Sailing Home From Nevis

During our circumnavigation of Nevis, WW had been looking out the car window seaward as scrubby trees sporadically interrupted the view. He declared, “A whale! I saw a whale!”

I confess I was sceptical.

As we sailed through the narrows and headed southwestish (light airs straight on the nose, no seas to speak of, day so clear we could see to Guadeloupe), WW called, “Whale!” And, in truth, thar she blew.

The critter (or critters, there may have been two) was just about where WW had seen it the day before. We approached quite close so I was able to play Madame Nature Photographer, with stunning results.

Water where a whale was just seconds before.

The rest of our crossing was uneventful in the extreme. This is the best that can be said of any passage. We arrive at English Harbour by about 4 p.m. and had Les and Anthea unloaded soon after. WW cleared us all in, rejoined me at the fuel dock and we moved out to Freeman’s Bay, picking up our mooring by about 5 p.m.

We staggered over to the tot, stunned by sun, wind and an early start, but managed to fulfill our duty as rum bo’suns. We ate something, but I’m darned if I can remember what. For a change, we were in bed before 9 p.m.

Things That Go Bump In The Night, Again

Well, not so much bump as a kind of groaning grinding clunking.

WW stuck his head out the hatch and declared it to be a log fouling our anchor chain. The groan-grind-clunk continued intermittently all night. It was like having Marley's ghost as a neighbour. Les an Anthea claimed they never heard a thing. Lucky them.

When it was light enough, WW went overboard and dove on the “log” while Les and I worked at the anchor chain. It turned out the "log" was a twenty-foot spar off some vessel, and had nasty sticky-outy bits. It had rolled over and over, completely wrapping itself in our chain. Fortunately, it wasn’t terribly heavy, and WW was able to unroll it. Perfect timing, too…it became light enough to sail just as he emerged from the water.

Last Day at Nevis (aka Voyage to Nevis, Part 6)

Anthea had ended our Saturday island tour by saying that she thought a quiet day aboard might be just the ticket. I was thrilled at the prospect of not having to keep up with her and of possibly tidying around the boat a bit.

No such luck.

Sunday dawned, well, like this.

Nevis Peak seen at 6:15 a.m. off Pinney Beach.

After abluting and breaking our fast, the lads prepared to go ashore, Les to return the rental car and WW to clear us out (after which we’d have 24 hours to get out of Nevis waters). Anthea announced she’d be going in after all. She also announced I’d be going in too. So that’s what happened.

We’d decided that, whatever else we achieved on this day, we’d move Django to the north end of the island to place us close to the narrows we’d sail through (between Nevis and St. Kitts) to go home. Oualie Bay was our destination.

We took Grommet ashore later that morning. WW went into the Customs and Immigration Office in The Cotton Ginnery, the rest of us waited outside for the rental car chappy.

Entrance to the Cotton Ginnery where abides Nevis Customs

and Immigration (upstairs to the left).

Les and Anthea waiting (Anthea's hat has become sad

since our wet ride and the rain of yesterday).

 Les unloaded the wheelchair preparatory to its return to Django. Anthea and I considered the spectacularly clear view over to St. Kitts.

The Charlestown, Nevis, harbour front.

Amazingly, you can see the very top of the St. Kitts volcano,

usually cloaked in cloud.

When WW rejoined us, Anthea announced that she wanted to take a taxi to Oualie Beach. I agreed to go along with her. A nice man with a taxi (turns out there are some on Nevis) took us off while WW, Les and the wheelchair went back to Django. They would bring her up, anchor her, and join us for lunch.

Which is exactly what happened. Anthea and I lolled on the beach while our men laboured mightily and brought our vessel up. They had a bit of trouble finding a place to drop anchor, but finally succeeded, and a nice lunch was had by all. 

WW, Anthea and Les: lunch at Oualie Beach.

I opted to swim out to the boat (they’d put it quite close in) and, presumably inspired by me, WW swam ashore to find out if any ice was available. We need to prove we are intrepid cruisers from time to time.

