Hey Tom, here's an update that's not boring: rough weather, gear failure, torrential rain!
Left you last in Jolly Harbour. Condos and boo-tiques and easily the worst "hardware" store we've ever seen. It was like someone spent a couple hundred bucks at a Dollar Store, and chucked it onto shelves. And they wanted EC$5 (US $2) to swap your book for another crappy paperback. Robbery. There was, however, a great supermarket and a great wine and booze store and we bought really good English Harbour Antiguan 5-year-old rum. Then we topped up with diesel and water, and motored around to English Harbour to have a look at the restoration of Nelson's Dockyard.
Picture yourself in 1785 or thereabouts (you don't smell good, and your dress whites need laundering in a big way), and you're sailing into harbour in Antigua past a small fort at the entrance. Then you round the corner and there's a wonderful village of stone buildings that house all the services and stuff needed to keep you and the British navy fleet ready and willing to trounce the French at a moment's notice. It's so Horatio Hornblower. You can almost picture the winsome lassies lining the dock. Then you come ashore and the dream collapses. Tourist tat, t-shirts and shot glasses made in China. No Horatio t-shirts, unfortunately. There was a small museum with some interesting artifacts, and a great bar and several restaurants in the old buildings. Most places were closed though, as this is way past the high season. We did manage to find a place for Randy to get a real haircut (and paid a real price too). A lovely little salon with a lovely American lady who cut his hair, trimmed his ears, eyebrows, nosehair, mustache and beard, and gave his head and shoulders a massage for good measure. I hardly recognized him. I've been promised the same treatment on our way north, whenever that will be. Although my ears don't need trimming. Not sure about the beard.
Important business taken care of, we checked out with Customs and the Harbourmaster, and had a beer and chatted with the American fellas at the next table. We had a walk around and surveyed the possibilities of getting a meal before 8 pm, and decided to go back to the boat for bbq steak and salad, and to bed. Early.
Next day, the plan was to leave early and sail -- with hopes for a beam reach -- to Guadeloupe. Underway by 7 am, and we were thumping along in 20-25 knots of wind as soon as we exited the harbour. Not quite the beam reach that was promised, but at least 60 degrees off the bow, which is terrific by our current standards, and maintaining about 7.5 knots with the jib, reefed main and mizzen up. But along with really good speed, we were pounding through 6-10 foot swells that were way too close together. I was green, so I went below to lie on the settee, conveniently on the lee side, and was contemplating how much trouble it would be to go and throw up in the head, when I heard Randy say "Shit. I've lost the steering." Or something to that effect.
The wheel she spun round, but the rudder didn't turn. The first thing we ascertained was that the boat was still sailing quite nicely. There were a few moments to think. Then a few moments to dismantle the binnacle to look for the problem. A moment or two for the mate to barf discretely, then the nasty suspicion came over Randy that the steering shaft was broken.
Like the cavalry to the rescue, out comes the emergency tiller. (Thank you Peter Tanner of Blue Rocks. He built it and hand-delivered it to the boat the day we left Lunenburg. Take all your metalwork business to Pete Tanner -- Standfast Fittings, Blue Rocks). Randy had to take the wooden wheel off so there was room to manouevre, and for some reason there was only about five degrees of movement either way, but we had some control, so we came about, at 7 knots, and headed back to English Harbour. We were about 9 miles out, so Randy rigged lines to help take the pressure off the tiller, and still going about 7 knots, we blasted back in about an hour and a half. I only barfed three more times. At some point on the trip back, the silverware drawer with all the sharp knives came shooting out across the cabin and sprayed its contents all over the cabin sole, and the next time I went below (to barf), I also had to wrestle the companionway ladder back into place -- we were heeling so far that it lifted out of the slots that hold it in place.
We had a fairly straight shot coming in the harbour to anchor, or re-anchor, so it was just a matter of not barfing long enough to drop the main (all over the deck), motor slowly through the anchored boats and drop the hook, with Randy man-handling the tiller. Of course, the anchor dragged the first time, and we had to try again. We congratulated each other on an exciting morning that ended with me taking a Gravol and going to sleep, and Randy having a rum, stowing the sails, then tearing the steering gear apart. All before 10 am.
