Down to Dominica

We did the crossing to Dominica the next day. It was a pretty wild run. The wind was blowing 20 knots with gusts to 30. We howled down the distance and were very happy to finally tuck ourselves into a mooring at Portsmouth, on the northeast of the island.

WW had visited here last year with Alicia and her admirers queued up to welcome them back. Alas, I appeared, not Alicia. She is, clearly, missed.

On Friday, a wonderful man named Fire took us in his magnificent boat up the Indian River. All the guides and water rats have boats painted in the most wonderful colours. Fire's also features quotes from Jamaican (Rasta) music he particularly likes. We motored across Prince Rupert's Bay to the river's mouth, on the way marvelling at the number of massive wrecks strewing the waterfront. They are all the products of hurricanes. In one place, there was a wreck on top of a wreck. A project is under way to cut them up. The resulting hunks of metal and wood are loaded onto barges and taken out to sea. For now, though, waterfront property in Portsmouth is as likely to have a view of a rusting quarterdeck as of the Caribbean.

At the entrance to Indian River, Fire killed his engine, and put his oars between tholes and started to row/pole us up the gently river. It is illegal to use motors on the river, to the tune of a $5,000 EC fine. Fire pointed out different plants, crabs he says are good eating, herons and smaller birds. He took us up a branch of the river which became very dark in the shadow of the huge gum trees. At length, we arrived at a little bar in the woods where I had delicious ginger tea and WW had a coffee. Then we followed a path into the forest that led at last to an enormous gum tree, with huge buttress roots that overtopped us.

As we returned down the river, Fire told us about the coming election. He, and most of Portsmouth, seem very keen on the incumbent. Each night we were treated to loud music blaring from massive speakers mounted on trucks, and to different voices exhorting. Words like "respect", "corruption", "dignity", "responsibility" echoing across the bay. The Friday night electioneering (Friday is the traditional Portsmouth party night) went on until about 4 a.m. We know, we heard it all.

That evening we ate freshwater "crawfish" (prawns) at the Purple Turtle. WW insists they are frozen imports. Everyone we talked to says they catch and eat them. I suspect WW is right, but they were delicious anyhow.