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.
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