PART 4: UNION ISLAND, PALM ISLAND AND PETIT ST. VINCENT
Wednesday morning finds us headed for Union Island's Clifton Harbour. Here is found one of the few landing strips in the Grenadines, which doubles as the main street of the town. After some maneuvering, we tie up at the Anchorage Yacht Club, and while Jerry deals with the formalities of taking on water and customs and immigration, we walked around the dusty, sunbaked town. We visited a few of the shops, but found nothing attracting much of our interest, although we seemed to attract the interest of several children aggressively seeking handouts. All in all, the town inspired a sort of queasy, uneasy feeling in the pit of our stomachs, a sense that something was a bit "off" here, so we didn't really care to linger. So, promptly after a drink at the Anchorage Yacht Club and a look at their shark pen, we shoved off for Palm Island.
Palm Island is a private-island resort established and still run by John Caldwell. Caldwell is famous for single-handedly sailing halfway around the world after World War II to find the woman he loved and writing a book about the experience. He found Palm Island, then known as Prune Island, a total wasteland and transformed it into a haven by, among other things, planting hundreds of palm trees. (Indeed, his legacy throughout the Grenadines is the planting of palm trees wherever he set foot).
Palm Island's Casuarina Beach.
We anchored just off one of Palm Island's beautiful beaches, Casuarina Beach, which was lovely but populated by more than a few resort guests, yachties, and daytrippers. Frankly, if I were a guest here, I would resent the intrusion, but Palm Island is welcoming to visiting yachtsmen and we certainly enjoyed the beach. After lunch at anchor, Jerry, Viv, Rick and I dinghied out to the reef; I stayed in the dinghy, making sure the anchor didn't drag. The conditions were rather rough, and the snorkelers found themselves tossed about.
Tonight's overnight anchorage would be Chatham Bay on Union Island, about as far from the edge-of-the-Empire lawlessness and squalor of Clifton Harbour as you can get on a small island. This wide bay, with its expansive dark beach, is largely deserted save for a primitive beach bar and its barkeep, selling Heinekens to passing mariners. We went ashore for some swimming, but found the bottom rocky and dropping swiftly. We spent about an hour exploring and carefully avoiding the manchioneel trees.
Thursday morning, we sailed for Petit St. Vincent, another eponymous private-island resort, this one seeming a bit more exclusive that Palm Island. Rick snorkeled on the reef, and then we walked the length of the manicured beach, which circles about half of this tiny island. While the beach was lovely, almost its entire length is girdled in coral reefs, making swimming impossible save for a small spot near the dinghy dock. Of course, we indulged. Lunch was aboard, and soon we said our goodbyes to St. Vincent and the Grenadines and entered the nation of Grenada (which includes the islands of Carriacou and Petit Martinque).
