We were quick to leave and take her up to Jolly Harbour ready for checking out.  On the way we found her sluggish and less than responsive due to growth.  At 2,500 revs I was only making 4.0 knots over ground whereas I would normally achieve 5.5 knots.  As we were walking around Jolly Marina Carlotta suggested that we could have her hauled out now instead of in America; I could not agree more.  We visited the yard on the night we arrived and were booked for 10:00 the following morning.

Jolly Harbour was a great choice as the yard staff were all kind and extremely knowledgeable.  We were ready the next morning by the crane and at 10:30 she was being lifted out after 6,700 sea miles and 9 months on the water.   It was true; she was very fouled with all sorts of marine growth clinging to her belly.  We had also noticed a strange vibration on the propeller shaft, which we had put down to the rope cutter.  This was the case as two of the supporting washers that keep the blade in-line had completely deteriorated; it was time to completely remove the rope cutter and instead fix another anode on the shaft as we had already lost the end shaft anode and I could already sea electrolysis occurring on the end of the propeller; thank God we took her out now instead of later.

After a spray down she was settled into her stands and the work progressed, first to clean up the prop and the second to sand her down.  I hate antifouling but the worst part of it has to be the sanding.  As we had used a European Antifoul that could not be brought over here I had to strip her paint right back to primer.  Here is the most useful piece of information I can give here.  If you want to Antifoul your boat buy the antifoul in St Martins or America.  We paid for a gallon of Seahawk (heavy stuff) 10,71 EC, which works out to be £300 per tin, we needed two so already the antifoul was double the cost of the haul out, which was very cheap.

We did the necessary work and I even painted the Hydrovane rudder, which manages to get fouled every two weeks.  The total cost came to £900, which includes the yard fees and paint, a little more than I expected, but she looks good and will hopefully sail much faster than before.  The good thing about taking your yacht out in Jolly is that you have a great Supermarket 5 minuets away and the best beach in Antigua 10 minutes away so when the heat of the day was too much we would just head to the beach to cool down before continuing work on Troskala.

Again, I cannot sing the praises of the staff any more.  Everyday a gentleman would come over to gave advise and help for free, it made the cost just about bearable.  After 5 days on the hard Troskala was launched looking like new and with no vibrations coming from the shaft.

The finished article

As luck would have it, with the bay here having emptied considerably and with acres of sea space around us, all very convenient for a quick clean getaway tomorrow- 2 boats have just come in and each tried to drop their hooks right over our anchor. Well,  the last one not quite that close, but with a small wind-shift that would have been the case, certainly. The other one loved our company so much that before I shot forward to the bows, and tried to explain about our dawn departure, and that we would be banging on his hull around 5.30 am, if he didn’t kindly move now – of  which he understood not a word, apparently – his boat was all but sitting on our bridle.   And despite my repeated (and very congenial) hollerings, explaining the situation, assisted by a lot of pantomime gestures to boot, it  took a while for monsieur-on-anchor-duty to convince madame-on helm-duty that slinging their hook elsewhere might be in their own interests as well as ours.  But a wild-haired duchess who steadfastly maintains her stance on the bows of the boat only feet away from where you’ve plonked your stern is something of a convincer.  A body-language that is totally intercontinental. No translation required.  Merci! I hollered as their windlass began its weary clatter, and their chain clunked noisily back into the locker.   And they shuffled off to starboard giving Butterfly enough sea space to make life sweet once more … until the second boat arrived and also fenced us in.  I left Dick to deal with that one.

Anyhoo, Saint Martin (Sint Maarten,  for those who visit the Dutch half of the island) is, we hope, to be but a brief stepping stone on this year’s cruising path. Ha! – that said, m’dears, with all fingers crossed; alas, we don’t hold our breath: based on past experience, it has a notorious glue-like tenacity, does SXM, always keeping us captive far far longer than we ever plan or wish.

Why? Well, because of its very attractive lack of import duty and excellent freight services from the USA, SXM is a wallet-kindly place to order in parts and goods.  And if all goes well, the wait for those goodies to arrive can be short – or- when gremlins interrupt the flow as they invariably seem to here (like parts ordered being out of stock, as happened last year) – frustratingly long.  This year we have taken no chances and ordered stuff required well ahead. And only when notified of its recent arrival in SXM,  have we made any plans to sail there and collect.

SXM, good for importing parts on the one hand, is unfortunately bad – very, very bad – for wifi availability on the boat.  So before we disappear into the cyber blackhole of Marigot Bay, or manage to organise a commercial connection to a wifi hot spot in the lagoon, I wanted first to upload a final salute of pixellations in homage to the loveliness of Antigua, while we still have wifi, here at Jolly Harbour. The following is just a small medley of shots – new material – mostly taken on our morning walks. I hope you enjoy.  And if you haven’t already visited Antigua, then perhaps these may just persuade you to come and discover first-hand her picture postcard loveliness.  And for those sailors amongst you, who go jelly-knee’d and all unnecessary when up close and personal to some of the world’s finest classics and racing yachts, then book your flight fast – April, with the Classics and Racing weeks,  is the best month for all that scrumptious Antiguan boat porn.

Ah – nearly forgot: I also have a few shots of some new pals, I’d like to introduce. If time allows I’ll dig these off the SD card and add them too a little later tonight.  If you find they aren’t here, as you read this, then take it as read, Her Aboard has succumbed to drooping peepers and has snucked away with Him Aboard to try and get some shut-eye before that indecently early start tomorrow.

