home. The music is better than the taxi's anyway, and everybody sings along and chats and plays around and wears great sunglasses ('Channel') and children are being breastfed, and when you want to get off you yell 'DROP ME HERE' and you'd better put your lungs into it. And when it was all done and dusted I was charged a solid $1.25 and it was ten very fun minutes.
And that was EC$.
Greg was at the dinghy with his shopping. He was excited because he had found frozen goat meat and wants to make a curry with it.
I'm not typically excited by goat (although it was good but boney in St Martin), but I wasn't excited by "Tuna Helper" either ('tuna helper!') and that was surprisingly good too; but as an aside Greg's improvised yesterday's roast lamb risotto with leek and zuchinni is simply stunning and could easily be sold to worldwide acclaim at Michelin starred restaurants everywhere.
In any case, we sailed out of Vieux Fort nearly three hours after we had planned. Fortunately we had a 20-25 knot deep reaching breeze and the boat was flat and fast, surfing down the big ocean swells and we made good time.
Unfortunately, and inconsistent with our recent experience, we got a little cocky and got licked in one of our 'us, no!, we're not racing you!' races. The key here is to look like you're lounging around not really paying attention when you're actually - ever so casually - trimming as carefully as you can and watching the instruments like a hawk. Our mistake was to take on a Leopard 47 catamaran. You see, these things are damn fast off the breeze, and this guy was smoking. He sailed past us with at the very least a knot up his sleeve - and we were surfing into the nines!
(I took a mental note. If you're going to show off about how fast you are, choose your opponents carefully.)
We even pulled in the fishing line, to gain 0.0001 knots.
It was not looking good.
We just couldn't catch him.
Until finally, he sailed into the LOT.
You see, we were rounding the northern end of St Vincent. We've rounded a lot of islands like this lately. They've very high. In St Vincent's case it's the Soufriere volcano that dominates the skyline at the northern end, and the chart suggests it's 1,200 meters high. And we were also sailing down the western side. These islands, all of them, are in the tradewinds, a consistently strong wind that is approximately easterly. So the breeze wraps around the top of the island, twisting south and accelerating, giving you a major boost, but you have to follow this flow at least a nautical mile offshore; cut inside that curve and you hit this absolutely windless area in the island's lee. We call this zone THE PARKING LOT. If you sail into it, the island blocks your breeze completely, and you simply stop dead, your sails flopping listlessly on an oily sea. We've done it enough times to know.
Sorry catamaran, tactical error. One more to Bandit.
(Lucky escape me thinks, damn catamarans with all that waterline length and those big roachy mainsails).
(But we would have KILLED him to windward)
We're now stearn tied to a coconut tree in Willoughly, St Vincent, about a boatlength from shore. Just as well: it's deep. Greg is excited as this is where Pirates of the Caribbean was filmed; the sets are still here.
I swam in to clear customs with our ship's documents and a T-shirt in our dry bag, but that story will have to wait for another day.
Tuesday, 8 January 08
Greg was up early this morning (his astonished friends will understand the significance of this) so we could push off from Vieux Fort, St Lucia for the sail to St Vincent. Greg had an errand to do, and wanted to buy a couple of things at the 'super' market, so I took on the straightforward task of clearing us out of St Lucia with Customs & Immigration. To do so, Greg dropped me at the commercial container wharf and I scurried up a rusty ladder near the bow of a coastal freighter, and popped up next to a bunch of fellas killing time.
"Ten EC$ I watch your dinghy!"
"thanks man, it's okay, we're not leaving the dinghy here" (as Greg drives off towards the fishing pier)
"but you owe me EC$10 anyway because I watched it last time" (we'd never been here before).
"ya mon" (as I walk off)
(BTW, US$1 = 2.6 Eastern Caribbean Dollars, or EC)
The Customs people were very polite. I double checked that I could complete formalities here - ya mon! - as we needed to get an early start. After a small problem caused by failing to turn over the carbon copy paper* resulting in another half dozen forms to complete, it seemed I was done.
(*to younger readers = this is an inky filmy paper that, when put between two forms, makes an imprint on the lower form when you write on the upper form, causing a 'carbon copy' to be produced. It has nothing to do with the cc line on email, except naming rights. BCC - or Blind Carbon Copy - has never existed; even this wonder paper can't do brail).