Good news is that the shaft wasn't broken, but the bevel gear that turns the shaft had worked loose (bolt backed out) and everything had dropped out the bottom, which also explains why there was such restricted movement for the emergency tiller. Two hours later, it was all back together and working fine. Nothing to this sailing life! It's a breeze! I went back to bed at 6:30 pm and slept the clock around.
We did the trip to Deshaies on Guadaloupe again the next day, with no drama. Seas were still 6-10 for about half the trip, but we did eventually get the beam reach. It's terrific sailing when it's warm. A big slap of spray comes over the side and you get soaked, but it's cooling, and after the first one you're so salty it doesn't matter. It does get tedious trying to clean the spray off the sunglasses. I was wiping my aged Serengetis for the tenth time, and they gently broke apart in two pieces. With a lens in each hand, I though, this is the only gear failure that will happen today. I had a backup pair of cheapies.
Deshaies (Dey-Hay) is a very pretty town, or so I'm told. Randy went ashore to try and clear in (Saturday) and I stayed aboard to clean and defrost the fridge, and turtle-watch. Randy was back soon with bread, water, lamb and wine, but hadn't found the gendarmes so couldn't check in. So we noted that Deshaies is one place we'd like to return to (river tour with freshwater pool, and botanical gardens) and we headed down the lee of Guadeloupe to Basse-Terre (the capitol of Guadeloupe, also the name of this part of the island, also the name of the capitol of St. Kitts, and probably in use in a dozen or so other places...). Great sail down the shore -- wind a bit flukey, but the water was flat as a board. Great fishing conditions. Didn't get a bite all day. Tried the yellow bird, the green squid, and a pink thing we call Darrel (apologies to Mr. Pink). Nothing.
Around noon the wind coming off the land turned into the wind coming off the sea, and we just tacked and carried on. Just before Basse-Terre, the wind started to honk. We took the jib in when we saw the wind coming, and the mizzen shortly after, and then we motored into 25-40 knots that was screaming around the end of the island. Very exciting. Very dehydrating. Douanes (Customs) also closed up tight in Basse-Terre, so we bought groceries, back to the boat, and we'll hope to be able to clear into Dominica on Monday. Rolly night, with the added delights of loud Euro-Calypso-Soca music from shore. Everything with a fast 4/4 beat. It came to me at about 2 am that you could also polka to this stuff.
Early start for Dominica. Great sail, close-hauled, but relatively flat sea, and great fishing conditions. No fish to report. Fabulous heavy shower once we anchored, and the salty boat is clean again. Albert greeted us as soon as we headed for the anchorage, and he's taking Randy into Customs and we'll sort out a river tour with him in the next day or so. "Boat Boys" are a feature in these islands -- Albert is a middle-aged "boy" and he's a certified guide with a decent boat and a very pleasant manner. There was also a spaced-out fella who paddled out on a surfboard. He was wearing boxers, a pair of shorts around his thighs, women's Chinese bedroom slippers, and a black plastic bag wrapped around his head. We declined his services, and he hung around scratching for a bit, then paddled away. Also certifiable.
We're glad to be hanging out in Dominica for a while to rest and get some chores done. We've been travelling just over eight months, through 14 states, 14 countries, 46 islands (54, if you count islands in the US), and sailed or motored approximately 4,275 miles. Much of it at a walking pace. Wonder how far we've walked carrying groceries. I wish I'd counted laundromats and grocery stores.
___________________________________
We were supposed to do a tour of the Indian River today, but it started raining before dawn, and the whole island and anchorage is just one squall after another. Randy bailed the dinghy after breakfast, and I used the fresh water to scrub the cabin sole and scrub out the shower sump. Disgusting job. Randy says he can think of more disgusting jobs.