Off to find that card right now …

… and here they are, chaps:

Finally, ‘time for bed,’ said Zebedee (and Karen) … night y’all!

zzzzzzzzzzzz

In fact, time indeed to hop aboard Butterfly, hoik her hook out of Falmouth Harbour seabed, and set sail for Antigua’s west coast.  Depending on that contrary old bugger, Mr Wind, of course, we should be safely nestled outside Jolly Harbour within a couple of hours. Or thereabouts.  Let’s show you …

So … ready for the off?

Good!

Hook is safely home, engines fired and we’re weaving our way through the field of anchored boats, out into the channel. See how smooth the ride? No ugly swell today, huzzah!  Yet look ahead, and there on the shimmering horizon, a froth of white capping the occasional wave.  So … Sun shining? check! Fair breeze blowing? check! Sea behaving kindly and the deepest of blue? check!  Ha! Amazing what a little Butterfly and Barnacle cyber magic can organise.

Time then to wave a cheery ta-ta to our posh yacht-totty neighbours, and slap on those caps and shades.

Coming out of Falmouth, now, out into the open sea.  Can you feel that wind freshen? Out still further until Butterfly is well clear of the harbour entrance – and the wind, still a little swirly, begins to settle aft of the beam.  But today is not for racing; today is  for lazy-bugger sailing. So we’ll leave the main slumbering in its bag, roll out a barber-hauled jib, and  coast westwards towards Old Road Bluff.

After that we could, of course, play ultra-safe and leave Middle Reef and Cades Reef (on the south-western corner) to starboard, keeping to deeper water, but let’s opt, instead, for the Goat Head passage between Middle Reef and Antigua’s south-west coast.  We’ve sailed this route several times before and it’s perfectly safe if you keep one eye on the sea and one on the chart-plotter.  The only hazard we ever encountered being neither rock nor reef, but an on-coming small yacht under full sail, whose skipper decided to tack clean across our bows at the very last moment. A chap of highly questionable ancestry of course. But not today. Today,  we’re joined only by passing skiffs and the odd fishing pirogue – all regulars to this strip of water.

By the way, look overboard, and check out the water here, and now and then you’ll spot, dark and graceful, the undulating outline of a ray. Other fish too … big fish grazing among weed and rock and coral. And when you’re tired of that, perhaps get out those cameras and see if you can capture the ethereal beauty of Montserrat, mistily silhouetted against the Caribbean sky, to port.

Oddly enough, it’s only after we leave the Goat Head Passage, things get theoretically hairy.  I say ‘theoretically’ because if you look at the chart-plotter now, you’ll see we’re coasting through water less than a metre deep. You’ve gone a little white … are you waiting for the crunch? Ha! Yes, the first time we did it, we held our breath too. And if we hadn’t seen other boats take this very route – boats we knew to have a greater draught than Butterfly – and seen them emerge unscathed, we’d have been far too loathe to chance it.  Here, fortunately, it is our chart that is definitely wrong; it’s inaccuracy, happily, in the right direction.

Almost there now. Count those small islets ahead … one, two, three, four, five. See them? To the immediate north of those lies the pragmatically-named Five Islands Anchorage. And to the immediate south, our destination.  A shame the wind deserted us earlier and we had to furl the jib. But this western run is along Antigua’s leeward coast, and with us being so close to shore, too little wind is to be expected.

Now the anchorage comes into closer view.  Our usual wont is to find a spot, uncluttered by other boats, and drop the hook there. An uninterrupted view of the horizon when chilling in the cockpit, ever the prize. But today, we’ll be a little more social, and head inshore a little further.

So bows pointing now to the first set of channel markers bobbing just ahead, a slow pootle while we eyeball for a suitable spot among the swaying yachts.  Ah, there – that will do! That wave just beyond the second green marker, the one with Chez Butterfly and Crew etched in dancing sunlight. (Heck, did I really write that?  I did? Alas , too much Butterfly and Barnacle cyber dust and you suddenly morph into Barbara Cartland).

So hook down, cold beers out, it is time, m’dears, to leave you to soak up the lovely, zen-like scenery. The stars of the show being, of course, the astonishingly turquoise waters and the vast canopy of fabulous, ever-changing skyscapes.  Look close and you’ll see the water here is absolutely milky-thick with tiny particles of sand and shell. Each particle a tiny mirror, reflecting sunlight … or something like that. (Did you know, I have a PhD in Karenscience-ology?).

Linger here a day or several, and you’ll have memories like this to soothe the ruffled noodle …

So time then, m’dears, to help yourself to another cold beer, rum, whatever you find in Butterfly’s cooler, and indulge in a little Ommmm …

Blame ‘Cruiseheimers’ for such vagueness. Whatever the date, it feels like a very long time ago, I know that. But it is only now, almost a fortnight later, here outside Jolly Harbour, Antigua, that we find ourselves with wifi on the boat. Hence the delay in updating this blog.

Just prior to that shot, we had provisioned our last at Rodney Bay’s IGA supermarket, checked the weather was still good for an overnight to Les Saintes, and cleared out with Customs and Immigration. By 3.30 that same Sunday afternoon (and it was definitely a Sunday, I am sure of that), with a temporary absence of jet-skiers zimming themselves into frothy lathers, and a soon-to-be somewhat traumatised little triggerfish hovering beneath his kingdom of Butterfly’s starboard hull, we were good to go.