After dinner (I think this was lasagne, I believe we actually had leftover fish pie the night before), we sat in the cockpit watching evening descend on St. Kitts. 

Anthea, Les and WW observe turtles off our stern.

A small plane flying from St. Kitts proved fascinating

to our pilot guests.

WW wanted us to be up about 6 a.m., so we could leave at first light. In ritual fashion, we were all in bed before 9 p.m.

Voyage to Nevis, Part 5

Montpelier is a beautiful, restored plantation with a few upgrades the original inhabitants probably had not enjoyed—like a swimming pool and lovely restaurant. We had a delicious lunch there.

The old sugar mill windmill, with a wee baby to the right.

Les, Anthea and WW in the swank settings of Montpelier.

My lunch (S) was the lobster salad, Anthea's (E)

was a shrimp Caesar salad.

WW (W) had the club sandwich and Les (N)

had the Angus burger.

Back in the car, we continued around the island, doing a complete counter-clockwise circuit. We made one more stop, at the famous Sunshine Beach Bar on Pinney Beach, where Les was very keen to try the Killer Bee drink for which the place is famous. When asked the recipe, our server replied that it is a secret.

At the Sunshine Beach Bar, feeling totally laid back after our day. 

OK, I’m a big fat cynic. I have been to several Caribbean bars with special drinks whose recipe is “secret”. All contain: rum, freshly grated nutmeg, Angostura bitters, fruit juices. Some contain coconut milk or coconut water. So, the “secret” is whether you put in guava juice or passion fruit (my best guess for the Killer Bee) or something else exotic together with the standard orange and whatever juices. And whether you use coconut in any form. Intense secrecy prevails. Over fruit juices....

I don’t much like fruit drinks, so I asked for dark rum with a twist of lime. Our server said she would bring me something very special. When it arrived, it looked like a kind of pale dark rum. I took a sip. It was unlike any rum I’d ever had—I wasn’t sure I was very keen on it.

“My, how interesting! What is it?”

With great pride, our server announced it to be her favourite: Red Label.

“You mean like Johnny Walker? I didn’t know they made a rum.”

I was absolutely assured that it was JW Red Label rum. I have to say, it was rather peaty and not totally great with lime.

Les and Anthea enjoying a Killer Bee and a cranberry juice.

My empty glass of Red Label rum is by the water bottle,

with the discarded lime by it.

Once we’d done our duty to secret potions, we finished our round-the-island drive back at Charlestown and returned to Django for a dinner of Les’s magnificent lasagne.

I should add that, sometime between dawn and dusk, we decided we'd need an extra day. Anthea called Annie back in Antigua and suggested that a stand-in rum bo'sun or two might be useful for Monday (supposed to be our first night). This was agreed to, meaning we didn't have to leave the next morning.

Yay.

Voyage to Nevis, Part 4

The Nevis Hot Springs are on the road south of Charlestown, on the way to Montpelier. This last is a beautifully renovated plantation where we intended to have a fancy lunch.

Les drove with WW up front with him to navigate. Anthea and I were in the back to do what Les calls “nagivate”.

At the hot spring, Anthea and WW changed into bathing gear. Together they made their way down the steps to the very hot water from the spring. The water is so hot that a maximum of 15 minutes is the recommended limit for immersion. A German chap who is camping around the islands was having a lovely soak. He and WW had a long chat. Later a local woman joined us, also willing to have a good natter. The Nevisians are really lovely, friendly, laid-back people (taxi drivers excepted).

Getting immersed is done slowly, one step at a time.

German camper, WW and Anthea having a hot soak.

After her soak, Anthea fairly leapt into the car, the warmth had so loosened her up. All aboard, we set off for Montpelier. 

Voyage to Nevis, Part 3

It was after 8 a.m. when Anthea finally surfaced, delighted at having slept two nights in a row without getting up, practically without moving. Her reappearance was reassuring as I had started to think we’d killed her with the exertions of the previous day. Fifteen hours sleep had totally recharged her batteries.

