Preparations for a cruise

KMH decked out in Kittitian batik.
(Don't have an relevant photo, so this will have to do.)

Back in the water, we headed outside Jolly Harbour to the place we'd first anchored on arriving there. We had paneer tikka masala with spinach for dinner and a post-prandial swim in the phosphorescence. The evening was perfectly beautiful; a complete contrast to the squalls that had threatened on our previous night spent there.

In the morning, WW took the port engine apart again. The overheating problem had not, after all, be solved by his repairs to the impeller (don't ask). Amazingly, he found the problem quite quickly and we were soon under way to English Harbour. WW was beaming. The propellers were behaving beautifully. We were motoring faster and the engines weren't labouring. He really had an idiotic grin for the whole cruise.

We pulled in to English Harbour in the afternoon, laid in a few provisions, drank a tot with the Tot Club, and dined on WW's fabulous barbecued pork tenderloin.

The next day, we took a massive load of laundry in. We tried the walk to Pigeon Beach but got (not very) lost. By the time we'd figured out our wrong turn, we'd been out the better part of an hour, we were running with sweat, and the path to the beach was very downhill...which mean very uphill coming out. Besides, it was beer o'clock. We turned our weary footsteps towards Falmouth and English Harbour.

That evening, we again joined the Tot Club for a tot, then fled, it being American Thanksgiving and the place festooned with bunting and dinner about to be served. We celebrated by going to the other side of the harbour and having pizza at Johnny Coconat's [sic].

On Friday morning, November 27, we pulled out of English Harbour headed south for Europe. I mean, Guadeloupe.

High and dry for repairs

On Thursday, WW rented a little white car and we set off for English Harbour. The first bit of the drive was a long a glorious coastline. Then we turned inland and travelled past Fig Tree Hill. In the Caribbean, figs are short fat delicious bananas, and the hill is aptly named since it is absolutely coated in fig trees. At the Roman Catholic church in Sweetes, we hung a right and it was a clear run to English Harbour. At the Slipway Dock, we collected the propeller papers.

Then it was off to St. John's, capital of Antigua, for a brief explore and to get chips to put in our phones, rendering them non-long-distance on the island. We also have chips for St. Kitts and Nevis. We lunched in St. John's on Redcliffe Quay. I was delighted to learn that this area is named after one of the loveliest churches I have ever visited: St. Mary Redcliffe in Bristol, England.

Then we drove to the airport. Foolishly, I had brought a book that I was planning to read while WW dealt with customs, propellers and associated red tape. Hah. The customs shed was not at the airport but a mile or so beyond. And it was a shed. A very big shed, but a shed. It featured seats only for those involved in generating red tape. Actually, to be fair, it all went rather quickly. As we waited, WW confessed to me that he hoped he'd ordered the right propellers. He knew the ones on Django were to big and had the wrong pitch. He wasn't sure which way they were supposed to turn and whether two or three blades was optimal. He'd done a lot of research on the Web and had taken the plunge. Shortly, we loaded a heavy box of propellers into our car and drove back to Jolly Harbour.

Grungy, old, too-big, wrong-pitch propeller.

Oxtail stew for dinner and some preparation for our haul out on Saturday.

Friday was more of the same, plus a hunt for accommodations while our home was on the hard. We found a couple of dramatically expensive all-inclusives and finally rented a waterfront Jolly Harbour villa for just over half the price. Even with eating out, it would be less expensive.

Django on the hard in Jolly Harbour Boat Yard.

Leader of the painting team, he's a singer,
so his cousin calls him Bob Marley. And so did we.

I will not go into details of the next few days. Haulout was Saturday and we were back in the water by Tuesday afternoon. WW managed to install the props and the paintwork was done by a crew of very professional fellows. WW also managed to repair a problem with the port engine that was overheating. My only contribution was to adjust the trampoline and tighten its bindings. For a full explanation of his mechanical awesomeness, please visit his blog at aboarddjango2.blogspot.com

Shiny new propeller.

Farewells and a crossing

On Monday, we spent a quiet morning as the EC prepared to abandon ship. The left at about noon and Django was empty and sad without them.

The marina was sufficiently unpleasant that I proposed moving from it. WW agreed and we cast off to make the short crossing to Nevis. We anchored at the island’s northwestern end, at Tamarind Bay, where we dined on pumpkin curry and pulao rice, and spent a lovely, relatively insect-free night. Bright and early, we raised anchor and set out on the nine-hour crossing to Antigua.