Sid (Sid being the triggerfish – see here if you want to know more) had become a regular member of the Butterfly crew. Ever vigilant in his defence of her territory, ever ready to dart out and greet us when we returned to her in the dinghy. I am not kidding, I promise you. Every time I tried to rinse laundry in the sea off the sugar scoop, Sid was there at my fingertips – literally. Every time we dinghied up to his sugar scoop to tie off – for that’s how he saw it, as his property – Sid scooted out to greet us, darting nervously in his excitement or aggression, or possibly both, between the shelter of the scoop and the dink’s bow. What a shock then, for the poor little bugger, to find, this lazy, peaceful, otherwise unremarkable Sunday afternoon, that his world or that which formed the canopy and outer limits of such, was suddenly and very rudely removed. When, the following morning, we hooked up to a mooring ball in Petit Anse, Terre d’en Haut (Les Saintes) some 75 miles distant from St Lucia, I was half-expecting a knackered and very irate Sid to pop out from under the starboard scoop. Alas, no show.

Now, Sid aside, I love the prospect of sailing off to other places – as does Him Aboard. Once you have officially checked out, the flow of adrenaline quickens, and the push is on to get everything ready for the journey ahead. Neither of us say much, each busy with our own preparations; the routine so well founded, discussion is unnecessary. This time, after almost 7 weeks in St Lucia, we were absolutely chomping at the bit to be away to pastures blue.

The weather forecast was kindly for an overnight journey to Les Saintes, bar a predicted northerly swell. Bashing into swell isn’t jolly. The reality proved even kinder than the forecast – no northerly swell transpired, in fact, there was hardly a swell at all. And the icing on the cake? A full moon that conveniently rose even as the sun slipped low on the western horizon in a ball of blazing apricot fire.

Moonlight sailing in fair winds and flat seas is just fabulous – a gloriously satisfying, shiversome treat. Unfortunately, the camera never quite manages to capture the ethereal other-worldliness of lunar light at sea, so apologies for the poor quality of my attempts here, but those who have experienced it first hand will know the magic of its moving, ghostly luminence.

For the entire night, we were thoroughly spoiled. Between islands, Butterfly slipping fast and seamlessly through the inky spangling sea, and even a slow-cruising pleasure palace to keep us company a while till we left it far behind in our wake. Even in the very light airs in the lee of Martinique and Dominica, she coasted smoothly along, the engines only very rarely being required.

Arriving early the next morning at Les Saintes, we picked up a mooring ball at Petit Anse, Terre d’en Haut, and tidied the boat. Then a well-deserved zizz.

Les Saintes, a tiny gaggle of utterly charming French islands are a delight. And fabulous walking territory, too. The highest point on the main island, Terre d’en Haut,  is Le Chameau (the camel).

Later that first day, sprawled out in Butterfly’s cockpit, and looking up at its lofty peak on the shore to starboard, we decided it was worth an early morning rise to climb it before the sun rose too high to fry.

Now we are considerably fitter these days, thanks to our habit of morning walks over hilly terrain, so very early the following day, we dinked ashore and strolled out from town, then headed up and up and up … and up and up some more … and, a little slower now – up – and bloodyhellthisishard – up, up, up again! According to the signpost, we covered a total of 309 metres of vertiginous up,up, up. Here is Him Aboard at the summit, enjoying a rest after the fruits of his labours.

The view from le Chameau is heady stuff, and a worthy reward for the tired trekker.

We took our fill of scenic candy, and toasted our efforts with ice-cold water. Refreshment for hard walks like this is a sports bottle a-piece, each filled to the brim with clinking icecubes, the spaces between cubes filled with tooth-tinglingly chilled water. By the time we had reached the top of Chameau, despite the intensifying sun, some of the ice still hadn’t melted. Isn’t it quietly wonderful that simple, unadulterated iced water, after a sustained hard slog uphill, becomes finest ambrosial nectar.

With so much fine scenery on tap, we were spoiled for choice and walked every morning that week, always somewhere new, always somewhere charming. Even the uphill traipse to Fort Napoléon is rolling loveliness for the most part.

However, just as every ointment has its fly; every Eden its spoiling snake, Les Saintes literally buzzes – not with flies – but scooters. The walk up to Le Chameau was, I think, the only route untroubled by the intrusive and insistent phut-phut-phut of weaving 2-strokes. As a form of transport, you can understand their suitability to the narrow streets and hilly terrain of Bourg des Saintes, but for those travelling via Shanksy’s Pony, like us, be prepared to duck and weave a bit till you leave the town some way in the distance.

If you want further reading on Les Saintes, click here for a piece I wrote back in May 2010 – for this is our second visit. A second visit that opened up new vistas and gave us an even greater appreciation for these islands. And we still haven’t explored Terre d’en Bas or Ilet a Cabrit as yet. As is the way, it can take several visits to really know an island. Suffice to say, Les Saintes are very popular and, in my view, with much justification.

After 5 days of rural gallic charm and prettiness, it was time to push north once more. A day sail, this one, to Antigua, one of my favourite haunts. The forecast for south-east winds, 14-16 knots, boded well. So we slipped our mooring  – one of the most practical ball arrangements we’ve come across to date – and, on Saturday 2nd March, as the sun reclaimed the sky, headed out to sea once more.