"so we're good to go?"
"Ya mon! Customs finished. You just need to go to the airport to clear Immigration!"
Oh man.
The airport is about 40 minutes walk each way - say 10 min by car - or you can pay the extortionate fee of EC$54 for a taxi, or about US$40 for the return trip.
I wandered into town and sat on a wall. "Gidday mon!" The local St Lucians are great. If you're friendly, so are they (although Greg tells me he got a "HEY WHITE MAN GIVE ME FIVE EC!". I shudder to think of the reply). But by and large they are tremendous and spirited.
An old man that looked like a street beggar toking on a a giant splif came up to me, his eyes, like many people here, covered by cataracts from too much fishing without sunglasses:
"You American?" I said no, I'm from New Zealand.
"Enjoy it. We're happy to have you here! Enjoy our beautiful country"
And if you sit on the wall and go through the process you can work out stuff.
In the end I got a lift to the airport, and my attempt to hand over a fistful of EC for some petrol was enthusiastically refused.
Immigration was easy, although I wasn't able to sign Greg's name on the form but magically when she - the Immigration Officer - sent a text message to her friend and looked the other way, and when Greg had in the meantime mysteriously signed it, it was okay mon.
Then I got the local bus home. The music is better than the taxi's anyway, and everybody sings along and chats and plays around and wears great sunglasses ('Channel') and children are being breastfed, and when you want to get off you yell 'DROP ME HERE' and you'd better put your lungs into it. And when it was all done and dusted I was charged a solid $1.25 and it was ten very fun minutes.
And that was EC$.
Greg was at the dinghy with his shopping. He was excited because he had found frozen goat meat and wants to make a curry with it.
I'm not typically excited by goat (although it was good but boney in St Martin), but I wasn't excited by "Tuna Helper" either ('tuna helper!') and that was surprisingly good too; but as an aside Greg's improvised yesterday's roast lamb risotto with leek and zuchinni is simply stunning and could easily be sold to worldwide acclaim at Michelin starred restaurants everywhere.
In any case, we sailed out of Vieux Fort nearly three hours after we had planned. Fortunately we had a 20-25 knot deep reaching breeze and the boat was flat and fast, surfing down the big ocean swells and we made good time.
Unfortunately, and inconsistent with our recent experience, we got a little cocky and got licked in one of our 'us, no!, we're not racing you!' races. The key here is to look like you're lounging around not really paying attention when you're actually - ever so casually - trimming as carefully as you can and watching the instruments like a hawk. Our mistake was to take on a Leopard 47 catamaran. You see, these things are damn fast off the breeze, and this guy was smoking. He sailed past us with at the very least a knot up his sleeve - and we were surfing into the nines!
(I took a mental note. If you're going to show off about how fast you are, choose your opponents carefully.)
We even pulled in the fishing line, to gain 0.0001 knots.
It was not looking good.
We just couldn't catch him.
Until finally, he sailed into the LOT.
You see, we were rounding the northern end of St Vincent. We've rounded a lot of islands like this lately. They've very high. In St Vincent's case it's the Soufriere volcano that dominates the skyline at the northern end, and the chart suggests it's 1,200 meters high. And we were also sailing down the western side. These islands, all of them, are in the tradewinds, a consistently strong wind that is approximately easterly. So the breeze wraps around the top of the island, twisting south and accelerating, giving you a major boost, but you have to follow this flow at least a nautical mile offshore; cut inside that curve and you hit this absolutely windless area in the island's lee. We call this zone THE PARKING LOT. If you sail into it, the island blocks your breeze completely, and you simply stop dead, your sails flopping listlessly on an oily sea. We've done it enough times to know.
Sorry catamaran, tactical error. One more to Bandit.
(Lucky escape me thinks, damn catamarans with all that waterline length and those big roachy mainsails).
(But we would have KILLED him to windward)
We're now stearn tied to a coconut tree in Willoughly, St Vincent, about a boatlength from shore. Just as well: it's deep. Greg is excited as this is where Pirates of the Caribbean was filmed; the sets are still here.
