Monday, December 9, 2013

To Montserrat We Go


Monday morning, Enn and I went to pick up a few bits and pieces in the way of provisioning while WW cleared us out of Antigua and Dana remained aboard, nursing her nasty cold and vicious sore throat. By about 10:30, we’d raise anchor and were on our way west. The seas were as gentle as I’ve ever seen them, the wind was perfect and we made 6 or 7 knots all the way to Montserrat. About 4:30 that afternoon, we anchored and WW cleared us in. We had rum punches then an Indian dish of shrimp with bell peppers served with Indian-spiced tomato rice.

Your humble correspondent with Dana and WW 
arriving on the Caribbean's Emerald Isle.

On Tuesday morning, we went ashore to try to find a taxi and had the enormous good fortune to meet Moose, also known as Positive. Positive was born and raised on Montserrat and lived in a southern suburb, Kinsale, of the capital Plymouth.


Dana, your humble correspondent and WW with uber-guide Positive.

In 1995, the Montserrat volcano made its presence known by spewing inches of reasonably toxic ash. The ash was carried by the prevailing winds over Plymouth which became unliveable. The south part of the island was eventually evacuated, but the exclusion zone was very porous. Conditions in the shelters in the north were unbearable and people would drift back home to “do some cooking”. Some farmers returned to work their fields and provided much-needed produce for those living in shelters. In the summer of 1997, the volcano became deadly, sending three flows down its sides, annihilating villages and farmland, and killing 19 people. Thereafter, the exclusion zone became truly exclusive—patrolled and enforced. (Much knowledge and understanding of this terrible time was accrued from reading Fire from the Mountain by Polly Pattullo, Papillotte Press, 2000.)

Positive was evacuated from Kinsale, where he ran a small waterfront guest house. He moved to Cork Hill to start a grocery store. A few days before his grand opening, Cork Hill was evacuated. So he moved up north where he had a bar at Little Bay, Montserrat’s only remaining harbour. That was demolished to make way for new and more extensive development, but Positive has been included in that development and his bar New Beginnings should open any day now. He is also, happily for those who have to good fortune to be seeking one, a taxi driver.


The island population is about 4,800, so it is not surprising that everywhere we went, our driver was greeted by shouts of “Positive!” or “Moose!” Asked if everyone knows everyone else, Positive said, “I would think so.” He begins and ends every phone call, every conversation with “Positive”.


After getting a permit from the Salem police department, Positive drove us into the exclusion zone (maybe even a smidge farther than the permit allowed). We walked through the ruins of the old Emerald Isle Hotel, later renamed the Montserrat Springs Hotel for a hot springs down by the beach—now gone, filled with volcanic muck. From the ruins of the swimming pool terrace, we had a spectacular view of the ruins of Plymouth, ghost town extraordinaire.

The exclusion zone closes at 4 p.m. This sign marks its extreme limit,
beyond which only official persons may penetrate.

Dana amid the accumulated ash and muck
in the erstwhile chic Montserrat Springs Hotel.

The usual suspects, with Positive, take in the view from the hotel
over the ruins of Plymouth, former capital of Montserrat.


Positive took us to the erstwhile golf course, now buried under feet of volcanic mud, ash and pumice. We went to the Montserrat Volcano Observatory which looks down over George Martin’s Air Studio as was, and has a long view to the simmering volcano. On our way back north, he stopped at Runaway Ghaut (pronounced gut) where we drank the crystal waters that ensure we will return to the island. Then it was over the hills to view the new housing estates and the new airport.

 Dana and Enn have had a drink...so they'll be back...

 
 ...and so will your humble correspondent (notice the
faucet at the bottom left for those more fastidious).

Positive took us to the erstwhile golf course, now buried under feet of volcanic mud, ash and pumice. We went to the Montserrat Volcano Observatory which looks down over George Martin’s Air Studio as was, and has a long view to the simmering volcano. On our way back north, he stopped at Runaway Ghaut (pronounced gut) where we drank the crystal waters that ensure we will return to the island. Then it was over the hills to view the new housing estates and the new airport.

By the time we returned to Little Bay, we had been given a magnificent five-hour tour and were ready for a small collapse. As we raised the dinghy in preparation for next morning’s departure, the people off a newly arrived sailboat headed in to shore. They asked us is a tour was worthwhile. It was with great pleasure we sent them off to where we knew Positive was waiting.

(I have written about Montserrat before, so if you’re interested in reading and seeing a bit more, you could look back through my posts to find those. Also, I have lots of pictures, kindness of Enn, but we are currently in the Internet equivalent of the Middle Ages due to an appalling event at Nelson's Dockyard during which agents visit large boats available for charter. These hideous behemoths suck the bandwidth dry and will continue to do so all week. Just getting this blog posted, let alone with photos, requires a trip ashore to be close to the source of Internetness. Photos will be added later.)

(Update: photos have been added. Thank you, Enn!!)