If our overnight sail to Les Saintes was even better than the forecast, the day sail to Antigua was rather less so. Inconveniently, the wind hadn’t read the script. After a promisingly breezy skip to the southern coast of Guadeloupe, it faded dramatically as we turned and struck north along the western shore. Then it blew, lightly, very, very lightly, and utterly contrarily from the south west. Our decision to keep on what is usually the leeward side of Guadeloupe’s butterfly, turned out to be a good one. For now the leeward had become the windward, and in winds this light, we needed every bit of windward puff we could salvage. But even that meagre offering skinnied out till there was no wind what-so-bloody-ever. Nada. Not a puff. So on with the iron sail it had to be, and an ensuing steady and very boring chug. Neither of us like motoring, and certainly not for a prolonged period. But hey, the scenery was as gorgeous as ever and even the mirror-like sea, a very pleasing visual distraction.

It was only as we had Antigua’s southerly harbours – Falmouth and English – well within view, that the wind finally returned. Off with that motor! Out with those sails! And for our final approach we flew merrily along, one very happy Butterfly slipping silkily through the waves. Not quite enough wind to match that earlier overnight jaunt to Les Saintes, when we breezed along at 10 and a half knots for a lengthy spell (and that with reefed main), but good enough. Butterfly’s ability to lick smoothly along in light airs is a real joy.

As the day drew to a close, we dropped the hook in Falmouth Harbour – as usual, amid a glamorous gathering of the world’s superyachts. Just a short dink ride ahead of us, the five outrageously contoured masts of the Maltese Falcon glinting in the afternoon sunshine. Later, a new neighbour joining us, to spangle the velvet sky with glittering diamante lights. And always, there In the distance beyond our port bow, a confetti of red anchor lights beaming out into the blackness, each a-top masts that topped 100ft. Call me shallow, but I love the razzamatazz of Antigua yachting!

Clearing into Falmouth is always easier than Jolly Harbour, where they insist you must take your boat along side. Falmouth is also better positioned for interesting walking jaunts than Jolly. And an early morning hike to Shirley Heights, but a short distance from Falmouth, is a must, if you want to give the ticker and legs a bit of an airing and gain some aerial shots of the pretty, yacht-strewn bays below.

That I managed to lose the camera’s circular polariser on the return trip from the Heights was something of a bummer, but it didn’t stop me taking photos. Like this one …

As an aside, if you want to improve the quality of your holiday snaps, especially if that holiday is by water or in sunny climes, then a circular polariser is an absolute must.  It is very easy to operate, but you must learn how to use it effectively. More on that later.

Three days of Falmouth, and we were out of food, out of wifi and ready to find both in the vicinity of the remarkable, shimmering turquoise waters outside Jolly Harbour, on Antigua’s west coast. Which is where we are now. Tomorrow, we won’t be. Tomorrow another forecasted enthusiastic northerly swell could make things very un-Jolly. But tomorrow must be a blog post for another day … wifi allowing.

So till then, chums, time to bring this to a wrap with a scattering of other photos taken along the way …

See y’all later.

There are the laid-back Caribbean vacations that involve nothing more than a beach chair and a tropical drink. But Irvina Lew traveled to the island of Antigua in search of more active adventures on both land and sea.

Read more …

Holly Edgell, St. Louis (2012)

How does a work of literature become beloved? This question is especially interesting to me, as over the last two decades or so, young people have gotten used to having an almost unlimited menu of entertainment options from which to choose.

My own theory – based on nothing more than my own love of reading – is that compelling characters will always resonate with audiences. Margery Laing (nee Fairweather) saw this first-hand recently on a visit to Dominica, when she talked about Zee Edgell’s Beka Lamb with students at a local convent school. Margery was visiting the island at the invitation of old friends, and met a teacher named Daria Sorhaindo who was about to start teaching the book. She promptly invited Margery to come to her class to answer questions about Belize and the book.

Here is how Margery described that visit to me:

“… (T)he students had very little time to prepare. Yet when I arrived there at 1.30 pm they were quite ready and eager, seated at their desks in their dark blue skirts and white shirts, notebooks open and questions clearly written out in preparation for our discussion.

When I asked the teacher what she thought was the “hook” for these students she felt it was the character of Toycie that they identified with most – a bright, ambitious young woman who had “fallen.” And remember the setting of a Catholic school is one they live every day. Those students were clearly not being controlled by the teacher. They spoke with knowledge and confidence and passion about issues in the book. There was no doubt that they had read and had read carefully.”

Margery also told me that a Jamaican teacher working in New York, upon learning she was a Belizean, shared that Beka Lamb was her favorite book. Doneshia Gordon continues to use the book in her New Rochelle High School classes. When I was teaching journalism at Florida A&M University a few years ago, a Jamaican student named Shelli Green was ecstatic to learn that I was the daughter of Zee Edgell. She spent some time in my office telling me about the impact Beka Lamb had on her life.

Beka Lamb has been continuously in print since it first appeared in 1982. It has been required reading for CXC-takers around the Caribbean, and is on syllabi for university literature courses around the world. In May 2008, my mother and I traveled to France at the invitation of a professor at the University of Paris. Her graduate students presented insightful and impressive papers (in English) about Beka Lamb and my mother’s other books at a conference. I was so moved, and I know my mother was as well, when the students concluded that Belize was the central character in the work of Zee Edgell.

My mother wrote Beka Lamb so that, in her words, she could “document the Belize of the 1950s for future generations of Belizeans.” She didn’t write the book for the world, but the world found it. She is especially pleased that the book resonates with young people around the Caribbean who have so much in common with Belizean youths.

