Chapter VI

Sailing Down Islands to Bequia

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The Route :  BVI, past Saba, Statia, S. Kitts, Nivis, Montsurrat to Guadaloup, Dominica, Martinique, St. Lucia, St. Vincent to Bequia.

It took us 5 days to make this 400-mile journey from the northern islands of the Caribbean to the small Island of Bequia south of Saint Vincent. It was a delightful trip, with islands within sight the entire way, favorable winds, sunny skies, and just enough ice to keep the Coke and Tonic water cold. Along the way we experienced a volcano, got the anchor stuck, sailed at up to 8.5 knots, and saw islands and harbors we plan to explore in more detail on our way back north.

Round Rock marks the entrance to Anquila Passage, 90 miles of open ocean sailing to the Windward Islands from the BVI. Sancy is doing her school work as the boat speeds along on a ENE wind.

We departed Road Town, Tortola in the BVI on Wednesday, Dec. 16. pausing briefly for a swim at the Baths. This boulder strewn beach has caves and pools to explore, but with a swell running it was unsafe, so we climbed back aboard the boat and left. We exited the tranquility of the BVI via Bald Rock Passage at 3:45 p.m., on a course to the island of  St. Eustatia (Statia), 99 miles away. We’d been waiting for weeks for the winds to turn into the ENE, and this was our chance to get south. As we left the protection of the BVI, we met 20 knot winds and rough seas, both just forward of the beam. Uncomfortable, but do-able. This section of the Caribbean is notorious for being a difficult and rough passage for yachts heading SE. The winds are always on the nose, the seas rolling in from Africa and can be huge. There is also a 1 to 2 knot current running west, all conspiring to make any sane sailor think twice about remaining in the BVI.

But we were lucky. Chris Parker on Caribbean Weather SSB told us this was the best weather window we could expect, as the winds would go into the E and SW towards the weekend.  We bashed our way out of the BVI, with spray flying, the bow diving into the swells, and the kids complaining. As we proceeded south east, the seas diminished, as Chris said they would. The wind remained ENE, and things quieted down after dark and we had a reasonable passage. The currents played with us all night long as the boat speed would jump to 7.5 kts for an hour, then drop to 4.5, and the course change by 20 degrees. The night sky was cloudless, filled with stars. Julie and I shared the steering throughout the night, passing freighters, cruise ships and other yachts heading in the opposite direction.

Julie called me on deck around 3 a.m., as she was concerned we were going to run into the island of Saba, visible as a black mound on the horizon barely discernible against the star filled sky. “Julie, we are 20 miles away.” I told her. “We will decide on which side to pass Saba when we are closer. I’m going back to bed.” Radar, can be helpful here, for it showed Julie that we were indeed too far away from  Saba for concern. I went back to bed for an hour, then relieved her at 4 am.

We slid by Saba in the dark on the lee side, it being the safer of the options, lights outlined the steep road to Bottom, the village at the top. As dawn arrived, Havana came on deck to watch Saba slip behind us, its rugged cliffs and two volcanic cones catching the first rays of sun. A lone fisherman in an open skiff sped by on his way to the banks.

Statia sleeps as day arrives on December 17, 2009.

Our intended waypoint was the island of Eustatia, the first in a chain of volcanic islands that make up the leeward islands. Our detour around the west side of Saba, placed us off the track, so we  changed the waypoint on the GPS to a point off the western tip of Montserrat, 90 miles further down the chain. The day arrived with the winds down to 15 knots, the swells and waves had indeed diminished to a comfortable 3 feet. Searcher sped along at 7 to 8 knots with the wind on the beam. The islands of Eustatia, St. Kitts, and Nevis sped past all morning. These are old volcanos, each with their cloud topped cone giving way to a slope of green fields and forests that slide into the sea. We were on the lee side of the islands, protected from the Atlantic swells. It was like sailing on a lake. We had all sails up and we were doing between 7 and 8 knots.

St. Kitts slides past . . . .

Nevis slips by . . .

