Adventures and the Strike

Tuesday Night and Wednesday February 11, 2009

I think I mentioned that the wind has been blowing pretty hard lately. We were grateful to be firmly attached to a mooring in Prince Rupert Bay, Dominica, as the Designer and I discussed applied math as it relates to dress design measurements after a pretty good dinner aboard Django.

We heard a distinct clang clang of a ship's bell, quite close by, so went into the cockpit to investigate. Our German friends aboard 'Balena' seemed to have an unwelcome visitor in the way of a small cruiser laying up against her bow, the lone yatchsman fending off and calling out. I was sure the Germans would awake at any moment and help the poor man, but after a minute or two we realised the Germans were not aboard. Alicia prodded me into action. We jumped (or shall I say eased?) into the dinghy and braved the whistling wind to help our colleague in distress. His anchor had dragged, and the boat lay with Balena's mooring line caught between his propeller and the skeg rudder. He could go neither forward nor back and had been fending off off almost half and hour. He wanted us to let go the mooring and drop Balena's anchor. Not likely, I opined, envisioning both yatchs dragging down through the fleet and WW responsible for the damage. Seeing the mooring ball had a eye bolt in its top, an alternative came to mind. There was a good deal of struggle involved in attaching a new mooring line to the eye bolt, finally involving a fresh run in Boffo round the interlocked vessels to reach the ball. We put the new line to the eye bolt, over the stern of the distressed yacht, then let go the old one. The smaller boat drifted free and clear of the mooring line, and our new friend was able to engage his engine and stop the drift. After reattaching the original mooring line, A and I jumped (!?) back into Boffo and joined our beleagered co-adventurer who was not able to deal with his anchor and drive his boat at the same time. The wind whistled away thoughout. A and I raised the anchor and convinced a now much happier skipper to pick up a mooring for the night.

His name is Michel. This, perhaps, 26' older sloop is his caribbean boat, on which he spends three months alone each year, sailing out of Martinique. It is spartan inside. In France he has a larger Sparkman and Stevens racing yacht, also older, which sailed as one of three racers for France in the Admiral's Cup some years ago. He is something of an old salt, though no older than I. Years ago, he and his wife cruised the Caribbean in the S and S and fell in love with Bequia. They built a house and became Vincentians. He invited us below for a drink, no booze on board so we had water with a bit of anise syrup, and he told us his story. He was embarrassed by the dragging. Twenty five meters of chain out in 3 meters of water should have held fine, he said. He normally has no troubles sailing alone, and had come up from St. Pierre in Martinique that day, a distance of fifty miles, in a wind blowing 30-35 knots. We told him we were headed back that way in the morning. It is a strong wind, he said.

In Dominica, there is no need to clear out of customs if your stay is less than two weeks and the crew remains unchanged. First thing in the morning, we prepared for sea, dogging down all the hatches and putting away the dishes from the washing up. The passage along the lee side of Dominica was uneventful, the wind fitful and gusty off the mountains. As we approached the open water of the Martinique Passage, I could see there was more wind ahead, but was not prepared for the sudden increase in wind to over 30 knots sustained all of a sudden. Although already reefed in, we added some more rolls to the reef without too much drama and hunkered down for a wet and not very fast slog. The spray flew up from the bow and over our orange bimini at times, soaking the helmsman (guess who) and leaving sallt water dripping heavily into the cockpit. Because of the heavy sea and deep reef, we were not able to make our usual speed, and had to content ourselves with 5-6 knots. The wind was well forward of the beam and we were fortunate to be able to lay St. Pierre in one tack. The artist found the conditions a bit awesome and napped a good deal. Thoughts of making Fort de France in one go evaporated. My black cotton shirt grew stiff and streaked with white as the roaring wind dried it out in minutes after each dowsing. The sound of the wind in my ears was the dominating sensation, followed closely by the bucking and heaving of the boat. Our preparations for sea were not quite up to the conditions and A had to repack the galley. I went to the head and found the toiletries basket bottom up in the toilet. I have learned this lesson a couple of times, but still backslide between sessions of extreme weather.

