Tuesday December 15, Guadeloupe South East Coast

So, I am a bit behind. We came up the coast of Dominica to Portsmouth and spent the night. As usual, we picked up one of the moorings in the North end of Prince Rupert Bay, managed by the guide association, for which we pay 26 EC (US10) per night. The moorings are in good shape, and

the guides patrol the area at night. Our feeling is we should support this operation and feed some cash into the local ecomonomy. Other cruisers are not of the same mind, and want to anchor for free, in the midst of the moorings, feeling there rights to free access to the ocean bottom are being violated by the placement of moorings in their anchorage. One such fellow, of the french persuasion, had placed his anchor almost directly upon the mooring to which we were directed by a rather irate guide, who cast several well chosen words in his direction as he passed up our lines through the loop on the mooring tether.

I realised we were being used as a pawn in this political gambit when said skipper arrived half an hour later to ask if we would move, as he was planning to leave shortly after sunset, and our boat lay directly on top of his anchor. Explaining that we had just finished paying for assisitance in our present placement, I gently reinforced the guide's position. The upshot was that the skipper of the offending yacht was reduced to fetching up our lines in the repositioning effort, which he managed with some difficulty.

As intended, we passed a quiet night before the sprint for Pointe a Pitre the next day. We were blessed with a decent wind direction and were able to have a pretty good sail in a fairly strong breeze.

Point a Pitre is the commercial and industrial heart of Guadeloupe. There is a large container port opposite the entrance to the large marina in the Lagon Bleu. We pulled up outside the marina entrance and dropped anchor in time to clear customs and find a grocery store. After a rum punch with the last of our Dominican rum, we went ashore for dinner at one of the many restaurants in the marina.


Our plan is to cruise up the south east coast, Le Gosier, Ste. Anne and St. Francois before rounding the souteastern tip of Guadeloupe and head NNW for English Harbour. The distances are not large, but the wind and sea are dead on the nose. Although very pretty, with swaying palms and lovely beaches, these towns are not of much interest. We travelled over the weekend, Le Gosier on Saturday, but we were anchored in the lee of the island and no shore leave opportunity, by Sunday in St. Anne, little was open ashore. Even in St. Francois on a Monday afternoon, everything was shut up tight. It is interesting that almost all commercial establishments along this coast, which is in the tourist center of Guadeloupe, close for two full days a week.

Tuesday we rose early for the bash down the remainder of the coast and thence up the windward side of Guadeloupe to Antigua. I had twice calculated the distances involved. The first time, I figured the distance at over 50 miles. The second time, I made an error and came up with only 30 miles from the southeast tip up to Antigua. We set off at about 8:00, anticipating reaching the turning point sometime after 9:30. The seas off the cape were treacherous, heaving and chaotic. Added to the East wind induced seas, which carromed off the rocky cliffs at the cape in a back chop, there was a large NE swell coming down out of the North Atlantic. By the time we had set sails and settled in to the broad reaching course, it was 10:00. Now video game we use for navigation had a bead on English Harbour and K annouced we were going to be late arriving. We were doing a respectable (and comfortable) 5.5 knots, which over 30 miles should get us in well before sunset. Only trouble was, the distance had grown back up to 50 miles.

Of course, there was a solution, involving a bit more carbon dioxide off gassing, but neccessary in the event. With 17 knots of wind and one engine, we pushed Django's speed to 7 knots, setting an ETA English Harbour of a little after 5 pm, all things remaining equal. Well 7 knots is not as comfortable a ride as 5.5 knots, but there you are. We pushed hard all day, and as we passed the North-east corner of Guadeloupe, wind and current moved against us. Still about 30 miles to go, so on went engine number two. I like our new props, they drive very well. At 2300 RPM with the current against us and less wind more abeam, we were able to maintain our VMG at 7 knots to within the last 7 miles of Antigua. In the end, a line of squalls forced a reduction of sail, and produced a radical wind shift against us. Heavy rain doused the boat nicely, but our wonderful progress was dented. In any case, we managed an entry into the Harbour 10 minutes before sunset, and the anchor was down and set within minutes after. It was a hard push, and Django's fastest passage over that sort of distance. Quite exhausting.

Thursday December 10, Carib Territory, Dominica

We left you hanging in Roseau, Dominica, after a harrowing night of thief chasing. On the day of our tour with Sea Cat, we bumped into three french cruisers coming into the dock. They, too, had been boarded in the night, but noticed the man before he had a chance to come below. After shrieks from the two women, the t'ief fled. It turns out they were looking to do a tour to the Carib Territory and the Emerald Pool, and had not yet set it up, so we all trouped up to Sea Cat's and shared the tour. GG (Gerald), his wife Coco and Clotilde, from La Rochelle in a 37' nondescript monohull. Gerald is 66. Clotilde is visting for a few weeks. GG and Coco had a larger boat before, 39', which they sailed from France out through Panama, across the Pacific, and sold eventually in New Caledonia. They had nothing but good things to say about their voyage through the South Sea islands and the people they met on boats and ashore. It all sounds like too much fun.

Sea Cat did his best to show us a good time, but he can't climb the trees to pick the oranges and grapefruits along the way. I filled in where I could and managed to shake loose a nice bag of lovely pink grapefruits. We visited some of his friends along the way, and sat with an old Carib indian and his wife while he slowly shelled roasted cacao nuts, one at a time, in preparation for making chocolate sticks. He also had coffee roasting over his wood fire, enough for perhaps a can of ground coffee.

The Caribs of Dominica are the last survivors of the group which dominated the Caribbean at the time the Europeans arrived at the end of the 15th cetury. They seem to have a thriving territory, including several small villages on the East coast near Castle Bruce. There seems not to be the depression and despair we see in the North amoung aboriginal people. Their basketry is lovely and can be found in many a Caribbean market or nick-nack shop. Every woman does her own baskets, there is no central workshop. In the old days, there was a law banning interracial marriages, but With time, the Caribs have mixed with the black population, especially around the edges of the territory. A recent candidate for chief proposed reinstating the marriage ban, but was not elected.

The emerald pool is beautiful and dark, at the foot of a high thin waterfall in the rain forest. It is a short hike from the car park, where Sea Cat rested his leg. Part of the trail is the remains of an old Carib path, laid with stones, like a tiny highway through the forest.

We had lunch, GG, Coco, Clotilde, K and I, in a creole restaurant set out over a precipitous drop overlooking the sea and a small village in the bay. I had salt fish stew with provisions and beer. GG and Coco continued with tales of the Pacific and the Panama canal. They had not intended to go across, but after helping two boats transit the canal, and waiting in vain for weeks for a weather window to sail North east for Florida, they decided to give it a go themselves.

