DOMINICA

We had sailed to St. Pierre, Martinique, on the 13^th of February, even though the winds were high, so we might be well placed to use a forecasted weather window coming up.  Aspen arrived a day later, and as the weather looked good for Friday, the 16^th, we noticed the area quickly filled up with other boats eyeing the opportunity.  Indeed, in dawn’s early light, looking behind us and ahead of us, we counted 24 boats on the move.  More had jumped the gun and were long gone, while others left after we turned the corner around the great volcano.  It was a one-day window, with high winds quickly returning.

It was a nice trip in 12 to 20 knots of wind, but over 6 foot waves with a 9 second interval – so quite jerky.  We got into the lee of Dominica by about 11:30, enjoying leftover pizza for lunch.

Hurricane Maria was a category 5 hurricane that sat on this island for 8 or so hours last October.  From the sea, we could see that the foliage was still sparse, and the trees everywhere appeared stunted like those on the Canadian tundra.  Landslide streaks down the mountain ridges looked like claw marks from giant hands or paws.  Steve of Aspen pointed out over the radio that it was much improved from a couple of months ago, when barely a spot of green was visible – even the brush between trees was brown from either the wind damage or blown salt.  We did not get close to shore until entering Prince Rupert Bay itself; and the trees on the hills and the Cabrits were in sorry shape to us.  Buildings we did not know existed could be seen all over the place, albeit typically with no roofs or with roofs of blue tarpaulin.

About 80 percent of telephone poles have been compromised.  Wires have to be tied to trees to get cars under them.

These blue tarps are found everywhere.  We all know that a tarp down here is only good for 6 months to a year, so what's next if they don't have money for roofs.

We went ashore on Saturday, and walked through town.  There was significant damage everywhere, with wires willy-nilly, tilted and broken poles, and houses in various states of destruction among those with good or barely damaged roofs.  Very few cars were left undented or without broken windows.  Piles of debris are everywhere, with almost all homes losing their electronics and electrical appliances to the blown salt water that entered everywhere.  However, the people seem happy, resilient, and friendly – very welcoming to us.  The bananas and citrus fruit remain unavailable at the market and in the stores, but they had excellent tomatoes and cucumbers; and chicken and fish were also quite available – so no starvation problem.  We finished our tour with a walk up to see Albert, one of the PAYS (Portsmouth Area Yacht Security) members, in the hospital.  He had a lower leg amputation as a result of sicle cell anemia, just before the hurricane, and had just returned to hospital after infection complications.  He said his own house had blown down, and his ex-wife and her boyfriend had temporarily taken him in.  Not a great situation.

On Sunday, we joined Aspen and two other couples on a tour of the island, primarily to deliver some materials to the Kalinago Indian community on the east coast.  The bundles of materials were initially purchased for Dominica by Kristen of s/v Silk Pajamas; but she had some ear and dental problems, then problems with her aging mother that called her home; and Cat Tales, Aspen, and Prism split the loot to get the job done.  Steve and I found a hardware store in St. Pierre and supplemented the loot with more tarpaulins, roofing screws and nails.  We left the goods with a healthcare nurse at a clinic near the Kalinago Reserve, and completed our tour of the island.

The east coast, and especially the Kalinago region, were devastated – there is no other real word to describe it.  We were shown: empty slabs on hillsides, where the whole house flew away – sometimes with the inhabitants; people living under tarps with only two or three of the original home’s walls; steep river valleys where the houses along the sides were blown away, and the inhabitants, when found at all were found as a result of the smell of decay; where the steep mountains turned in a mountain cleft, typically half the road was missing as a result of the rain overwhelming the culvert, and taking the guide rain, telephone poles, culvert pipe, and half the road 300 feet or more down the mountain – cars just ignored the danger, as did our driver.  The constancy of the destroyed vegetation got to where you stopped noticing it.  Our driver reminded us that some of the damage, especially to roads and bridges, was only partially repaired after Hurricane Erika in late 2015; and Maria repeated much of the damage, sometimes with much more violence.

The mud has been removed from the base of these houses. 

This is our driver Winston showing us how he curled up in a barrel for 5 hours to stay dry.  He's one of the lucky ones who didn't loose a roof.  Good thing he's small... (Sorry I couldn't get this photo turned!)

We returned to Portsmouth by a western road.  The west side has more in the way of flood plains at the mouths of the rivers; and these, sadly, were inhabited with many Dominican homes.  We did not visit Roseau, the capital; but were told that the tree trunks, branches, mud, and large rocks were piled six feet high through much of the downtown.  We did see significant villages with 2 feet of mud making the homes mostly uninhabitable.  Many of these had lost their roofs anyway.  The roads include many component bridges (Bailey Bridges); and in one location the driver (Winston) explained the whole concrete bridge and its abutments had been washed out to deep water by the river, assisted by the trees, muck and boulders.  On both sides of the island, new beaches still exist in rocky areas with no beach in memory; wholly made up of the black sand washed down from the mountains.

Along the shore of Portsmouth, you can see the damage done by the storm swells.  Some homes were destroyed in this way, and the shoreline is certainly different.  Our friend Bounty’s home lost its back kitchen, and he is hoping he can rebuild it at some point.  The Cabrits dock, very much necessary for the small cruise ships that arrive for the ecotourism, is in a bad way – repairable, but where will the money come from?

This is the cruise ship dock at the Cabrits Fort, completely stripped and non-usable.

Water is delivered to communities that need it.

Again, we must speak of the resilience of the people.  They are willing to tell their own stories of their survival, and insist that Dominica will recover.  Our driver, Winston, stopped at his own house, and displayed the juice barrel he put on his bed, then crawled into to stay dry during the storm.  Survivors talk about the wind screaming like banshees, and the pressure changes hurting their ears.  The people talk of the herculean tasks that have already been done:  clearing the roads, unblocking the rivers and streams, installing the bridges, installing some power, installing the tarpaulins and recovering what belongings they could, maintaining the shelters – most still needed.  They await more aid, and certainly more materials to fix their homes, those who have the money.  Dominica has always been a struggling island, second to Haiti for Caribbean poverty.  They had worked hard to promote ecotourism in the absence of beaches, and had made great strides.  This is a severe setback.

Tour guides are working, sailboats are calling, some cruise ships are returning, some vacation homes are back up and running, some construction sites are still continuing.  We look around to buy things that we might need for the season to help stimulate the damaged economy.  If any of you want to help, I recommend the Dominica Red Cross, with donation easily done on line.

Dawn and Maria on a hike in the Cabrits.  The trails there have been cleaned, but the foliage is not as dense at it once was.  It's greening up somewhat, and we expect that  next year, the jungle will return!

We are enjoying Yachtie Appreciation Week, spending money like crazy whenever we have an opportunity.  We’ve bought our oils and fuels, and sprays that the boat needs, and eat and drink offshore as often as we can; hoping that the economy feels it.  Tourism is a source of economic charity, and we’re part of it.   We’ll be here for a little while yet, as the high winds are still hounding us.  Our plan is to turn around and head back south, stopping in Ste Anne, Rodney Bay, and especially Bequia.