SHIRAL

Martinique - 02.02.1994 2/Feb’94

Today we left St. Lucia heading north to the French island of Martinique a sea crossing of thirty odd miles. As we rounded Pigeon Point, at the north of St. Lucia, we were back again in the Atlantic Ocean with winds of over twenty five knots and seas higher than ten feet. We were heading slightly downwind which made exhilarating sailing. Ralph was in his element and, once again, I was hanging on for dear life. I did ask him why he chose to stay behind the wheel getting soaked when the seas washed over the boat. He just said it kept him cool. Unbeknown to me, he was keeping a very sharp look-out for whales. He’d had prior warning from two other skippers that whales had been sighted on this crossing- and he hadn’t told me. You can imagine my reaction when he shouted out "Whale ahead to starboard " - he had sighted the very thing I have been dreading the most! It was a whale that had damaged the French boat out in the Atlantic on the crossing causing her to sink. My legs went to jelly and my throat dried completely. Ralph said I lost my suntan also. It took me a couple of ticks to regain myself and scramble down below to get a camera.

The whale was ahead slightly to starboard and our sails were on the port side. This was lucky for us because Ralph was able to veer off to our left (port) to miss hitting it. I was unable to do anything but stare. We were about fifty feet from it. It was maybe forty-five feet plus in length and completely covered in barnacles. It was partly submerged but moving towards us and blowing. By the time I had got the camera out of the case we were well passed it. Fortunately for me, the wind and the sea was too much for Ralph to ‘go about’ so that he could get pictures. This pleased me; I’d better be safe than sorry. Needless to say, for the rest of the passage to Martinique, I was whale-spotting with him. Thank goodness we saw no others.

As you sail into the lee of the islands the sea settles down along with the wind but there is just a gust now and then to keep you alert. Sailing along the shoreline of Martinique, once again you are struck by how green and lush it is; broad-leaved trees and conifers overlooked by mountains. We sailed passed a couple of beautiful small bays one of which had yachts anchored in close. A small village could be seen complete with a church. We decided that we would return to this one later. The port we were making for was ‘Fort de France’ for Customs and Immigration.
As we approached the harbour, the whole vision of a Caribbean island to us was spoilt. In front of us, although picturesque in its own way, was this commercial monstrosity. Yachts anchored to the left of the harbour, cruise liners and tankers to the right- some of these were enormous. Fortunately, when we were anchored the liners and tankers were obscured by a bit of headland sticking out. We have to be honest.. We did enjoy watching the tankers being piloted to their side of the port.

Martinique is the largest of the Windward Islands and is a department of France. This was very obvious when we went ashore. It is the liveliest city in the Windwards. The town has everything you could possibly wish to buy. It is the first time we’ve been in a departmental store for months. There were several well stocked supermarkets which we found useful to replenish our supplies, boutiques galore, a vegetable and fish market and, of course, bars and restaurants. Everybody spoke French and the only giveaway that you weren’t in fact in France Europe was the colour of the people’s skin. Another thing that impressed me was how well-dressed everybody was; especially the coloured ladies. They complete their outfits with really elegant hats. You would have thought they were promenading the streets of Paris. The whole atmosphere was that of affluence; so different from anywhere else we had visited so far, which had been the complete reverse.

After a couple of days here, we decided to retrace our steps by ten miles to that attractive bay that we’d passed earlier called ‘Grand Anse D’Arlet’. What a difference. We prefer the quieter anchorages, particularly those unspoilt.

Grand Anse D’Arlet is a picturesque fishing village set on a white sandy beach and it was here that we next dropped our anchor. I shouldn’t think anything here has changed in years. The fishermens’ homes are no more than shacks albeit larger than those we’ve seen elsewhere and without doubt better maintained. An air of cleanliness also strikes you. We always enjoy going ashore for the first time to explore. We weren’t disappointed here. Walking along the dirt road which stretches along the beach behind the fishermens’ houses we came across a game of ‘boules’ being played by the elderly residents (fishermen, I suspect). They are just as serious with their play as their white counterparts in France, Europe. The odd car still has to stop whilst a delicate throw is being made and the tape measure appears often. We sat beneath a tree with a drink watching them for ages.

