Nevis

We arrived off Charlestown, Nevis (pronounced Nee-vis, not like Ben Nevis in Scotland), after dark. We picked up a mooring and passed an uneventful night. In the morning, all of us went ashore. (Strictly, only the captain should be involved with clearing the boat and crew in; the crew are supposed to be the huddled masses yearning to be free...but we broke the rules.) Upon arrival at the dinghy dock, we were informed that we should not have taken the mooring we had taken and that we should move. OK, sorry. Island time. Later.

While our fearless leader dealt with the red tape of customs and immigration, the EC and I explored the nearer bits of Charlestown —- a truly charming place. After we had been made legal, we continued our forays. I found the market, a Chinese grocery and a shoe shop. The EC found two? three? banks at which either the ATMs or their bank cards did not work. Getting cash in the Caribbean is proving one of our more interesting challenges.

We found a nice vegetarian restaurant, near the dinghy dock, where we had lunch. Served with several of the meals was fabulous multigrain bread. I asked the owner about it and she said she bakes it every day to use for her vegiburgers. I arranged to buy some from her the following day.

We loaded up our various purchases, including lots of goodies from the market, and headed back to Boffo and, thence, Django. We moved from our “wrong” mooring to one further north along the coast, off Pinney’s Beach. Nevis is wonderful. Included in the price of clearing in is the cost of any of the official moorings. All along the western coast, you can hook onto a nice sheltered and secure bit of seabed, kindness of the government of St. Kitt's and Nevis. Would that St. Kitt's were so thoughtful.

That evening, we went ashore for dinner. We had to run Boffo up the beach, which requires skill, grace, athleticism, natural ability. Flawless; we were flawless. Then a short slog through sand to Sunshine’s Beach Bar and Grill which, wisely, provides an outdoor tap for cleaning sand off feet and bug spray to discourage the vicious Caribbean mosquitoes (about which more later).

Dana and I had decided that lobster would have to occur at some point during the EC’s visit. Tonight proved to be the night. But first, we had the bar’s trademark Killer Bee. Our waiter told us it contained rum, rum, passion fruit, rum, rum, and Angostura bitters. Oh, and rum. She did not lie. (The general opinion was that it did not beat a good Django RP...but what does?)

The food was delicious, the lobster being very lobstery and yummy, and the company was simply divine. Replete, we made our way down the beach back to Boffo where her launch, into the surf, would call on even greater natural fluidity of motion. Again, flawless. What can I say?

On the morrow, we hired Douglas and his taxi to take us to Golden Rock, a former plantation. On the way, he took us to the local hot springs, renowned for their curative powers. Forty degrees Celsius...cleared up things we didn't know we had.

KMH and EC Member Dana taking the cure on Nevis.

We also stopped at the Fig Tree Anglican church, notable because it is where Admiral Lord Nelson was NOT married. His marriage certificate, however, resides within. Sadly, within was locked up tight. (He was married at the nearby plantation Montpelier.) The church was, nonetheless, worth the stop. Very scenic.

EC Member Enn at St. John's Fig Tree Anglican Church, Nevis.

A shady resting place at the Fig Tree Church.

Golden Rock (now a hotel with bar and restaurant) offers a couple of hiking trails. The big kids' one is a three or four hour schelp up to the top of Nevis Peak, the high point of the island. The other is a half-hour-ish meander through lower levels of the rain forest, termed a “nature walk”. The woman who provided us with sturdy walking sticks and hand-drawn maps (photocopied) looked with dismay on our sandals.

(All of our sandals date from a year ago when we bought them with the Eager Crew on St. Vincent...for about $30 EC or $12 Canadian per pair. WW’s had done noble service but were becoming very thin in the sole, so he later bought a new pair in Charlestown. They fell apart two weeks later. Might it be worthwhile to head back to St. Vincent??)

We have travelled many miles over terrain smooth and rough in our intrepid St. Vincent sandals. We pshawed Map Lady's concerns. Nothing daunted, we set out on the shorter of the two trails. We had no difficulty at all.

The map showed where we might find noteworthy sights and plants. These, in turn were marked with numbers corresponding to numbers on the map. So clever. However, a stick in the middle of growth, luxuriant growth -- rainforest growth -- with a number on it is what one might call a "general guide". We knew we were within 10 feet of a [name of plant], but which of the 43 trees/shrubs/plants/vines before us it might be was not always entirely clear.

