Bashing onwards to Antigua

It was a grey, unfriendly morning, but it was time to get to sea if we were to catch Antigua Classics.

Deshaies to English Harbour is further than many of the inter-island passages, meaning a 0700 start to be sure of arriving in daylight. The wind was still blowing, but - as we'd discovered - Deshaies seemed to be an almost permanently windy anchorage. It was tempting to wait another day, but we'd signed out with immigration the night before...

A damp arrival

I hauled up the anchor and Natalie steered Limbo out past the other boats. I went on deck to get the main up. I didn't hesitate to put a couple of reefs in, until we knew what the conditions were like; the trip was likely to be hard on the wind all the way.  We unfurled the genoa and heeled over as we headed out of the sheltered bay. We would be in the lee of the island for a few miles, out of the worst of the sea, but our Doyle guide told us to expect more wind until we were clear of the coast.

We headed north past the green, craggy shore. We had about force six with stronger gusts which heeled Limbo right over, more than I was comfortable with. It was rough, bucking right into the waves. If it hadn't been for our book's promise of less wind in a couple of miles, we would probably have turned back. Natalie hung on to the tiller while, safety harness clipped on, I climbed up onto the cabin roof to pull down the third reef. Now we were more under control, but the boat was sagging down to leeward, away from our course. Motor sailing was the way forward, and I put the engine on with fairly low revs to keep us pointing up into the wind.

Further out, we found no less wind but bigger waves of probably 2.5 to 3 metres. Sailing home, I couldn't help thinking, could involve days of this as we headed up to Bermuda.. But we were making progress, and would be there that evening, and we could cope.

The 42 mile trip was a long slog of torrential rain, scudding grey skies and 30 knot squalls, followed by calm periods which left Limbo rolling around awkwardly in  the lumpy seas. We got cold, too cold, and wet. Antigua was visible in the gloom a few miles out, looking like an island somewhere off Scotland rather than in the Caribbean. A big, 65 foot Oyster passed us, going to windward under engine and staysail alone; she clearly didn't much like the conditions either. It was a relief to get the sails down in the flatter water outside the entrance to English Harbour and head into shelter. We put the kettle on.

Freeman's Bay, English Harbour, on a much nicer day.

Antigua was a place close to my heart. I had fond memories of the island from my previous trip, spending several weeks living and working aboard the 75 foot ketch La Cautiva before helping to sail her back to England where university awaited. It was one of the places I'd always pictured going back to, and now Limbo was anchored here, in Freeman's Bay.

The anchorage was crowded, and it took a few tries to find a space with swinging room. A big superyacht dock has taken over much of the anchoring space, but nothing much else had changed. The grey buildings of Nelson's Dockyard still stood sentinel, unspoilt though much-visited, the green, forested hill behind the harbour still rose steeply to Shirley Heights, and the waves still broke on the reef to the east of the narrow entrance. This was the place where, more than anywhere else, I thought we have done this.   

Sell, sail or ship?

We were in Deshaies for two further grey days, the wind howling, and not feeling much like the early start for Antigua.

Not before time, we started to think about our plans for the next few months in more detail. Not having arrived in the Caribbean until mid February meant we would have a scant twelve weeks in the islands, at most, until it was time to get north and up to Bermuda.  The rule of thumb is to be out by mid-May, to arrive in Bermuda by June. It didn't seem like nearly long enough: not only to see what we wanted to see, but to find the energy for another long - and this time more challenging - ocean passage. The winds are far less predictable on the route home in both strength and direction, with a higher probability of both calms and gales. The more I read about the route, the less appealing it seemed.  Without the capacity to carry much fuel, we could be sitting out there for a very long time, and water supplies were going to become an issue (on my return trip in 1999 on La Cautiva, a 75 foot steel yawl, we had to motor virtually all the way to the Azores).  Feeling that we'd earned our ocean stripes, the motivation was lacking.

Our first thought, on arrival in Barbados, had been to extend our time in the islands by sailing into the summer. This wasn't possible without missing the weather deadline for heading back to Europe, but maybe we could sell Limbo in the islands instead? I wondered if Solent weekends were ever going to be the same again, and - after all - we were going to have plenty to sort out on our return without looking after a boat (jobs and somewhere to live not being the least of our worries..). With that in mind, we had loosely decided to sail north before heading back south to see the islands we'd missed beyond Saint Lucia (Grenada, the Tobago Cays and the Grenadines providing some of the best anchorages in the Caribbean). Then, down in Trinidad and safely away from the hurricane belt, we could, perhaps, lay up Limbo and put her up for sale.