On the second day of our being here, three boats we had met previously arrived and that evening we had a re-union ashore for Happy Hour. There were nine of us in all: 2 Dutch, 2 Belgium, 3 Americans and Ralph and I. With Happy Hour over, we decided to dine together at this very friendly beachside restaurant/bar. The entertainment for the evening arrived.. Five elderly gentlemen with their accordions- a complete change from the usual steel bands. As they started to play, the village people started to dance and we all joined in. We all had a super evening. Some of the locals asked us of our nationality. When we told them we were English, Dutch, Belgian and American they were quite surprised. This was probably because during the evening we had quite a heated discussion about the Monarchy. Joe, from New Jersey, USA without a queen, thought the whole idea of monarchy rubbish. Of course, the rest of us had to inform him differently. You can imagine Ralph’s reaction on this one! It was all a lot of fun and we’ve been invited to Joe’s yacht club in New York where he happens to be the Commodore. It was a memorable evening in very basic surroundings.

Next day, 7th February Ralph's birthday, we moved our anchorage to the bay of Anse Mitan across from Fort de France and took a hike to the village of Les Trois Islets. The attraction here is a two hundred acre sugar plantation and the birthplace of the Empress Josephine aka Napoleon’s mistress. She lived here until she was sixteen before moving to Paris. The house she was brought up in was destroyed by fire and hurricane way back. You can still see parts of the house and its foundations and the separate cottage building which housed the kitchen for the big house is now used as a museum. There are many artefacts of the era including a display of manacles used on the slaves. This was a bit disturbing as our guide (who could speak English) was a coloured girl as were all the people around us. The sugar mill still stands although in a run-down state. The whole place has a very calm atmosphere, more so because the gardens are still being tended to by the locals, and a couple of cottages on the estate are still occupied- with chickens and cockerels running free. You could almost have imagined yourself back in the 18/19th Century.

The overall length of our hike was ten miles at least, so by the time we arrived back we were exhausted. We had a quick meal at a beachside restaurant, then back on board for a good nights sleep and an early start in the morning.

9th Feb '94
The anchor is up, the sails hoisted and it is not yet 06.30hrs. The sea is still asleep and the wind is not even a whisper so the engine is running giving us a few extra knots. This is the part of sailing that I most enjoy. We are about a quarter of a mile offshore because this coastline is rocky and it is advisable to keep well clear. We are moving at a gentle pace and we’re able to take in the panoramic scenery. You can see across the shoreline -sometimes sandy- across the rolling hills to the mountains which make a dramatic backdrop to the whole picture. Every now and then we pass a fishing village and, because it is still early, there is plenty of activity with small boats coming and going. We are having to take care keeping a sharp lookout for the many buoys marking the fishing nets and lobster pots already laid. As the morning progresses we pass through many rain showers which gave the teak decks a good wash. We eventually arrived at Saint Pierre to the north-west of the island where we have to clear Customs and Immigration once again. While we were here we took the opportunity to explore the town which was once the capital of Martinique. It was destroyed by a volcanic eruption in 1902 killing thirty thousand people. The only person to survive was a prisoner left in the local jail. The jail still remains standing alongside the remains of what was a very grand theatre. All around the town, which is very small anyway, buildings which have since been rebuilt have parts of the old town incorporated in their new structures so it all looks pretty old. In the museum we saw remains of household goods, artefacts and pictorial records. The thing that stood out the most was a huge photograph of the prisoner showing all his horrific burns. He survived the ordeal and was later employed in Barnum’s Circus.

11th Feb '94
Here is a tale you may like to hear about. We had decided that we had seen enough and were ready to move off. We booked out of Customs and set sail without a weather forecast. To start with all went well; we were sailing along enjoying every minute. Then things started to happen. We had left the lea of the island and were now in the Atlantic Ocean. The winds started to come up and the sea was getting bigger all the while. We had been here before though this time we were having to tack across the sea instead of running with it. Soon we had winds gusting thirty five knots and the sea... I cannot explain it! We just had to continue and go for it. Fortunately, we had only thirty miles or so to do and it had to end sometime! I had already prepared lunch, so I did not have to worry about that, and managed to stop the inevitable sickness by eating. Five or six hours later, we were in sight of Dominica. The time was about 15:30hrs and gradually the sea calmed and the winds subsided as we sailed into the lee of the island.

There are no marinas on Dominica and you are not permitted to anchor in the port area. The only places that you are allowed to anchor off are known as ‘Hotel Anchorages’. The Hotel management make 'yachties' welcome and offer their full facilities to them. It was to one of those that we made our way. We were received by the ubiquitous Boat Boys and ShiRal was tied to a tree adjacent to the hotel... well, sort of. All the palm trees close to the hotel were occupied so we were slightly off-set. If you could see where we had landed ourselves, you would never have believed it! The shoreline was people’s backyard areas and we were tied to a palm tree in one of them. Chickens, cockerels and hens all ran wild ‘cocka-doodle-dooing’. Washing lines were in abundance and the odd goat could be seen. There was not much we could do about our predicament because we ran the risk of offending the Boat Boys who had devoted so much of their attention. They were nice guys; eager to please and in no way pushy. We were going into the hotel for a meal that evening but the heavens opened up and we were unable to leave the boat.