Around Antigua


I awoke on Thursday with the keen realization that we needed to do proper provisioning. We were missing important things like cereal for Enn, milk, food for dinner, cheese and jam. It’s a long dinghy ride from the bay in to Jolly Harbour, so I suggested we go in and pick up one of the moorings inside the harbour. The bridle is not required at a mooring, so the splice could be repaired, and we’d be much closer to go in for groceries. This plan was agreed upon.

Half the Eager Crew (Enn) came to assist with raising the anchor. This happens when a button is pushed, the windlass goes “whirr” and the anchor chain is gathered to the chain locker. Alas, I pushed the button and there was a failure to whirr. Enn and I had to haul the chain and the anchor out by hand. Something else to fix…

We got into the harbour, picked up a mooring, did a shop, then WW respliced the bridle and poked about in the guts of the windlass’s little electrical box. The windlass worked!

We had thought, given our single-engine state, to potter up and down the coast for a few days, but discovered there aren’t many places to potter and even fewer to anchor. We did a little shakedown sail into Five Islands Bay, supposed to have one of the better anchorages, and we weren’t impressed. Thus it was we found ourselves heading down the west coast, hanging an east at the bottom and pulling into English Harbour that afternoon.

We dropped anchor but WW decided the position wasn’t ideal, so we had to raise the anchor again. Oh woe was us, the windlass didn’t work. In the bay outside Jolly we had been in 6 feet of water, here we were in 20, with lots of chain out. Well, I used the age-old technique of refusing to believe I had to lift the chain and anchor by hand, and just mashed the control button maniacally. And lo, there was a great whirring and the windlass worked. It lived long enough to get the anchor up (if it hadn’t, I would have killed it myself). We re-anchored with some trepidation (Would we have to haul the anchor again, by hand??) but WW was pleased with where we lay and how we held. He then fixed another rotting connection in the windlass’s control box and it has lived happily ever after (so far) in a functional way.

We spent the next three days in English Harbour. On Friday evening, we had a lovely dinner at Trappas to celebrate WW’s 65th birthday, then went on to Lime to hear Idus, Bob Marley’s band. Much dancing and fun was had by all.

Unfortunately, the Eager Crew had arrived with nasty colds which, despite their best efforts, they failed to inflict on us. I thought I had it on Sunday, but snoozed the day away and bored it out of my system. Nonetheless, they felt pretty crummy, particularly Dana, so aside from a few short hikes, not a great deal more than lolling and mending went on over the weekend.

The engine business meant we couldn’t do what we really wanted to do which was take Dana to Montserrat. Dana, being Irish, has long been fascinated by Montserrat which was settled (after the Carib Indians left) by Irish immigrants and indentured labourers from St. Kitts. It still has place names like Galway’s, Kinsale and Cork Hill. Well, on Sunday, WW looked at the weather forecast and saw that it was good. In fact, he saw that it was great. Almost nothing in the way of seas, winds just in Django’s sweet spot at about 15 knots, and these conditions holding through Wednesday. He decided, single-engined though we might be, to Montserrat we would go. We would leave on Monday, tour on Tuesday, return on Wednesday and bid a fond farewell to the EC on Thursday. And thus it came to pass.

Floating with Friends


It is now December 7 and, at last, I have time to catch up since last I posted. The weather is horrendous, the rain is pelting down, the wind is howling. It is a splendid time for huddling in the cabin and writing about warmer days…

We went into the water at about midday on Wednesday, November 27. The travel lift came at about 10:30 and Django was raised from her supports. 

Django on her way to flotation.

The head of our bottom-painting team Bob Marley (so named because he is lead singer in a reggae band) did the last bits of naked bottom.  Soon after, we were floating! It was every bit as marvelous as I had hoped.

Bob Marley doing touch-up.

We tied up at the fuel dock and filled our water tanks with water and our ice chest with ice. Next, the Great Cleaning took place. Poor old Django was indescribably filthy, but a little elbow grease and Boat Wash saw that dealt with. The guest berth was dressed in its finest and Febreeze was employed to battle a pervasive aroma of engine innards. An initial provisioning run took place. WW brought Stefan over from the dinghy dock and was so shattered by her lightness and general not-Boffoness that he thought he’d been delivered the wrong dinghy.  We both missed Boffo—her sturdy reliability, her playful character, her streak of independence. Mind you, we didn’t miss her deflatable ways.

Our guests, the Eager Crew (Dana Hearne and Enn Raudsepp) arrived at Jolly Harbour at about 5 p.m. We welcomed them with open arms, put their gear in their berth and plied them with rum. Standard procedure, really.

Then it was cast off and out to the bay where we dropped anchor. This was accompanied by the discovery that WW, in reconstituting the headstay, had got the bridle half over and half under the forward lifelines. We need the bridle, all on one side of the lifelines, to anchor. So he had to undo the splice, untangle the bridle, make a temporary fix by just tying it around the crossbeam, and carry on from there. Yet another thing to be fixed…

That evening, we dined on pollo con piƱa a la antigua (old-fashioned chicken with pineapple would be my rough translation) with a vegetable-enriched couscous. A bit of song singing and wine imbibing helped mark our return to the water and the arrival of our guests.