We arrived back at Django as the sun set, having had a really good tour of another sector of Dominica.

Friday we set off for Portsmouth, and thence set sail for Pointe a Pitre in the nexus between Terre de Haut and Terre de Basse, in Guadeloupe.

Tuesday December 8, 2009, T'ief on de boat

Off Sea Cat's dock, Roseau, Dominica.

Last night I slept poorly, our water pump kept going off, signalling a poorly closed faucet or a leak somewhere in the system. Lots of rain and strange gurglings around the boat woke me about 2:00 am. The currents off the dock change with the tides. About 3:00 I heard a bump and looked out of the hatch to be sure we had not swung into one of the other moored boats, no, probably just Boffo bumping her engine against the hull. A few minutes later, I realised we had unwanted company. A shadow was in the cabin with us, where a shadow should not have been. I gave a loud growl, as fierce as could be

"Get out of here"

The shadow darted out with me in hot pursuit. He skipped out through the cockpit and over the stern, onto his surfboard, scattering the contents of K's belly bag all over the cabin. I saw him lying flat out on the board, but he had not unhooked his tether and was still attached to Django. He was very dark and slim, if clothed he was in black. Seizing the tether I made to drag him into the stern as hard as I could, scaring the poor bugger even more than he already was, so he bailed out and disappeared under the boat. I cast loose the board and pulled out one of Django's emergency air horns, the very loud variety, and let off with that for thirty seconds or so. Our neighbours awoke and we scanned the sea with flashlights trying to spot our wayward thief. The board drifted out to sea. After some fruitless searching we all went back to bed.

It turns out he swam ashore and ran down the stony beach. Sea Cat heard the alarm and was up in a trice. Seeing the fleeing man he called three of his mates and set off in pursuit, although slowly because he has broken his Achilles tendon and is in a delicate condition. Nevertheless, they searched the neighbourhood, cudgels in hand. The thief managed to escape, but Sea Cat was grateful for the alarm. He felt sure that they had very nearly nabbed the naughty nasty, and has enough information to help bring him to ground.

With our valuables well hidden in plain sight, the thief left emptyhanded. K and I got a lift from Sea Cat into the Roseau police station to make our report. That took rather a long time, starting at the police complaints desk, where the complainants stand at a 5" high counter peering up up at the raised constable behind. So once through the story there, we were ushered into the criminal investigations division and introduced to the sergeant, who was very sympathetic, hoping this unfortunate experience would not put us off Dominica for good, and wanting to know all about our travels, which K narrrated succintly. Finally, we were directed to the investigating officer, who took a long detailed statement beginning in Antigua two weeks before, and culminating in the attempted theft. I suspect, as do the police, that the thief was an indigent drug addict, trying to get casdh to feed his habit. I support the the idea of legalising all drugs and making sure addicts can get their supplies without resorting to preying on the rest of us.

By the time that was all done, it was beer o'clock and time to have a look around Roseau. A Carib beer and a couple of small quiches in the pastry shop set us up remarkably, and we proceeded to search out the provisions we required. Ice was the one thing we were not keen to hump back to Django, about a mile down the shore. As we strode out of town, who should appear but Sea Cat, who kindly offered a lift back, with a short detour to pick up three young daughters from school. They all crowded into the front seat, althouh Sea Cat's van has three rows of seats behind. He stopped for our ice. He is a kind hearted man and knows everybody. Tomorrow we will take his tour up the Emerald Pool and the Carib indian reservation. He spent the morning in the hospital while we were at the police, having strained his leg in his exertions last night; but with the wound redressed, he says he is willing and able to drive us tomorrow.

Never a dull moment, aboard Django.

Sunday, December 6, 2009, Portsmouth, Dominica

I have almost given up on opening and closing the hatch over our bed when the rain comes and goes. I awake immediately I feel the rain on my face, it goes on for five minuntes, then stops for on hour. Its enough to keep me up all night. K sleeps the other way round in the bunk, so I am the keeper of the hatch.

Dominica is much wetter yet than Antigua and Guadeloupe. Sixty inches a year on the drier side and 364 inches on the west and high elevations. Misty mountains, orchids and rainforests, parrots and small rivers galore. A Japanese company plans to ship out bottled water to Europe.

K and I had a bit of a slog getting here. The trades are back and the wind such that we were hard on the wind for the full 20 miles or so from the Saintes to Prince Rupert Bay. We managed to get salt water all over Django and were hoping for rain when we arrived. It held off until after bedtime and washed the boat clean overnight, more than a couple of times.

There are not many boats in the bay, the boat boys are hard up. We ordered bread and ice from Christian the fruit man, and went up the Indian River with Fire, who impresses me more each time I meet him, with his knowledge, intelligence and empathy. We set up a tour to Morne Diablotin, but I was disppointed in the price offered. Far too much money, and too many people involved. We managed to salvage the deal at less money and enjoyed our driver guide very much on a trip up into the misty highlands. Dominica has a wealth of natural sites, trails and places of interest, but few tourists who stay the night, other than us yachties. The cruise shps dock for the day and send their passengers out for the day in airconditioned buses.

We had dinner ashore at the Purple Turtle, dining on 'crayfish'. It was a plate of very large prawns together with a plate of 'food', being rice, yam, dasheen, plantain, beans and coleslaw. All very good, but it set off an interesting discussion on lobsters, crayfish and shrimp. These were clearly not crayfish, I suspected they were frozen cultivated giant freshwaters prawns. K looked it all up on the internet and we found that Dominica's rivers contain several species similar to the commercially cultivated giant prawn, and that what we had dined on could very well have come from the local streams. I am still doubtful that the local streams can support a restaurant trade, but it is definitely a possiblilty. We saw a number of large crab in our wading about in the highland streams, also a local delicacy to be eaten with callaloo. There seem to be few fish in the streams, the biomass being largely crustacean.

Tomorrow we are off to Roseau, in the hopes of seeing Sea Cat. More later.

Wednesday, December 2, 2009, Marigot, Les Saints.

We have been here in Les Saintes for a couple of days. It is very beautiful, and as such, a mecca for tourists arriving on the ferry from Guadeloupe to walk and ride scooters around these small islands. The people here do not share the same history or culture with the main islands of Guadeloupe. Being too dry for plantation culture, it was a fishing settlement for Bretons people, and remains to this day apart from Guadeloupe in culture and attitude. During the long strike last year, Les Saintes remained open for business.

