Mangrove Days and Nights

Thanks to Whit and Frisha, once again, for the photos in this post.

South of Port Louis, the bay between Grande Terre and Basse Terre becomes more and more densely filled with mangrove clumps and clusters. In the more northern, outer areas, the waters are brilliant blue, clear and shallow. Perfect for snorkelling, kayaking, swimming and doing Caribbean stuff in the sun.

We raised our anchors and left Port Louis to head to this bit of bliss. We dropped anchor in shallow water, tucked in amongst the mangrove islets. Whit and Frisha went off to explore the nearest of these in the kayaks while WW and I took Boffo and went oyster hunting.

Whit with Django and one of the mangrove islets in the background.

Oysters grow on the roots of mangroves but not where the water is very clear. Where the mangrove islets are closer together and the water is murkier (and the no-see'ums are more vicious) is the habitat of oysters. Out in this clear water, there was not an oyster to be found. So we settled on swimming and sun bathing instead.

After lunch and a siesta, we headed further south toward the channel that leads between the increasingly densely clustered mangrove islets. Power boats zoomed up and down the channel as we manoeuvered slowly on our way. At last, we reached our goal: a bridge crossing the channel but much too low for us to pass under. We retraced our path up the channel and started to look for a place to spend the night.

Moving very slowly, we slid into a space to one side of the channel. Our depth metre showed the water becoming frighteningly shallow but still ok as Django draws very little water. Or so we thought until the hull without a depth meter ran into the muck. Fortunately, we were able to reverse out of the problem, but using Django to explore wasn't cutting it. It was time to get the leadsman into the act, so we put Frisha and Whit into Boffo with a kayak paddle (the lead; plenty long enough) and they did depth soundings, determining an area in which Django would be (a) out of the channel and (b) not aground. We moved her there and set two anchors so she wouldn't go drifting into shallower waters.

Then we set out, once more, in search of the elusive oyster. This was the proper murky water and close, shady nooks in which they are found. WW hung off Boffo's bow and, using heavy gloves, pried oysters from mangrove roots. Frisha attempted to help, but we soon determined it was a one-person job. She and I poled and rowed Boffo in and out of likely looking areas (the water was too shallow for Boffo's engine). The no-see'ums devoured us. Well, not WW who was labouring mightily in the bow, then berating his crew for not taking him to good spots with "the right kind" of oyster. They all looked like oysters to this foremast jack. His crew became mutinous so a return to Django took place. His whining assistants were replaced with the erstwhile recling-aboard-reading-a-book Whit. I waved them off with a "It's after 5 and I'm making RPs." Whit became visibly less interested in the enterprise.

They seemed to paddle back and forth without actually going into the mangroves. I'm not sure the new oyster harvesting setup was at all effective. They came back pretty darned quickly. But then, RPs are hard to resist, especially when the alternative is to be eaten alive by tiny unpleasant insects.

All crew were issued their rum ration and WW started shucking the tiny but sweet and delicious mangrove oysters. The galley slave went below to prepare the fish stew.

Goes well with rum punch...

WW had been dying to gather these oysters ever since a very nice young man gathered some in Luperon, DR, and generously fed us each one after he had laboriously opened them with a stone. WW was clearly a very happy fellow.

The happy oyster shucker.

After dinner, we prepared for an early bedtime.

Sunset in the mangroves.

Why, you ask, had we buried ourselves in the murk and mangroves? Well, remember that bridge? That is one of two bridges that render the Riviere Salee (Salt River) impassable to most sailing vessels with their tall masts, though power craft travel it in herds. The Riviere Salee runs north-south between the two islands that form Guadeloupe: Basse Terre in the west and Grande Terre in the east.

Sailboats like to sail the Riviere Salee too. In fact, we wanted to take Django down it. The government very kindly opens the bridge. Once a day. The bridge opener shows up and, if there are no boats waiting, he goes away till the next day. He shows up at about 4:20 a.m.

WW set his alarm for 3:45 a.m. and we made off to dreamland till then.

Back to France

We had gone over to Green Island to get a good angle on the wind for our sail down to France...er, Guadeloupe. The normal Caribbean trade winds blow from roughly ENE. What was our dismay when we awoke to find the breeze blowing solidly from the south? In the event, it wasn't all that dreadful. The wind never became much more than a pleasant light air and the seas were small, almost flat. WW turned on the engines, gave the autopilot a heading for Port Louis on Grand Terre in Guadeloupe and we lounged our way across the passage.

We tested an anchorage outside the town's enclosed harbour, but found it both rolly and with poor hold on a weedy bottom, so we moved inside. We dropped anchor just inside the breakwater and put out a stern anchor to keep us neatly out of the way of fishing boats and other users of the harbour. Then we launched Boffo and headed ashore.

Our piloting guide had said there was a fish market nearby and a couple of locals were happy to point us in the right direction; just the other side of the anchorage. WW was delighted to find the red hinds (a kind of grouper) he so enjoys.

Fish for sale at the Port Louis fish market.
The triggerfish (big feller on the right) has been skinned,
we're not sure why (poisonous skin?),
but whenever we saw one, this was the case.

He requested three of them and then we watched as a chap started to clean them. The tool used for scaling is a stick with four or five beer bottle caps screwed onto it in a row. Very effective.

Scaling our red hind at the Port Louis fish market.

While WW waited for the fish, the rest of us proceeded on a short ramble into the attractive and very quiet little town.

Church, Port Louis, Grande Terre, Guadeloupe

WW soon caught up with us. He had a bag full of fish as well as all the bits and pieces (excluding gills and guts) needed to make a delicious fish broth. We'd pretty much strolled the entire length of the town, so we headed back to Boffo and, thence, to Django and RPs. Dinner was red hind grilled "en papillote" with onion, garlic, green pepper and tomato. And very nice too. While WW tended his grill, I got the inevitable fumet cooking and was vouchsafed a couple of red hind filets for the next day's matelote stew.