By early-afternoon, the dinghy had been bailed again, and the runoff from the rivers was starting to turn the bay brown. By mid-afternoon, the whole bay was brown, and there were hundreds, then thousands of coconuts floating by, first toward the beach, then later, back out to the ocean. We watched palm fronds drift by, hunks of wood, plastic bottles, lots of bits of vegetation, and a dust pan. Early in the afternoon, someone was collecting coconuts on the beach and tossing them into a wheeled cart. Rain, and more rain. By suppertime the rain had lessened, a heavy swell starts coming in, and the boats are every which way, rolling and rolling. The local guys got together and started pulling out their launches. A bad sign? Then, it's a deluge of flying ants all over the boat. We had to shut the companionway doors.
After a long wet day, we had a great supper - lamb with wine sauce and curried couscous. I served Randy a plateful, then happened to look out the back door as I served my plate, and noted that the boat next to us was about to collide with our stern. Fended that off, then we took turns while we ate to see where it was going next. Some things you never have to worry about on land. But then we never get Jehovah's Witnesses on the doorstep.
_________________________________
Weather cleared, and we did our tour of the river this morning. The water in the river was still cloudy from the heavy rain, but the vegetation and the whole sense of being in surroundings that are so different in every way was both fascinating and somehow restful. Land crabs everywhere. Stunning trees, vines everywhere, termites, green everything, and an iguana way up in a tree waving around over our heads. Albert knows lots about everything Dominican in terms of flora and fauna, and we had a most pleasant chat while he rowed us up and back down the river at a perfectly leisurely pace. He said that the flying ants are called rain bugs. A rose by any other name...
Slow sail south to Roseau, the capital city of Dominica. We had a walk around town today, picked up a few groceries, had lunch with a bunch of men watching the World Cup. England was playing Trinidad. The chat, the hooting, the endless coaching from the sidelines -- it's the same the world over, just different languages, different pubs, different kinds of beer.
We really liked what we saw of Dominica. It's a beautiful island and we want to explore it more on the way back. Off to Martinique tomorrow.
Left you last in Jolly Harbour. Condos and boo-tiques and easily the worst "hardware" store we've ever seen. It was like someone spent a couple hundred bucks at a Dollar Store, and chucked it onto shelves. And they wanted EC$5 (US $2) to swap your book for another crappy paperback. Robbery. There was, however, a great supermarket and a great wine and booze store and we bought really good English Harbour Antiguan 5-year-old rum. Then we topped up with diesel and water, and motored around to English Harbour to have a look at the restoration of Nelson's Dockyard.
Picture yourself in 1785 or thereabouts (you don't smell good, and your dress whites need laundering in a big way), and you're sailing into harbour in Antigua past a small fort at the entrance. Then you round the corner and there's a wonderful village of stone buildings that house all the services and stuff needed to keep you and the British navy fleet ready and willing to trounce the French at a moment's notice. It's so Horatio Hornblower. You can almost picture the winsome lassies lining the dock. Then you come ashore and the dream collapses. Tourist tat, t-shirts and shot glasses made in China. No Horatio t-shirts, unfortunately. There was a small museum with some interesting artifacts, and a great bar and several restaurants in the old buildings. Most places were closed though, as this is way past the high season. We did manage to find a place for Randy to get a real haircut (and paid a real price too). A lovely little salon with a lovely American lady who cut his hair, trimmed his ears, eyebrows, nosehair, mustache and beard, and gave his head and shoulders a massage for good measure. I hardly recognized him. I've been promised the same treatment on our way north, whenever that will be. Although my ears don't need trimming. Not sure about the beard.
Important business taken care of, we checked out with Customs and the Harbourmaster, and had a beer and chatted with the American fellas at the next table. We had a walk around and surveyed the possibilities of getting a meal before 8 pm, and decided to go back to the boat for bbq steak and salad, and to bed. Early.