We were awakened the next morning, 06:30 to be precise, by the cockerels crowing. In fact, they hadn’t stopped all night. Our first job was to book in with Immigration and see Customs. To do this we had to go to the dock area on the other side of town which meant a bus ride into the town. Ten minutes later we had been dropped off and we started to walk in the direction of what we thought was the Customs office. From our chart we knew that it was outside the main town and in the dock area so that was the way we headed. Having walked for a while the road took us downtown through one of the most interesting markets we had seen. We could not recognise many of the fruit and vegetables on display and nobody seemed too bothered in selling them. Everyone seemed to be having a good time nonetheless. Eventually we found our way back onto the road going to the dock area. We had not gone too far when a mini-bus pulled up full of passengers. The driver asked us where we were going and we told him. "OK", he said, "get in!". This we did and much, much later he told us to get out and cross the road and take the next bus that comes along.. When it did finally arrive, guess what, it was the same driver going in the opposite direction. He had misunderstood our first request and had taken us miles out of our way. We did eventually get to the Customs Office but had a complete tour of the island getting there!

After completing all the official paperwork, we bussed back into the town for lunch. Having been to the Tourist Office, we were ready to embark on our first (!) tour. We were heading for Trafalgar Falls, the second largest waterfall in the Caribbean. We took the bus from the town (a bus is a twelve seater van.. the only way to do it... so we were told) and experienced the terrific climb by road. The driver simply put his foot down, pointed the bus and went. Occasionally, he stopped the bus for people to get on until the bus was full with no more room for further passengers. Then, he stopped for no-one. The road is almost non-existant, just a track, and the bus bumps and sways all over the place. Most people had got off the bus before the Falls as they were local people leaving just Ralph and I. When the driver learned that we wanted to go to the waterfall, he volunteered to take us all the way up which would save us a good half-hour walk. When we alighted, we found ourselves covered in bruises and we staggered into a shack of a place called a bar for a drink. We were welcomed by a couple of guys called guides who offered to take us up to the Falls. We declined their offer as we wanted to do it ourselves in our own time. They were not upset and just continued to chat and were most hospitable. We eventually took off for the trek into real jungle terrain. Underfoot it was muddy and rocky and we were completely surrounded by trees of every description and size interwoven with vines. It was very damp and the wildlife, which we could not see, was very noisy. After a while, we reached a platform carved into the gorge used as an observation point overlooking a magnificent waterfall. We proceeded a little further but as we were not wearing the correct footwear for the terrain which was getting increasingly dangerous. We decided to stop. We had seen something quite unique.
Instead of waiting for a bus to take us back down, we decided to walk down to the road. By doing this we passed through a village which was haphazardly built among the trees. Every time we passed someone they wished us ‘Good Afternoon’ and gave us a smile. We were loving every minute of it. However, we soon realised that we had taken on more that we could endure. It was very hot and humid so we rested on the side of the track. We had not been there for more than a few minutes when a very smart bus pulled up and asked us if we were going into the town. When we said yes, the driver told us to hop in. It turned out that the occupants were a wedding party from the village on their way to a church in the town. There we were, two scruffy and sweaty hikers, among a bus full of elegantly dressed people. When I say elegant, I mean it! I have never seen such white shirts and pressed pants ever! The ladies’ dresses were beautiful and the hats were so ornate they would have put the Queen’s Mum in the shade. They made us very welcome and one elderly gentleman asked us from where we came. When we told him, he immediately knew where we lived and told us he had lived in England for thirty seven years. He was a carpenter by trade and had worked in Hampton Court Palace after the fire. He has a daughter still in England and visits regularly. How about that then ?

14th Feb '94
The next day we sailed further north to Portsmouth Bay and dropped anchor off The Coconut Beach Hotel which was set among palm trees with a white sandy beach. It was a pleasant place, the main accommodation were small chalets around the reception and restaurant area. We used all their facilities and had a great stay. While we were here, we arranged a trip up the Indian River with one of the Boat Boys. No outboard motors are allowed in the river so the Boat Boys had wooden boats that could take the odd rock or tree roots jutting from the river. As they do all the rowing, we thought that the few dollars they charge would be money well spent. We were collected from our boat and motored across to the river’s mouth. The boat engine was switched off and the oarsmen took over. After we had passed several banana barges (these are docked in the river awaiting the arrival of the banana boat) we entered into the river proper and started to meander through swamps and marsh lands. Soon we found ourselves within a tunnel of greenery. The river is completely overhung by huge swamp bloodwood trees and mangroves on either side. Their massive twisting roots spread out above the soil and down into the water. The Boat Boys were the first to see and point out the different kinds of birds. We saw Green Herons, Waders of various species, Kingfishers and Humming Birds but heard a lot more than we managed to glimpse. The noise was incredible. The water was rather murky but you could still see the fish. Along the river banks were scores of crabs some of which were quite large. It was a very pleasant way to spend a couple of hours.

