Upon
last writing, on Saturday, March 7th, we were in Rodney Bay, about
to “up-anchor”, when the police boat tied up and started to review our
paperwork and safety gear. It is
interesting that over the years, St. Lucia police have probably been on our boat
6 times. To be fair, they were invited
the first time, as we had suffered intruders off the shore of Suffriere, in
2005.
At
any rate, they were soon gone, and we continued to haul up chain and ultimately
departed at just a little after 3 p.m., headed south. We kept the main totally packaged in its bag,
and rolled out most of our jib to let the 15-20 knot wind cross our port stern
and push us down the west side of St. Lucia.
We were anchored by 6 p.m. under a big cliff in flat calm waters outside
the village of Canaries (pronounced as canneries for some reason). Likely because of the lateness of the hour,
we floated unmolested by young men on surfboards or kayaks as is customary, and
enjoyed a very lovely evening - after all, it had been months since we had an
evening without strong wind and slapping waves.
The
trip across the open water between St. Lucia and St. Vincent was quite lovely,
with 15-20 knots of wind well off the bow, and the seas down for no
reason. We called in to Denis’ Net to
tell him how nice it was, and he asked if the horseshoe was uncomfortable -
suggesting we were quite lucky to get the conditions, and that they were a
short reprieve in a localized area.
Well, the good luck continued until we only had 10 miles to go, and
haziness caused the admiral to demand that we put some jib away. Indeed, the wind continued to grow and fast;
and we continued to furl the jib until it was only 3-4 square feet
showing. As the wind hit 30 knots, I
started an engine, and jumped on the deck to haul all of the main down. Our boat’s manufacturer suggests we can carry
sail until the wind hits 40 knots if we are close-hauled, but says to dowse all
sail at 30 knots if we are at beam or broad reaching.
We
put up with the motoring for 40 minutes until the windstorm abated, the tiny
bit of jib supplementing one engine to allow for 6 knots of propulsion in
total. It was a dry squall, in that
there was very little rain - barely a mist - however, I got soaked as the wind
delivered square waves that hit the beam of Cat Tales solidly, often pushing up
to 10 gallons straight up, and the wind delivering it, en masse, to the
steering station.
We
approached the giant Sufriere volcano on St. Vincent, only by going 5 miles to its west in the
hopes of escaping any acceleration zone or local squall. But for once, the peak was clear, and the
seas and wind were steady and easy, allowing us to get well along to the middle
of the island before having any issues.
Even then, the issue was no wind, not too much of it. With low risk of real danger, we motored for
an hour, then sailed easily across the 2 hour passage from the main island to
Bequia. We caught no fish!
Since
here, we’ve had a rather slow and quiet existence. We’ve hiked twice, lunched ashore twice with
casual acquaintances, and snorkeled the little reef between the beaches
once. The “reef” is a little outcropping
that is favoured by the cruisers and other tourists for snorkeling. We see quite a few species, and it is just a
5 minute swim from our stern.
I
(Laurie) worked up an article for the Caribbean Compass, and will submit it
today. I also wrapped up my most recent
attempt at a book. That sounds better
than it is - I wrapped it up does not mean I finished it, but decided not to
finish it. It is an argument for litter
management in Bequia, complete with academic discussions regarding motivation,
task force work, communications systems, and infrastructure improvements. The problem is, while I’ve been away, a
committee called “Action Bequia” has made significant inroads against these
types of issues, and my potential book is moot.
Their “actions” speak louder than my “words”! Oh well, deep down I know how dumb it is for
people from “away” to start telling the locals what to do and how to do it.
Still,
with that in mind, take a look at the following pictures. Dawn and I were swimming along at the nearby
reef when this guy with the “fish belt” swam by us. He has been snorkeling with a fishing line
and bait, and was able to drop the hook in front of exactly which fish he
wanted each time. He called these
“butterfish”, and he caught them using cut up “robinfish”. I believe they are hinds or coneys, very
pretty fish that Dawn, I, and most snorkelers look for and love. Looks like he got ‘em all. Our search of the rocks attests to it - we
saw no more. I was quite motivated to
tell him that taking all of them was not the brightest idea, but he was so
proud of his technique, combining snorkeling and fishing, that it would have
done no good, and again, I am not from here.
Well, it may be a while before he can pull it off again! Poor education and understanding decreases
all beautiful things in the world, and the Caribbean can no more escape that
than anywhere.
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| Last of the Coney Fish |
We
will be greeting Liz Abraham and her cousin Pauline on the ferry dock here on
the 19th, and will have to choose one of them to put in the cockpit
hammock with a rum punch first for stress relief. Until then, we continue to gobble up books
and enjoy the comparative slow pace and solitude.
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| A juvenile Angel Fish not targeted by our fishing friend. The reef is swimming distance from the back of our boat here in Bequia. |
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| Back in St. Anne, carrying the repaired forestay and furler to Tarentela. |
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| Laurie, pulling down on the forestay while Al pounds the pin home! Team work!! |