We made St. Pierre by five and gratefully dropped the anchor. The camera has been put away all day, not allowed on deck because of the salt spray.

Thursday, February 12, 2009

We should have noticed it in St. Pierre, the overflowing garbage being the main clue as we arrived after closing time and walked the streets in the evening. We cleared in at the cafe down the street from the dock. In Dominica there were rumours of the situation in Guadeloupe. Everything shut by the strike.

On awakening, I stepped into the cockpit and looked down into Boffo, only to see, to my complete horror, that the plug had come out and she was knee deep in salt water, with the blue boat-paper zipper bag bobbing about in it. Maybe it's waterproof? Not the case as I lifted it up and drained a cup or two of water out through the closed zipper. The morning passed with Alicia and I peeling apart our passport pages and separating the other VERY IMPORTANT PAPERS onto a towel. Canadian passports are not designed to be soaked. The covers are glued to the inside page; the glue comes away, and the cover shrinks. There shall be no allocation of blame for the leaving of the boat papers in Boffo, but I think Whit is involved.

I went ashore to get bread in the morning, and found a long discontented line at the DeliFrance where fresh baguettes are normally available. The grocery store doors were closed except for a narrow entrance guarded, to allow only a few people in at once. The market by the dock was unchanged, and the old man in the little creole store was open as usual. I had still not twigged, but I was not about to wait for half an hour for the baguette.

We packed up and headed for Fort de France. The wind just as strong, but we in the lee of the island. Rounding the point into the Baie de Fort de France, we met the wind head on, 30-35 knots on the nose, with a very short stiff chop. Engines roaring, we pushed the last mile and a half to the anchorage at about 3 knots. Whit would have liked this part the least.

The fort at Fort de France is built on a high promontory protecting the anchorage. We tucked right in close and found some peace. First on the list is water, we have enough for two large cups of tea. Because of the wind, my thought is to cross the promontory with jerry jugs to the small sailiing club on the other side, to avoid rounding the point into the more exposed bay leading down to the club by dinghy. A and I set out an find the gate locked, so back to the dinghy and make the trip around. The water is littered with garbage, I have to steer to avoid the partialy submerged plastic bags. No one home at the sailing club, but we fill up anyway and put 20 gallons into our tank for the time being.

Alicia needs to see the fabric man at Doum2000, and I have a shopping list of things to get at Leader Price, so we set off again into Fort de France. While the dock are is normal, kids playng and swimming, people strolling, but it is Thursday afternoon, no school? The town is eerie, shut up tight everywhere. My first thought is that we are trapped and cannot clear out, so we go straight to Sea Services to find out what the story is. Their store is also shuttered, but there is a hand written sign in the door, 'Press buzzer for entry'. I press and the owner opens up. Can we clear out?? Yes. There is a hint of fear in the air, a certain furtiveness in her look. She tells me the market will be open early in the morning for a while, for fruit and vegetables. No bakery open. Thuggish men drink on the street, and Alicia is rudely accosted.

The KFC appears closed as well, two of its three doors shuttered, but it is actually serving customers. The juice place by the dock is also open. We wait for an hour to be served, me fit to be tied, the artist urging patience. My mind is made up that we will make for St. Lucia on the morrow, wind or no wind.

Friday, February 13, 2009

No mariner with an ounce of superstition will leave port on a Friday.

I have come ashore to clear out. On my way to Sea Services, I come across a roadside vendor selling bread and cake. That's a bit of luck for you. Once in to clear, I notice that not only is it Friday, it is the thirteenth. Next bit of luck, I don't actually need to clear out because we have not stayed more than three days.

Back to Django and more serious preparation for sea. The basket of toiletries goes on top of the closed toilet seat.

What a lovely day. The wind is strong, but not above 25 knots. We can carry enough sail to make an easy 7 knots. The seas in the St. Lucia Passage are large, but we take in very little spray. Alicia steers for a while.

Into Rodney Bay, it's straight to the fuel dock to top up diesel and fill our water tanks, then anchor close to the beach to see if we can get some internet. All is well, although my to do list is still as long as one of the Designer's long dresses. I have not cracked a book of plucked a guitar string in days.

So much for superstition.