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.

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*One can only assume being to leeward of Bottom is unfashionable.