Next day, the plan was to leave early and sail -- with hopes for a beam reach -- to Guadeloupe. Underway by 7 am, and we were thumping along in 20-25 knots of wind as soon as we exited the harbour. Not quite the beam reach that was promised, but at least 60 degrees off the bow, which is terrific by our current standards, and maintaining about 7.5 knots with the jib, reefed main and mizzen up. But along with really good speed, we were pounding through 6-10 foot swells that were way too close together. I was green, so I went below to lie on the settee, conveniently on the lee side, and was contemplating how much trouble it would be to go and throw up in the head, when I heard Randy say "Shit. I've lost the steering." Or something to that effect.
The wheel she spun round, but the rudder didn't turn. The first thing we ascertained was that the boat was still sailing quite nicely. There were a few moments to think. Then a few moments to dismantle the binnacle to look for the problem. A moment or two for the mate to barf discretely, then the nasty suspicion came over Randy that the steering shaft was broken.
Like the cavalry to the rescue, out comes the emergency tiller. (Thank you Peter Tanner of Blue Rocks. He built it and hand-delivered it to the boat the day we left Lunenburg. Take all your metalwork business to Pete Tanner -- Standfast Fittings, Blue Rocks). Randy had to take the wooden wheel off so there was room to manouevre, and for some reason there was only about five degrees of movement either way, but we had some control, so we came about, at 7 knots, and headed back to English Harbour. We were about 9 miles out, so Randy rigged lines to help take the pressure off the tiller, and still going about 7 knots, we blasted back in about an hour and a half. I only barfed three more times. At some point on the trip back, the silverware drawer with all the sharp knives came shooting out across the cabin and sprayed its contents all over the cabin sole, and the next time I went below (to barf), I also had to wrestle the companionway ladder back into place -- we were heeling so far that it lifted out of the slots that hold it in place.
We had a fairly straight shot coming in the harbour to anchor, or re-anchor, so it was just a matter of not barfing long enough to drop the main (all over the deck), motor slowly through the anchored boats and drop the hook, with Randy man-handling the tiller. Of course, the anchor dragged the first time, and we had to try again. We congratulated each other on an exciting morning that ended with me taking a Gravol and going to sleep, and Randy having a rum, stowing the sails, then tearing the steering gear apart. All before 10 am.
Good news is that the shaft wasn't broken, but the bevel gear that turns the shaft had worked loose (bolt backed out) and everything had dropped out the bottom, which also explains why there was such restricted movement for the emergency tiller. Two hours later, it was all back together and working fine. Nothing to this sailing life! It's a breeze! I went back to bed at 6:30 pm and slept the clock around.
We did the trip to Deshaies on Guadaloupe again the next day, with no drama. Seas were still 6-10 for about half the trip, but we did eventually get the beam reach. It's terrific sailing when it's warm. A big slap of spray comes over the side and you get soaked, but it's cooling, and after the first one you're so salty it doesn't matter. It does get tedious trying to clean the spray off the sunglasses. I was wiping my aged Serengetis for the tenth time, and they gently broke apart in two pieces. With a lens in each hand, I though, this is the only gear failure that will happen today. I had a backup pair of cheapies.
Deshaies (Dey-Hay) is a very pretty town, or so I'm told. Randy went ashore to try and clear in (Saturday) and I stayed aboard to clean and defrost the fridge, and turtle-watch. Randy was back soon with bread, water, lamb and wine, but hadn't found the gendarmes so couldn't check in. So we noted that Deshaies is one place we'd like to return to (river tour with freshwater pool, and botanical gardens) and we headed down the lee of Guadeloupe to Basse-Terre (the capitol of Guadeloupe, also the name of this part of the island, also the name of the capitol of St. Kitts, and probably in use in a dozen or so other places...). Great sail down the shore -- wind a bit flukey, but the water was flat as a board. Great fishing conditions. Didn't get a bite all day. Tried the yellow bird, the green squid, and a pink thing we call Darrel (apologies to Mr. Pink). Nothing.