I swam in to clear customs with our ship's documents and a T-shirt in our dry bag, but that story will have to wait for another day.
Tuesday, 8 January 08
Sunday, January 6, 2008
The Pitons, St Lucia 13°49.48N, 061°03.84W
Here is a cool photo that shows the yacht anchorage between the Pitons. I don't have a wide enough angle lens to capture both Petit Piton and Grose Piton, but you can see how spectacular it is. Greg and Heidi spent a couple of nights at the Ladera. This photo is from their balcony. The hotel's logo is 'view with a room' and you can see why!
Heidi leaves today, back to New York City - she's been great to have on board as usual.
If you're wondering, St Lucia has more Nobel Laureates per capita than any other nation.
GDP is around US$6,000 per person (for comparison, in the US it's about $40,000)
It is part of the Commonwealth, so Queen Elizabeth II is technically the Head of State as she is in New Zealand too.
6 Jan 08
Friday, January 4, 2008
The Pitons, St Lucia 13°49.48N, 061°03.84W
In a scene certain to have the world's gossip magazine editors all a tizzy, both megalomaniac Tom's (Perkins and Buchanan) had their magnificent yachts anchored off St Lucia's Pitons at the same time.
Perkins had his 294' megayacht Maltese Falcon anchored in the northern end, while Buchanan had his 43' gigayacht Bandit nearer the beach.
In the first photo, Bandit dominates the horizon with her imposing and stylish shape. Observant readers with keen eyesight (click to enlarge the photo) may just be able to make out Perkins boat somewhere in the background (clue: it's a bit to the left).
For the sake of journalistic balance, here's another photo of Maltese Falcon.
Saturday, December 29, 2007
Friday, December 28, 2007
Sofriere, St Lucia 13°49.48N, 061°03.84W
We’ve had a pretty quick run down the islands. Seven different countries in ten days (St Barths, St Kitts, Montserrat, Antigua, Guadeloupe, Martinique, St Lucia).
Customs officers have the most elaborate signatures.
I’m working on a customs theory but it’s not perfected yet.
Greg is monitoring the Heineken Index (St Martin = US$17 for 24 @ 33 centiliters = 100).
He has had several entrepreneurial ideas since we’ve been here. The best is the CaribPass. It’s a small electronic tolling device. You sail past a buoy and – beep, beep – you’re cleared customs and all fees are charged to your credit card.
It’s a great idea, but you have to deal with about twenty satellite governments to get it rolling. Here is a sample as I see it:
Antigua: “but the forms must be filled in in six-licate (can somebody please tell me what that is actually called). Then get the form from customs, and they will elaborately sign and stamp it (a staccato drumbeat on each page, with a short pause for more ink). Bring it back to us. We’ll give you the other form which you should take to ports after you’ve paid us the customs fee. They will give you the form you need to clear in, once you’ve paid the ports fee. No credit cards. Ports will direct you to excise. Get the blue form from immigration, have it stamped, get the sticker from over there and bring it back to ports. Your crew cannot land until they are cleared, but they must sign this form – you must go back for their signature. What do you have on board?.....okay, okay, you can stop, that’s called ‘ships stores’ for next time. Before you leave tomorrow, you’ll need to do this again. Oh, and ports won’t be back till Monday”.
Anywhere in the French West Indies: ‘eet is empossible!’ (confusion, shrugged shoulders).
Dominica: (once you’ve handed over passports and all your original ship’s documents) ‘my daughter’s school is raising money for…would you like to contribute a small sum. All credit cards are accepted and we have a wireless terminal to make the transaction easier for you. In the alternative, it’s my lunch break and the same daughter has a dentist appointment this afternoon.’
We’ve just taken a mooring in Soufriere, St. Lucia. We’re not in the habit of taking moorings, but it’s a marine park and you cannot anchor. I noticed it’s also 30 meters deep despite that we are only a boat length or two offshore, so the mooring’s good and the fee is included in our park fees. As an indicator of things to come, as we sailed in a flotilla of boat boys came roaring out in their pirogues (each with a 75HP Yamaha on the back) in a big race to get the next customer. You want a mooring, ice, we take your garbage, I’ll take your dock lines. In actual fact they’re polite and it’s good fun to chat with them. You buy the services you need. I’m not sure they’d had this request before: Greg ordered up six deboned and fried flying fish! (delish by the way). It was 20EC (a little under US$7) although I noticed a few beers were expertly lobbed between moving boats to help lubricate the transaction.