We have visted Fort Napoleon, and dined ashore last evening. Today we made the short walk across the island to the Plage de Pompiere, a lovely sheltered beach with palms and other trees shading most of the beach. We lunched at the at the little grill closest to the beach. I had acras de morue, a salt cod dumpling deep fried. Been there and done that. K had a very good tuna sandwich, which had a lovely island flavour. Funny that so much salt cod is eaten in these island, when there is quite a lot of fresh fish right off their coasts?

In any case, we had peas and rice for dinner and I am blogging before we leave this little paradise with lots of Arnold's HotHotHotSpot internet. Tomorrow we are off to Portsmouth in Dominica, where Arnold has not been able to get the HotSpot working with any stability. The trades are back and we should have a good close hauled sail down, in moderate to biggish seas. Fun.

I have been able to modify my trading techniques to adapt to intermittent contact with the markets and have been the better for it. Now I set me sell order up at the same time I buy, and when I get back on, I diary the reapings.

So its off to Dominica.

Sunday, November 29, Pigeon Island, Guadeloupe.

In case you didn't know, it's my birthday. I have spent the past year celebrating my sixtieth, now here we are at sixty-one. Will the party continue?.... stay tuned.

Before leaving Deshaies, K and I climbed the hill up to the Botanical Gardens. These are not cheap, 14 Euro each, but they are beautifully maintained with a lovely array of tropical shrubs, trees and orchidae from arround the world. Here is a photo of K in her St. Kitts batik dress, dappled by the sun. In the afternoon, we departed for points south.

Pigeon Island is a small bit of basalt outcrop not far from shore halfway down the West coast of Guadeloupe. It is known as a diving site and has moorings dotted around the permimenter, some for dive boats and some for yachts. We managed to pick up a yacht mooring and spent the afternoon and night within 50 ft. of the rock, north swell picking up as we stayed, crashing up aganst the rocks. We enjoyed a lovely swim with mask and snorkel around the rocks. The coral is budding, but from the chunks of coral washed up on the beach, Hurricane Hugo did some major damage here. All the coral is young. The good news is that it seems to be coming back. There are lots of small reef fish close inshore, and midwater yellow tail snappers and sailor's choice out off the moorings.

Next morning, with the swell picking up, we cast off the mooring and pushed south again, passing Basseterre as a bad idea and ushed on for the Saints, a small group of islands off the South West corner of Guadeloupe.

Saturday November 28, 2009 Deshaies, Guadeloupe.

It doesn't take long to figure out we are in France again. The roads are impeccable, the cafe is strong and the croissants are fresh and crisp. We had croissants and a baguette delivered to the boat this morning at 7:00, by a young man from Nantes who takes divers out and lives on a small sailboat closer to shore.

The computer on which I have to fill out Django's clearance has a french keyboard. Everything in the wrong place, so its a slow hunt and peck to transfer the data subsets of Django and her crew from one form to another, yet again. I think they need to make me do it to make sure I understand that they are the masters and I am the serf. Surely they have seen our minutiae enought times, errors and ommissions excepted. How many times must they have it re-entered, perhaps correctly, more likely not, given the damnable french keyboards?

In any case, K and I decided we would make a side trip. First thought a rented car to visit the Musee du Rhum, some 15 Km distant, near St. Rose. The bus, we are told, makes frequent passes through Deshaies, and there is only one "correspondence", to get to close by the Musee. So we think adventure and stand by the stop as a taxi pulls into view. I am interviewing the driver as the bus pulls in behind him. Sixty Euro, he says, two each by bus, so its rather a no brainer and off we go to St. Rose in a lovely minibus with an automatic side door with a step that slides out, not to mention a fare machine which is guaranteed to work and the sign says we must be sure to take our tickets.

We make our correspondence in St. Rose and two stops later we are at Viard, 200 metres from our destination. The Musee is in a lovely park with tall tropical trees and red ginger on either hand. Guadeloupe is so much lusher than Antigua, and so much cooler in the evening. I think the cool air slips down from the high hills and cools the lowlands. We are at anchor and as soon as the sun sets, the temperature drops 8 degrees C.

The Musee is surprising. For a rum distillery, there are remarkable collections of exotic insects and beautiful scale models of the world's most famous ships, triremes, Napoleon's wonderful barge, the 'Nina', 'Pinta', 'Sta Maria', the 'Beagle'! which carried Charles Darwin out to the Galapagos, stopping on the way in Buenos Aires to stay with one of my forebears. Really very good. The rum part was very well presented but less interesting and the tasting we could have done without. Barbados rum is better.

We walked back to St. Rose, K not entirely happy with the plod along the main road in the noonday sun, but I like a walk. There we had a nasty sandwich and a beer, before visiting the local grocery emporium. We figured that St. Rose being considerably larger than Deshaies, we could expect more of the french exotica. There was that. Fine cheeses, many french wines at a fraction of the price we would pay at home, fruits from Europe fresh and cheap. Later I discovered that our smaller Deshaies grocery had all the same amenities.

Home again in the bus and back aboard Django for an afternoon swim. Dinner was a fresh baguette with hard sausage and a selection of fine cheese, including a ripe Camembert the likes of which I have not seen in Montreal for 30 years. A beatiful ripe Italian pear rounded out the meal and inspired me to this post. It is amazing to me that Guadeloupe can provide such excellence to its population at a pretty good cost, all fresh and perfectly ripened. Where do we go wrong? I realise the cost must be subsidised by mother France, but the quality, why is that so much better? Its a mystery, and as the bard says, 'I think I'll jess let the mystery be'.

Friday November 27, 2009 Deshaies, Guadeloupe.

We have been busy, and really not much good internet to be had when time to do soemthing about it was available, so not much blogging going on. We ditched our guests in Basseterre, St Kitts, and bolted from the marina that very afternoon. Too calm, especially at night, so lots of mosquitoes and no seeums. We cleared out at the commercial port and after doing as small errand for Arnold, we pushed off to spend the night in a littel bay in the north of Nevis, before setting off for Jolly Harbour Antigua in the morning. Although there has not been much wind, it has made for easier passages, particularly Nevis-Antigua, whihc can be pretty much dead upwind most of the time. We managed a close haul beat half the way, then motoring in the second half. Half way across, we landed a small wahoo, perhaps 10 lbs. and dined on barbequed wahoo that evening. Yum Yum. Plenty for cold wahoo for lunch and a gorgeous fumet for the fish stew.

