A Cruise through Guadeloupe, Part two.

At 2:45 am K's cell phone alarm went off. Between setting the alarm and it going off, the phone had reset the its time to local. At 3:45 am, my watch alarm went off, and we arose to a full overcast underlit by the lights of Point a Pitre a few miles distant to the South. K made some coffee while the rest of us carefully unanchored fore and aft, and set off slowly down the river towards the first lift bridge. We had conflicting times for the opening, either 4:30 am or 5:00 am, depending on the source. As we came near the bridge, we saw the operator cross in his car and park by the side, then walk slowly to his cabin and turn on the lights; 4:30 it is. The opening is fairly narrow, but not as tough as we had expected. Perhaps in a strong trade, the navigation might be a bit trickier, but we had no trouble at all. It is another 20 minutes down to the bridge at Pointe a Pitre, then out through the shallow harbour, past the container port to the West and anchor down outside the Pointe a Pitre marina and a breakfast of bakon and eggs. Then we went back to bed.

The morning weather was gloomy and wet, blowing hard. A cold front had settled over Guadeloupe, a first in my experience. As we considered dinghying in to the marina to make our official 'clearance', the lovely 42 ft sloop next to us set off dragging her anchor, crossing the main ship channel and continuing on into the shallows on the other side. There was little we could do but report the drift to the marina office. As we landed the dinghy, we passed the owner and his wife coming out. When we returned to Django later in the afternoon, the sloop was back in her proper place.

The Marina at Pointe a Pitre has an abundance of restaurants, shops and grocery stores. The road from the marina into town is depressing, run down, dumpy. One hovel is painted with red text announcing the ascendency of the Crips.

Once through this purgatory, the town center is gay, with a great fish and vegetable market on the edge in the square inner harbour. We had a sandwich and beer close by, between showers of rain. We plan our sail the next day the the Saintes, hoping for better weather, although the wind is in a good direction, if a bit strong. In the evening, we come into the marina to dine in the restaurant. The heavens open as we eat and the rain eases before we dinghy back out in the gloom, lit by the bright lights of the container port across the way. Many large ships come in and go out, passing close by us anchored just off the channel.

Next morning dawned with holes in the slid overcast, sun bursting through. Whit and I dinghied in to the fish market early to find lobsters for the grill for our first evening in Les Saintes. We found four beauties at exorbitant price, and palced them in our new cold bag, a gift from Frisha and Whit, with some ice and came back to prepare for sea.

Out through the ship channel, the to port, staying outside the drop off to avoid the fish pots, we had a great sail down to the Saintes, some 20 miles to the South west. Big seas and a strong breeze aft of the beam, with the sun often breaking through the clouds, hopefully trailing our fishing lure astern, we enjoyed this sail very much.

Les Saintes is a beautiful little archipelago South of Basseterre, the remains of a small volcano. There are several entrances to the inner harbour at Bourg Les Saintes on Terre de Haut. We burst past the green mark at the northeastern entrance and hooke a small mackerel as we carreened past the mark. We met a Quebecer from Montreal, who saw us coming in and remarked on the sight we made. It is hard to anchour by the bourg. We tried twice to the left of the ferry dock, but ended up to close to the others; we tried to the right and ended up outside the boundary marks. Finally we set the hook between to yellow cross markers and decided this was good enough.

Dinner was a major event, fresh pumpkin and ginger soup follwed by lobsters on the grill with rum butter sauce, sun chokes and a salad with fresh baguettes. It was a dark and windy evening as we put the lobsters on to grill and retired below to enjoy the soup. K remarked on how she found the giant motor yacht coming into view astern objectionable, as I came to realise that we should not be seeing said yacht from our anchored position at all. A quick check from the cockpit confirmed that we were no longer attached to the bottom of the bay.

What fun we had, upping anchor between courses, quick checks on the grilling lobsters and motoring around the bay in the pitch dark, looking for a better set. Coincident with the removal of the lobsters, the hook went down and set hard. They were done to perfection and a somewhat rattled crew returned below to the second course of a wonderful meal.

'Nuf for now.

A Cruise through Guadeloupe, Part one.

Frisha and Whit arrived more or less on time on Thursday afternoon, Jan 21, in time to stow their gear and enjoy a sundown rum punch in Django's cockpit before dinghiing over to Johnny Coconat's for a delicious pizza on the waterside. We laid out the plan: Friday out to Green Island on Antigua's Southeast corner to pick up a better line into Guadeloupe's central bight, and the town of Port Louis; a day in the shallows snorkling and lolling, then a night in the mangroves in the Riviere Salee which divides Grand Terre from Basse Terre and leads into the city of Pointe a Pitre on the South coast; a broad reach down the south east shore of Grand Terre to the islands of The Saints to spend a couple of days, then up the west coast to Deshaies before the 42 mile slog back up to English Harbour, where on Saturday evening we would take them to the Tot at 6:00 pm.

Friday worked out as expected, wind out of the East, and an hour or so bash into it to Green Island. Great barbeque of spare ribs for dinner and anticipations of a fine reach down to Guadeloupe on the morrow. Whit was beginning to cause trouble already. Our head, which has been the center of a great deal of attention, thought and work, began to repeat its reflux bad habits. Its hard to know precisely what Whit did to cause this annoyance, but given his history, we are sure he is involved somehow.

Then he managed to screw up the weather. The trade winds, which blow dependably out of the East day in and day out, failed. We left Green Island in a very light South breeze, motoring toward Guadeloupe. Our new Volvo-Penta folding props worked very well, and the weather was grand, but not quite right. We pulled into Port Louis and after abortive attempts to anchor off the beach, we pulled into the seawalled harbour and set anchors bow and stern close to the entrance for the night. There is a very good fish market, still open at 17:00, where we picked up some red hind (grand gueule) for supper. A brief walk up and down the main drag revealed a very quiet town, mostly closed up for the day. This is not a haven for tourists or yachtsmen, but there are a lot of solid fishermen.