It took us all afternoon to get to and pass Montserrat, an active volcano. Julie hauled out the World and Oceans reference books and as we neared the island, now spouting a cloud of pale colored ash held a geography class with the kids about how volcanos are formed.  The ash cloud ahead of us was spilling down the SW side of the island, and drifting out to sea on the Trade Winds. We were heading right for that cloud. As we approached Montserrat, my eyes began to bother me, and the kids began complaining about dust in the air. It got thicker and thicker. I donned a face mask, and the kids put on swimming goggles. While this helped keep the gritty ash out of our eyes,we were now tasting volcanic ash in our mouths. As the sun set, the dust settled over the boat and ourselves, a gritty, pale ash with specks of black and brown. It took us 2 hours to pass through the cloud. It was dark when I took off the mask.

The cloud of volcanic ash obscurs the  southwestern end of Montserrat.

We motored into the night, heading for the village of Deshaies, a small harbor on the northwest coast of the French island of Guadeloupe. I’ve been in there twice, once at night. I felt comfortable entering after dark. With the aid of radar, I could see the narrow entrance and the boats anchored there. It was 11:30 p.m. on Thursday, Dec. 17 when we dropped the hook in 40-feet of water.  Julie and I showered off the volcanic dust and we fell into our bunks, tired but grateful for the day’s sail, the volcano and our safe arrival in the harbor. The kids had been asleep since 8 p.m.

Next morning, I found the decks covered in a thin layer of ash, but only on the port side, the side facing the cloud.  I washed off as much of the ash as I could with the deck hose, but it would take a real heavy rain shower to rid the boat of the ash that had crept into every conceivable crevice. We were underway at 8 a.m. motoring down the west coast of Guadeloupe, its mountainous peaks capped in clouds. Like a dam, these tall Windward Islands trap the trade winds, and their moisture, creating huge annual rain falls on the eastern side of the mountains, resulting in cascading rivers, 300-foot water falls and a vibrant green rain forest environment. These 3000 foot mountains also steal the wind, leaving the waters in their lee calm and peaceful.

It was our plan to hop down the island chain, day sailing, stopping each night to rest, but not to clear into customs or immigrations at any of the islands until we got to Bequia. The cost to clear in plus the bureaucratic hassle found on these islands would have robbed us a day, maybe two. And, our goal was to get to Bequia in time for my daughter’s birthday, on December 23rd, and to spend Christmas with the Bursteins, our friends from Maine, who have a home there.   We had five or six days.

A look at the charts and guide books shows there are precious few places to anchor a boat on the western side of these large islands, especially anchorages one can enter after dark. but there are enough.  Deshaies on Guadeloupe is one, the next is Prince Rupert Bay on the northwest tip of Dominica, then St. Pierre on the northwest tip of Martinique. Next would be Rodney Bay on the northwest tip of St. Lucia. There is almost no suitable anchorage on the west coast of St. Vincent, but there is an ideal harbor just 8 miles further on in Admiralty Bay, Port Elizabeth on the island of Bequia. Our destination. 

It is possible to leap-frog down the island chain, with an anchorage at the end of each long day.  Between each of the islands lies 20 to 30 miles of open ocean with all that that entails. Larger seas, strong winds and a current of a knot or so on the beam. Challenging sailing. Add to this the Brunelli effect and any sailor has their hand full. On going south, a sail boat has no wind or light, often contrary winds in the lee of these large islands. We motored for a few hours each day as we passed through the windless lee of each island. Upon approaching the southern tip of each island we were faced with winds on the nose, as the winds and seas bent in around the islands. We would fall off, sailing more to the west, then straighten out in the middle of each passage as the winds and seas came around to the east. But, add to this a 1 to 1.5 knot west setting current, and it was hard to hold a course to the next island. Then, as we neared the northern tip of each island, the wind and seas would swing around to the Northeast and we were able to make up some of what we’d lost earlier on. So, we leap-frogged down the island chain:

Saba,Eustatia, St. Kitts, Nevis, Montserrat, Guadeloupe, Dominica, Martinique, St. Lucia, St. Vincent, and finally Bequia.