In Jolly Harbour, I learned the the propellers had been shipped, albeit to Antigua Slipway in English Harbour, so K and I rented a car and toured Antigua on a mission to get the props through customs and onto Django without further loss of a moment. We arranged for haul out and bottom cleaning and painting and a full wax and shine for Django. The well at Jolly Harbour Shipyard is 20 ft across. Django draws 19'6", leaving a full 3" on either side. We lined her into the well without issue and managed to pick her out with the travel lift.

While Sailor and Bob Marley, the two best bottom contractors in the yard, worked on Django's neather regions, I worked on the new props. I was unsure of a number of key parameters when I ordered them. Things like hand, pitch and diameter had to be best guessed at. After reading as much as possible on the internet, I settled on left hand 15 by 10 two blade folding props and hoped for the best. They came out of the box gleaming like gold. After I managed to install them, other yard rats came along to ooh and aah at the beauty of the things, and to estimate how many of my arms and legs I had sacrificed to obtain them. By this time I was more or less sure I had the hand thing right, but there would be no confirmation of the diameter and pitch without a sea trial.

K and I stayed in an expensive rented condo in Jolly Harbour. Not a wonderful experience. We were quite happy to get back aboard Django three days later and swim in the evening as the sun went down.

As soon as Django hit the water, I tested the foward and reverse on the props, alls well. Better yet, the engines rev up in reverse, something I have not been able to do since we bought the boat. I am very pleased.

K and I have planned a trip to Guadeloupe and Dominica, not too quick so we can see the sights. I learned from Arnold that Sea Cat in Roseau has badly broken his leg. Not good. He does the wonderful tours and hikes. We want to stop in English Harbour before leaving to have a couple of Tots and get some decent fruit. Jolly Harbour has a well stocked grocery but no decent fresh fruit. We made the upwind motor to Engliish Harbour in 3.5 hours. The engines sang, able to be properly reved up with the smaller props, and she better time into the sea and wind than what we could do with the old Kiwi three blade feathers. This is really good. Pitch and diamter seem to be spot on.

So this morning we upped anchor, swung into the fuel dock at a jaunty pace, (no worries about stalling in reverse with these new props), watered up and took on a dozen beer and some ice, ready for the 8 hour beat to Deshaies. The wind has some south in it still, but is not too strong, so we were able to sail close hauled most of the way at a steady 5.5 - 6 knots. No fish but a good sail.

So there you are.

November 11, Wednesday afternoon in Nevis

Moored safely off Pinney's Beach near Charlestown.

We went to Montserrat on Monday morning after challenges with the clearing out procedure and bank machines which refused to dispense cash. Enn and Dana are reduced to penury as there is only one machine in English Harbourand it won't give them any at all. It gives me varying amounts, depending on how it is feeling, but Monday morning, none at all. After a long meeting with the teller inside the bank, I managed to come away with a substantial sum, hoping to stave off starvation until we reach a more amenable ATM.

The wind had shifted into the NW, making the normal reach to Montserrat a beat, however there was only 5 knots of it so it is a motor all the way. Lovely day and good views of the volcano as we apprached the island. We rounded the cape to approach Little Bay on the north west end of the island and came into the tiny bay in a strong north swell. The waves pounded the beach and made the us wonder if going ashore was possible. The bay has moored fishing boats and a commercial wharf, all tight up against a cliff face. We dropped anchor between the wharf and the moored boats and hoped for the best. Rolly poly all night, but otherwise comfortable.

In the morning, the dawn brought two dark and menacing squalls, with thunder and lightening, one filling the western horizon and the other over the mountains to the East. The easterly squall hit us hard, dragging the anchor, so we upped anchor and went out to sea a bit in the torrential rain to wait out the squall. As the cumulus cloud mixed with the volcano, the ash joined with the rain and rained down on us. A very fine dusty sand, grey brown in colour, coated everything and made its way inside Django. K and Dana and Enn wanted to go ashore, but I was definitely not leaving Django alone in this insecure anchorage, so offered to stay aboard while they did a tour.

All set, until we began dragging again. So decision made, we upped anchor and pushed off for Nevis to the North. As we pulled away, we had a clear view of the volcano and then she belched a huge plume of steam and ash into the air and pyroclastic flows came billowing down her sides towards the sea. It looked like a major eruption. The wind had come round to the South southwest and within fifteen minutes, Little Bay was being doused in ash. As we continued on to Nevis, the volcano erupted several more times, send a huge ash cloud out over the sea, obliterating the view of Antigua and, eventually of Montserrat itself. I was quite happy being away, as I swept up as much of the fine ash as I could from Django's decks. I have saved a small bit for Leah, who has travelled the world in search of an active volcano and has been frustrated so far. This Montserrat volcano is truly a force of nature to behold.

Sunday morning, at anchor off a tiny cove at the end of Green Island, we bob in the nearly windless sea. Africa lies over the horizon.

Enn and Dana arrived the other day, late in the evening. We managed to miss them. Rogers cell phone works fine here if the call comes from Canada, but not a t all if the call is a local one. So Dana and Enn spent their first night in the Copper and Lumber Store Hotel.

We have trekked up the Tot Club trail from Galleon Beach to Shirley Heights, an interesting climb up a dry stream bed overgrown with small trees and creeping vines, populated by hermit crabs and huge black butterflies the size of bats, through old grave yards dating to the 1790's, past the army cistern and the officers quarters on the top, to the lookout restaurant bar overlooking English Harbour, from whence we saw almost the whole of Antigua, and the sea to the North west. Montserrat, 30 miles westward spouted steam and ash to a great height.

I have some pictures, and will see if we can get them them up. Soon we will sail back to English Harbour for a barbeque with a steel band up on the Heights. Tomorrow we set sail for Montserrat.

Maynard has put his mouth on the wind. "Gentle breezes" he wished us, gentle breezes we have. We need 15 to 20 knots to push Django along, we have 5 to10. I haven't seen trades like this before. It will be a long motor sail to Montserrat in the morning.

Preparing for guests

Well, here we are a week later and still no movement. It is deceptive, but we have completed quite a few tasks.

The new propellers failed to arrive, so putting off our haul out and bottom painting, which means that K and I have had to scrape away six months of marine growth from Django's bottoms. This has gone reasonably well, considering. We have ordered and installed a new anchor chain, such a joy, no more rust all over the fore deck and trampoline, and we have treated the bimini with a waterproofing agent. It has only a bit more life left in it, and will be the next item on the replacement list. The head has been disassembled and a new siphon break installed in the outlet line. This has put an end to head worries for the foreseeable future.