Another trip we made whilst at Portsmouth Bay was to the Emerald Pool up in the rainforest. To do this, we decided to hire a taxi. Our Boat Boys, once again, organised one of their cousins to take us. We thought it was going to be a proper taxi- well, if you could have seen what turned up you would have laughed. It was a really old clapped out car ... Japanese ...to describe it in detail would take ages. Ralph looked at me and said “What do you think ?”. I did not know what to say. In the mean time, the driver introduced himself to us. He was very smart and spoke good English so we decided to go. He was very chatty and gave us a lot of local information. The drive up through the rainforest was interesting and we walked the last few hundred yards in the rain, yes it was raining up there. The Emerald Pool was a beautiful place and well worth the bruises we had acquired from the drive.
From there we were taken to the Carib settlement. It was very much like an Indian Reservation in America. The Caribs that did not want to intermingle with the European settlers were given their own territory and as we drove through we were amazed at what we saw. There were the usual small huts for accommodation but this time they were brightly painted with the ground around them densely planted with flowering shrubs and flowers. It was so colourful. They still had chickens running around everywhere and the old people still sat on their verandahs chatting. From some of the huts you could buy handicraft souvenirs. It seemed that they were all out having a ‘jump up’ in the road. Steel bands were playing and it appeared that most were drunk (though in a merry way) and doing their dancing thing and whooping it up. Our driver did not take too kindly to this type of celebrating. He was a ‘Born Again Christian’ though an interesting chap. Throughout the trip he tried to convince us of his beliefs. He has four children and his wife has another on the way. He worked for the Government ‘producing plants’ (that is how he described his job) and hired himself and his car when he could. He gave us a good tour and we thoroughly enjoyed it. He also told us that though the people are poor, they are happy. No-one goes hungry and everyone has somewhere to live. We arrived back at the hotel in time for dinner.

Before moving off the next day, it was necessary for us to replenish our freshwater supply aboard ShiRal. The previous morning we had woken to the sound of the bilge pump running. After a frantic search for leaks and checking the obvious, it transpired a connection had come adrift in the freshwater system. We had lost over a hundred gallons of very precious fresh water. However it was soon fixed, but now we had to fill up our water tanks again. We had arranged with the hotel a supply and all we had to do was moor up to their landing stage. As the waves were rolling into the shore, we decided to drop our anchor way clear of the landing stage, let out the chain and allow the waves to push us within about ten feet. The security guard passed us a hose (garden type!) and we sat back to wait for the tanks to fill. Two hours later, we were still there having quite an interesting time.
The tanks were filling very slowly as the water was coming straight from a mountain stream into the hotel’s tank and from there through a pipe into our boat. Meanwhile, various hotel guests came onto the jetty to chat with us including three Frenchmen from Nice in the South of France. They were contract workers. At first, they talked with Ralph asking all the usual questions: How did we get here, how many crew etc. When he told them with only his wife as crew,they got quite excited.Two of them had their own boats presently laying in the marina near Nice airport. Well, we know that particular marina quite well having been there on a number occassions to to collect our sons from Nice airport. We told them this and they went gabbling on about us going to visit them next time we were in France. Apparently, we were the first married couple they had met who had sailed themselves across the Atlantic. Their wives had no interest in sailing apart from short trips. We had a lot of laughs with them as our tank-filling exercise took its time.

Later we crossed the bay to a different anchorage only a short dinghy ride into Portsmouth Town. You can walk from one end of the town to the other in ten minutes. There were a couple of shops, a bank and post office that opened twice a week, a market on Saturday and that was it. We managed to get a few supplies that we needed. It was here that we met a very interesting couple an Ex US Marine Captain and his Canadian wife. They joined us onboard that evening for a sundowner and we chatted with them way past midnight. They were going south to Granada and we were leaving in the morning to sail the twenty two miles to the Isle de Saints.

17th Feb’94
The sail was great and we arrived around mid-afternoon. The village on the main island is very pretty but is obviously a popular French holiday destination and subsequenly very busy. A couple of ARC yachts were here that we knew so we had good reunion chatting about our experiences so far. It appeared from the chat that we had all visited different places , so we took note just in case we come south again. We visited a couple of the other islands the next day for swimming etc. but anchored off the main island ready for the short crossing to another French island called Guadelope.