Fortified with breakfast and much tea, we set out in Grommet for the long dinghy ride to Charlestown. It blew hard and we had to wait a bit for the wind to moderate. Finally we loaded ourselves into the wee boat and set off. I was wearing a sundress with “Antigua” written across the bosom. It was clear, Nevis disapproved. Almost immediately we left Django, the wind came up again, the waves rose and splooshed over the front of the dinghy, soaking us all, but most particularly Les and me who were sitting forward of the others.

We arrived ashore reasonably drenched with seawater, at which point, the heavens opened. All dry spots were eradicated. We perched in a bedraggled group at the port coffee shop, drinking hot Folgers and towelling off. Fortunately, we had towels since the day’s plans included a visit to the local hot springs.

Anthea, Les and WW getting dry.

Anthea found a wifi connection...she does love her iPad.

Les went and bought himself and Anthea new t-shirts, then took her to the shop for new shorts. WW got me shorts and a t-shirt clearly marked “Nevis”. The sun came out immediately.

Voyage to Nevis, Part 2

It was windy and wavy when we started to think about getting ashore on Friday morning. WW and Les went in to clear in and make us legal. Then WW decided the best approach would be to take Django over to the dinghy dock and get Anthea off there, rather than putting us all and the wheelchair into our new (smaller) dinghy Grommet for the long bash through the waves. This we did, only to discover that the swell by the dock was pitching Django around like a coconut. Somehow, with lines screeching, wind howling, surge surging, Django dancing, we got Anthea ashore, together with Les and the wheelchair. Our guests had arranged to meet a man about a rental car while we took Django back to her mooring, then returned in Grommet.

Anthea and Les were escorted by a port security guard, who had witnessed the unloading and was full of helpful advice, up to the road to wait for the car chap. She proved invaluable at fending off the vulturine taxi drivers who haunt the port area. She installed Anthea by a roadside bench where a gaggle of local women continued to berate any predatory taxi driver (they seem to be particularly rapacious in Nevis) who came too close. Les got the car arranged.

We loaded ourselves into the car and, it now being after noon, the gentlemen felt the first business of the day should be a beer. We went to a little outdoor bar, next door to the birth place of Alexander Hamilton, that WW and I have visited before. Very pleasant.

Chips and beer at our first stop.

Then we headed off to the Botanical Gardens which are full of exotic Eastern statuary, beautiful grounds, not quite as large or as flowery as Deshaies, but beautiful withal.

Anthea and WW examine one of the quillen (sort of a liony thing)

guarding the gift shop entrance. The fountain behind is made from

old sugar evaporating bowls.

Botanical Gardens statuary.

A personal favourite: stacked fish.

The conservatory.

Anthea and Les in the conservatory.

Pretty orchids in the conservatory.

We lunched quite late at the Thai restaurant in the gardens, then made our way back to the dinghy dock. We left the wheelchair in the car and developed a system for getting Anthea down the ladder into Grommet. Last year, we developed the dinghy-to-big-boat system, so no inventiveness was required on our arrival. It was, by now, about 5:30 p.m. Les and Anthea toddled off for a little lie down. By 8 p.m., we reckoned we wouldn’t see them till Saturday. WW ate (and claims he enjoyed) cold fish pie. I was still full of delicious Thai food.

We were, once again, in bed before 9.

Voyage to Nevis, Part 1

Last year, we took our dear friends Anthea and Leslie to St. Bart’s and St. Martin/Sint Maarten. This was a particularly interesting trip because Anthea is partially paralyzed from a small-plane accident some 12 years ago. That said, I have never met anyone keener to experience new things, nor more aware of her limitations. She is very clear on what works and what doesn’t. As a result and under her guidance, we became adept at getting her into and out of the dinghy, into and out of Django, onto the various dinghy docks that litter our life, and all over the islands to see the sights. Les is her sturdy and devoted partner, solicitous and  careful, big and strong, watchful and always able to detect, in mid-manoeuvre, what adjustments need to be made. Anthea has an effervescent personality and more energy than a two year old. She proudly dubbed herself “disable-bodied seaman” and gave us merit badges for our efforts.

Our proud achievement.