Margery and I saw these commonalities in action in November, while attending the Antigua & Barbuda International Literary Festival. My mother was a featured participant, and as such, visited local schools and took part in a panel discussion with fellow-writers.

Ron Kavanaugh, who publishes a literary magazine and web site called Mosaic in New York, was on a panel called “Establishing Yourself in the Literary World,” with my mother and others. Here is an excerpt from his blog:

“The panel focused on writers finding their niche in the marketplace. Panelists included Tina McElroy Ansa, Marie Elena John, Rosalind McLymont, Zee Edgell, myself, and moderator Ava Hutchinson.

Everyone made smart contributions except for Zee, who sat quietly, waiting for the right moment. Near the end she interjected a wonderful story about her early efforts with trying to get published. Then, almost in passing she mentioned she was the author of a book called Beka Lamb. I have to admit I had never heard of Zee Edgell. But with her revelation came gasps of joy from the audience.”

The next day my mother sat beneath a tent at Jolly Harbour Marina (on the western side of Antigua) and answered questions about Beka Lamb from teachers who were teaching the book. It was heartening to see how these women cared so deeply about their students reading more, writing better, and having success on their CXC’s. This hit home with my mother who taught English and literature at St. Catherine Academy and now is a tenured professor of English at Kent State University in Ohio. (Note: Zee Edgell retired in May 2009)

Slowly, dozens of high school students from around Antigua began to fill the tent. They had dozens of questions, including:

• “What is Toycie to you?”
• “Why do you use flashbacks in your writing?”
• “Why did you write Beka Lamb?”

There was appreciation, too, as the students seemed to relate to my mother’s stories about life at a strict Catholic school, doing chores without the benefit of modern appliances, the dynamics of boy-girl relationships, taking care of younger siblings, and getting sick from eating unripe mangos.

Anyone who knows Zee Edgell, knows she is a fairly low-key person and modest about her accomplishments. She writes for Belize, for her family, for history. Beka Lamb grew out of her love for her country and her desire to record the Belize of her youth for generations to come. The characters — like Beka, Toycie, Granny Ivy, National Velour, Emilio, Lilla & Bill Lamb, and the others – have done the rest.

Or was he?

The yacht anchored a little off our port bow apparently had their doubts.  For suddenly, our lonely fisherman is bathed in a hard beam of light – shone from the cockpit of the mono ahead.

“Who are you?!”

A muffled reply.

“What are you doing?!”

The questions barked, no polite enquiries. The interrogator’s voice is fearful, distrusting and,  as a result, accusatory.

“Fishing,” said the guy in the little boat.

The interrogator wasn’t convinced. The spotlight remained steadfastly on.  The fisherman turned his back to avoid the glare, but was still framed centre stage.  Followed by the blinding light, he allowed his boat to drift further downstream, putting a bigger distance between himself and Skipper Distrustful.

Our lone fisherman continued to work his boat aft,  settling some small distance off the back of Butterfly’s cockpit.  And there he stayed.  Dick and I watched him awhile,  locked the hatches, left some safety lights on and turned in. Whether satisfied about the fishing guy’s intentions, or not, Skipper Distrustful at last turned off his spotlight and at some point went to bed too, I guess.

Just before dawn, I wake and there is our lone fisherman, just a stone’s throw off our starboard side. Still fishing; still minding his own.  A few hours later, he’s just forward of the bows. Still fishing; still minding his own.  Weather-wise, it has been a wet and cool night. This morning the skies are darker than the sea and a scrum of squall clouds lie menacingly fat and wetly blue ahead. When the heavens open, which they have with great regularity throughout his long night, our lonely friend hunkers down in his tiny boat and takes shelter beneath an ancient plastic sheet.  He’s been out in that small cramped boat for well over 12 hours.

Now, at last, as I type this, he is finally done – is slowly rowing his way back to shore. It’s a long haul. Like our doubting neighbour, we’re  anchored way out.  I know how long it takes us to plane in to the shore with a 9.8hp outboard. This guy has no outboard, just a set of oars and by now, stiff, tired muscles. Jolly Harbour anchorage is fairly full with visiting yachts: wherever this guy fished he’d be near to somebody’s boat. Having no outboard limits your range rather.

I totally understand the desire to ensure personal safety, especially on a boat which is nothing like as secure as a house, but I wonder if sometimes we cruisers forget who these islands belong to, and who is the guest?

If you sail to the north of Antigua, you may find you have a lot of water all to yourself. If our experience was anything to go by, very few boats seem to travel there – deterred, perhaps, by the abundance of reefs.  Certainly, few called in at Jumby Bay and in our two days there, we only had the company of  three other boats, and a maximum of only two at any given time;  mostly, Butterfly had the bay to herself.

However, getting there wasn’t difficult, nor hazardous. The reef  that halos the north Antiguan coastline is far enough off shore to give a relatively wide passage of safe water between the two. It’s called the Boon Passage.  If you’re keen, there’s enough space that you can tack your way along, though with the regular easterly wind that blows here, you’ll be close-hauled and then some.

Mid-channel, mid-way along, you’ll come across Prickly Pear Island – a wooden shack-cum-bar on its south-west shore.   We saw no-one around the bar as we sailed by, but later, we did see a local charter boat ferrying day-trippers there. 