As time went by, the flaws in this plan became more and more apparent. Firstly, we didn't really want to sell. Abandoning Limbo to a corner of a humid boatyard was deeply unappealing. Secondly, not only are boat prices in the Caribbean at rock bottom in general, but I had started to realise that there was virtually no market at all for a boat of Limbo's size. An advert in Caribbean Compass for a 30 footer on sale at $3000 US, with free yard time thrown in, drove the point home. I emailed a couple of brokers who had zero interest, one stating they were only interested in boats worth at least $40,000. Maybe there was an expat in the BVI who'd like a boat for weekend sailing? Then I realised the BVI's entire population was about 25,000, and Limbo - lovely though she is - was not going to impress an offshore corporate banker on a tax free salary. Finally, the cost of yard storage and haul-out was much higher than I'd imagined. We were looking at £200 to £250 a month just to keep Limbo somewhere, with no idea of how long that might be for.

The third option was to ship Limbo back. While we were in Guadeloupe I found out there was a ship going from the BVIs in late May, but this seemed too early. We still wouldn't be able to see the southern Caribbean as planned, and it would be a huge expense, around 5000 Euros, which had never been in the budget.  There was also a sailing to Palma in June, and I thought of spending the summer heading back to Biscay through the French canals. But, while this would buy us some time, the cost of getting from the Med to the UK was going to be an issue, having spent so much on returning Limbo to Europe.

Maybe we should sail back after all? It would be a shame not to complete the circuit, and arriving in home waters, flags flying, would be fantastic.  But we kept coming back to the fact that we just didn't feel prepared. On a 35 footer, yes, but it felt as if it could be asking too much of a very small boat (and her crew...).

There was no clear answer, and we went round in circles. We tried to put the problem to the back of our minds, and looked forward instead to the next island.

Passing through Guadeloupe

Guadeloupe sunset

Guadeloupe is a hilly, green, butterfly-shaped island, with lots of coastline to explore and excellent hiking. We didn't have time to see as much as we wanted, in a hurry to get to Antigua in time for Classics Week, but found fantastic snorkelling at Pigeon Island and a relaxed, pleasant anchorage at Deshaies in the north.

Guadeloupe is less than 10 miles of open water away from the Saintes. Natalie saw a whale breaching in the choppy waters (I managed to miss it every time) and we then had a relaxed sail mostly in the calmer lee of the island. A classic yacht approached and overhauled us, and I managed to get some good pictures as they passed close by. Later, the wind dropped and our engine went on.

Troubadour passes us, en route to Antigua.

Pigeon Island is two-thirds of the way up the coast, a little islet less than a mile from the mainland shore. We arrived shortly before sunset and anchored off a slightly touristy area with several dive shops and restaurants, spotting a turtle as we did so.

Jacques Cousteau once described Pigeon Island as one of the world's top dive sites, guaranteeing - you might assume - that it would be instantly spoilt. Luckily, we found it was well managed, if inevitably quite crowded. We took the dinghy across in the morning and tied to one of several mooring buoys (anchoring isn't permitted for obvious reasons). The snorkelling was on a different level to anything we'd seen so far: superb visibility, abundant coral, an interesting underwater landscape and no shortage of fish. There were plenty of jellyfish too, but they were the none-stinging kind.  It's a shame that our underwater camera had given up by this stage..

We had lunch back on board before packing up the dinghy and setting off up the coast. A couple of hours later we were anchored in Deshaies, an attractive anchorage with, for once, no rolling. Our fastest turnaround ever! Ashore, landing via a smart dinghy dock, we found a small town with several restaurants and bars, and (this being France) a good small supermarket.

Deshaies, late afternoon.

We fancied eating out for a change that evening, and (after a particularly good sunset) took our chances with a pizza place one road back from the waterfront. We sat outside on the terrace and enjoyed p'tit punches (white rum, lime juice and sugar - they left the bottle with us!) and were delighted to see musicians turn up. An ancient local was the most energetic dancer to a mixture of local Zouk and reggae, some of the best music we heard on the trip.