Around noon the wind coming off the land turned into the wind coming off the sea, and we just tacked and carried on. Just before Basse-Terre, the wind started to honk. We took the jib in when we saw the wind coming, and the mizzen shortly after, and then we motored into 25-40 knots that was screaming around the end of the island. Very exciting. Very dehydrating. Douanes (Customs) also closed up tight in Basse-Terre, so we bought groceries, back to the boat, and we'll hope to be able to clear into Dominica on Monday. Rolly night, with the added delights of loud Euro-Calypso-Soca music from shore. Everything with a fast 4/4 beat. It came to me at about 2 am that you could also polka to this stuff.
Early start for Dominica. Great sail, close-hauled, but relatively flat sea, and great fishing conditions. No fish to report. Fabulous heavy shower once we anchored, and the salty boat is clean again. Albert greeted us as soon as we headed for the anchorage, and he's taking Randy into Customs and we'll sort out a river tour with him in the next day or so. "Boat Boys" are a feature in these islands -- Albert is a middle-aged "boy" and he's a certified guide with a decent boat and a very pleasant manner. There was also a spaced-out fella who paddled out on a surfboard. He was wearing boxers, a pair of shorts around his thighs, women's Chinese bedroom slippers, and a black plastic bag wrapped around his head. We declined his services, and he hung around scratching for a bit, then paddled away. Also certifiable.
We're glad to be hanging out in Dominica for a while to rest and get some chores done. We've been travelling just over eight months, through 14 states, 14 countries, 46 islands (54, if you count islands in the US), and sailed or motored approximately 4,275 miles. Much of it at a walking pace. Wonder how far we've walked carrying groceries. I wish I'd counted laundromats and grocery stores.
___________________________________
We were supposed to do a tour of the Indian River today, but it started raining before dawn, and the whole island and anchorage is just one squall after another. Randy bailed the dinghy after breakfast, and I used the fresh water to scrub the cabin sole and scrub out the shower sump. Disgusting job. Randy says he can think of more disgusting jobs.
By early-afternoon, the dinghy had been bailed again, and the runoff from the rivers was starting to turn the bay brown. By mid-afternoon, the whole bay was brown, and there were hundreds, then thousands of coconuts floating by, first toward the beach, then later, back out to the ocean. We watched palm fronds drift by, hunks of wood, plastic bottles, lots of bits of vegetation, and a dust pan. Early in the afternoon, someone was collecting coconuts on the beach and tossing them into a wheeled cart. Rain, and more rain. By suppertime the rain had lessened, a heavy swell starts coming in, and the boats are every which way, rolling and rolling. The local guys got together and started pulling out their launches. A bad sign? Then, it's a deluge of flying ants all over the boat. We had to shut the companionway doors.
After a long wet day, we had a great supper - lamb with wine sauce and curried couscous. I served Randy a plateful, then happened to look out the back door as I served my plate, and noted that the boat next to us was about to collide with our stern. Fended that off, then we took turns while we ate to see where it was going next. Some things you never have to worry about on land. But then we never get Jehovah's Witnesses on the doorstep.
_________________________________
Weather cleared, and we did our tour of the river this morning. The water in the river was still cloudy from the heavy rain, but the vegetation and the whole sense of being in surroundings that are so different in every way was both fascinating and somehow restful. Land crabs everywhere. Stunning trees, vines everywhere, termites, green everything, and an iguana way up in a tree waving around over our heads. Albert knows lots about everything Dominican in terms of flora and fauna, and we had a most pleasant chat while he rowed us up and back down the river at a perfectly leisurely pace. He said that the flying ants are called rain bugs. A rose by any other name...
Slow sail south to Roseau, the capital city of Dominica. We had a walk around town today, picked up a few groceries, had lunch with a bunch of men watching the World Cup. England was playing Trinidad. The chat, the hooting, the endless coaching from the sidelines -- it's the same the world over, just different languages, different pubs, different kinds of beer.
We really liked what we saw of Dominica. It's a beautiful island and we want to explore it more on the way back. Off to Martinique tomorrow.
posted by Susan at 7:32 PM
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