Pass the island to the north or south of it (it really doesn’t matter),  but keep a wary eye on the plotter or chart as you go, the reef is not always visible, nor the rocky outcrops that lie just below the sea hugging the coast. Follow the Boon Passage on its easterly then south-easterly course and you’ll soon come to Jumby Bay some way off towards port.

The Doyle guide book describes Jumby Bay as “exquisite”.  The private hotel and resort that stretches along the shore certainly look neat and natty and expensively manicured.  But the real attraction for us lay in the vast, shoal anchorage which is so un-crowded it could get mighty lonesome there after a while.  But for a couple of days, the space and fabulous peace are something of a novelty.

The lack of holiday-makers at the resort seems a common phenomenon this year – at least here in the Eastern Caribbean. Can  only assume the current economic gloom has clipped the wings of many would-be travellers. Over and again, we have seen holiday-complex beaches sprinkled with rows of empty sunloungers. Rarely a towel or sunbather in sight.  Certainly one of Antigua’s best-known “All-In” holiday resorts (years ago we had a family holiday there when it was packed to the rafters) boasts a long fine sandy beach which used to be fairly crowded. Today it is nearly deserted;  far more staff than guests. Jumby Bay wasn’t exactly heaving with tourists either – another excellent reason to book now, if you’re in need of seclusion and classy comfort!

One and a half days there (while on sabbatical from boat chores and maintenance) was nice, but quite enough. Besides, the weather was just too good not to get sailing again. And we needed to re-provision. So up with the anchor it was, toodle-pip Jumby Bay, and back westwards we tootled along  Boon Passage, destination Jolly Harbour (once more).

The sail back was just glorious with the wind (for once!) abaft of the beam which was a novelty.  Sod’s Law decrees that the season for travelling up island is usually when the  North-East Trades have sway.  And the journey south, down island, just before the hurricane season begins, is when the South-East Trades are boss.  So it’s usually something of a bash, either way!  I’ve suggested to His Nibbs that now and again we might just go out for an up-wind bash for a couple of hours, purely for the fun of spinning around and floating back on a run.

On the way back, a batch of bread baking in the oven and Butterfly happily whipping through the water with a  butterball sun overhead, we passed St John, Antigua’s capital.  Two huge cruise ships there, towering confections of glacier white and glinting steel. Must confess, for ourselves, we have never seen the attraction of these as a holiday (wall-to-wall eating,  entertainment and crowds are my idea of hell) -  but obviously there are plenty of folk who do enjoy – and that’s fine. And to see one of these cruise ships lit up at night  is certainly a spectacular feast for the eyes.

All too soon, we found ourselves back outside Jolly Harbour with fresh bread for elevenses and a shopping list to prepare.  Now with provisions stowed, various chores finished, tomorrow,  we’ll raise anchor and be off once more.

But for tonight, as I type this, the wind has freshened and sallies of hurrying waves have set Butterfly  swaying on her bridle.  It’s a lovely motion, and best enjoyed sleepily dozing  in a snug cabin. The whoosh and skittering slaps of sea on hulls make for an oddly soothing and beguiling lullaby.  Time, m’dears to tuck in:  Butterfly and crew are full sail ahead for The Land of Nod.

Sweet dreams, all.

So, after rather a long radio silence,  to recap a little …

We did indeed bounce up to Martinique, lively style, and pulled into Marin, where chandleries and marine services are plentiful.  A quick shopping spree there (all for Butterfly, other than a few groceries for ourselves)  then a quick flit out of Marin’s crowded bustling harbour, and a brief rest day spent at anchor at nearby St Anne’s – a pretty holiday anchorage with glorious open views of sea and sky from the cockpit. The shot below, however, taken looking to port, after a grouch of a squall had started the day with a rather wet bang.

From St Anne’s on Martinique’s south coast, it was another quick romp up to St Pierre, on the north-west coast, accompanied in part by a pod of dolphins.

(That’s St Pierre’s sea front and black sands, below right.)

A brief over-night anchor there, then a straight run to Antigua, skipping Guadeloupe and Dominica altogether. This meant an overnight journey, but with three of us aboard, we all had a chance to sleep and arrived at Falmouth, on Antigua’s south coast at 8.00 the following morning,  a little grubby and windswept but fresh enough, no post-anchor kip required. Throughout, the skip north,  the wind stayed fairly boisterous with 18-28 knots (apparent) roughly 40- 60 degrees off the nose.  Mercifully, the sea remained fairly flat.  A few dowsings here and there when a larger-than-average wave collided with the port bow, but very little crashing and bashing despite speeds of 10-13 knots for large chunks of the passage.

S-o-0-0-0-0-0  n-i-i-i-c-e to put some water miles under Butterfly’s bridge, once more!

But Falmouth brought us to a temporary halt, and Falmouth, m’dears, is where we’ve stayed these past 5 days.  Here are the very glamorous Air and Hampshire and Sequel P as proof!

Falmouth is famously home to some of the world’s most flashy superyachts.  And our preference for dropping the hook at the back of the fleet -  as near to open sea as we can – has afforded us to a ringside seat for ogling these glorious big-bold-and-beautifuls as they pass in and out of the harbour.  Peppered between the giants, vessels of a far, far humbler stature;  you really get it all here: the good, the bad and the every shade of beautiful and ugly in between.