This evening, Enn and Dana arrive for an eleven day stay, and we will be able to start cruising. This evening is also the seventh and final tot in the Tot club initiation. Following this, we are expected to call a mismuster, which involves the drinking of yet another tot, all before Enn and Dana arrive.

I'll let you know how it all comes out later.

Back Aboard

Let's see, today is Tuesday, we arrived Saturday afternoon. Django is in pretty good shape, although some of her components are showing their age. The anchor chain is due for replacement, and I have found the right size in Jolly Harbour. How to get it aboard is the next exercise. The Nissan outboard is overdue for a proper service, and we have left it over at the fuel dock to be picked up by Greg, the outboard man. Of course, Greg is in Grenada for a while, so K and I paddle Boffo backwards, like a canoe, around English Harbour. We are anchored in tight in the preferred spot close to the dinghy dock at Nelson's Dockyard. Many of the semi-permanent residents have their spots here. We are lucky to find one close to shore. The holding is solid in mud, so no fear of dragging ashore in the night. This spot is all the better for being close up to a high hill in the west, behind which the blazing sun settles at about 4:00 pm, giving us two hours of shade before sundown.

Django's head is acting up. The joker valve is having its little joke, allowing the sea to come in. It dribbles over the top of the head and out through the shower sump, whence over the side through the shower pump. It is an annoyance which must be fixed, involving dismantling of the head. I do not like this job much at all.

It has taken a few days to acclimate to the heat again. Sunday, tied inshore by the mangroves, was brutal, 38 degrees C. Once we escaped to the anchorage things improved. I have drunk vast amounts of water to replace the buckets of sweat.

Terry has been a great help in all things, and has invited us, as his guests, to attend meetings of The Royal Navy Tot Club of Antigua and Barbuda, which meets every evening at 5:45 pm to read from the "This Day in Naval History", receive announcements concerning members, and to drink the toast of the day including a toast to "Her Majesty, God Bless Her". A tot is 2.5 gills of neat rum, followed by a glass of cold water to douse the fire. The club has over 500 members from all parts of the world, although the two meetings we have attended have had five to ten members present. A number of the members are also keen fans of Patrick O'Brien, of Aubrey - Maturin fame. We have enjoyed meeting new friends.

Enn and Dana arrive Nov. 5. There's more to tell, but I will let you all savour this morsel and provide the rest later.

Preparations

Oct. 24, next Saturday, is the day K and I head back to Antigua and Django in English Harbour. Terry has looked in on her regularly, kept me abreast of the storms passing by and how Django has been doing resting in the weeds. K has sold her house and floated free from the grind of working to pay off the expenses. A bit mauled by the stock market, I have reduced my dependence on buy and hold dividend income and taken a more proactive stance in the markets to bring in the wherewithal. My little Acer will do double duty over the wifi links. You may be burdened with ideas on what seems a good thing from time to time and I would warn you not to take these to heart.

The first order of business is haulout, and do up the bottom. I am ordering new two blade folding props to replace the kiwiprop feathering props we have now. They are to much for Django's Volvo Penta D1-20 engines, and tend to stall in reverse; often embarrassing coming into a dock. So biting the bullet and shelling out for the new blades.

K is a great singing cook and loves to entertain guests aboard Django. Dana and Enn, her journalism mentor, will come down for a stay soon after we have completed the maintenance rituals. Not final where we will go, but Montserrat, St Kitts and Nevis are high on the list of likely stops. English Harbour will be our base of operations this season.

The weather here is clear and cold, the sun too dim for sufficient vitamin D production. Take those supplements, you who must remain behind. I am looking forward to swimming and boating and soaking in the heat, not to mention the rum.

Django in the Weeds

Sunday, April 5, 2009

This morning Terry called on channel 68. Meet him at the bar at 10 to plan the move to the mangroves. He will go in his dinghy and I will bring Django around, dropping an anchor off the port quarter as I come in. He will hand me a line from the weeds and we will get another stern line onto my Beneteau 473 neighbour until a starbord stern anchor can be set later.

Django performs well and slides into her place without embarassment.

The day has been spent in more hard labour, seemingly never ending. The two kayaks, Lady and Tramp, are face to face across the trampoline, one under, one over, hopefully secure from a 120 knot hurricane blast. The two anchors and four lines ashore have been adjusted and readjusted until just right. Chafing gear has been attached to the lines.

I tested a system for lifting Boffo up onto the foredeck, where she will be strapped down hard tomorrow, after all the last errands have been run. That is the last chore before calling the water taxi for a ride to shore.

The mosquitos and noseeums are pretty vicious here by the shore. The little finches come into the boat and eat the melon seeds from my yuck bucket. It is interesting how a slight change in position produces an entirely different environment. It is a good thing I am off tomorrow.

Terry and his wife live year round tied up up to the mangroves. How do they do it?

A hint on the curry thing and a prize for the correct answer: tonight's dinner is a medley of things not yet eaten. When I began, I did not know how I would end up. The ingredients were

pasta, not enough, so not used. (the original thought was to have pasta for dinner)
left over rice with lentils.
one small bit of christophine
one egg
one half a very hot red pepper,
one half onion,
one half clove garlic,
a bit of cabage,
one tablespoon coconut milk,
some peanut oil,
some garlic sausage from Guadelupe.
curry powder,
black pepper,
soy sauce.

Dinner was very good, as usual. If you know the answer to the question not asked, post a comment.

Its sayonara to English Harbour, I suspect until the fall. May the bugs not keep me awake all night.

P.S.

The Artist has arrived safely in Bermuda, and professes not to be concerned with Ben any more. There is another man on the horizon, although he may be a bit young, she says.

Lone Sailor Returns to English Harbour

Friday, April 3, 2009

Peter, our aged single hander, came in about 4:00 pm, a RIB alongside giving power for the in harbour manoeuvering. He pulled up close to Arnold and Gay and let go the hook. About five, I interrupted my suffing of settee cushions into newly laundered covers to go over and take some shots of his boat. As I drew close, I heard a large splash. Lacking a dinghy (taken by the helpful search and rescue people the day before), he had lept overboard with a tee shirt in a zip lock bag, and made for shore. I missed giving him a lift by 30 seconds. Such is life.



Today was another day of hard labour aboard Django. More laundry, and a thorough cleaning job throughout. Leaving a boat lade up clean prevents all sorts of mold and mildew from building up, and is well worth the effort.

Terry came by later on to say he can't help me into the weeds tomorrow because he has to be present at the burial at sea he has arranged. He was hoping this would not be the case, but there you are.

So Sunday is our date for moving Django to her resting place. Should KMH and I come back on the 20th, there is no problem getting her going again. If not, all the jobs will be completed for a summer layup.