19th Feb’94
It was only a short seven mile sail across to Guadelope. Unfortunatly, the only safe yacht anchorage is at the northern tip of the island about thirty five miles along the coast at Deshais (pronounced “DayHay”). It is attractive and well protected being surrounded by hills and mountains. The village is built like so many others, right on the beach.

The next day we went ashore and wandered around the village and decided to hike up the river gorge that we had seen on our chart. After we had been walking for a while and had seen no one, we began to ask ourselves whether we were doing the right thing. We were following a riverbed but there wasn’t much river in it. After a can of Coke from our survival kit, we decided to continue crossing from one embankment to the other via large rocks. The river was but a stream and no way the raging torrent we were expecting. It was overhung with trees and vines and getting thicker as we progressed. We had just crossed over once again when we came into a clearing. As we stood there we could see some shapes hanging over the branches of some trees ahead of us. The smell was horible. On closer inspection, we discovered the shapes were cow hides drying in the sun. We left them dangling there and continued on our way. Half a mile later, we noticed some smoke rising through the trees. As we approached, we saw four natives in a clearing sitting around this huge cauldron- the type canables would have used- over an open fire. Without a word to Ralph, I turned and headed back the way we had come. Ralph followed me. I had visions of being waylaid and popped into the pot to be eaten later. We did laugh when we got back to civilisation but at the time we had felt quite vulnerable as nobody knew where we were. We never did venture further up that river.
Before I tell you about the other islands we have visited, perhaps you would like to know how we feel about our adventures so far. It’s great and we are glad we came. One thing for sure is sailing in the Caribbean is certainly different from sailing in the Med. Here you do actually sail everywhere and very rarely do you use the motor. The wind is not always blowing the way you want it to but you can always tack and get to where you want to go to eventually. Another thing we like is the fact there are always lots of sailing yachts around, coming and going- you always get a friendly wave. When you are at an anchorage people, whatever their nationality will invite conversation. We enjoy this immensely and lots of friendships have started in this way.

One thing they are short of out here is marinas for visiting yachts. Thank goodness. Rodney Bay in St Lucia has been the the only one that we have stayed in so far. though we have three days free in Jolly Harbour Marina in Antigua when we get there. In them you can charge your batteries well, clean the boat with plenty of water at a price and do any small maintenance jobs that need to be done. We still favour anchoring. Firstly, it is cooler and secondly you can go for a swim when you feel like it. There are many anchorages attached to hotels and it is there that you get the best of both worlds because when you are at anchor, you can enjoy the hotels’ facilities.
We are enjoying immensely the travelling and exploring we are doing. We stop for as long as our interest holds and then move on. Every island we have visited has been completely different so it is quite exciting when you arrive somewhere for the first time. I never thought I would become interested in bird-watching to the degree that I have, Ralph included. I suppose it is because they are all around us and there are so many species that we have never seen in the wild before. Frigate birds are always around and they can entertain you for hours. They have a wingspan of three to four feet and dive from great heights. They then appear from the sea nearly always carrying a fish. Pelicans are now on the scene. They too dive for their dinner but, unlike the Frigate birds, when they leave the water and happen to be close by, they drown you with the water leaving their bodies. They are a very clumsy looking bird but no less entertaining. The other morning, quite early, I heard a knocking on the side of the boat. I went to investigate and found two large ‘objects’ fighting or courting (I’m not sure which) alongside the hull of the boat. It turned out to be two turtles of at least three feet in length. Before I could get the camera they had dived deep into the sea. I have been told we’re going to see plenty more of them the further north we go.
Although the Windward and Leeward islands are beautiful places to sail, it is not without its hazards. The problem is that coral reefs and sand banks are not always where the chart indicates. Storms over the years have shifted the seabed in shallow waters, which means eyeball navigation skills- I am not so keen on this type of sailing. Although we have had some near misses, we have not hit anything yet ! Unfortunately, to sail into the most beautiful anchorages one has to face these hazards. This is perhaps what keeps them so beautiful. We have excellent charts and pilot books on-board, but as the upkeep of the marker buoys is questionable, they are not always where they should be so we do not rely on them too much. Another hazard we bit off-putting is the fishermens’ marker buoys. They seem to put them down just about anywhere with no particular pattern. They use anything from empty plastic detergent containers to Coke cans. When the sea is running a bit wild it is quite easy to miss seeing them so one has to be on the lookout all the time especially if you are within a mile or two of land. We find it easier sometimes to go a bit further out to sea to eliminate this problem.