As usual with us on a long crossing, we let out our fishing line and trawled as we travelled. As is less usual with us on a long crossing, we caught a fish. A lovely big wahoo. WW cut it into hunks, gave me all the trimmings less the guts (and the head, darn it...he threw it overboard with the guts by mistake). The trimmings would make a lovely fumet for a lovely matelote wahoo soup. The flesh was put on ice and so began a long series of wahoo-based meals.

WW and the wild wahoo.

The crossing was uneventful if a bit rough. I don’t usually suffer from motion sickness but was a little under the weather for most of the day. We arrived in the early evening at our anchorage. I wasn’t impressed...we were tucked up under Mosquito Hill.

That evening, while WW stoked and staffed the barbecue, we watched a pair of violent squalls throw crazy patterns of lightning across the sky in the general directions of Nevis and Barbuda. We seemed to be tucked in a little zone of tranquility between the two.

Wahoo dinner on the grill.

WW worried and jury-rigged a lightning conductor (lightning is very bad for boats as the electronic widgetry can suffer badly from a strike). We ate delicious barbecued wahoo in the saloon and, when we were done, came out to a cloudless night. Squalls in the Caribbean can be very wild but are almost always ephemeral. It was as though they’d never happened.

In the morning, we moved inside Jolly Harbour and picked up a mooring. Then we went to find out about having Django pulled out of the water, having her bottom, forward cross pole and boot top painted, having her polished, and having her new propellors installed. The real stumbling block was going to be the propellors. They had arrived but were at the airport, in the north outside Antigua’s capital St. John’s, and we’d need to collect the paperwork for them before we could pick them up. The paperwork was in the south at English Harbour. WW decided we would rent a car. That evening, we had wahoo thai green curry and a swim in water lit by phosphorescence. Lovely.

Exploring St. Kitt's

Entering Basseterre.

It was Saturday, November 14. We waited for our fearless leader to complete the clearing in rituals. Upon his return, he announce that he had got us a taxi driver, one Junie, for an island tour the next day. The EC had been supposed to fly out from Antigua on Monday but, when we learned their connecting flight was from St. Kitt's, WW suggested they skip the island hop. This arrangement was made, giving us a little more time in St. Kitt's as we didn't have to do the 9-hour bash back to Antigua.

We set off to look around Basseterre -- a pretty bustling city. WW wanted rags for polishing the boat, so that gave us a mission. In the end we were quite successful.

Lunch at the Circus Grill in Basseterre, St. Kitt's.

After a beer and a very tasty lunch at the Circus Grill, on the edge The Circus (the touristic centre of town, formerly called Piccadilly Circus), the EC headed off to walk to Frigate Bay. The captain and first mate returned to Django where major cleaning took place. WW attacked the exterior while I coped with the interior. The water turned gray from the ash still lurking about on and below deck.

We dined that evening at Stone Walls restaurant which had once been owned by a friend of Enn's, now in Abu Dhabi, for all love. It was a very nice meal eaten to a chorus of frogs and crickets lurking in the luxuriant greenery lining the walls (which are, indeed, stone).

Dinner at Stone Walls.

At 10 a.m. on Sunday, we gathered to meet our taxi. It was not Junie, however, but his nephew Junior who would be our driver and guide. He gave us a very good tour.

He drove us by a grand hotel. "This was the best hotel on St. Kitt's," he said. "The government took it over and now they've shut it down."

He drove us by a golf course. "This was the best golf course on St. Kitt's," he said. "The government took it over and now they've shut it down."

He drove us through weed-entangled fields of sugar cane. "We used to have a big sugar cane industry," he said. "The government took it over and now they've shut it down."

Not surprisingly, Junior is hoping for a change of government after next year's elections.

We visited Bloody Point, where the last leader of the Caribs had betrayed her people for a promise of land. She herself was, of course, slaughtered. Ha ha to you, silly woman. Then we carried on along the coast to Romney Manor, now home to Caribelle Batik. On the way, we were acosted by small children bearing monkeys. WW and one of them did a bit of bonding.

WW and friend.

Once at the manor, we walked through its lovely gardens, saw a demonstration of the art of batik, and WW purchased my official birthday present...in two parts, dress and shorts!

Dana and Junior by a sago palm in the Romney Manor gardens.

Batik demonstration at Caribelle Batik, Romney Manor, St. Kitt's.

From there we headed to Brimstone Hill Fortress, a truly outstanding piece of reconstruction and preservation. I could have wandered it for far longer, but we were all becoming faint with hunger.

View from a speeding taxi up to Brimstone Hill Fort.

Brimstone Hill Fort.

Looking down on part of the Brimstone Hill fortifications.