The port of Saint Pierre on the island of Martinquie, with Mount Pelee behind.

On Friday evening we dropped hook in St. Pierre on Martinique, a sprawling town along a beach under the cone of Mt. Pelee. This volcano  that last erupted in 1903, wiped out the entire population of 30,000, leaving a sole survivor, an inmate in the town’s jail, to tell the tale. The town has since been rebuilt, but not to the scale it was in the late 1800s. St. Pierre is a delightful setting. Green fields flow down the shoulder of the now dormant volcano to the village in the bay.  This is one place we’ll visit on our trip north.

Saturday morning we motor sailed down the coast of Martinique passing more mountains and valleys.  Then with a brisk spray flying on the nose sail across 25 miles of open ocean to the lee of Dominica we elected to not stop on this tropical rain forest, the highest of all the Caribbean islands, as we still had half a day of daylight. So, on we motor sailed down the flank of Dominica, bashing our way across another 20 miles of open sea, before entering the  lee of St. Lucia. By this time, we were so far off course, we weren’t going to be able to make it into Rodney Bay. Our next option was the tiny inlet of Marigot, half-way down the coast of St. Lucia.

The Hole in The Wall. The tiny harbor of Marigot on St. Lucia was our third stop on our island hopping trip south.

We arrived at this hole in the wall at 5:30 p.m. just as the sun was setting. A black man in a colorful wooden skiff offered to rent us a mooring for $25. I told him I’d prefer to anchor, and asked him where. He pointed to the left side of the channel, just where the guide book says not to anchor. Julie dropped the anchor on the edge of the channel, telling me repeatedly that we were in the channel. I knew this, but the boat ahead was also anchored in the channel, but the wind had him sitting safely outside the channel. I trusted that we’d do the same. We didn’t. I told Julie to haul up the anchor. She couldn’t. It was stuck to the bottom. No amount of maneuvering and hauling could budge it. The boat bums started to gather around, offering advice, free and paid.  I called the local marina on the VHF and the dock master came right out to see what was afoot. He was more concerned with the two mega yachts which would need to exit the harbor the following morning. He told me he’d call the local diver, even though he was off island. “ . . . can you use your dinghy to pull your stern clear of the channel when these two yachts exit?” he  asked, or rather told me.

“When?” I asked.

“Tomorrow morning.”

“What time tomorrow morning? I asked.

“Between 8 and 9 am.”

“Will do . . . “

“I’ll see if I can I get a diver out here tomorrow, but it’s my day off .. .”

Whilst Julie made dinner, the kids and I launched the dinghy, leaving the engine off until the morning. It was already dark, and there was no way I was going to go diving in this strange harbor, not in 60 feet of water, not at 70 years of age. That was work for a much younger man.  All night, I  lay awake running what it might look like on the bottom. The chain could be wrapped around a boulder, the anchor could be lodged under a ledge, or caught on a cable or an abandoned ship’s anchor. It’s been 15 years since I’ve been down in 60 feet of water, and while I had the tank, the regulator, the wet suit, the BC and all the rest on board, I was a little scared about what I may find and how I might get the anchor back on board. It might require help from the Marina or another diver. What could have cost me just $25 for a mooring could now cost me a few hundred and the loss of a day or two. I’d have to clear in to St. Lucia, that’s over $100 in harbor fees.  I ran over the dive procedure time and time again. If the anchor was jammed I might have to extract it backward, requiring another line. What line? The spare anchor line on the bow. Would the shackle fit the hole on the anchor that’s stuck?

Morning. I prepared all my dive gear. The kids and I rigged the dinghy engine and stood by for the exit of the mega yachts. That happened at 8:30 a.m. with no problem. We pulled Searcher’s stern out of the channel and they slid by with plenty of room.

I climbed into my dive gear and slipped over the side. Havana lowered the spare anchor line. It was his job to keep it taught and to wait for my single. Two tugs would mean haul up the anchor. Three tugs would mean let out more chain. No tugs mean would mean I’m on the way back up . . . the problem solved, or the problem too big for me to solve. Julie was on the bow of Searcher ready to haul up the anchor, or release more chain, Ren was in the dinghy as my surface back-up support person.