Sunday morning broke clear and flat calm. After breakfast, we made our way down towards the entrance to the marshy shallows which stretch for miles out from the entrance to the Riviere Salee. We started up the channel, then sheered off to starboard near tiny Isle Colas, to drop the hook in shallow water and explore the shallows and the shores of the mangrove island Isle a Fajot. I had hoped to find oysters in the mangroves, but the water is crystal clear, no food for the oyster. It is a sparkling gorgeous place in the bright sun. After swimming and lunch, we made our way down to the entrance of the river and began scouting for a suitable place to anchor for the night. There are two lift bridges on the river (not really a river, but a salt water channel in the mangroves running North South).


They open only once per day, early in the morning. Moving South, the first bridge opens at 4:30 am. We scouted the river down to the bridge and settled on a spot at the entrance to a bayou some 15 minutes North of the bridge. After some messing about and getting stuck in the mud, we set anchors fore and aft, safely out of the main channel. Now this is the spot for oysters. The mangrove flat oysters, which cling to the mangove roots in the same way as mussels, are abundant. Less common, but far sweeter and tastier are a small oytser, in the shape of the northern oyserts but smaller, which grow on the roots and hold on by depositing shell material and cementing themselves solidly. This was our quarry.

With Frisha and K in charge of moving Boffo around, I was the hunter. After messing around in very shallow muddy water and digging the prop into the mud too many times, I suggested we paddle to the likely spots. With grumbling crew, we headed in and spotted the oysters. The crew had to push hard to get Boffo close into the roots where I could pick off the oysters and throw them into the bucket. There were a few no-seeum; my adreniline level must have been a tad high from the thrill of the hunt, as they didn't bother me much. Not so with the motive crew, who, after 10 or 12 minutes of vain swatting and swearing, mutinied and demanded return to Django. We had a pretty good haul, but I was keen to continue and Whit offered to replace the bedraggled crew, so off we went again. Of course, having Whit on board was not the blessing it might appear. We went to a spot where there was not one of the desired species of oyster, and where the no-seeums were so fierce that even I had to concede defeat.

We returned post haste to Django just in time to see rum punches pouring into ice filled glasses, and set to scrubbing and shucking oysters. With a drop of lime and perhaps a hint of hot sauce, these little oysters are wonderful.

Enough for now, more later.

English Harbour

Watermaking, inter alia.

Antigua is wet and rainy this morning, a blessing for this parched nation.

We hear tales of drought here, the reservoir will dry up by the end of the month. After spending three weeks in the frozen North, no sun in sight for weeks on end, the sun and warmth on our return Friday was a blessing. As we upped the anchors, we covered Django in grey sticky mud, so off to the fuel dock for water to fill the tanks and rinse her off. We did buy some beer as well, but not enough to justify the bill of EC$350, a staggering sum.

While away for Christmas, I looked into how to get my Pur Survivor 35 watermaker up and running. Watermakers have reverse osmosis membranes which must either be used every day, or be pickled in a growth inhibiting chemical, so as not to clog up with algal flora. Ours was in the pickled state when we bought the boat in Jan 2008. The note on the intake filter said she was put into storage on August 7, 2007. The watermaker has been low on my list of things I need to become an expert at, so it has remained much as we found it. A bit of reading on the Katadyn watermaker internet site revealed that Pur was taken over by Katadyn some years ago, that the maximum safe storage period for a membrane is twelve months, and that I would be able to order up spare parts and a new membrane, to be delivered in Montreal before we left for Antigua. So that's what we did.

The Pur 35 is squeezed into a small space beside the starbord water tank. I would take a picture for you, but we have left the camera behind in Montreal. This is a challenge for me, although not for K, who has been unable to reliably upload photos to her blog, and to whom the lack of a camera may be felt less keenly. I will have to make up with verbal accuity.

I was daunted by the apparant difficulty of accessing our Pur Survivor 35, but not enough to make me read the instructions which came with the membrane right away. Dicking around is always more fun. Anyway, the thing was done, the pre-filter drained, washed and reassembled, and the switch thrown; I watched the first product pee slowly out into a bottle as a test sample. I let the bottle fill several times to clear the pickle juice and flush the lines, then shut down and tasted the result. Pure clean salt water, so that didn't work. After the second try at disassembly of the membrane, I twigged that one of the O-rings on the new membrane assembly was damaged. Luckily, I had ordered the spare parts kit as well and found a suitable replacement. Now it works, and K and I are getting used to the low level heartbeat of the pump as it squeezes out a thimbleful of pure fresh water with each cycle.

English Harbour is full. We are squeezed in close to shore with an anchor set off the stern to keep us from swinging onto the rocks. Terry is always useful. He tells me he set a mooring in Freemans Bay, just the other side of the harbour entrance, under the lee of Shirley Heights, which has not been used for years. It is a Perkins 4-236 diesel engine, the very thing we had aboard Weemelah in Bermuda and plenty large enough to hold Django. He says we can use it if we can find it in 6 to 8 feet of water. That's another project, such fun. It would be good to have all set up and ready to go before Frisha and Whit arrive on Friday.

The price of oil has been dropping off; a very good thing, in my opinion, although I would like it to fall another few dollars, if it please the powers that be. Next week will tell. There is really no good reason for it to be so high. I have been reading "The Wayfinders, Why Ancient Wisdom Matters in the Modern World" by Wade Davis, produced as a series of lectures and presented as the "2009 Massey Lectures" across Canada. Really good stuff!

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.