Crossing to Grenada

Last little bit of land before Saint Martin/Sint Maarten

We left the Bitter End at about 7 a.m. and headed for the Sombrero Passage. We sailed and sailed. We sailed past Saint Martin/Sint Maarten just about nightfall, and could see the lights glowing off to port.

We sailed through the Anguilla Passage into the Carribean and passed Saba and Sint Eustasius. A few hours later, the lights of St. Kitts and Nevis vanished port and astern. By dawn, we had Monserrat off the port bow.

WW got quite excited at the plume coming off the Monserrat volcano. I explained that it is always there but he was insistent that major activity was under way. We later learned that there had been a slight increase in activity and that the volcano was being watched carefully. Nothing more, however, so presumably it subsided again. And that plume IS always there.

Then the wind died. We pooped along and finally the lights of Guadeloupe appeared after dark. The wind returned nicely.

We were doing our standard two hours on, two hours off rotation. While we do this throughout the 24 hours each day, we are a little looser during the daylight hours. Watches start more strictly at 7 p.m., which WW took. Then me 9-11, WW 11-1, me 1-3, etc.

The two hours off become golden. Sleep is instantaneous and deep. You dread the "your watch" call you know is soon to come.

At 4:30, WW yelled, "Kathy! Come here! I need you!"

I knew I still had half an hour that was MINE. I looked up and saw the hatch was open. My befuddled brain decided he wanted the hatch closed. So I closed it. He continued to yell. In a fairly foul mood, I made my way to the cockpit.

"The port propellor is fouled in a longline and I need you to hold me while I cut it free," WW said.

This is the kind of clear thinking that occurs in the middle of the night when you find your propellor has picked up a mile or so of sturdy, buoyed fishing line and is dragging it along behind you, white markers bobbing cheerfully off into the distance.

"Um, I think I'd prefer you used one of the harnesses and clamped yourself to the stern rail," I suggested.

"Oh," said WW. So that's what he did. I stood by and cheered him on as the last few minutes of my two hours off ticked away. Finally, the great self-appointed sea anchor was cut free, but the propellor was still so fouled as to render that engine unusable. We'd been running on just the one, so we turned to the starboard engine. It wouldn't start. Sailing in light to no airs had us whipping along for Grenada at a princely 4 knots. It could be a very long crossing.

It was with great joy, then, that, soon after sunrise, we found the solar panels provided that bit of extra juice needed to get the starboard engine going. Guadeloupe was a distance haze. We wouldn't see land again until St. Vincent. The wind was nonexistent.

In the afternoon the wind picked up again and blew at 17 knots to 20 knots until about 2 p.m. Then it dropped. And our only engine went kafizzle at about 3 a.m. in protest over dirty fuel. We polished. Sigh. We got her up and running at about 7:30 a.m. with St. Vincent in sight. Once again, the wind picked up only this time it stayed picked. Then we were in the midst of the Grenadines.

Due to the fouled propellor and our frayed nerves, we decided to make a stop in part of Grenada but not our intended destination of the island of Grenada. We headed for Hillsborough, Carriacou.