I believe that Dominica may not be the best place to spend a long time. The artist and I arrived to the moorings tucked up in the NE corner of Prince Rupert Bay about 3:30 pm, after having been met by Titus about three miles back, offering services, including a trip up the Indian River the next morning bright and early so as to avoid the traffic coming from the Roseau cruise ship people. We found ourselves between our German friends on the port side and Belair, whom we had met briefly in Roseau, a Bermuda boat. Several of the local guide and security patrol guys motored up to welcome us, offer service and try to sell us tickets to the barbeque by the beach bar.
I was not enthusiastic, having found a man in a boat to sell me 3 lbs of king fish for supper. The beach barbeque was for a good cause, to renew the security association's RIB dinghy they use to patrol at night, and Alicia was keen, so we motored in to the dinghy dock by the bar, swells lifting and dropping the several boats competing for space at the end of the rickety dock. Down anchor and lock up to the end of the dock, we are early and have a preferred spot.
A and I were bit apprehensive, we were the first there and it took a while before others straggled in from there yachts in the bay. By 7:15, the end of the dock was alive with rubber dinghies surging in the swell and the party began. Barbeque chicken and fish, salads and rice cooked with pumpkin, and rum punch or beer. The near full moon was well risen over the mountains to the east. All the members of the guide and security association were there, helping out and chatting up the cruisers. The place filled right up and we found ourselves seated with the Belair crew. A New Zealander, he came to Bermuda to work with Kevin Horsfield at Horsfield Tree Farms. I new Kevin from sailing. She works in the Department of Health and worked with Shirley Higgs; Jack and Shirley were good friends of Louise (the artist's mum) and I in Bermuda. Straining against the blast of reggae music, I learned they bought their boat in 2002 in New Zealand, and have been working their way East ever since. Up to Hawaii, Alaska, Vancouver and the islands, on down the coast into S. America, around Cape Horn and back up the East coast. So it was old home week. She went out with 'Wip Woaring Wussel', my ex's cousin. So funny. Alicia could relate too.
After dinner (mine a bit abbreviated by a small shower of beach sand falling on my head and plate from the bar upstairs), the DJ called for dancing. He had a bank of speakers big enough to cover my cockpint and main saloon together. His selection was good and, in the pungent air, mostly everybody got up and danced, including most of our diligent security and guide people.
The Security Force have this fundraiser every Sunday night, so one would presume that the thieves, all good catholics, do not sin on Sundays. Our hosts enjoy a party. A and I met Jeffrey, the president of the association. He is doing well and has several boats doing guiding and taxiing. We asked him about our guide, Titus and got a bit a blank stare. He said all the guides should show you their licence. He didn't know Titus. This was a cause for thought, and mulling a while, who should I bump into but Titus himself, and he is introducing Fire, who is the licenced guide who will take us upriver early in the morning. Now it turns out that Fire and my old Bermudian sailmaker friend Steven Hollis go back a long way. I knew and liked Steven and his wife Jenny very well and we had another old home week right there and then. Anyway, too much fun was had by all. Fire told me next day that they have a Friday night party for something else, and that that night, the bar at the head of the river is having their regular fulll moon party, and that there is something else every Wednesday, ALL YEAR ROUND!
I think Whit would like it here. I find myself a little worried. A is plotting land buying strategies.
I was not enthusiastic, having found a man in a boat to sell me 3 lbs of king fish for supper. The beach barbeque was for a good cause, to renew the security association's RIB dinghy they use to patrol at night, and Alicia was keen, so we motored in to the dinghy dock by the bar, swells lifting and dropping the several boats competing for space at the end of the rickety dock. Down anchor and lock up to the end of the dock, we are early and have a preferred spot.
A and I were bit apprehensive, we were the first there and it took a while before others straggled in from there yachts in the bay. By 7:15, the end of the dock was alive with rubber dinghies surging in the swell and the party began. Barbeque chicken and fish, salads and rice cooked with pumpkin, and rum punch or beer. The near full moon was well risen over the mountains to the east. All the members of the guide and security association were there, helping out and chatting up the cruisers. The place filled right up and we found ourselves seated with the Belair crew. A New Zealander, he came to Bermuda to work with Kevin Horsfield at Horsfield Tree Farms. I new Kevin from sailing. She works in the Department of Health and worked with Shirley Higgs; Jack and Shirley were good friends of Louise (the artist's mum) and I in Bermuda. Straining against the blast of reggae music, I learned they bought their boat in 2002 in New Zealand, and have been working their way East ever since. Up to Hawaii, Alaska, Vancouver and the islands, on down the coast into S. America, around Cape Horn and back up the East coast. So it was old home week. She went out with 'Wip Woaring Wussel', my ex's cousin. So funny. Alicia could relate too.
After dinner (mine a bit abbreviated by a small shower of beach sand falling on my head and plate from the bar upstairs), the DJ called for dancing. He had a bank of speakers big enough to cover my cockpint and main saloon together. His selection was good and, in the pungent air, mostly everybody got up and danced, including most of our diligent security and guide people.
The Security Force have this fundraiser every Sunday night, so one would presume that the thieves, all good catholics, do not sin on Sundays. Our hosts enjoy a party. A and I met Jeffrey, the president of the association. He is doing well and has several boats doing guiding and taxiing. We asked him about our guide, Titus and got a bit a blank stare. He said all the guides should show you their licence. He didn't know Titus. This was a cause for thought, and mulling a while, who should I bump into but Titus himself, and he is introducing Fire, who is the licenced guide who will take us upriver early in the morning. Now it turns out that Fire and my old Bermudian sailmaker friend Steven Hollis go back a long way. I knew and liked Steven and his wife Jenny very well and we had another old home week right there and then. Anyway, too much fun was had by all. Fire told me next day that they have a Friday night party for something else, and that that night, the bar at the head of the river is having their regular fulll moon party, and that there is something else every Wednesday, ALL YEAR ROUND!
I think Whit would like it here. I find myself a little worried. A is plotting land buying strategies.
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