Sweet Life Drags Anchor

The Le Marin anchorage in Martinique is huge. There must be over 300 boats here at anchor and over 500 in the various marinas. Amazing and a little dangerous we found out. Tuesday night we woke up to quite a strong wind gusting through the anchorage. There were a couple of quick rain showers and then the winds calmed right down. A few hours later Roy got up to have a look around up on deck and I hear him call out, Michelle, you've got to come and see this. I climbed out of bed and looked at the clock: 4 am. Up in the cockpit I could see immediately that our neighbour, Sweet Life, a 40 foot sailboat, was sitting about 8 feet off our port side. Eight feet is crazy close. They had dragged anchor in the night and had somehow not smashed into us as they came to a stop beside us. How long they had been drifting there beside us? How had they managed not to skewer themselves on our bowsprit on the way by? Many questions and "what if's" flooded through my mind. Better get out some fenders was my next thought. Roy grabbed the big million candlepower spot light and beamed the light on their deck and into the ports. Now they were drifting even closer. Roy hands me the spotlight and goes to grab a boat hook so he can maybe push them off our side if we end up touching. I call out Sweet Life! Sweet Life! Finally a woman's face appears in the forward porthole as a man surfaces in the cockpit. In true French style the guy walks up on deck, looks at the situation, and calmly asks us in French if we have dragged. We point out that he is the one with the dragging anchor! Finally he get his engine started and moves away from us to anchor in a new position. We watch this process from our cockpit and can not believe how lucky we were to have not a scratch from this extremely close call.

Pitons and Rum

Back up to St. Lucia and the fabulous Pitons!

Roy and Bill checking out the Rum in Martinique

Mt. Pelee Volcano in Martinique

Nautical Bequia

Here is a nautical scene if I ever saw one! This is a cruise ship that calls into Admiralty Bay in Bequia. It's half ship and half sailboat. Part of the Star Clipper Line, there are a few of these around the Caribbean.
Don't let those masts fool you. The two in the back of the boat are smoke stacks. But still, this is an impressive thing to see. Roy and I jumped into the dingy and drove along side to take these pictures on Friday at sunset.



As you can see from the water, the sea was as still as can be! Perfect conditions for blasting along after this massive boat with our little 8.9 outboat engine. As I was busy snapping away pictures, we noticed that the whole crew and passengers were gathered along the back deck. There were getting a group picture taken, so no one noticed us buzzing by their stern.






While we have been here in Bequia we had a bit of work done on the boat. Winfield is a local who does fantastic work on boats. We had first met him when we were here in May. He did some work on our friend's boat Losloper. We had him spruce up our teak toerail. This involved stripping off the old finish and then sanding and applying a few coats of teak oil. He did a great job and it only took a few days. Here you can see Winfield's own boat "Friendshipside II".

Mustique

Mustique is a magic place. Manicured, yet rustic, it is the beautiful island of the rich and famous. Roy and I discovered the Firefly Resort last time we were here, and we wanted another look and taste of this wonderful spot.

Steve took this pic from Pendana with his telephoto lens.
This place takes you back to what I imagine the "old caribbean" looked like. Beautiful high ceilings with dark wood. Fantastic views and it even smells great here.

Potato Volcano

We spent our last days in Grenada anchored right outside La Phare Bleu Marina, just off the coast of Calvigney Island. It is still unbelievably hot this time of year with very little wind. Swimming in the impossibly clear water is the place to be for most of the afternoon. With so many cruisers waiting around before they head north, there are various goings on organized throughout the week.
One event is the cooking competition at the marina. A specific ingredient is picked - in this case it's potatoes - and announced on the radio net. Anyone can enter and anyone who shows up can sample the dishes and help judge. Roy couldn't seem to get inspired to participate, so we showed up as judges. This is the chef's entry: a potato volcano. While it looked great, the overwhelming taste and smell of the Sterno hidden in the crater sent it to the bottom on most judges cards. Other entries included chocolate cake with potato icing (yuck) and several variations on Scalloped potatoes (yum).

After tasting 14 different dishes our carbohydrate quota for the month was definitely met.


Another activity at the marina is playing domino's. Not just regular old domino's, this is Mexican Train domino's. Yes, it involves little plastic trains, domino's that number up to 15 instead of the usual 12, and any number of people. While Roy and I are not great games players, when in Rome...

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.