We were in small bay one day when the local fishermen came out and asked several boats to move. They had the knowledge somehow or other that a shoal of fish was expected. They were in small boats and they started to lay their nets passing just a few feet from ShiRal. A couple of hours later, just before dark, they returned to take their nets in and we had the pleasure to see them haul their catch into their boats. There were six boats with a couple of fishermen in each all working together in a joint effort. Their catch was not very big for all their hard work.

One of the things we do not like about this sailing lark in the Caribbean is the very fast growth of a coral-like substance on the hull of the boat. Ralph has dived many times to clean it off, not always doing so before it has managed to take a firm hold. It tends to slow the boat’s speed through the water and we feel it is about the right time to have ShiRal lifted out and cleaned properly. We can then have a new anti-fouling paint applied which has been formulated specifically for this area.

22nd Feb’94
The forty three mile crossing to Antigua was good fun as we were racing other yachts that we knew. All in all it was a very good days sailing. That’s what it is all about after all, so Ralph tells me. We arrived at English Harbour, Antigua mid afternoon after a dawn start. A lot has been told to us about this anchorage and it lives up to it. It is well protected, attractive and appears to have everything going for it. The original dockyard was constructed between 1725 and 1745 and was Britain’s main naval station in the Lesser Antilles during the time of Nelson when he was the British Naval Commander. Today,”Nelson’s Dockyard”, as it is now known, has been reconstructed to house a museum, a bakery along with restaurants and many yachting facilities. You can get anything done here. As you walk around or climb the battlement lookouts you feel you are stepping back into history walking over the very ground that Nelson and his sailors trod all those years ago.

At ‘Shirley Heights’, named after Governor General Shirley also from Nelson’s period, is a large fort. It overlooks the harbour and the rugged southern coastline. Part of the ruins is a restaurant. On Sundays starting at 15.00hrs until 21.00hrs, steel band concerts take place in the grounds on top of the cliffs. We went to one of these and had a marvellous time. There are sheltered areas where you can drink and eat. The barbecue was serving continuously and the food was very good. The concerts are well attended, being one of the tourist attractions on the island, and the music ranges from pop to the classics. When they were playing a classical piece the audience went hushly quiet. When they finished the applause was ecstatic. The setting is fantastic and something for us to remember. It is steeped in history and many famous British regiments have been stationed there.

We took the local bus with a couple of friends to the town of St. Johns. It was an eight mile ride and took nearly an hour to complete. Once again, the bus stopped every five minutes or so to pick up and drop off people along the way. We always enjoy the bus rides because you see so much and get a real feel as to how the local people go about their everyday lives. The town was scruffy but lively and we had lunch in a Carib restaurant overlooking the main high street. We returned to English Harbour with plenty of memories.

3rd March’94
We sailed along the coast to Jolly Harbour and spent three nights there in the marina as guests of the managment. They had invited all the ARC yachts.

6thMarch’94
We sailed the few miles to Deep Bay to meet up with a few friends who we knew to be anchored there, thanks to the radio net. With them we visited Fort Barrington high above the bay. The veiw was quite something. There is a holiday hotel along the beach which we decided to give the once over. We will keep to sailing thank you. A different place whenever we feel like it. We sailed back to English Harbour and found more friends had arrived since we had been away so we had lots of chat.

9th March’94
Today Ralph attended a memorial service for those murdered on the yacht ‘Challenger’.This was held at Shirley Heights and attended by more than three hundred people. It was a well organised and moving ceremony. It was yachtsman paying their respects to fellow yachtsmen and yachtswoman. The beautiful floral tributes were scattered in the sea below Shirley Heights from a naval launch.

11th March’94
For a change of scenery, we up anchored and motored one mile round the headland to re-anchor in Falmouth Bay which is attached by a strip of land to English Harbour. I think Ralph’s idea of moving was so that he could sit and ogle at the many magnificent boats that were anchored here. They all averaged over sixty feet in length and most of them were of classic design. The annual Antigua Classic race takes place soon and they were congregating in Falmouth Bay because it is much bigger than English Harbour. I have to admit it is a wonderful sight. Flags of many countries are flying (the majority are Brits and Americans).

15th March’94
The weather pattern for the next few days is looking good so we shall be soon on the move.

17th March’94
We left Falmouth Harbour Antigua at 07-00hrs with our course set for the island of St Nevis. We had another great sail with a full main and genoa set. The wind and the sea were with us and we covered the fifty four miles in nine hours.