At night, look towards Falmouth’s main docking area, and you’ll see something like this (only a little sharper focused – ah, the trials of attempting night shots on a moving boat):

During the day, look 180 degrees in the other direction and you’ll have views of Montserrat smoking away in the distance:

Friends, Paul and Kathryn, decided to join us here in Antigua – a lovely idea – so while we waited for them to arrive, we set about a few boat jobs.  Boats are hard taskmasters: no matter how much you do, the boat fix-list never seems to get any smaller; it just changes, is all. But if you don’t plow on knocking off those jobs, you’ll soon find yourself running up an escalator that’s coming down faster than you run up.  Leave a boat on the hard for several months and, like us, you’re likely to find yourself in marathon training!

Oh – and that’s Al, by the way, having kindly volunteered (honest guv, no parental bribery whatsoever) to knock the must-clean-mast-track-to-stop-the-cars-from-sticking job off that bloody list. (Another job that’s already under way is the repainting of the anti-skid – but enough of boat jobs; this is meant to be the cruising season …)

Having run our food stores w-a-a-a-y down, and with the fast flit up-island meaning very little chance to re-provision, it was a huge kindness on the part of Kathryn and Paul to feed us these past two nights aboard their boat, the sleek hulled, and fabulously speedy Cool Cat;  it really should have been the other way around, since they were coming to visit us! (In our defence, we’re slightly hampered by not having a fully operational fridge, yet, only a small freezer in operation, so can’t buy too much that needs chilling.) But shame on me, such a feeble excuse, I’m sure you’ll agree, so all the greater the need to find a decent supermarket, not only to enable us to keep body and soul together, but to repay P & K’s  lavish generosity.

So off we jolly four went to Jolly Harbour (on Antigua’s west coast) – Jolly Harbour being conveniently blessed with a jolly decently-stocked supermarket and only a short sail away from Falmouth.

Coming back from the store, tender laden with nosh provisions galore. we found ourselves racing against some ominously laden rain clouds, and, inadvertently, a fleet of monohulls enjoying a lively little race of their own.  So let me just round off this post, raggy and rambly as it is (apologies), with a few hastily grabbed shots I took, as we ducked and dodged our way back to Butterfly.

And for now, well, that’s about it.

Shall endeavour to update a little more frequently, while wifi allows.  For tonight, however, it’s been a lovely day, but the hour is now mighty late and this gal needs her shuteye.

Till the next time, then, chums, this is one happy but weary cruizzzzzzzzzer passing out …

Sleep tight!

After several bouts of Very-Not-Alrightitis with abdominal pain completely off the scale, we felt we needed a little more sophistication than the local Barbudan pharmacy could offer – and urgently.

Of course, decision made, the next day came and went with the patient feeling nary a twinge of discomfort at all. The day after that – wham, bam, excrutiating agony again.

So we waited for the spasms to pass – a wait of many long uncomfortable hours as it turned out – then hoiked the hook out of Barbuda’s Low Bay seabed,  and headed back as fast as we could to Jolly Harbour, Antigua. For this trip, we swapped roles – this time it was Dick on the helm, me looking after the sails. Anything to relieve him of movement that might initiate another spasm.  A sympathetic wind took pity on us and we fair flew across the waves, arriving back in Antigua well before the sun began to sink in customary, glamorously dramatic fashion. But if the journey was smooth and relatively painfree, the same could not be said once the sun vanished and night fell.  For then, rather than bouts of  stabbing pain with periods of relief in between, there was no in between – just one long continuous onslaught of intense pain. It was only as the first rays of dawn broke on a grey and sombre day, that my poor exhausted skipper was able at last to lie still. By then I had a hospital bag packed, emergency numbers to phone and the dink off the davitts, ready to get ashore and find help.

There’s a tendency to assume the best medical attention can only be found back home, but after being out here in the Caribbean for a couple of years now,  I’m not sure that’s true. Certainly, here in Antigua, we found all the help we needed and quickly.

That help arrived in the form of Doctor Nick Fuller – a wonderful chap, who not only comes to the aid of folk in medical need, but owning a salvage enterprise, adminsters to boats in need of rescue too.  His diagnosis was swift and accurate. The cause of all this grief – a kidney stone. A treacherous little gem of 6mm x 5mm ouchness that had suddenly decided to head south.  Small or large, kidney stones are notorious for the excrutiating agony they can inflict on their hosts (as Him Aboard will unhappily testify). But distressing though the pain is, on having Dr Fuller’s diagnosis confirmed with X-ray, both of us were immediatly hugely relieved that it was – or rather is, since it’s still there – nothing more serious. The hope is that time and nature will escort it off the Meredith premises albeit with some more bouts of intense discomfort to look forward to before it makes its final exit. Alas, Into each life …

But here a special mention of the brilliance of Amazon’s Kindle gadget – the one with 3G wifi connectivity. When no wifi is available at anchorages, we have used the Kindle to keep us up to scratch on weather, news and emails. Needing medical information fast this past week, it has allowed us to google ourselves into a stew of renal plumbing disorders and painkillers and home-remedies  and find doctors, pharmacies etc. In fact thanks to our wonderful Kindle we can recite you chapter and verse on all things renal calculi  … but I’m a kind lass, so I’ll spare you.

So here we are, one of us not always as comfortable as he’d like,  swinging off the hook outside Jolly Harbour waiting for some jolly wind to take us south, back down the island chain again, as we have a date in Grenada on the 27th May.

Unfortunately, the jolly wind has gone on its jolly bloody holiday, it seems. At the moment – not a jolly puff! We’ve had some odd weather of late anyway.

