More Grenadines

It being Monday, the shops were finally open, so we took Boffo back through the surge to the Basil’s Bar beach, where we rode the surf in and hauled her well up the beach so she couldn’t make a getaway. Then we wandered through the nearby shops...all very exclusive and expensive. We found a well-stocked grocery and picked up the provisions we lacked, then returned to Django.

Basil's Bar as we sail off

We dropped our mooring and made for Canouan, the next Grenadine lying southwest of Mustique. It was a run of about three hours down through Grand Bay to our mooring in Charles Bay. The Moorings charter fleet is centred here and we were surrounded by an navy of eerily empty monohulls and cats awaiting there temporary occupants. In fact, we were asked to move since we had picked up a Moorings mooring.

The boat boy who came to assist us brought us ice and said he could get us water when the water truck came from St. Vincent. There was a ferry due shortly and, if the truck weren’t on that one, it would be there in the morning. The truck would fill the water tender—a boat with a couple of huge black barrels—which would then bring the water to us. We were getting very near the end of our water supply.

The swell in the bay was the worst we’d experienced so far. I was in the throes of calalloo soup preparation, so stayed to wait for the ice while the captain and EC made an expedition ashore. They reported that the exercise of getting from Boffo to wharf had challenged all their not-inconsiderable agility and athleticism. I had watched Boffo leaping and cavorting at her mooring as the surge raced beneath her to break violently on the shore. When the boat boy came by with the ice, he asked for a third line and ran it to the mooring as a backup...just in case.

The adventurers returned after a couple of hours having found a bank, a shop, a restaurant and a bar. We thought we might stay another day and dine at the restaurant the following evening. The galley slave thought that would be a grand idea. The explorers had been informed that Canouan is known as “the gem of the Caribbean.”

By the next morning, however, we were fed up with the pounding wave action from the surge. WW saw the water truck come off one of the ferries, but it seemed the surge was so strong that they couldn’t get the tender to it. Finally, we had had enough, we upped anchor and fled the gem of the Caribbean to seek quieter waters in the south.

It was a short run down through the Tobago Cays, past Mayreau, to the southernmost Grenadine, Union Island.

A fishing boat in the Tobago Cays
(with a Club Med pseudo square-rigger behind)

Following markers around the curving Thompson Reef, we entered Clifton Harbour. In the middle of the harbour is another reef, the Roundabout, so mooring and anchorages lie in a circle. Immediately a boat boy appeared. WW asked about water, the boat boy asked about fuel. WW said water, the boat boy said fuel. Finally, WW made it clear that we did not need fuel, only water; the boat boy looked frankly cranky. Clearly he gets a bigger cut when there’s fuel involved.

We docked at the Anchorage Yacht Club Wharf, took on water and ice, dropped of laundry, then were led to a nearby mooring. About 10 minutes later, the boat boy was back, saying we couldn’t use that mooring after all. He led us well out in the harbour to the edge of the Thompson Reef. It was a lovely spot with a cooling breeze and the reef acting as a buffer between us and the swell. However, it was one of the most expensive moorings thus far at $60 EC for the night. We would not be staying a second day.