Enn by a huge gum tree (#19, I believe).

Part way along, we met a fellow clearing the trails and asked him about the monkeys (duly indicated on the map and conspicuous by their absence). He told us they are not stupid and don’t go out in the midday sun. The heat can kill them. We mad dogs carried on regardless. All in all, a pleasant wander through mountainous rainforest.

We lunched at the Golden Rock restaurant, then decided to try walking back. We rather underestimated the distance. After an hour and a half, we found a convenient bus stop and bused it back to Charlestown.

Lunch at Golden Rock.

That evening, on Django, Enn made his inimitable groundnut stew for dinner. A grand finale to a grand day.

From the Volcano

We fled north towards Nevis, watching in wonder as Montserrat was engulfed in clouds of ash. It looked to us as though the volcano was having a major upheaval. That evening, however, when we found Radio Montserrat and tuned in to the evening news, not a word. Volcano? What volcano?

Volcano on Montserrat being uppity to our undiscerning eyes.

Tot Club member Graeme Knott is something of an expert on Montserrat and has written a thriller set on the island and in the area of the volcano. He said the people of the island are compeletly inured to the volcano’s belches and rumblings. Spewing ash and steam? Not worth a mention. He also said we were wise to have run away since the ash contains sulphuric acid and is extremely bad for just about everything. It can cause severe pitting of stainless steel fittings. It is also, we discovered, a hazard because it makes surfaces very slick...like having a layer of talc...so moving about on deck must be done with even greater than usual caution. It is also a pain. It is extremely fine and sifts into everything.

Volcanic ash on our stern solar panel.

To the Volcano

Our shakedown sail had been a resounding success. Loose things had been tightened, sticky things had been greased, the head had relapsed...all pretty standard stuff. The skipper felt Django was ready to go cruising. So, on Monday, November 9, we set off for Montserrat.

Dana, the Irish half of our Irish-Estonian Eager Crew, was keen to visit Montserrat which has a long history of Irish settlements. Irish indentured labourers on St. Kitt’s were sent to form new colonies on Montserrat and Antigua when the British feared these Catholics might side with the French in the event of war. Montserrat, whose first settlers were the Irish, soon became a haven for Roman Catholics from many islands seeking religious freedom. Names like Potato Hill, St. Patrick’s, Kinsale and Cork Hill – not to mention the island’s nickname ‘The Emerald Isle’ – all speak to its Irish colonial roots.

In the 1970s and 80s, Montserrat was the playground of pop and rock stars, much as Mustique was and is for the rich and famous. The Beatle’s producer George Martin founded Air Studio there. Elton John, Sting, the Stones, Stevie Wonder and many others made recordings there. Then, in 1989, the island was devastated by Hurricane Hugo and Air Studio, among other installations, was closed. As if that weren’t bad enough, in 1995, just as the island had fully recovered from Hugo, its “extinct” Soufrière volcano erupted, completely burying the capital city Plymouth in pyroclastic ash. Almost two thirds of the island’s population fled to new homes.The population dropped to just 4,000 souls.

Today, about two-thirds of the island is a gigantic volcano laboratory, with an observatory, open to visitors, on the edge of this Exclusion Zone. During periods of low activity, there is a Daytime Entry Zone which allows access to the abandoned city of Plymouth, preserved in its deep bed of ashes. The Monserrat Volcano Observatory posts weekly updates on the volcano on its website www.mvo.ms and sets the hazard level each day on a scale of 1­–5.

This, then, was our destination. We had been warned that the Daytime Entry Area has not been open recently due to a moderately high level of volcanic activity, including a great deal of ash venting and pyroclastic flows. Nothing daunted, we set off in glorious sunshine and, naturally, straight into the wind. It had taken us some time to get going, largely because of battles with the rather ornery Bank of Antigua and Barbuda (its ATMs accept only Visa cards, no debit cards or other denominations), so we arrived too late for customs and immigration clearance into Montserrat. During the passage, we watched clouds of debris rise from the volcano in spectacular billowing waves, with steaming smoking chunks of mountain rolling down its sides.

Approaching Montserrat from Antigua. See if you can spot the volcano.