Yesterday, and the day before that,  rain fell in monsoon-like proportions  hour after soggy hour, not a ray of sun to be had. Today, sunshine, but with humidity levels as high as mid-hurricane season, and by mid-afternoon, a curtain of dense heat haze that all but whited out the horizon.

Tomorrow, there may be a little wind – or so they say – and for a few short hours it should be easterly-ish.  And since that’s as good as it gets for days, we must use it to begin the return to Grenada.  The aim is to get to Martinique in one hop before the wind shifts south and there we can wait for the next weather window – next Monday as things are looking right now.

So for our last night here in Antigua, we’ve just spent a lovely convivial evening with Chris and Yanni aboard Magus. Joined by Ann and Steve (Recetta) and Devi and Hunter (Arctic Tern).  We’ll no doubt meet up with them again somewhere down the island chain, or in Grenada …  for like migratory birds, many cruisers head south to avoid the hurricane action once the summer arrives here in the Caribbean – and very soon, Grenada and Trinidad  will be filling up again. And so another cruising season comes to a close.

Not surprisingly, we’re fervently hoping that the cruising season of a 6mm x 5mm kidney stone is also coming to a close – and damn soon!

See ya down island.

After setting up the boat for a few days, we made several attempts to escape Jolly harbour, which is a lovely place by the way, we had the chance to get to know it quite well as we circumnavigated the marina like maritime hobos. We moored in a few different places after the boat was dropped in whilst nursing the boat back to health after 7mths on the hard. We had a few teething problems, batteries, dirty fuel etc. Anyway, in teeming rain (the rainy season is running on a tad longer than usual- makes for a nice shower though!) at high noon we made a dash for it on our madden voyage to Falmouth harbour-approx 3hr motor/sail around the other side of the island. We stocked up provisions before we left- 2 gallons of the infamous ‘Bushy Rum’ 10 quid a gallon, surprising it tastes lovely with a drop of lemon!!

On the back of Jimmy spending about a week deciding which lures he wanted, we caught 3 gorgeous yellow snappers  in the ‘Goats head channel’ just off the south coast of Antigua, which promptly became our supper that evening with some crusty bread.

We left Falmouth at approx 6pm on Thursday the 16^th, destination Martinique a beautiful French Island about 150nm from Antigua. We sailed through the night, took me a while to get my sea legs, interestingly I found solace in staring at the stars particularly Orion, no I’m not trying to be profound, it’s something to do with balance, your perception of movement and all that rhubarb.

We made good time and anchored up in the port of St Pierre in the north of Martinique about 22hrs sail. For the historian in you, St Pierre used to be the capital of Martinique, in 1902 however the population was reduced from 30,000 to 3 in seconds as the result of the volcano behind the town erupting with a force of that 40 times stronger than the Hiroshima bomb!

In the morn we went to the capital Fort de France and signed in then went over to Port de Bout on the other side of the bay where we had heard there was a wsurf/ksurf centre (Fanatic, Neilpryde) off the front of a hotel. We anchored in Plage de Anse Mitan and wandered over. Silly launching area, not to bad for windsurfers but the kiters have to put their kites on a 5ft platform then walk round into the water then launch, which means only one can be launching or landing at a time. It was blowing about 20 knts and we were a little bummed we didn’t get out that day, but we got some local knowledge (using my finest French-‘parlez vous anglais’) off the gadgey at the centre of some other spots to try.

So we cracked on in the morning (Mon 20^th) round to the east coast of the island and stopped off at St Anne for the night, busy little anchorage and small village with a couple of shops. The following morning we sailed to Cul de Sac de Anglais, we stopped had a snorkel and some lunch. This was a beautiful anchorage clear water and well sheltered. I think the some of the surrounding coast was a bird sanctuary and it is prohibited to go ashore. We saw this spot on a kitesurf movie and if there was a bit more of a breeze it would have been a nice flat water spot.

On the way up to Havre de Robert where we were planning to anchor for the night we went past a few spots that Jimmy had found on the net but were not ideal due to the lack of anchorage. Vauclin was one of these and there were some guys windsurfing out of there on formula kit out of there. We also think there is a Kite centre there where they have held a few kite comps over the last couple of years. Havre de Robert was a still anchorage on the south of the bay, surrounded by mangroves. We had caught a Cero (like a Spanish mackerel) on the way up and had it with some prawns that night- was beautiful eating.

In the morning we headed round to Havre do Trinite. There are a couple of play spots on the north coast of the bit that protrudes east of Trinite. Plays de Surfers; that we passed on the way across where there were a few surfers out and Bai de Tartane; again a spot that Jimmy found on the web.

This morning (Weds 22^nd) we jumped on the Number 8 bus from Trinite to Bay de Tartan (1euro30) but unfortunately there was  not a lot of wind. There were a couple of blokes out on 12s but they were struggling. We hung about for a couple of hours to see if it would fill in – which I didn’t, so we wandered up to Plays de suerfers further east and had a look over the bay, waves were not that big and a little messy but can imagine that with bigger swell it could be quite good spot.

So we’re still looking for a first illusive sail, but are hopeful it will be soon. We’re off tonight, heading for Les Saintes a small island off Guadeloupe then back on to Antigua to drop Billy off. Has been a nice first little voyage, and a good teaser of what’s to come.

Bon Noel and a happy new year to all!!

Over looking St Pierre.

Mount Pele.

Little swim before the greenflash !

Somewhere....

Counted over 200 bites after the first night, guess which bits were left out of the sheet!

Captions please !!