[In case you’re wondering, that move requires similar skill to the Airforce air-to-air refueling a helicopter, but Greg pulls it off with a nonchalant panache.]
On the way over, leaving Martinique, we were laughing about something and telling stories; not paying attention. Suddenly we got hit by a big squall – I think it gusted to 40 knts out of nowhere - and we broached, taking a bit of water over the cockpit side. Greg hit the traveler and I steered out of it, so we were clean fairly quickly but it was a good reminder to keep a weather eye. She’s a lithe machine and doesn’t like to be overpowered. The best advice the Shafer’s (former owners) gave me was to reef early. Phil Shafer told me he started out flying a lot of sail – like we all do – to get the boat ripping, but it really doesn’t work that way. His advice is dead-on: it’s initially counter-intuitive, but the boat is frequently much faster with less sail up. We’ve found keeping the boat flat makes a huge difference to speed. It was a great 50nm reach over to St Lucia. We put in - and shook out - reefs (reduced and expanded the sail area) several times, and changed from the genoa to the jib and back again more than once, but maintained nearly 8 knots for much of the way for our efforts. And that’s fun! Surfing and carving between the ocean swells, flying fish bursting out of the bow wave!
We’ve also made a small breakthrough with our Solent jib. Although it’s our smallest sail, it’s not a small sail (it’s tacked to the bow, runs to the masthead, and is near 100% of the fore-triangle). It’s also on a self-tacking track that curves across the foredeck. This means that a single handed sailor can short tack to windward with speed and grace, and we love it for that. However, when we are reaching – the breeze is approx right-angles to the boat – the track isn’t wide enough to ease out the sail as much as you would like; the clew lifts, the leach sags, and it tends to flog and spill air in the top third. It’s meant at reaching and downwind angles we’ve had to over-sheet the sail with the dual effect of inhibiting the sail’s performance while simultaneously frustrating the skipper. So today we rigged up some tweakers through snatch blocks on the toe rail. These open the sail and allow us to maintain leach tension. It’s increased the wind angles through which we’ll happily fly the sail, and it’s done wonders for our reaching speed, especially when it’s too windy for the big-bad genoa to do it’s magic work!
28 December 2007
Thursday, December 27, 2007
The Green Flash
So I finally saw it.
I've heard about this for years, and have looked and looked and looked but I've never seen it.
It's the kind of phenomena you discuss late on a winter's night while having a beer with your mates in New York City. It may be snowing outside, and this kind of yarn keeps it real as you look to the future, and everything life holds. I've been day dreaming about sailing (and yarning about it) for years, almost all my years. I can't tell you how special it is to finally be out on the ocean.
Specifically, it's called The Green Flash, and it occurs, just for a second, and only when the night is perfectly clear and perfectly perfect, and only at the absolute precise moment the sun slides below the horizon.
Perhaps you need to have had a rum punch to see it, but I haven't been able to test the alternative.
And what's more, I got a photo of it. You may need to click on the images to see it, but it's there; start with the second to last one.
My camera has one of those fast shutter things that you might use at a fashion shoot (that's, of course, where I learned to use it). Randomly I was playing with it taking photos of the sun setting off the coast of Dominica. I was really trying to record how fast the sun sets in the tropics. Then, kind of daydreaming and not really paying attention, but looking through the viewfinder...
BAM! THE GREEN FLASH!
The photos don't to it justice. It's bright, really bright, and it sears into your subconscious, penetrates your soul and changes you forever.
You're left bobbing gently in the dinghy, darkness rapidly enveloping your world, dogs barking in the shanty town behind, the smell of fried flying fish and reggae beats drifting lazily out onto the water, and the rain forest insects starting that tropical low-frequency vibration that more closely resembles a throb, and you wonder what just happened. But you know, as you gaze around, that it was special and you'll never forget it.
And then it's gone.