St Nevis (whose twin island is St. Kitts)
The two islands became British after we fought and beat the French yet again in 1783. They gained their independence from the UK in 1983. The population is 9,000. Nevis is a very small island with just one town called Charlestown. A long beach with golden sands with a backdrop of palms from a coconut plantation to one side of the town is where we dropped our anchor. We were overlooked by Mount Nevis so all in all it was a very picturesque place to be. There is no public transport to speak of, just the odd bus that goes round the villages, so we opted to hire a car. This we did from an old garage and the old man that owned it once again had lived in England, you’ll never guess where, and he let us have the car at a bargain price. This later proved to be a joke. It seemed alright appearance-wise but mechanically needed a lot to be desired. We had signed up for two days hire so off we went.
The first day and our first stop was at a 16th Century church famous for the fact that Nelson was married there. It was a tiny place and you could wander around it and view the marriage certificate, (yes, he did marry her) and various tomb stones- all very exciting if you like that sort of thing. It was also used as a hurricane shelter as it was perhaps the only solid stone building in that part of the island. A few miles on, we visited a museum. Once again its history centred around Nelson and his wife the widow Fanny Nisbet. It was now lunch time so we made tracks to a recommended plantation restaurant called Golden Rock which was a converted manor house. We had a very pleasant meal sitting in a courtyard surrounded by magnificent overhanging flowering shrubs which were alive with tiny humming birds. There is a walk starting from the hotel leading up the mountain into a rain forest. As it takes four hours and it was blazing hot we decided to give it a miss and continue to explore the island. An hour or so later, we realized that we had completely circled the island so we made our way back to ShiRal and a swim. On arriving back at the town’s jetty where we had left our dingy, we discovered that one half of an oar had disappeared.

For our second day of motoring, we packed into our cool box a picnic with the idea of going to Indian Beach on the Atlantic side of the island. Before piling into the car, which we had left parked by the jetty, we ventured into the town for some bread. We got directions from a local to the bakery and made our way up a side street (or should I say ‘track’) to the said shop. In England this place would never have been allowed to open. As this was not England and we needed bread, we took our turn and later came out clutching in our hands a steaming freshly baked loaf. Very tasty it was too! We headed back to the car to find the local church congregation spilling out into the main street. It was Sunday and we had not realized it. Sitting on a seat under a tree, we spent the next quarter of an hour observing the church goers. It was like watching the guests at a wedding. The older females wore dresses and hats so ornate I could not take my eyes off them and the men and children were just as grandly clothed. It went through my mind as to how they managed to store these elaborate costumes in the shacks they live in.
To get to the beach we had chosen to go to we had to follow a ‘map’ given to us at the garage:

“Proceed along main road to church.
Turn left.
Continue on until you come to a racecourse.
Enter through two large gates.
Proceed passed grandstands to track leading to beach”.

We did all this not believing it was a racecourse we were passing through. We were told that five big meetings a year take place at this racetrack and people come from all over the Caribbean to attend. The whole place was a shambles. The grandstand, constructed out of wood, was falling down and the horse boxes were in a bad state of repair. To crown it all the Members’ Bar, which we could see through an open door, was two trellis tables on a dirt floor.

We continued along the track to the beach. I suppose by now we were so used to the unevenness of the track we were on that we did not noticed that it suddenly went into sand and before we knew it we were sinking and slowing to a halt with sand up to the wheel hubs. The sea was only a short distance away. Being the Atlantic side of the island, the rollers crashing up the beach looked very inviting. First, we has to dig the car out and get a bit closer. Fortunately, there was plenty of driftwood and coconut shells around so after some careful planning (memories of Ralph’s desert days) and an hour or so of sweat we managed to get ourselves mobile again.

We parked the car on the beach and took in the situation. Before us lay a long U-shaped sandy beach with small cliffs on either side with not another car or person on sight. We stayed for a while and had our picnic. Because the wind was pretty strong, we thought we might as well do some more exploring. We came to the conclusion there was not really much else to see. We did come across a pottery factory, if that’s what you could call it, comprising two men and a women. They were making clay pots and dishes. We watched them for a while moulding them on a wheel and then baking them in a kiln at the back of the shack in which they were working. The pots were all very crude and did not inspire us enough to make a purchase.

After the pottery place, we took the wrong turning and found ourselves in a village. We did not like this part of our tour for it was like driving through a shanty town. There were goats and chickens rummaging through the rubbish which surrounded the homes of the people who live here. As I mentioned before, it was Sunday and people were sitting around their homes on verandahs completely oblivious to the squalor around them. Later, we turned around and made our way back the way we came. We spent the next hour or so at a beach bar close to where we had the boat anchored. When we returned the car to the garage, Ralph told the owner how bad the car was. He just shrugged his shoulders and said he knew and blamed the roads. No comment.