We lunched at the Rawlins Plantation, a real treat. Beautifully maintained with a superb Caribbean buffet spread. We were well fortified for the remainder of our tour.

Superb lunch at Rawlins Plantation.

So far we had done only the south side of the main island. The north side had less to offer, so Junior kindly recapped everything we'd seen. We stopped at Black Rocks, a bit of coastline of massive and dramatic chunks of volcanic rock.

Black Rocks, St. Kitt's.

And so back to Basseterre. We did not go to the southeast peninsula, it being late and we being tired. It is supposed to be lovely with spectacular beaches.

We returned to Django and the mosquitoes, drank our RPs, ate provisions soup with bakes and began to adjust to the imminent loss of our fabulous EC.

Onward to St. Christopher's

We spent one more morning on Nevis and visited the birth place of Alexander Hamilton, one of the founding fathers of the United States. A damned foreigner! The tiny house is right on the waterfront and has some interesting bits and pieces from the period he lived there. He was sent off to school on the St. Croix (Virgin Islands) at a fairly tender age and thence to the States.

We had a very pleasant if somewhat mosquito-y lunch at an open air cafe next door to the wee Hamilton museum/home. I did promise to mention these dadblasted mosquitoes. The Caribbean (or maybe its the Leeward Island) mosquito is small, fast and (here's the bad bit) silent. Oh you may tell me that it's the Canadian mosquito's whine that drives you mad. Wrong. You at least know you are under attack. You can muster a defense. These are stealth mosquitoes and there seem to be a variety of responses to their bite My reaction was an intense itch that had me scratching madly for 20 minutes or more. Dana, on the other hand, didn't itch but developed red and angry weals that took days to heal. Enn got welts but no itches. Willie itched but not as badly as I. We've been bitten on the soles of our feet, our derrieres, our toes, our fingers, our armpits. These are mosquitoes with no sense of decency, of fighting fair. Before bed each night, we would drench ourselves in mosquito repellent, which often needed to be refreshed in the wee small hours. It is the end of the rainy season and I am hoping the mozzies will become less numerous as standing water becomes a thing of the past. Mind you, they probably breed in brackish water, which means we're doomed...

Anyway, back to Nevis. That was our farewell to Charlestown and Nevis. We raised anchor and headed the short hop northwest to St. Christopher's (better known to all and sundry as St. Kitt's).

The only possible anchorage was in the Basseterre marina, Basseterre being the capital of St. Kitt's. The coast of St. Kitt's is entirely unfriendly to cruisers, which is too bad since there are nice beaches it would have been fun to visit.

Marina at Basseterre, St. Kitt's.

The marina is a rather dreary cement enclosure with more than its fair share of mosquitoes (because it is well protected so there is very little breeze...breeze blows the little beggars away). Another major disadvantage is that it is cheek-by-jowl with the cruise ship dock. This means you get to share all the live entertainment aboard the cruise ship, whether you want to or not. On the up side, there is an extremely well laid out and maintained building for toilets and showers. Positively luxurious, even without hot water. We all got very clean.

We arrived too late to clear in, so hunkered down for rum punch and Dana's repas du voyage, which proved to be a very delicious pasta dish full of shrimp and vegetables. On the morrow, we would clear in and have a little explore. Django was also in need of a good cleaning. Our agenda was set.

Nevis

We arrived off Charlestown, Nevis (pronounced Nee-vis, not like Ben Nevis in Scotland), after dark. We picked up a mooring and passed an uneventful night. In the morning, all of us went ashore. (Strictly, only the captain should be involved with clearing the boat and crew in; the crew are supposed to be the huddled masses yearning to be free...but we broke the rules.) Upon arrival at the dinghy dock, we were informed that we should not have taken the mooring we had taken and that we should move. OK, sorry. Island time. Later.

While our fearless leader dealt with the red tape of customs and immigration, the EC and I explored the nearer bits of Charlestown —- a truly charming place. After we had been made legal, we continued our forays. I found the market, a Chinese grocery and a shoe shop. The EC found two? three? banks at which either the ATMs or their bank cards did not work. Getting cash in the Caribbean is proving one of our more interesting challenges.

We found a nice vegetarian restaurant, near the dinghy dock, where we had lunch. Served with several of the meals was fabulous multigrain bread. I asked the owner about it and she said she bakes it every day to use for her vegiburgers. I arranged to buy some from her the following day.

We loaded up our various purchases, including lots of goodies from the market, and headed back to Boffo and, thence, Django. We moved from our “wrong” mooring to one further north along the coast, off Pinney’s Beach. Nevis is wonderful. Included in the price of clearing in is the cost of any of the official moorings. All along the western coast, you can hook onto a nice sheltered and secure bit of seabed, kindness of the government of St. Kitt's and Nevis. Would that St. Kitt's were so thoughtful.