Last summer was her 70^th birthday (we, alas, could not attend). She and Les hosted a three-day bash with 180 guests at their home in Mere, Wiltshire. They did all the cooking. Makes me tired just thinking about it.

When they arrived this year, almost the first words Anthea said to me were, “When are we going sailing?”  I hadn’t realized it was an annual commitment but, turns out, that’s exactly what it is. How lucky we are!

We had guests and commitments and a very sick engine and so on, so scheduling was difficult. We finally settled on Thursday, March 6, to Sunday, March 9 (WW and I had to be back for a week as rum bosuns, starting March 10). We talked about going to Les Saintes, south of Guadeloupe, but that’s a long way and we’d really just get there in time to come back. We pondered Montserrat (she’s been there already) and Barbuda (ditto plus it’s very hard to get ashore there, even for the able-bodied.) We finally settled on Nevis (pronounced NEE-vis), the southern island of the country of St. Kitts and Nevis, which lies about 42 miles WNW of Antigua. Les and Anthea have been there on Tenacious, a tall ship fitted out for disabled crew on which they have sailed a number of times, but it had been only a brief visit. Last year she learned the joy of visiting a place for several days, rather than the cruise-ship (even if it is a tall cruise ship) approach of one-day-wonder visits.

Map showing relative positions of Antigua (right) and St. Kitts and Nevis (middle left)

Also visible: Barbuda (upper right), Monserrat (fondly known as Monster Rat, middle bottom)

and Redonda (north of Monserrat, part of Antigua and Barbuda,

fondly known as Redundant).

Map of Nevis from Nevis: Queen of the Caribees, fifth ed.,

published 2005 by Macmillan Caribbean. Charlestown 

is on the west coast halfway up. 

On Thursday morning, at about 9:30, we collected Les, Anthea and the contents of their apartment from the fuel dock. They brought clothes, a collapsible wheelchair in bits, food for two dinners, their own sugar, tea and coffee, two kinds of homemade cake, jellies and fruit and chocolate and endless drinks, soft and hard. I had had to fight for the right to make lunch… They had two coolers of perishables and drinks, one large bag of dry provisions, two ditty bags and a roll-on suitcase for our four-day expedition. We all agreed: You can’t be too careful where the creature comforts are concerned.

We had a nice run over, making about 7 kts all the way with the wind right behind us. Anthea suffers from seasickness and wears a scopolamine patch. Last year she had an urky five minutes and was fine thereafter. Same thing this year, only this year she didn’t cuddle a bowl for the duration. We arrived at Charlestown, the capital of Nevis, at about 6 p.m., while there was still just enough light to see to pick up one of the public moorings all visiting yachts are required to use.

Anthea’s fisherman’s pie for dinner (salmon, smoked salmon, shrimp, tilapia topped with mashed spuds) served with steamed broccoli. Yum. We were all in bed by 8:30.

Noble Volunteers

For the past several years, the Royal Ocean Racing Club has run its Caribbean 600 from Antigua. The Caribbean 600 is the warmer, shorter version of RORC’s Fastnet Race. It is also, I gather, more interesting.

The Fastnet is a 601-mile race from Cowes, past Land’s End, to Fastnet Rock off the southwest coast of Ireland. Then it’s back, outside Bishop Rock, to Plymouth. The whole race is in a more-or-less straight line out and another back (always remembering that boats really only go straight before the wind; on the wind, they must tack, so courses are far from straight).

The Caribbean 600 is a mile shorter than the Fastnet and is all a tangle in and out of the islands, from as far south as The Saints to St. Martin in the north. The following map will save me a thousand words.

The course is marked by the red line. 

All the boats have trackers, some of which even work. 

Each boat (with a functional tracker) is represented by one of the boat shaped thingies.

Here is a larger view:

The start and finish line is off the south coast of Antigua,

under Fort Charlotte at the mouth of English Harbour

WW has volunteered for finish-line duty for a couple of years and, this year, I was invited along as well. I made it clear that I am less than thrilled with the midnight-to-four slot (which I once had to do because WW’s fellow volunteer backed out at the eleventh hour, could he find a replacement, etc.) and almost as unenthusiastic about four-to-eight. Since Queequeg, WW’s clarinet buddy, was in charge of finish-line volunteers, I was pandered to. Nice feeling.