27 December 2007
Dominica
We are anchored in Dominica. It's beaufitul, and amazingly tropical: famous for its rain forests and waterfalls. It's also very poor. Despite this beauty, they're burning garbage on the beach. The QE2 was here yesterday when we arrived.
Today we'll sail back to the French West Indies - Martinique. Hopefully my phone will work again.
We were in Guadaloupe, Deshais, for Christmas Eve and a series of incredibly beautiful French islands called Les Saintes for Christmas; it's also part of Guadaloupe, off the island's most southern part.
I have a very bad internet connection, so will have to update this later.
Thu, 27 Dec.
Wednesday, December 26, 2007
Saturday, December 22, 2007
Antigua 17°00.19N, 61°45.7W
We arrived in Antigua last night, having sailed in from Montserrat. We're anchored off Nelson's Dockyard in English Harbour. It's a beautiful spot: the old buildings have been restored, and there are flowers and vines growing over them. It's 29C and the Trades have moderated for a few days, so it's balmy and relaxed. Ya mon! We plan to head to Guadeloupe tomorrow, and I guess we'll have Christmas there.
Have a wonderful Christmas!
I took the top photo into our stainless dorade; this is the anchorage in Antigua. The bottom one is our early departure from Montserrat. We had to leave early as we missed immigration, and they charge and extortionate fee during weekends -- they kind of plan it so you end up paying it. I hope there's not a Montserattian warship after us.
Montserrat 16°48.3N, 062°12.5W
We’re anchored just to the north of the volcano evacuation zone on Montserrat, having sailed over from St Kitts today, almost 50nm, much less in a straight line. A fun sail, but it was very windy – almost 37 knts as we sailed the last bit - and we were tight on the wind all the way which led to a lot of sail trimming and tacking, and the boat smashing her heart out. Because we can’t sail directly into the wind this tends to mean a slow day. We sail fairly fast in the direction we’re heading, but make slower progress in the direction we want to go! (if that makes sense).
Still, we’re here, and our anchorage is superb: we’re tucked in under a cliff. It is super calm as the cliff is blocking the wind…I know it’s still angry out to sea so it’s almost cozy, and I will sleep well tonight. I took out our second anchor to ensure we’re safely off the cliff in the unlikely event the wind changes.
You would well know that gentleman don’t sail to windward. Today was quite ungentlemanly, and in protest Greg has gone to bed despite that: a) it’s only 7.48pm, and b) it’s, coincidentally, the semi-finals of the Montserrat calypso music competition tonight, starting at 10. Perhaps he’s right: as I write this it’s pretty clear we’re going to hear the music anyway!
Still, there’s an odds on chance that after I go to sleep there’ll be a knock on my cabin door, and Greg will be there arguing vehemently in favour of calypso music.
If he is true to historical form, there’ll be:
1) at least one reference to his growing up with calypso music (he might add that he was brought up by Caribbean gypsies on a rum-running schooner; that they kept him with the animals; that they only fed him conch and Marlboro Reds);
2) at least one reference to the fact that he’s also a world class calypso musician himself, but he’s never shared it with me because he is shy. However, if I were to motivate and go to the concert, he may enlighten me (but I would have to by him a few beers at the very least for that to happen, and of course, no promises);
3) that it is highly unlikely that I will ever be in the fortunate position of being with someone like him in Montserrat ever again, and in turn this means, I won’t get the benefit of him:
a. Interpreting my Kiwi accent to the English speaking Montserratians, thereby allowing me a most basic form of communication with the locals;
b. Using his streetwise negotiating skills that can turn Euro prices into the same nominal value in Dollars on the basis that one day the US$ will be valuable again (true, he’s done this recently more than once…);
c. Protecting me as he is a World Class Street Fighting action hero…(this bit goes on for some time and I tend to tune out and think about the next day’s sailing…)
4) At least some reference to me being somewhat like, and having the characteristics of, a kitten.
I regret tomorrow may be ungentlemanly again as we’re heading to Antigua which is around 20nm directly into the eye of the wind. I’ll be surprised if we haven’t sailed 30 or more miles by the time we get to English Harbour.