We anchored off Port Little Bay, on the northwest side of the island. The volcano is in the southeast. We could smell the brimstone, see the dust clouds as they spewed upward over the intervening hills, and feel the grit as ash settled as a fine gray powder on every surface. A rather nasty swell was with us all night and, in the morning, a fearsome squall blew in just as we were preparing to reset our dragging anchor. WW yelled from the cockpit for us to get back (we were on the foredeck lashing down the kayaks) and, as we dove for cover, the heavens opened. Our freshly waterproofed bimini did its best, but it was fighting a losing battle. The EC were sent below, we closed the companionway and WW and I, soaked to the bone and shivering (a novel feeling in these parts), steered Django in small tight circles till the worst was over.

Once again at anchor, WW was able to make it ashore in Boffo to clear us in, but on his return he announced that he would not be comfortable leaving Django for our intended four or five hour hike in the interior as the anchor was, again, dragging. The EC and I prepared to go ashore. It was gray, another squall looked to be on its way and the volcanic ash covered everything. I thought we should just head to Nevis and give up on Montserrat for the time being. We could come back in fairer weather and hope the volcano would be better behaved. But the EC (and I, in fairness) really wanted to see this island. WW and I went to the foredeck to check the anchor...it was dragging, of course. “Let’s just go,” he said.

So we raised anchor and headed northwest , past the uninhabited rock of Redonda, to Nevis (pronounced NEE-vis, not like Ben Nevis in Scotland).

Early days with the EC

We survived our final tot and another full tot at our celebratory mismuster as the newest members of the Royal Navy Tot Club of Antigua and Barbuda. This did mean that we were not at our most alert and capable when the Eager Crew put in their rather late appearance. Their flight had arrived at 9:30 p.m. and we started circling Nelson's Dockyard in Boffo at about 10 p.m. We failed to locate them. WW continued the hunt while I awaited aboard in case they wanted food on arrival. They had been supposed to phone us, but my cell phone just showed weird symbols, presumably from their attempted calls. In the end, they took loggings in the local (rather expensive) hotel. WW learned they were there from a security chap, but by then the place was locked up tight.

We collected them in the morning.

That afternoon, we hiked up to Shirley Heights along the trail WW and I had worked on with the Tot Club. It was wonderful, and the view from the Shirley Heights battlements is spectacular.

Spectacular view of WW, KMH and English Harbour (kindness of the EC).

We introduced the EC to the Tot Club then went along to a new restaurant's opening bash. Which was rather a failure. Over dinner we agreed we would head off to Green Island in the morning, to give Django and ourselves a shakedown sail before heading across the big water.

It was a lovely day for it, but the wind was straight in our faces. We found a very pleasant spot in which to anchor and all had long swims. WW and Enn swam in and explored a bit of the island. Then we barbecued a pork tenderloin and had that with curried okra and fried plantain.

The following morning we headed back to English Harbour and, that evening, took a taxi up to Shirley Heights to scope out the regular Sunday barbecue with steel band and reggae. The food was pretty unexciting and the music was very disappointing...unless you really want steel band or reggae versions of songs made famous by such notable Island artists as Sinatra, Van Morrison and, of course, ABBA.

Thank heavens for Donald, our taxi driver, who took one look at us and popped Bob Marley into his van's CD player. We travelled down from the heights to "No woman, no cry" and "Stir it up". Restored our faith in music. Thanks, Donald.

Impending EC

Yes, our Eager Crew are making a return visit and are due to arrive tonight, Guy Fawkes Day. We are all atwitter with joy and have been polishing the brightwork and holystoning the decks. Well, ok, I washed the soles and made up their berth while WW waterproofed the bimini and put patches on a couple of little holes. He thinks the bimini is coming to the end of its time on Earth and that perhaps we'll see about getting a new one made over Christmas, while we're back in Canada. Not orange. There will be a sea change regarding colour, trust me.

When last I posted, we had spent a goodly portion of Saturday with an intrepid group of Tot Club members, tarting up one of the several paths they maintain in the area and then celebrating our efforts. It was hot, hard work on a steep slope covered with dense scrub. WW wielded heavy clippers, clearing undergrowth and lopping the tips off Spanish bayonet near the trail. I raked. In a tropical forest, leaves are dropping all the time, so raking is an endless task. We were working in an area called Jones Valley and the trails dropped down the hillside from just beside an old fort called Shirley Heights. A huge cistern marks the start of the trail, which then drops down to two old graveyards, then to a riverbed and a dam. I was instructed to rake as far as the second graveyard then to come back to the top. "You'll be exhausted. Go no farther," Terry told me. He was right.

