Going to Extremes

Just when we started to believe that hurricane season was finally coming to an end – something had to happen. We had been anchored in the Lagoon at St. Georges so we could be near the Island Water World store while we did some work on the boat. With that completed, we decided to head back to Prickly Bay once again. While motoring around Point Salines, we enjoyed near calm water. This is unusual to say the least. Most trips that we’ve made around this pointy piece of land have been rough, choppy, and uncomfortable because you must head into the wind and waves while clearing lands end. Smooth, smooth waters mean little wind, so we enjoyed a quick motor into the bay. The wind happened to be coming out of the West when we set the anchor; opposite to the usual flow from the East.

A couple of days later we woke up to squally weather. I was going to meet some people onshore and head into St. Georges, so Roy dropped me off at the dock and went back to the boat. A particularly nasty looking line of black clouds was looming and as the wind and rain raked through the anchorage, I felt pretty anxious standing there at the dock thinking about how when we anchored the wind was blowing in the opposite direction. About 10 minutes later I could see Roy coming at full speed in the dingy. We dragged anchor and I had to reset it! He said as I jumped back into the dingy. Yikes.

We raced back to the boat. As soon as we got onboard we pulled up the anchor again and reset it. I have no idea how Roy managed to start the boat, operate the windlass (thank goodness we have a control panel at the helm) and then pull forward into a new spot – further away from the catamaran that had ended up about 10 feet off our stern. Like I said, Yikes.

Once that piece of bad weather passed the rest of the day was uneventful except for the 2 to 3 foot swell that spilled into the anchorage. We spent the day rolling back and forth and not in a peaceful sort of way. And then, just before sunset, another purple-black line of clouds began to gather again to the South. This is a picture that you do not want to see especially after dragging anchor once that day.


We switched on the radar and you can see the big orange blob on the radar screen beside me. That indicates where the heaviest rains are and the screen also displays the speed and direction they are traveling. Thankfully, this storm line paralleled us- moving past us at a distance of about 2 miles. We got sprinkled on for about 5 minutes and that was it! Well, that was it except for the waves that followed keeping us rolling almost all night long and not in a good way. The next day we pulled up the anchor and made a beeline for the coveted anchorage at Hog Island. Coveted, because it’s almost completely surrounded by mangroves and reefs that have the power to keep out the swells. Now we could get some shut eye without rolling right out of bed.

Hash House Harriers

I had heard about the HHH at various times and places in my travels, but never had the chance to check out an actual "Hash" until last Saturday. The premise appeals; a gathering that involves some type of remote hiking/running adventure cummulating in beer drinking and Barbecue. Other sailors were going too and transportation to the start point was available for a reasonable 20EC dollars. So, with the torrential rains that poured down most of the morning dissipating, we piled into Cuddy's taxi and headed up to Petite Etang, in St. David's parish

The van climbed higher and higher into the mountains, past small farms and clusters of houses until we caught sight of a giant inflatable brown Carib beer bottle poking up through the trees. A sizable clearing opened up revealing the staging area for the event. Plenty of parking, two shade tents for the bar and food service area, a generator keeping the beers cold, and a sign-in table. Today's event was a celebration of the 600th Hash for the Greneda chapter. Grab a commemorative T-shirt before they're all gone, an organizer advised us, and don't forget to sign-in: Hounds sign on the one sheet and Virgins on the other one. Virgins? Hounds? 600 Hashes? What kind of parallel universe had we stumbled upon I wondered?

Once the membership had assembled, Rudolf Hoschtialek the Hashmaster, took to the podium. Ok, he actually climbed into the back of a nearby pick-up truck and began to shout through his cupped hand while holding a Carib in the other. Club business was handled first with the thanking of members, the presentation of plaques, the bestowing of nicknames and then the particulars of this Hash were outlined. Participants could choose from one of three trails; the ironman trail that involved climbing up the valley we were currently in, heading along the ridge line and then descending down through the rainforest to reach back to the start; the runner's track that followed a similar path with what sounded like a less rigorous decent; and the walker's route which stayed in the valley, but promised an exciting stream crossing. He assured all hounds and virgins that most of the razor grass had been cut down along the trails, but to be careful of the slippery mud filled slopes. He reminded us again that everyone had to sign-in and then sign-out as they returned. That way they would know if they had lost anyone. It was unclear what if any action would be taken if this proved to be the case.

Gaging from the mob of people surrounding the pick-up truck and by quickly glancing at the sign-in sheets, I'd guess that there were around 200 people . Off everyone went as the start was announced. Some running others strolling - Roy and I were a bit stunned by the sheer number of people. Hiking for us isn't usually a group activity. We followed near the end of the line up - and at squeeze points we really did have to line up to pass through. The overwhelming feature of the trek turned out to be the mud. Rich, dark brown, slippery mud. Sometimes ankle deep. Sometimes threatening to suck the Keens right off my feet. Natually slippery slopes mean falling and sliding. Soon not just the feet and legs are mud covered. Hands and arms and especially backsides get a coating too.



I learned that this is the delight of these HHHers. They love the ordeal of the muddy mess. Once back at the sign-in point the swilling of the Caribs and the munching on Barbque begins. A fellow sailor told me this was his third Hash and each event had been a mud fest. Wet - muddy - unexpectedly fun.