The anchorage had been calm that day, but it wasn't to last. Deshaies is a naturally windy place, the bay funnelling air down from the hills, and in the night we were woken by disconcertingly strong gusts whistling through the rigging. We tried to sleep, hoping it wouldn't last..

Limbo, Deshaies sunset

The Saintes

For the first time, our route north offered a choice beyond just sailing down the lee of the next island. Four small island groups lie between Dominica and Guadeloupe (see map). Should we take the well-trodden route to the Saintes, just 18 miles away, or head for the small, less visited island of Marie Galante further to the east?  If the latter, we could sail on to Iles de la Petit Terre, then La Desirade, leaving a good but long reach to Antigua.

The Caribbean trade winds blow quite consistently from the north east, with some fluctuation either side. This generally makes heading anywhere to the east of north an uncomfortable proposition: into the wind and the sea. The route towards La Desirade would mean three legs to windward, assuming we could land on Iles de la Petit Terre, which are only really accessible in settled weather. It was these two tiny islands which were the real draw, Marie Galante and La Desirade sounding interesting but not unmissable.

Approaching the islands

As ever, the wind made the decision for us. I was keen on getting off the beaten track if we could, but we set off from Prince Rupert Bay unsure of our destination. We would see what it was like when we were out of the sheltering lee of Dominica. We found a reasonable if rather lumpy beam sea, and a force four to five wind which had more than enough north in it to make Marie Galante a real thrash to windward. The track was beaten for a reason, and the Saintes it was. We eased sheets very slightly, and stormed along at 6 knots.

Terre de Haut and the anchorage

The Saintes is a cluster of islands offering several anchorages and some interesting walking, all in a very small package. Reluctant to start the engine, and enjoying a great sail in the flatter water between Le Bourg and the jagged rocks of Les Augustins, we didn't get the sails down until the last minute. Dolphins approached us before we picked up a mooring off Terre de Haut towards the end of the afternoon (see map). This bay has strictly delineated anchoring and mooring areas, but the anchoring areas are a token concession, being further out and in deeper water.  There weren't too many free buoys, and we ended up moored a fair way from shore. We were approached for payment within minutes of arriving. The slight swell wouldn't let Limbo sit quietly, but the sense of arrival made up for that, and we enjoyed our new surroundings.

The schooner 'Lilly Bolero' approaching from Guadeloupe

We had another rocky night, often disturbed by the large metal pick-up loop on the mooring buoy scraping against the hull. In the morning we watched carefully for any departures, and soon got another buoy close up to the shore by a small beach, where it was more sheltered.

We headed into town to explore. Some of the smaller cruise ships visit the Saintes (few places, it seems, are immune) and the town was horribly crowded. Fortunately the cruise shipper is a plain-dwelling creature and very easily avoided by heading uphill, however slight the incline. We followed the road out of town past the beach, then onwards as it wound towards the summit of the island. It was hot going, several goats and the lizards our only companions. A large iguana dashed across the path in front of us.

Lunch stop

An old fort building sits at the top of the peak, and we climbed a rusty ladder for a better view, across to Dominica to the south and to Guadeloupe just a few miles away to the north. The shades of the reefs below were startling.

Hilltop Fort

Commenting to Natalie on the absence of any black people, she replied, 'yes, it's great, isn't it?'. Had I inadvertently become engaged to a closet racist?  It transpired she'd thought I'd said
'bike people', meaning moped riders (mopeds are for hire all over the island, but there were none up here). Which was a relief.

Summit view

We continued down to a small beach by the Pain au Sucre, a distinctive mound of rock which forms one side of a small bay. It was an appealing anchorage, and we decided to move there once we'd finished in town. Terre de Haut is a pastel-coloured place full of T-shirt shops, delicatessens and restaurants, but has a pleasant, holiday atmosphere. It could be in the south of France somewhere. Our Chris Doyle sailing guide had promised cheap set menus, but we couldn't find any for less than 20 Euros, so we gave up and bought a pizza to cook on board.

Limbo and the sailing cruise ship Royal Clipper

We needed to catch up on email, and we had a frustrating day finding a connection. I'd thought we could access one from the boat, using our booster, but after getting back from town it didn't work so we headed back in.  We ended up paying to use an internet cafe. In the end, we achieved very little. One of the downsides of cruising is that it can sometimes take ages to accomplish the simplest task. We bought some fresh fish and a baguette.