That evening, we went ashore for dinner. We had to run Boffo up the beach, which requires skill, grace, athleticism, natural ability. Flawless; we were flawless. Then a short slog through sand to Sunshine’s Beach Bar and Grill which, wisely, provides an outdoor tap for cleaning sand off feet and bug spray to discourage the vicious Caribbean mosquitoes (about which more later).

Dana and I had decided that lobster would have to occur at some point during the EC’s visit. Tonight proved to be the night. But first, we had the bar’s trademark Killer Bee. Our waiter told us it contained rum, rum, passion fruit, rum, rum, and Angostura bitters. Oh, and rum. She did not lie. (The general opinion was that it did not beat a good Django RP...but what does?)

The food was delicious, the lobster being very lobstery and yummy, and the company was simply divine. Replete, we made our way down the beach back to Boffo where her launch, into the surf, would call on even greater natural fluidity of motion. Again, flawless. What can I say?

On the morrow, we hired Douglas and his taxi to take us to Golden Rock, a former plantation. On the way, he took us to the local hot springs, renowned for their curative powers. Forty degrees Celsius...cleared up things we didn't know we had.

KMH and EC Member Dana taking the cure on Nevis.

We also stopped at the Fig Tree Anglican church, notable because it is where Admiral Lord Nelson was NOT married. His marriage certificate, however, resides within. Sadly, within was locked up tight. (He was married at the nearby plantation Montpelier.) The church was, nonetheless, worth the stop. Very scenic.

EC Member Enn at St. John's Fig Tree Anglican Church, Nevis.

A shady resting place at the Fig Tree Church.

Golden Rock (now a hotel with bar and restaurant) offers a couple of hiking trails. The big kids' one is a three or four hour schelp up to the top of Nevis Peak, the high point of the island. The other is a half-hour-ish meander through lower levels of the rain forest, termed a “nature walk”. The woman who provided us with sturdy walking sticks and hand-drawn maps (photocopied) looked with dismay on our sandals.

(All of our sandals date from a year ago when we bought them with the Eager Crew on St. Vincent...for about $30 EC or $12 Canadian per pair. WW’s had done noble service but were becoming very thin in the sole, so he later bought a new pair in Charlestown. They fell apart two weeks later. Might it be worthwhile to head back to St. Vincent??)

We have travelled many miles over terrain smooth and rough in our intrepid St. Vincent sandals. We pshawed Map Lady's concerns. Nothing daunted, we set out on the shorter of the two trails. We had no difficulty at all.

The map showed where we might find noteworthy sights and plants. These, in turn were marked with numbers corresponding to numbers on the map. So clever. However, a stick in the middle of growth, luxuriant growth -- rainforest growth -- with a number on it is what one might call a "general guide". We knew we were within 10 feet of a [name of plant], but which of the 43 trees/shrubs/plants/vines before us it might be was not always entirely clear.

Enn by a huge gum tree (#19, I believe).

Part way along, we met a fellow clearing the trails and asked him about the monkeys (duly indicated on the map and conspicuous by their absence). He told us they are not stupid and don’t go out in the midday sun. The heat can kill them. We mad dogs carried on regardless. All in all, a pleasant wander through mountainous rainforest.

We lunched at the Golden Rock restaurant, then decided to try walking back. We rather underestimated the distance. After an hour and a half, we found a convenient bus stop and bused it back to Charlestown.

Lunch at Golden Rock.

That evening, on Django, Enn made his inimitable groundnut stew for dinner. A grand finale to a grand day.

From the Volcano

We fled north towards Nevis, watching in wonder as Montserrat was engulfed in clouds of ash. It looked to us as though the volcano was having a major upheaval. That evening, however, when we found Radio Montserrat and tuned in to the evening news, not a word. Volcano? What volcano?

Volcano on Montserrat being uppity to our undiscerning eyes.

Tot Club member Graeme Knott is something of an expert on Montserrat and has written a thriller set on the island and in the area of the volcano. He said the people of the island are compeletly inured to the volcano’s belches and rumblings. Spewing ash and steam? Not worth a mention. He also said we were wise to have run away since the ash contains sulphuric acid and is extremely bad for just about everything. It can cause severe pitting of stainless steel fittings. It is also, we discovered, a hazard because it makes surfaces very slick...like having a layer of talc...so moving about on deck must be done with even greater than usual caution. It is also a pain. It is extremely fine and sifts into everything.

Volcanic ash on our stern solar panel.