Now Montserrat is very interesting. The volcano is still pumping out ash, and with this strong wind we could see a plume from the mountain’s summit at least 100nm downwind. As we got closer you could see smoldering lava flows down the windward side. The population – down to 4,500 from 11,000 prior to the eruption – now all live in the northern end kind of near where we are. Greg is very interested in ‘Conch Water’, which is a conch soup I think. He also wants to try Goat Water; I trust it’s also a soup despite that it sounds like some crazy hallucinogenic drink consumed out of coconut shells. Earlier when we asked at the little stalls near the calypso competition they had ‘only fried tings!’.
I would like to go exploring on Montserrat. Especially I’d like to go to Plymouth, the town that was buried in the eruption (our chart still shows it, but superimposed over the top in red print it says ‘Destroyed 1997’). You aren’t allowed into that part of the island, but I’m told you can go close enough that you can see rooftops sticking out of the lava flows. There’s also a famous tennis court visible from a lookout that’s still reachable. The court looks fine, until you notice that only the top of the net sticks out of the ash. For us it’s a pretty easy sail down the island’s leeward side, and it also has the benefit of positioning us on a more favourable angle for our sail to Antigua. However, there’s now a security zone around the island’s southern half that adds, I think, too many miles to make our trip one day (I try not to go into new anchorages in the dark which limits our sailing time), and I hear when you go through the plume – that is, to leeward of the volcano – your boat gets covered in ash.
That – like Saba – may sadly have to wait until next time.
So we are now 16°36’ north of the equator. Our anchorage in Mamaroneck, New York, was 40°55N. In addition to sailing south, we’ve also travelled quite a way east. We are now 062° west of the prime meridian, whereas we started at 073°W. Ultimately, our voyage to New Zealand – if that’s what it turns into, and we’ll just have to see how it goes - is a westerly trip, so we’ll reverse this and much more.
To put this in context, I must ask my parents where our house is in New Zealand. I’m guessing it’s something like 36°S, 174°W. My Mum and Dad live on Auckland harbour, and I have this dream of sailing into Auckland, anchoring off the house and swimming in.
Gidday Mum!
Water temp right now is 30.3C. I don’t remember what the water temp was in Mamaroneck, but I do remember swimming (if you can call a 0.01 second plunge swimming) with Max in Maine in 13C.
Photos show the old fella with the volcano in the background (if you look closely you can see the bandit scarf Greg bought me), and the other is of us beating towards Montserrat. Good heel on!
Thursday, December 20, 2007
St Christopher (St Kitts)
A beautiful sail from St Barths to St Kitts. Fast sailing in crystal clear blue water. Now this is what we came for!
Fishing has also been going OFF!
We caught three bluefin tuna this morning. We let two go, but one became fresh sashimi for lunch. Then, just on nightfall, Greg caught a huge tuna (species: greener than the others) and we took two big fillets off it. Greg also cut to chunks of tender flesh from behind the head. We seared the fillets on the barbie - 20 second on each side - and it was simply magical. I'm ruined for other 'fresh' fish. This was all of 20 minutes old.
We cerviched the other pieces.
OH HEAVENS IT WAS GOOD!
* look at that hilarious (yet quietly disturbing) photo of Greg with his tuna. Except for when he has fresh sashimi on the mind, he's actually a quite pleasant lad. In actual fact, this technique for killing fish is called an IKI. It's Japanese, and was taught to us by our marine biologist friend Max. It's supposed to be quick and as painless as being killed can be, but I'm not certain one is supposed to have photos like this taken, and I am pretty sure it's not recommended to post them on the web.
Wednesday, December 19, 2007
Gustavia and Maltese Falcon.
I wanted to see Maltese Falcon and I finally did.
Very early it swept around the point, under full sail, a simply magnificent sight. It's 289', the largest privately owned sailboat in the world. Fast too: can do 18knts. The masts have no spreaders (at least in the traditional sense) nor backstays. The sails furl inwards into the mast. It's totally computerised such that, in theory, it can be sailed by one person. Till it breaks of course.
It's owned by Tom Perkins, an American venture capitalist. I dare say he had little change from half-a-billion bucks, but it is a technological masterpiece, and it's pretty striking when you see it fo' real! Under the central mast is a three story atrium with glass windows: you can look upwards from the lower deck right to the top of the mast.