I am still reluctant to reveal the secret of a great vegetable curry, but I will give a clue. If you visit Moses in Dominica, you will taste the result. He did not reveal the secret to me, I stumbled upon it myself.

Lay up procedures....and the Antigua Buzz

Thursday, April 2, 2009

Today was dedicated to laundry (two loads, only a preliminary attack on the problem) and fluid replacement in the engine rooms. The laundry issue was easy, into the Dockyard and drop off the loads.

On the way back, there was Paul Ridley , with his sister, Joy, at the dock by the dinghy dock in his ocean rowing boat. He has just completed an 88 day passage from the Canaries to Antigua, Rowing for Hope following the death of their mother to cancer.

(double click on this photo, the resolution is great and Joy hiding behind is the best part)

A photographer was on hand from some US publication, and after asking Paul if he minded, I was able to jockey Boffo into place to get a couple of shots for you, my dedicated groupies. Breaking news, as it happens, here on the blog.
Taking a few deep breaths, I was able to return to Django for the job du jour. Replace the fluids.

There are four major fluid systems in Django's Volvo-Penta D1-20 diesel engines. You have been regaled with the difficulties she has experienced with the seawater cooling system, shells in the heat exchanger, you remember. Now we are dealing with the internal systems, isolated from the marine environment. First is the engine lubrication system, which I have dealt with before, and for which I have accumulated some small body of experience and tricks of the trade. The only problem with this fluid change is that the oil seems to get everywhere, all over my bare feet as I clamber over the small engines in the tight space, and then spread stealthily over the cabin sole. I notice every time despite my inadvertance and determination not to make a mess. The other issue is getting the oil filters to screw off. In Grenada, I almost had recourse to stabbing them with a screw diver and winding them off that way. I have learned a trick, for which I might be able to charge a large fee if I took the trouble to patent the process, but, screw that. Suffice to say that I have the answer.

The next replacement involves the internal cooling system. This is your run of the mill antifreeze and water combo running through the internal systams of the engine and passing a heat exchanger to drop off its heat to the heretofor mentioned sea water cooling system. The draining of this system is diagramed in the operations manual, showing drain ports through transparant renderings of all the engine bits which are actually in the way. All very good in theory, but in Django's engine space, there is no way to see these ports without a mirror. Fine then. I am brought to the thought that marine diesel mecahnics have probably lived reprehensible lives in the past, and have been reborn to struggle in cramped spaces with unknown sized things which need to be unscrewed, which they cannot see, to boot. What is I did to deserve this?

The really interesting part is that once the way of it becomes known, the problem unravels, and success is achieved. The fluids drained out, and the new flowed in.
Finally, the transmissions, those fearsome beasts which seem not to work, need their fluids changed as well. Most important not to overfill them. They will self destruct is you do. I am duly careful and even suck some of my newly replaced fluid from the port engine, just in case I am might be marginally over the limit.
By 4:00 pm, the jobs are done. There is still a lot to clean up and put away, but the brunt of it is achieved. I need to go in and get the laudry, drop off half the old fluids at the dump (I can't carry it all at once) and then perhaps head over to Arnold's for an after five cup of tea (not!).

The buzz at the cafe was all about Peter, 72, single handed master mariner, we talked about his distress call yesterday. Apart from the distress call, he had not been heard from for about a week. He has sailed from somewhere south in an old gaffer with a bum engine. This morning, he called Arnold on his cell phone. Five miles off Montserrat, he was making for Antigua, just about dead upwind, and hoped to be in sometime early tomorrow morning. His gaff has broken, so his normally poor upwind performance has been reduced to abysmal. Everyone at the table knows him well and talked about towing him in. The Antigua rescue people went out but were not equipped to tow him 20 miles upwind. So they took his almost useless dinghy from him, to lighten the load a bit. Hopefully he will be in English Harbour in the morning.

Back aboard Django, the feelings of loss have tempered somewhat, and I am able to enjoy the solitude. Dinner was more complex and interesting tonight, rice with curried christophine and tomatoe and onion salad. The secret to a good vegetable curry is ..... oh! alright then .....

Maybe another time.

English Harbour, Desolate and Alone

Wednesday, April 1, 2009

Woe is me, I feel as though some part of me has been torn out. I did not suspect I would feel this way until this morning, as A. and I began preparing for her departure at noon. We went in to the immigration people to have her formally removed from Django's crew list, then to the dump to cast off the things she could not carry home and would not remain on Django, then to the cafe to find a caretaker for the young avocado tree and the christophine vine she has been tending.

Living at such close quarters for almost three months brings a melding of lives, and when this closeness ends, there is pain. The Artist and Designer take up a good deal of space, with her sketch books, pencils and pens, tape measures and fabrics strewn around Django. She is also consumes a lot of emotional space, self involved, particularly lately with the problems with Ben. Yet she spreads a sense of fun and interest and youth which I love. It can be annoying as times, but once removed, the absence is acute.

After leaving her in the taxi, I went in to find Terry at the restobar by the dock, where he spends every noon time, to talk about bringing Django into the weeds on Saturday, to get to know him a bit better, since he will be Django's master for the foreseeable future. He spoke of Antigua Sail Week, the troubles looming for Antigua after April, when hotel occupancy is projected at 15%; of the burial at sea he is organising on Saturday morning for the son of a friend who drowned in the Virgin Islands while cleaning the bottom of a boat; of a friend our age, single handed sailor, who has sent out a distress call off Martinique, probably disabled or ill, and has not been found yet; of the Australian charter skipper who was shot dead with his wife and child looking on, whose memorial on the side of the road A. and I passed yesterday. We had a couple of beers and agreed to meet at 1:00 pm on Saturday.

I could not face lunch alone aboard Django and went to Arnold's for a sandwich, then walked up on the ridges overlooking the harbour for most of the afternoon.

Back aboard Django, I am becoming used to being alone again. I have found the BBC World station on the radio and had its company over a tasty pasta dinner. There is a lot to do to get ready to leave on Monday, and I have my work on music and writing to fill the void, but it is a bit painful nonetheless.

As I counselled Alicia, time, the great healer, will take care of it all.

English Harbour, Mucking About in Boats

Tuesday, March 31, 2009

There is nothing quite so much fun as mucking about in boats...

Arnold moved his Morgan Out Islander 41 over to the crane this morning to have his engine put back in. I noticed a lot of RIBs congregating around the boat, anchored near us since we moved closer in yesterday, pushing and pulling to move the boat over to the slipway.