We had a meeting. Then we had another meeting at which we were fed free drinks and given pea-green T-shirts with the Caribbean 600’s blue-and-orange logo and "Race Crew". Yum.

The race started on Monday, February 24, between 11 and noon with four starts for four different classes.

Boats milling about before the race. 

The red mark ahead of the big black sail is the seaward pin of the starting line.

The beautiful Adela prepares to race.

Classic yacht Mariella prepares to race

while another class gets under way.

After the starts, we hiked up to Shirley Heights for lunch. It’s a hot, exposed, dry, sun-baked, steep, hillside climb. We were very moist by the time we reached the top, and very happy to guzzle down some lovely cold water.

After lunch, we decided to make the descent via the Jones Valley Trail, which has the great advantage of being almost entirely in the shade. As we went, WW started a new game: red gum tree. This is a bit like the Volkswagen game we used to play as kids on long drives, trying to spot the most beetles as we motored along. The red gum tree, like the Volkswagen beetle, is distinctive. Our downward hike was punctuated with cries of “red gum tree!” I won (but only because I was in front on the narrow trail, so them all before he did).

Red gum tree!

Finish-line volunteers started work on Wednesday, when the first boats put in an appearance. The last boat crossed the line (on our watch) at 10:05:59 on Friday.

There must be two volunteers because one is in charge of making or maintaining radio contact with the incoming boats, to keep in touch with Antigua and Barbuda Search and Rescue (ABSAR) in case a racing boat is having problems, and to sit at the finish line a blast a blast on the air horn as the boat crosses. The second person is recording their time, sail number and any comments, and providing any information the radio handler may need. If many boats are arriving within minutes or seconds of each other, it can be a bit hairy. If a boat doesn’t communicate, you may be peering through binoculars trying to read sail numbers that look remarkably small and are moving up and down in an annoying fashion. After dark, these difficulties are only compounded.

A finisher seen from Django's cockpit.

Fort Charlotte is up and to the left.

WW and I would cross from Django to the Galleon Beach dinghy dock, then take the trail up to Fort Charlotte. I made him stop, at one point, to be a scale object in this photo taken on the way:

What a bougainvillea can do if it puts its mind to it.

We had two boats on our first four-hour stint, one each on our second and third. Not exciting, but one of the boats we finished was our Tot Club friend Jonty’s boat Sleeper VIII. Another friend Frank met Jonty with a RIB full of cold beer—very welcome after three days’ hard sailing.

Engine Saga Done and Dusted

I know I shouldn’t title a blog post like that, but it really feels true. Perhaps I should have added “For Now”, but that seems a bit defeatist.

I neglected to mention in my last post(s) that our return from Guadeloupe was marred by a small incident as we raised anchor. WW started up the refurbished, repaired, vibrant and shiny port engine, then went through the starting procedure for starboard.

Silence.

Nothing.

Eventually, after a couple more tries and bit of prayer, it started up, but WW was concerned that the same thing was happening starboard as had happened port. He said we were extremely lucky to have had the engine start up at all. He has explained to me, on several occasions, what exactly the problem is is. Here is my understanding:

Take the words “cylinder”, “sea water”, “exhaust manifold”, “piston”, “siphon”, “heat exchanger” and “corrosion”, create a scenario that has a bad outcome in terms of engine functionality, and there you are.

The key word is “siphon”. Sea water is being siphoned somewhere it shouldn’t be. The solution, then, is what is called a siphon break. 

After our safe return to Freeman’s Bay, WW decided to install siphon breaks on both engines. For the starboard side, this involved taking the engine apart, something he hadn't done before. Much breakfast-time consultation ensued with our knowledgeable HotHotHot friends.The he took the plunge.

Two days later, both engines had siphon breaks. Three days later, both engines had had an oil change. To this day, both engines purr when asked to do so. So the engine sage is done and dusted.

For now.