I presume Perkins is a megalomaniac. I'd still love to go for a sail! Maybe there's something to be said for being a megalomaniac. I must look into that.
The other photos are of St Barts and the Port of Gustavia.
The St Barths Airport
I know this appears to be becoming a plane-spotters guide to interesting airport experiences, but this one is mad.
St Barths has this little airport. You can see it in the top picture. To land there, the plans have to fly over a mountain ridge. They then have to go into a nose down dive, pulling out at the last minute to hit the runway. It's not so evident from the photo, but that grassy bit leading up to the threshold is quite a steep decline ending at the runway's start.
There's a cross and a windsock on the hill above - strikes me as an apposite combination!
Most planes still land around 1/3 of the way down the runway. But, it's such a challenging approach, I think it is a real test of skill for pilots, so I suspect they come here from all around the place to have a crack. In fact, if you look really closely you can see a whole bunch of tire marks RIGHT ON THE END of the runway.
The photos don't do it justice, but to hit this point you have to be completely mad and extremely skilled. You see, you would have to time your decent perfectly to run down the hill - nose down and fast - then pull up right at the perfect moment.
Look at the final picture. I took that standing at the top of the hill! How often can you look DOWN on a landing plane? This guy touched down around 1/3 of the way down the runway, so you can see how insane landing on the end is!
It's just wrong. Take the ferry.
Saint-Barthélemy
Hanging out at the beach with nude French supermodels is not to everyone's taste, but we've managed to endure it for a few days.
St Barths is beautiful. Perfectly clear water, and the land is steep and arid and covered in cactus and small shrubs. The beaches are pristine. I almost ran over a giant turtle this morning in the dinghy.
It's also expensive. Our $1 Presidente beers have turned into Euro7, but the jazz band that came with it was superb. After one round, we decided to put some beers in the dinghy and casually slipped out to drink one of those from time to time. Hilarious. My budget no longer extends to US$10 beers.
St Barths is also French. This means great baguettes and a supermarket that has fabulous food: cheese, wine, sasauge, and acres of foie gras. It also means funny protests. This morning the Port of Gustavia was blockaded by a string of small fishing boats, all tied together across the harbour's entrance. We couldn't get in to clear out of the French West Indies. I asked one of the fisherman what was going on and he said they were protesting: fuel prices are too high!
I also managed to make the muppet mistake of the journey to date. It's been very windy, and late at night I made a mistake tying up the dinghy. It blew away, and I expect it's now in Portugal.
I'm better than that. I can tie a bowline with one hand.
Still, I'm absolutely confident it won't be the dumbest thing I'll do this trip.
We went back to St Martin and I bought a new RIB and outboard. Ouch. That's a lot of Euro 7 drinks you know. But it's a cool new boat.
Photo shows Bandit lifting the standard at the dock in Gustavia, St Barths.
Friday, December 14, 2007
St Martin
I’ve been downloading GRIB files of the local weather and it looks like we may need to wait until Saturday to make a run for St Barts. Until then we’re going to get gusts around 35 knts, a little more from time to time. If that was a downwind or reaching breeze, I would feel pretty comfortable having a crack at it, but it’s really the waves that are an issue after nearly a week of strong, gusty conditions, and with SB to windward, despite not being very far away, it’s probably smart to stay put for another 24 hours. The big motoryachts are all staying put. They don’t want to damage the chandeliers.
I’m excited about moving on. Not to say life here is bad. If you wonder what we do by day, today I rebedded one of the chainplates where we had developed a small leak. Despite being very small, it just gave a little drip into that part of the boat where we keep the toilet paper. Probably all you need to know.
Later, I had a chat with a boat called Adagio. It’s an Outbound 46. I was curious about it because it looks a lot like my boat, a Saga 43. I said hello to the owners, a cool couple from Jamestown, RI. Turns out they had taken their dinghy over to us earlier and had given a rap on the hull (we were out). Their previous boat was a Saga 43, and they wanted to say hello.