Into Boffo I leapt, hoping to be of use, and found myself pushing a little here and moving an anchored boat out of the way there, but not really in the middle of the action. Arnold had all his old salt (fart) friends helping. I didn't realise she had no steering as well as no engine, so the whole operation was really quite interesting. We managed to avoid the boats anchored close by and headed off down the roadstead, towards the slipway dock. Boffo played safety.

As we approached the dock, the cry went up, 'There's a dinghy on the dock!', and finally the spare was required and off Boffo sped to remedy the dire situation. As we brought the Morgan in, she needed a really good push from the starboard quarter, and Boffo was able to muscle in on the situation for the docking maneuver. 'Push hard', came the cry from the helmsman, who had no helm to push, and Boffo pushed with great heart and soul.

Once safely tied up, I said goodbye to Arnold and promised help again later should he need to push the Morgan into the weeds for her summer layup. I enjoyed the thumbs up salutes as Boffo made her way proudly back to Django in time for beer o'clock and a delicious lunch of cold barbecued chicken. I saw them all later on, pushing and pulling off towards the mangroves, an easier job than getting her up against the dock. RIBs (Rubber Inflatable Boats), of which Boffo is a good example, make very good tugs and pushers, and there really is nothing more fun than mucking about in boats.

This afternoon, Alicia discovered that Ben has finally had the bun, has decamped, has said the final goodbye. She is very upset. The emotions aboard Django are sharp and grieving. I found guitar practice to be quite a different experience, the emotional weight pushing aside my normal reticence and fear of error. The music was sure and poignant. She regrets so much, sees the errors of her ways, but alas, it is too late, the bird has flown, the horse bolted, and no good to shut the barn door now. Tomorrow she leaves for the arduous two day journey to Bermuda. All of us aboard Django, Boffo, Lady and Tramp, and of course, myself, wish her well and pray for an early recovery of spirits. She has determined to be readmitted to the garden, with plans for her own plantings once ashore in that other world, Bermuda.

I will be on my own soon, and have plans of my own. Mostly cleaning, laundry, oil, ATF and cooling fluid replacement, as well as layup of the running rig and boats. I have a good idea for hauling up the kayaks underneath the netting forward, up close in to the mangroves where the hurricane wind does not blow. Boffo will be strapped down on deck, I think.

Terry will be on hand to help when we bring Django into the weeds. I do prefer this to the waterless world of Spice Island Marina we experienced last year, not only because it will cost me a good deal less money, but because even if Antigua takes a direct hit, Django will be safe in the mangroves, and will have good care at a very reasonable cost. She is in so much better shape than she was a year ago, and I am on a slow roll of continual improvement.

The hatch seals and props are next.

English Harbour Again

Sunday, March 29, 2009

The trip back from Green Island was dead down wind, not much wind but a fairly big following sea built up from the strong wind of the previous night. We set the Genny and motor sailed down toward English Harbour.

Making about 5.5 - 6 knots, in not very deep water, fishing seemed a bit optimistic, but then, silly not to. We set the line from the reel hose clamped to Django's stern pulpit and paid little attention. Lo, the reel sang out. Not a large fish, a tunny or mackerel, about 2 lbs. Alicia poured the rum into its gills and I slit its gill connector to bleed it out. These fish are hot blooded, the flesh warm to the touch, and need to be dealt with immediately. The flesh is red, the blood liine dark, almost black. We decided on seviche (cebiche). The last time I had enjoyed this dish with tunny was aboard a small cruiser out of New York to Bermuda, with two frenchmen who did not speak much english. The dish was upended on a large wave, spilling into the bilge. Undaunted, mes amis recovered most of it and we had a wonderful dinner. This latest attempt was made immediatley after catching the dark fleshed beast, while the Designer watched out above. I couldn't remember the recipe, so made up a good one on the fly. We let it stew in the fridge till lunch the next day. It was really very good. Tunny is an unappetising fish, but done this way it is delightful.

English Harbour was just where we had left it, although my favourite spot had been taken. We are in Freeman's Bay, closer to the ocean. The water is clearer and there is a bit of movement, but it is still a very protected spot.

The Artist has decided to go back to Bermuda to deal with her broken relationship and set up the rest of her life. She leaves Wednesday. How fortunate we are to be in this protected space with friends who will look after Django while I am away in April. I just knew I would like Antigua. If KMH cannot come and share the last of the season with me, I will simply leave her for the summer early. So the next week is devoted to preparation for lay up. If we come back to sail for another month, its no big thing to put her back into sailing trim. If not, she's prepared for the hurricane season in the mangroves.

I have been rebedding hatches for the past two days, and sport a burned back of the neck to show for it. Hopefully this will deal with a couple of annoying leaks. There is one more to go. English Harbour has a good chandlery and a slipway, so all the necessary bits are available for most any repair, and they will lend out tools where Django's pretty extensive inventory is lacking.

I have fallen out of love with Django's Kiwi feathering props as well. They overload Django's 18 HP Volvo Penta D1-20 engines with the S130 saildrive transmission when she goes into reverse. It has taken quite a while to figure out this conundrum. I thought it was a transmission problem for a long while. Arnold recommended a local mechanic and had him on the phone within minutes. He appeared at the dock within no time and consulted on the problem, pointing to the propellers as the most likely cause of the trouble. He charged a very modest fee for his help and I set to work to learn more about the whirlers down under. Reading up on the Kiwi props revealed that overloading is a known issue in small engines. I am considering going to fixed 3 blade props instead. I will lose a bit a sailing speed but gain a sure power transfer both ahead and astern. Django often needs us to reduce sail because she gets going too fast for the sea conditions. I am willing to take the chance on slowing her down a bit with fixed blade props. So when we haul out in the fall, I will have some new props to install.

This afternoon A. and I walked up the trail in the park to the high point, One Cannon Battery. We had a great view of the anchorage, Montserrat to the SW and Guadeloupe distant to the South. Perhaps I can get some of the photos she took to load up tonight.

Green Island, Antigua

Thursday, March 26, 2009

My fingers are beginning to loosen up from the beating they took Sunday evening, hammering away on various drums at the jam session at H2O. I am not really a drummer, classical guitar is more my speed, but there were a number of drums sitting idle as the talented keyboardist and the lovely singer, backed up by the owner of the place on a drumset, a great sax guy sitting in and an englishman on bongos, ranged through all sorts of good music for the aging audience of yachties, and I had to give it a go. Into it I got, and found a large djembe to beat on. It made a big boom when hit in the middle ..

Rata tata Boom tata Boom tata Boom tata, Rata tata Boom ti Boom titty Boom.


