Tuesday is our first full day at sea. It looks to be another nice day, and we get an early start. After breakfast consisting of yogurt, granola, fruit, croissants, etc., we will head for Hillsborough, Carriacou, to clear out of Grenada. At the beginning of our sail, Rick and I sat on the foredeck cushions, but soon found ourselves getting soaked as the swells broke over the bow. By the time we were passed the protection of Grenada, we faced 6-8 foot seas and were enduring the inevitable upwind flogging that seems to be part of every Grenadines charter. Had a brief respite when we were in the lee of Ile de Ronde and Kick 'em Jenny, but after a few hours, we were all starting to get tired and irritable (and even a bit seasick -- this is not easy sailing).
Sandy Island, opposite Hillsborough Harbour, Carriacou.
But, our reward was a lunch stop at Sandy Island, opposite Hillsborough harbour. Lunch was vegetarian stuffed peppers, given a little kick with a bit of local hot sauce. Mick was handling immigration and customs while we went to play. Sandy Island is a itsy bit of an island, an oasis of sand and palm trees in the middle of nowhere. Rick and I dove in and swam to the beach, and found it to be much larger than it was when we visited in 1996. This is courtesy, again, of Lenny. There is much more sand here, and mounds of coral rubble on the leeward side which create a natural breakwater. Alas, the beach was also full of cruise ship excursioneers.
Ironically, in order to protect fragile Sandy Island, the Grenadian government limits to 6 the number of sailboats which can anchor off the islet; however, the government imposes no limits on cruise ship tenders (which motor along recklessly while snorkelers innocently paddle around) or passengers.
After a walk along the island, Rick led a snorkeling excursion. The corals were truly awesome here, but I found some spots too shallow for my liking, so I chose another route and returned to the beach. In the meantime, Jim, Ardy and my dad had arrived by dinghy and sea kayak, and a while later, Mick came to pick us all up. Mick told us that, while in Hillsborough, the cruise ship people tried to keep him from tying up at the PUBLIC dinghy dock because a tender was coming. Mick informed them that since it was a public dock, they couldn't exclude him and if they wanted a private dock, they would have to build one themselves. Though the ships are smaller in the Grenadines than, say, St. Thomas, their pervasive presence even in these obscure islands is changing the flavor of sailing here.
After our Sandy Island adventures, we sailed for Chatham Bay on Union Island, leaving behind Grenada and entering St. Vincent and the Grenadines. Rick and I have overnighted in Chatham Bay before, with its long sandy beach. Save for a few more charter boats anchored this time (no more than a dozen), it is just as we remembered it. Upon arrival here, Rick took charge of the dink, sparing Mick, and we went ashore with our noodles and splash bombs to play in the warm, calm water for a while. After waterplay, we took a walk along the beach, accompanied by the ubiquitous beach mongrels, a local boy splashing in the water, and the gentle lap of the incoming tide. Meanwhile, we were treated to a spectacular sunset Rick even saw the green flash (his first).
We returned to Saga Boy just before dark and while we washed up, Mick and Charlotte mixed tequila with lime and Ting (local grapefruit-flavored soda, much better than Fresca) and served up some nibbles. Dinner was another fantastic affair: conch fritters to start, Puerto Rican style chicken with mushrooms and garlic, rice, and baked christophene (a local squash). Dessert was fruit salad with lots of melon. After everyone else disappeared to sleep, Rick and I sat out and talked with Mick, and then retired ourselves. As the anchorage was calm, we slept in til 7 a.m.
Wednesday morning is a slow morning. No agendas or schedules to keep other than a stop at immigration in Clifton Harbour, on the other side of Union Island. We ate breakfast in the cockpit and I sunned myself on the foredeck, finishing up Bridget Jones' Diary. Rick snorkels around the bay, while my dad and Jim paddle around in the kayak. Windjammer's Yankee Clipper (or was it Mandalay?) pulls into the anchorage, signaling that its time for us to leave.
We set off for Clifton Harbour to clear in AND out of customs and immigration. Neither our crew, nor Rick and I have any particular desire to come ashore, so we just hang out on the boat, anchored just inside the reef, and stare at the electric blue waters. Charlotte served up an awesome fish pie (creamy shrimp and fish, with a top crust of mashed potatoes) with salad for lunch. Luckily, with all of our swimming, we are getting enough exercise to keep this delicious food from weighing us down.
After Mick finished up in Clifton Harbour, we were off around Mayreau, passing the large, "sail-assisted" cruise ship Club Med II, which had dumped its hordes on Saline Bay, the backside of Saltwhistle Bay. Since we visited Mayreau in 1996, the cruise lines have installed palapas and other amusements for their passengers. Saltwhistle Bay looked as spectacularly lovely as ever, but we were told it could become very crowded as well. No matter; we were not stopping here today, but only coming around to gain the right angle of approach to the Tobago Cays.
View from the beach at Jamesby, Tobago Cays.
The Cays are a collection of 4 tiny uninhabited islands encircled by the protecting Horseshoe Reef: Baradel, Jamesby, Petit Bateau and Petit Tabac. Each has a small, green hill (some suitable for climbing), and sandy beach, and some snorkel-able coral. In theory, they would fulfill a Robinson Crusoe escape fantasy, but in fact, by the time we arrived in the anchorage mid-afternoon, there were 40 sailboats anchored here already (it would be 50 by nightfall), and a Windjammer ship just outside. Nevertheless, the beauty of the watercolors and blaze white beaches is not obscured by the number of boats parked here.
One of the boat boys for which the Grenadines are known, Walter sells t-shirts and hats, and provides other services, from his trusty motorboat.
After we anchored, a local boat boy named Walter (who is on Charlotte and Mick's "approved" list no other boat boys need apply) pulled up alongside. Rick and I bought a hat and a t-shirt from Walter, while Charlotte ordered a loaf of bread and ice for Thursday morning delivery. Another of the "approved" boat boys, Rondell, arrived later, but he missed out.
Soon, the six of us set off in the dinghy for Jamesby. Rick threaded us between the reef and landed the dinghy on the beach, tying it to a palm tree. Rick, Jim and I snorkeled a while, fighting the current. Afterwards, we walked the beach and Jim and Ardy climbed to the top of the hill (having had the foresight to bring shoes, as the trail to the top, is - at best - a
rocky goat trail). Next, we dinghied over to the neighboring Petit Bateau, which had a longer beach for walking, as well as trails which lead across the island to a beach on the other side (the outside), which the Windjammer guests had occupied but cleared by the time we arrived.
By 5:30, we returned to Saga Boy for showers. Cocktails were a batch of strongish Green Flashes (mine and Rick's blend of ginger ale, rum, and lime). Dinner was steak au poivre, baked potatoes and carrots, preceded by West Indian pumpkin soup; dessert was coconut custard with passionfruit sauce. A bottle of Lindemann's shiraz washed it all down, and emboldened by the alcohol, Rick and I entertained thoughts of skinny dipping. After the parents went off to bed, Rick and I stayed up with Charlotte and Mick, talking, and then they retired as well. Alone at last, we planned our dip, getting as far as the edge of the swim platform. But the water was cold and big and dark and full of current, and I wimped out. We went to sleep and woke in the morning to a rain shower. It had been a fairly rolly night, and I will be glad to sleep somewhere else Thursday night.