Pain au Sucre anchorage. 

After three nights off Terre de Haut, it was time for somewhere quieter. We motored the couple of miles to Pain au Sucre and, after a couple of attempts, found a reasonable space not too close to the other yachts or to the reef. It was a lovely anchorage, with some interesting snorkelling around the reef close to shore. We saw a lion fish, a striking brown and white-striped creature with feathery fins: a venomous, invasive species with no natural predators, apparently introduced by thoughtless aquarium owners in Florida. We found out later that several islands hold 'lionfish derbys', with prizes for the most kills. Also disconcerting was the wreck of a catamaran washed up on the rocks, its engine block still lying on the seabed.

We spent a couple of days lazing on board, with a walk up another hill for the views across the anchorage. We deployed, for the first time, our inflatable kayak (an ebay purchase). Shamefully, we hadn't got around to unpacking it until now. I did wish we'd chosen a slightly smaller, quicker to inflate model, but it was great fun. We were a bit jealous of those with boats big enough to store rigid kayaks on deck, to nonchalantly throw into the water whenever required.

Kayaking

We felt slightly isolated at Pain au Sucre. There were several other yachts there, mostly French and American, but nobody really talked to us (and we were bad at approaching them). It had been a while since we'd had an evening with other cruisers, and our friends were scattered far and wide across the island chain at this stage.

One evening I was excited to see a gleaming gaff ketch approach and anchor near us. She was the Thendara, built in the 1930s, and looked stunning. Limbo was in good company: we were also heading for Antigua Classics, starting in just a few days.

Thendara, 1936

  

Prince Rupert Bay, Dominica

We were nearing the end of our time in Roseau. Sara and Phil on Lochmarin were about to head south to the Grenadines, and it was almost time to say goodbye. Before doing so, we spent a day out with them at the Champagne Reef near Soufriere. We packed our snorkelling gear, flagged down a passing bus and enjoyed the sunny ride along the coast road.

The reef is one of those 'must see' attractions much frequented by cruise-shippers, so I was ready to be entirely unimpressed. The reef was pretty dead, accessed off a pebbly beach, and the 'champagne' effect, caused by volcanic gases bubbling up through the sea floor, could be easily and cheaply achieved anywhere by hiring a flatulent 10-year old to swim beneath you. Perhaps I was getting a bit jaded?  On the plus side, there were some large and interesting fish, and we spotted a couple of evil-looking, if small, moray eels. We had a great lunch at a roadside restaurant shack, and chatted to a forthcoming local lady who now lived in the UK. She wasn't enjoying it, missing the weather and the friendly people of Dominica.  It was all too easy to see her point of view.  

Roseau had been great, but it was time to move on.  We waved goodbye to Phil and Sara, who had shared so much with us, hoping that we would see them again sometime, somewhere.  We headed for Prince Rupert Bay, at the north of the island. We tried to sail, but the lee of Dominica is a big windshadow. We were on a dead run, the wind gusting and shifting unpredictably, so - after one anxious moment too many - we ended up motoring.

Prince Rupert Bay and Portsmouth, Limbo on the far left.

Roseau, Dominica

The passage to Dominica wasn’t the most relaxing of sails.  We got away at 8.30 and waved goodbye to the guys on Spirit of Argo.  The wind was fluky in the lee of Martinique, in strength and direction, but it was calm and we sailed as much as we could.  We took some photos of a larger boat which passed close by as we came near the north end of the island.  We were becalmed for a while and started the engine, but we could see a line in the water ahead where there was definitely more wind.  Passing it, we heeled well over. Getting up on deck to put the third reef in was slightly dramatic, but with less sail we felt much more under control.  Even so, we were still beating straight into a gusty force 5 to 6, with a beam swell.  Not exactly the sailing you dream about. Fortunately, as is common, the wind came round to the east a bit more as we got further out, and the last few hours heading towards Scotts Head on the south end of Dominica were a fast beam reach – much better!  We had some strong gusts off the hills as we approached, then the wind died almost completely in the lee of the island.

The Boiling Lake

The Boiling Lake hike in Dominica had been on the list of things I wanted to do since I was last there, years ago.  After our fantastic trip to Victoria Falls with SeaCat, he was the obvious choice to guide us.