21st March’94
Ralph is ashore to check out at 08-00hrs, do a little shopping and be back aboard by 09-00hrs. By the time he returns, I have the boat ready to go, so it’s up anchor and away. We had a good sail along the lee of St Kitts. We must visit this island as it really looks beautiful but our destination is St Eustatius (Statia) another thirty six miles further north.

It is a small Dutch island with a population of around sixteen hundred people. In the 1700’s, Statia was the trade capital of the Indies with hundreds of sailing ships anchored in the harbour. It is steeped in history but today there is very little to see. It is an attractive anchorage with the town Oranjestad on top of the cliffs which is reached by climbing the cobbled Slave Road (the short but exhausting way up) or the longer and modern road running along the shore and winding gradually to the top. We have climbed the Slave Road twice. The first time was to visit the town. We saw all there was to see in about half an hour. The second time, armed with our knapsack and survival kit, was on a hike to see the volcano The Quill Crater.

We’d been going for more than an hour and did not seem to be getting anywhere. We were following the instructions given to us at the Tourist Office and all the time we were walking through a development of private homes. Cars were passing with their coloured occupants staring at us as if we were mad. Well of course, we were. It was almost noon by now. The sun was blazing hot, there was not a scrap of shade and we were tramping along on a concrete road all uphill to this supposedly fantastic attraction. Some time later, a car with a white couple stopped and asked us if we were going up the Quill. “Yes”, we said. They then asked us if we were doing the right thing at this time of day. We had no answer for this as it was obvious to us that we were not. They drove off leaving us desperate for shade. When we did find a tree it was right next to a rubbish disposal place. Having no choice, we stayed there long enough to have a cold can of Coke from our coolbox and to make the decision to abandon our hike. When we got back to the town, we met some American friends who invited us to join them for lunch at a restaurant overlooking the bay. This was a much nicer way of spending time.

I have come to the conclusion that enough is enough. We have seen more forts, churches, grave stones. rain forests, craters, Barclay Banks and boutiques to last us a lifetime and we’ll spend more time doing nothing.. well, not quite. We can still do our snorkelling and swimming.

23rd March’94
For our next island to visit we chose St Martin, an island jointly owned by the French and the Dutch. It’s divided across the middle with the north for the French and the south for the Dutch. For many years, the island was a success being the producers of tobacco and sugar. They also have salt ponds. With the decline of the sugar industries, it was decided to make the island a Duty Free Port to encourage tourism. We arrived after sailing against the sea and wind for thirty three miles- not very pleasant. We eventually dropped our anchor in Philipsburg on the Dutch side of the island. Trish and Roy our American friends were there having sailed direct from Antigua. Tourism was in full swing with three cruise liners in the bay. When we went ashore to check in at Customs and buy supplies, we soon learnt what the attraction was. There were dozens or boutiques and jewellery stores which atttracted me and the cruise liners’ passengers. I made arrangements with Trish to have a day ashore and give the shops a whirl. We had the time of our lives.

Saint Martin is obviously tourist orientated and not really our scene but it served its purpose for our needs. We were able to stock up and Ralph obtained some spare parts. We also spent a few days with other friends we had met a month earlier. It was through the radio net of which three are operating in the Caribbean that we knew they would be here. It is through these radio networks that Ralph contacts every day that we know where other yachts are likely to be which is great because everybody keeps in touch.

27th March'94
To make the one hundred mile plus crossing to the British Virgin Islands (BVIs) meant leaving St Martin at 16.00hrs for an overnight crossing. We left in brilliant sunshine and sailed all night under a full moon. Memories of our Atlantic passage came back as we sailed downwind with the Trades and the Atlantic rollers in pursuit.

28th March'94
We arrived at Tortola, the largest island in the BVIs at 09.00hrs and dropped anchor in a quaint little cove called Soper’s Hole situated on the extreme west of the island. We visitied the obligitory Customs & Immigration office where they issued us with a one month cruising permit. We have decided to cruise the islands in a lazy, casual laid-back fashion as they are no more than six to ten miles apart. We understand snorkelling here takes some beating. We’ll let you know what we find.

Our future sailing plans are undecided at this moment as I’m concerned about spreading slug pellets on my garden to give the dahlias a chance to survive having not dug them up in the Autumn

Editors Note: Since posting this account to me, Mum and Dad spent six weeks sailing the Virgin Islands before heading back south to the island of Antigua. They arrived at English Harbour at 18:00hrs on 14th May'94 and moved to Jolly Harbour on the 16th where they have left their yacht ShiRal out of the water up on the hard. They are now back in the UK at home looking forward to the arrival of Susan and Ralston's first child making them grandparents again. No doubt they will be seeing many of you whilst they are home.