The floor shook and the crowd got wild. Lots of sweat and sore hands.

A. and I decided to take a trip up to Green Island, on the East Coast of Antigua, where the anchorage is in behind a barrier reef. We anchored facing out across the expanse of the Atlantic Ocean, no breaks before Gibraltar.


On the way up we were passed by two very fancy yachts, one French, one British. Antigua has many more beautiful large yachts than the islands further south, some are great gorgeous classic yachts, all gleaming varnish and bright masts.

At the anchorage, the water was clear and shallow, we were parked not far from a a coral head, which I explored. There were a few healthy looking brains, but altogether the site was not very pretty. Most of it was dead. The artist worked hard on her projects and struggled with angst over her relationship crisis. Difficult to do much at this distance, so we swam in the clear water. On the beach, the super yachties were getting lessons in kite boarding.

Chris Parker missed the weather indicators a bit for our second night. The wind came up quite a lot, 20 plus at times. I had this nasty exposed feeling; although the barrier reef cut out the swell, it did nothing for the wind. I had visions of us dragging into the coral head close at hand. Not a lot of sleep was had by Django's fretting skipper.

Funny thing, most of the other boats left before we did. Perhaps they listen to a different forecaster. In any case, dawn brought a diminishing wind, but I was ready for a change of scene, something less prone to aggravation of my agoraphobic tendencies. The tight small spaces and green flat waters of English Harbour beckon.

English Harbour, Antigua (2)

Sunday, March 22, 2009

We have been settling in to this little enclave. It is a national park and tourists are let off their buses at the gate outside the Admiralty Inn, then make their way into the restored dockyard, now filled with boutiques and restaurants, a museum, bakery, sailloft and yacht charter operations. Inside the park, all is lovely and there are a lot of old English ex-patriot yachties, many of whom live here on their boats year round. We met Roger yesterday afternoon. He looks after boats, and I may have him take care of Django over the summer. The cost is my idea of right and, although Antigua expereince hurricanes with some regularity, English Harbour is still the safest place to be in the Caribbean. I would leave Django tied to the magroves with several anchors our astern. Roger would look in every day and make sure all is ok. His boat is parked next door to the boats he looks after. In the fall, I will haul out here and do the bottom. The more I think about it, the better I like the idea. Better than doing the 200 some odd miles back to Grendada and paying lots of money to be high and dry all summer. Django did not do all that well by it. I have just finally figured out why the starboard engine has not had a full bore of raw water cooling flowing through it. When she dried out in the summer, the shellfish life in her intake pipe died. On launch, the dead shells went up and partially blocked the heat exchanger, taking out a piece of the pump impeller on the way. You will remember I replaced the impeller in Le Marin, Martinique, on our way down to pick up Jordie. Well, it helped a bit, but still not really up to par, so I have been poking around in the cooling system, unhooking hoses, testing the flow at various points, thinking that the impeller bit had lodged somewhere, creating a blockage. I finally decided to take off the facing plate for the heat exchanger, undid the three bolts and started to wiggle it, trying fruitlessly to detach it from the engine. In the process of manhandling the beast, I discovered the there were shells in the pipe stub, lots of them. So out with the hemostat and tweezers and removed all sorts of corruption without having to remove the plate at all. No we have a good forceful bore driving out of the starboard exhaust. Alls well that ends well.

Roger is a member of the Tot Club, as is Arnold, who runs the little cafe with his wife (friend, companion??), Gay. You will remember they live aboard next door. Their relationship is unclear to me because thay have two boats, his and hers, rafted up together. Arnold is Canadian, Gay English. They have a plot of land in BC, where they go in the summer. Arnold needs to be in Canada for six months every year to preserve his various entitlements. Anyway, the Tot Club meets everyday at six, for a tot of rum. There are about 300 members, of which about 20 regularly show up to meetings. They do good deeds. They clear the trails in the park. If a member falls on hard times, they dig deep and bail him or her out. Arnold and Gay have been very helpful in getting to know the place and for introductions to useful people.

The bad news is that the new bolt picked up in Martinique will not be going into the starboard engine. This is a long and sad tale, and the Artist is patiently waiting for me to finish so we can go in to H2O for happy hour so she can show her sketches to a kindred spirit woman she met at the cafe, from England, who had an artistic business runnig for ten years until she sold up due to ill health. So the long sad tale will have to wait. Can you bear it?

English Harbour, Antigua

Thursday, March 19, 2008

Django pulled into English Harbour about 4:00 pm and did the tour of the twin inlets past Nelson's Dockyard, looking for the the most propitious spot to drop the hook for and extended stay. This is my kind of place. Mangroves line the shore, the water is calm and green, and there are all sorts of boat related enterprises all around. We picked a spot off Nelson's Dockyard, populated by some pretty funky looking vessels of various ages and conditions, many looking as if they have been here for a long time, and all looking inhabited.

I have been reading "A Shepherd's Life", by W.H. Hudson, written in 1910. One of the many depictions of country life in Wiltshire is a discussion of the gypsies. It occurs to me that Django is one of them, a nomad of the seas, a true vagabond and anarchist, crossing territories and boundaries without thought to national law or pride. The thought cheers me.

Here in English Harbour, there are many like Django, water rats, living cheap, and I like it. It reminds me so much of Mill Creek, in Bermuda, where I kept 'Weemelah', filled with boats in various stages of decay, the shore populated by squatters with horses and no paving, a decrepit boatyard at its head.


English Harbour is way more upscale, Nelson's Doockyard has some pretty high priced restaurants I intend to avoid. The port authority are in charge and charge a daily fee of about $8 EC to anchor here, less in summer when one can tie up to the mangoroves and hunker down for hurricane season. There is a great little cafe on the dock, sandwiches and pasties, run by our next door neighbours in the anchorage. We met within an hour of landing, and I think they will be a big help, especially for Alicia, who will stay alone on Django while I am away in Montreal for two weeks. Arnold has invited us over for a rum after five tomorrow.

The trip up was more or less as advertised. Today is the best day ever for making this passage, says Chris Parker. And it was pretty good. Fast and not too much sea, but every passage is hard and I am tired after the 8 hour day out on the ocean pitching and rolling around. Django is covered in salt again and not much rain in the forecast. We are down on provisions and have no bread after having passed through the wastelands of Guadeloupe and Martinique (I exagerate only a little).
Tomorrow is a day for exploration and reprovisioning. After that come some pretty interesting jobs on the starboard engine.

Oh Boy!

By the way, the photos have reappeared so I will post some with the previous entry.

Ire Ikes