Now this is interesting, because the previous owners of this boat, a fantastic, cool and very experienced couple who sail on Lake Erie, sold this boat because they were having an Outbound 46 built. I had a quick scamper over Adagio – what a boat! - it’s an absolute superb machine (you can write that, easy, but yachts when you sail one, look after one and get looked after by one, are way too personal to be machines). It’s 10,000 lbs heavier than this boat despite being only 3’ longer – for context, that’s around 40% heavier. And you can feel it: rock solid and stiff, and a very clever layout that maximized what you want, and dispensed with the nonsense. This one was new, sure, but very well maintained, and I know what that involves keeping Bandit working the way she (you would never call a machine she!) should be. A most beautiful and well designed boat.
I like looking at other boats. They did say their Saga was faster. I just smiled (but inside I thought: YES!).
Later I met a Kiwi guy called Daniel. He has a 35 footer called Fat Zoe. It looks lithe and fast, but from behind you realize how she got that name: a big fat beamy boat, it meant the interior had a huge amount of space. But what I liked about Fat Zoe (and by extension, Daniel’s whole approach) was its simplicity. Apart from the fact that he paid $1,500 for a hull that had sunk, and then pretty much rebuilt her while working in a boatyard – including adding a foot to the bow and a foot to the stern! – inside it was simple, clever, and just worked. I like that. Lots of things on Bandit are more complex than they should be, I think. As an example, we have a powerful electric motor called a windlass that pulls the anchor chain up. Sometimes we have 200’ of chain out, with a 25kg anchor on the end (sorry – after 8 years in the US I’m very confused between metric and Imperial). But if that motor fails, into a headwind, I can’t get the chain up! Madness, how stupid is that! (pass me the hacksaw please). Daniel had a simple hand operated ratchet on a lever that whipped in the chain and kept him fit too. I also spotted The Long Way by Bernard Moitessier on his bookshelf – and that’s always a good sign.
Later I chatted with a guy from Valkarie, a six-month old, almost totally carbon 78’ Swan. It’s Canadian, out of Halifax; they had just completed the Rolex Trans-Atlantic. The other boats, Med moored (stern to the pier) were rolling gently, but this boat – so light! – just danced.
They also had one of those underwater lights that shines down under the transom lighting up the seafloor. A bit powerboaty, but secretly I think it looks cool. How fun would that be over a reef? Fishy, fishy, fishies! Feel like some stale baguette?
So it’s been a busy day. I haven’t mentioned the retired halibut fisherman I met who told me how to deal with catching giant mahi-mahi, or the Swiss guy I chatted with over $1 Presidente’s during a rain shower – he works for the Victory Challenge in the America’s Cup in Valencia. We chatted about where the Cup is going while we watched a giant poweryacht gingerly, and quite poorly as it turned out, try and maneuver between two real sailboats as it docked stern to. Right in front of the bar. High pressure docking. And it didn’t go so well.
Although we all quietly nodded at each other with that ‘I could do that blindfolded’ look on (while casually having another sip of beer), I know all the sailors were really thinking there, but for the grace of God, go I!
Cross wind, cross current and as much freeboard as an average house: mate, she’s all yours.
Now I’ve mentioned St Barts previously. One of those places you really have to go (and everyone does I assume). Super chic, and you can top up your Foie Gras tanks.
But what really interests me as I look at the chart in front of me is this little island called Saba. I’ve seen it on the horizon as we sailed over. Steep and green, with its peak in the clouds – like something out of a fairy tale. Using my finger against the chart scale it seems to be no more than five miles square, yet it’s 3000’ high; it’s a mountain sticking out of the water. I’ve read they had no road until the 50’s so you walked between townships – there are two, sensibly named Bottom and Windwardside* – on a mountain track. There’s still no marina. Supposed to be the best diving in the Caribbean. Very tricky anchorage; you probably don’t want to go there. Doesn’t sound like any of the big boats are going; haven’t yet met anyone who’s been. Sounds remote. But really? It’s only 20 odd miles from fancy St Barts – how could that be?
Has a nice feel about it. Think it’s worth a look. What do you think? Want to come? There’s an international airport just off our port side; we can pick you up in the dinghy; you could be here by the morning!
I’ve been sailing now for seven months. I’m a different person. Really, I am; I feel changed. I even look physically different. But want to know what’s the true essence of sailing like this?
It’s simple: you have time.
_____
*One can only assume being to leeward of Bottom is unfashionable.
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)