Fishermen on the breakwater at the Port Louis anchorage.

All photos in this post are kindness of Frisha, Whit and their able little Canon.

Pilotage and a Visit

Following his mighty success with the watermaker, WW turned his attention to the big autopilot. We have a small autopilot which is grand under relatively mild conditions, but it gets tired if there are big seas and big winds. Anytime it has to work hard to keep us on course, it gets hot and bothered. It governs the big autopilot, but somewhere along the way, the message has been getting mangled. The big autopilot will work for a bit, then take a break. This is inconvenient if you set it, go below to grab a cup of coffee, and return to discover your heading has completely changed.

WW found a man, Cap, who knows vast amounts about things marine and electronic. He was a source of much good information. WW donned his kefiyah and burrowed into Django's innards. After several hours, several conversations with Cap, and more burrowing, he finally decided the brushes on the motor were finished. He took the relevant bit in to Cap for brush replacement. It would take several days for the work to be completed.

Soon thereafter (on January 21), my sister Frisha and her husband Whit arrived for a 10-day visit. Their flight was delayed three hours, so they arrived after 7 p.m., tired but delighted to be back on Django.

WW, KMH and Frisha setting out for provisions

The next morning, we provisioned and headed over to Green Island where we swam, snorkeled and had barbecued ribs for dinner. Whit, once again, proved an able consumer of RPs.

A Quick Summary of Many Weeks

We are back in Antigua. It is 2010. This means I have been beyond remiss. So, in quick summary:

Dominica
Boarded at night on a mooring outside Roseau. Much drama.
Back to Guadeloupe: Pointe a Pitre, Islet des Gosiers, St. Francois
50-mile run back to Antigua with a nice French cheese for the Totties

No photos...we've gone and left the camera in Montreal. We'll try to get a new one.

Home for Christmas on December 20, arrival December 21 due to east coast blizzard.
Fabulous Christmas with much family in attendance. Only one offsprinken missing (Willie's daughter Alicia was having a grand time in London, so our hearts didn't bleed too badly).
Delightful New Year's with wonderful friends at wonderful Lorna's wonderful house in Val Morin.
Unable to visit friends and family at Lake Anne. Instead, returned to Montreal in a tow truck. Such fun.
Left for Antigua on January 14, arrived January 15. Overnight stay in Newark, NJ, as a result of the attempted terrorist attack on a Detroit flight on or about Christmas Day. Scheduling very tricky without the stopover.

We were very careful when we travelled back to Antigua. The news was full of restrictions for carry-on baggage, so we actually each checked a bag. Normally, we travel with just a knapsack and computer case apiece, both carry-on items. At Trudeau airport, we were searched fairly categorically. It was in the US that we were given a once-over very very lightly. And almost everyone was carrying on large-ish cases, much the size of the knapsacks we usually take. In fact, despite all the ballyhoo in the papers, it appeared that little has changed.

We arrived in English Harbour at about 1 p.m. Terry was waiting for us in the Galley Bar and took us over to Django in his dinghy. After about an hour of salty, wet, muddy labour, we had raised our anchors, detached ourselves from the mangroves and headed over to the fuel dock for water. As Antigua is in the throes of a drought, water prices are climbing steadily. What with the essentials (beer, ice, salty snacks), the tab was rather high.

We dropped anchor off Galleon Beach, but were not happy with its grip and decided to move in the morning. It was almost tot time, so WW leapt into Boffo, started the engine for the first time since our return. Clouds of smoke belched forth as the poor wee outboard dealt with the agonies of being abandoned for three weeks. It then expired and nothing WW could try would convince it to show the slightest sign of life. We decided to skip the tot and just paddled the somewhat less vast distance to Johnny Coconat's for a lovely homecoming pizza.

Next day (yesterday), we found ourselves snuggling up to a motor launch moored nearby. We raised anchor and moved to the "Tot Club Anchorage" of the Nelson's Dockyard dingy dock. We are tucked in comfortably with good hold under Fort Berkeley. A neighbouring Totty told us the wind was due to shift and come on rather strong. We put out a second anchor to hold us off the shore should things get exciting.

We paddled to the dinghy dock and went into the village for provisions. WW called a chap about having the engine looked at, opining that it was probably a clogged fuel line. The chap Greg agreed to meet him at lunchtime. At the appointed hour, WW once more set off, paddling to the dinghy dock. There was no sign of Greg, so he removed the motor's cover. The he decided to give it one more try. Vrooom. All the dear thing wanted was a bit of sun on its innards. WW called Greg and cancelled the appointment. We were able to motor to the tot over on Galleon Beach in the evening.

Today, WW took the watermaker in hand. He had order bits while we were home and these he now installed. With delight he watched as a little bottle filled slowly with water. Drop by drop it accumulated.

"That was easy," he said. I cringed.

He emptied out the first half litre (probably pretty foul as the machine had been waiting almost two years to be put in working order), then gathered a second.

"It doesn't work," he announced shortly thereafter.

"What doesn't?" I asked.

"The watermaker," he said, helpfully.

"What's wrong?" I tried again.

"It's not removing the salt from the water," he said.

In case you are unclear as the the duties of a watermaker, they are onefold. Remove salt from salt water thus creating fresh drinkable water.

I retired to our berth, since the saloon seats were all in disarray for this maintenance task, and left him to it.

It took a while, but a damaged O-ring was finally identified as the culprit. The watermaker has been pooping along happily ever since making potable water. Joy.

We are hoping we will not need to buy further water...particularly not from a land in drought.