How did we get here so fast? It's the wind. Pure, simple and
beautiful. We haven't had superb sailing conditions like this for a
long, long time. So exhilarating to head out onto the ocean with the
wind on the beam and the seas smooth and organized.
We pulled up the anchor after a calm night in the town anchorage and
headed up island along the coast. Grenada is rugged and mountainous
right to the shore in most places, so it is a pleasure to motor along
close in shore. It's best to not venture too far out because the wind
doesn't get any more consistent and the swell kicks up quickly. The
current did us a favor and stayed flowing in the same direction as we
were going adding an extra knot to our speed. Sweet. Out into the
waters between Grenada and Carriacou the conditions held. A beautiful
sail in the open sea. Some waves, but mostly smooth going. Really
Sweet. By passing Tyrell Bay, we rounded the point and headed into
Hillsborough. This is a great place to check out of the country and
stage for the next day's passage North.
We lowered the dingy and took some time to have a look around since
the bay was super calm. We'd noticed a little cove on the North end of
the island that had some sort of kiosk on the beach. We headed that
direction to check it out. Gliding over the aqua blue warm water, you
could see right to the bottom. Lots of corals, fish and rocks and
blues and greens…beautiful. We rounded the last corner and were
surprised by a flock of pelicans sitting on a rocky outcrop. It's a
bit of a rare sight to see these birds so far south. They didn't like
us coming so close. Especially, the oldest bird. He thought about
holding his ground, but eventually he lost his nerve and flew a few
yards away. Not a smooth exit either, poor guy. He looked a bit
arthritic especially on take off.
We saw that a sailboat was anchored around the corner of the bay.
Great lines and very well appointed. Coho was the name. Wait just a
minute. Coho is the name of a boat Melissa had told us about when we
were back in Calgary. She said to keep an eye out for her friends who
were also sailing in the Caribbean. And here they were. Funny small
world out here on the water. We went by to say hi and Roy took a quick
photo to send on to Melissa. We never made it to shore to see the
kiosk, maybe next time. We headed back to Bonanza to get ready for
tomorrow's sail.
Underway early the next morning we had plenty of time to waffle over
which island we should head for next. The weather made the decision
for us. Again a near perfect day sailing. Out came the full main sail
and the jib sail. Leaning over smartly, we must have looked great
sailing along. We sure felt great. Up towards Union Island we noticed
that we couldn't make it around the west side of Palm Island so we
pick a course that took us east of Mayreau - one of our favorite
places. We talked about stopping at Salt Whistle Bay until we saw that
it was filled with six or seven very large catamarans. It's a tiny
place with close quarters at the best of time. We weren't willing to
elbow our way through that crowed. Besides, who didn't want to keep a
good ride going? We were making great time once again! This is the
type of sailing I dream of, but haven't experienced in a good long
while. Cruising past Glossy Point on Canouan we were now bound for
Bequia.
Arriving at Admiralty Bay anchorage well before dark we enjoyed
watching the sunset from a familiar spot that we love. Roy had a
craving for the now famous - in his mind- Roti dinner at the Porthole
Restaurant. Our friend Phil introduced us to this island standard made
with extra love and sold for the unheard price of nine dollars and
thirty cents EC. Eastern Caribbean dollars that is. Good for you and a
good deal too.
Awake at five am. Should we try our luck on a third day of sailing?
OK, let's have coffee and see how it looks. Chris Parker's weather
forecast is calling for increasing squalls of 20 to 30 knots. The sky
looks a bit ominous, but this is not unusual first thing in the
morning. Usually the weather clears out after the sun comes up. If we
don't leave now, we'll probably end up waiting for the seas to calm
down for a few days longer than we'd like. Ok, let's go. We motor out
into the Bequia Blast. This section of water is notorious for being
choppy, windy, filled with current and generally unpleasant. Not today
though. Today the water is smoothish. The swells are coming through on
our beam, nice and regular. A few rain showers creep up behind us, but
nothing with any wind in it. Once the breeze comes back after the
rain, we motor sail up the coast of St. Vincent. Like Grenada, this
coast is steep and rugged to the water's edge. The views are
incredible, especially with the misty volcanic mountain peaks looming
along the shore. A strange rainbow appears to the east. Strange
because it arches low in the sky; almost touching the water along it's
length.
As we head out from behind St. Vincent, our good weather luck runs
out. Here comes a giant dark cloud. No getting out of this one. We are
going to get brushed by a larger than usual squall. If you've ever
been caught by a squall you know all the signs, and this one was a
classic. The first few gusts reach the boat just as you are trying to
drop the side curtains of the enclosure. Oddly cool gusts of wind
begin to gather speed. As the cloud reaches overhead the light level
drops dramatically and then the real wind arrives. We had only the
full main sail up, so we were able to turn the boat downwind as the
velocity increased rapidly. Thirty knots and above does very dramatic
things to the water. First the swells go kind of flat as the tops of
the waves get blown off and the horizontal rain cuts into them too.
The sound in the rigging also lets you know the wind is up by
whistling a tune that is far, far, far from pleasant. After an
amazingly short time the waves begin to build up. Literally, the water
piles up fast into larger and larger waves. Not so bad when they are
on the beam or behind, but truly scary when they are coming from the
front of the boat. This is why you just turn downwind. Sure, some will
hold the course. Not me. I turn downwind trying to reach a compromise
between staying headed in the right direction and not peeing my pants.
Of course, if you manage to hold the course the big benefit is the
increase in speed. Flying along with the strong wind powers the boat
at a vastly improved speed. And the thing to remember in the darkness
of this type of weather is that it won't last. All the drama is
usually over in about 15 minutes. This time while the rain quickly
moved on, we were left with the strong wind for the rest of the trip.
We were able to put the 25 miles of open ocean behind us in record
time. The south coast of St. Lucia, with it's stunning Pitons was
quickly appearing beside us. By nightfall we were tucked into Rodney
Bay feeling like we had gotten away with something. Three great days
of travel with only minor dramas along the way. We were exhilarated an
exhausted.