Terry the Thorn Tree Trimmer, beside the old cistern

The graveyards seem to be just loose collections of headstones with no discernible plan or pattern. The first or upper graveyard has about a dozen graves, only one headstone is still partially legible and several are broken. The one headstone still readable tells us that Caroline Weiburg was buried there in 1808 with at least one of her children. Terry says there is no way of knowing whether these people were criminals hanged for their crimes, servants or settlers. Of Caroline, we can only speculate that she either died in childbirth or that disease (yellow fever and malaria were rampant) took her and her child(ren).

We started at 10 a.m. and finished at noon. The last bit of my energy was expended climbing back up the hill. Terry drove us to Charly's (Charlotte's) house whence the work crew had been summoned for drinks and nibbles. I asked him how these little patches of graveyards had been found in the dense Antiguan undergrowth. Terry power. He found a map of the island dated 1822 and, being an exploratory soul, he took his trusty machete and went hunting. He has found any number of remnants of the island's colonial history and continues to find them still. The Tot Club does its work with a measure of support from the Antiguan parks people, who pay for signs and minor expenses, and allow the work crews access to the land.

Drinks and nibbles in Charly's glorious garden.

And now the news you have all been waiting for...our examination results. We passed! We have not yet taken our 7th and final initiation tot, but will be doing that tonight, followed by a mismuster...another tot. We should be in grand shape by the time the Eager Crew arrives.

Headless

We spent a day and a half really roughing it...no head and paddles needed to reach the facilities. WW, as is his wont, spent a lot of time in the head, hanging upside down and saying "Feck." He would periodically emerge, sodden and smelly, and paddle across the harbour to the the shop where he was purchasing the bits and pieces he needed. It just couldn't be managed in one day. However, upon the morn, he completed the task and we now have a fully functioning, much-bettter-than-before head. Kudos to Upside Down Guy.

In the ongoing battle to eliminate clutter, we find each other's stuff and ask, innocently, "We don't really need this anymore, do we?" Well, in fairness, as often as not we really don't. But when WW wanted to pitch the two little fishies and the bird that a lad off St. Vincent had woven for us from palm fronds, I couldn't allow it. Still, I had to come up with an out of the way place for the little dears. I had a brainwave. Please understand, I am not much of an artsy crafty type...my fingers turn into sausages when I want to do anything finicky. Still, here's what I managed--

KMH's mobile: Calder, eat your heart out.

Among other achievements of the week were the recovery of our two anchors, previously abandoned at our mangrove sanctuary. It was a mucky, muddy, disgusting job, but they are both safe aboard and much cleaner. I finished scraping the hulls over several days and left WW the much nastier jobs of the keels, which require diving to get to. Django has been fully rigged and is ready to sail.

On Wednesday (toast: to ourselves as no one else is liable to be concerned with our welfare), we had a mess o' lentils for dinner, with lots of sauteed vegetables cooked with them. It was the night of Tot 2. Thursday (toast: to a bloody war and a sickly season, to a blood war and a quick promotion) was shopping. We can get such exotic items as yoghurt and red peppers. I made us goat biryani with curried eggplant for dinner. It was the night of Tot 3. On Friday (Tot 4, to a willing foe and sea room) we finally recovered Boffo's motor and that has made life much easier. Saturday (Tot 5, to sweethearts and wives, may they never meet) we walked out to Fort Berkeley and up the Middle Trail to one-gun battery. It was a lovely if rather uphill hike and featured a good deal more goat droppings than I normally care for. (Goats are ubiquitous and I reckon the only way to fight back is...eat 'em.)

Self-explanatory

Fort Berkeley

View from Fort Berkeley up English Harbour to Nelson's Dockyard

View from Fort Berkeley ramparts looking towards...well, Africa actually.


Middle Trail signpost


The uphill bit to the one-gun battery.

Today is Sunday (tonight we will be examined and have Tot 6, toasting absent friends and those at sea). Antigua and Barbuda today celebrates 28 years of independence. This morning we joined a Tot Club work group and went to assist with trail maintenance in Jones Valley. About which more later. That's enough for now.