I descended down the anchor chain, into the blue gray murk. I balanced the buoyancy of the BC with my weight belt, and descended nicely, clearing my ears as I went, holding on to the line . . .  with Havana on the other end. Concentration. Focus, pushing the fears away as I centered my attention on the descent. The bottom came into view . . . the sea bed mud strewn with clumps of dead coral heads. There was the Bruce anchor, wedged in between two large coral boulders. I grabbed the anchor shank and gave it a shove . . .the anchor moved. It wasn’t wedged. Standing in the mud I was able to move the anchor backward. I tied off the spare line to the chain to free my hands and moved my position to behind the anchor. My moving about had stirred up the silt so visibility was poor to nonexistent, but I was able to feel my way. I dislodged the anchor and heaved it over the two boulders. One more heave and the anchor now sat in a clear field of mud, no obstacles to foul it again. I retrieved the spare line and began my descent upward, slowing down as I went. I remembered something about 60 feet being a depth at which dive tables come into play and there might be some requirement for my pausing to “off gas.” I was impatient to get to the surface to tell Julie to get Searcher’s engine started and raise the anchor, but I dared not rush this ascent.

I broke the surface and told Julie to start the engine. Ren helped me out of the BC and tank, pulled my weight belt into the dinghy, then I was able to haul myself over the side of the inflatable.  We pulled the dinghy around to the stern ladder, and I climbed aboard, noting that we had already drifted past the channel marker and were heading out to sea, the anchor already off the bottom. Julie stepped on the up-button and the windless reeled in the anchor chain, freely. What a good feeling.  No diver to pay for, no customs fees to pay, and no mooring fee to shell out. This old skin flint had beaten the odds again. Two hundred yards off the harbor entrance we drifted in order to haul up the outboard and secure the dinghy back on its chocks on the aft deck. The bikes were put back into the dinghy, along with a pile of kids’ stuff and we were off, heading south. With luck, our next stop would be Bequia.

The twin Pitons of St. Lucia drop astern as we head across the passage to St. Vincent.

As we slid south in the lee of St. Lucia, the twin peaks of the island’s famous tetons appeared over the hills. They came into full view an hour later, green, steep and primal. I had the feeling we were back at the dawn of time when the earth was just being formed. Julie and I photographed the peaks from a variety of compositions, before they slipped from view later that afternoon.

It was 20 miles across open ocean to the shores of Saint Vincent. Before we left the shores of St. Lucia, we could see the towering peak of Soufriere, its 3,000 foot summit wreathed in clouds. We experienced the same wind patterns as with all the other passages,  winds on the nose, then on the beam, then on the quarter. Coming into the lee of St. Vincent, I dropped a fishing line over the stern and within 10 minutes had a fish on . . . but it must have been an 80-pound tuna, for it broke the leader before I could get to the reel and release the brake. So much for my favorite lure, the one that caught us all the Mahi Mahi on the way down from Bermuda.

There are few if any suitable overnight harbors on the west coast of St. Vincent, but it’s only 8 miles further on to Bequia, with its large, open harbor. It was at sunset when we made the crossing. The wind was down to 15 kts and the swells and waves were a great deal calmer. What a delightful sail to finish off our five days from the British Virgin Islands. We entered the harbor of Port Elizabeth at 7:30 p.m., radar on and wind with us until we dropped the hook in 30 feet of water.

The village of Chateaublair on the west coast of St. Vincent with the Morne Garu Mountain range behind.

A great sailing adventure . . . and a taste of the islands we’ll visit on the way back north in another month. We were fortunate that the wind was from the ENE for two days, then E for 2 days before going ESE toward the end of our journey.

We had the bad luck of sailing through a volcanic ash cloud, but the kids had a first hand experience that few kids will ever have. We had the bad luck of fouling our anchor in Marigot, but the good luck to get it free the next morning.

Next Chapter.

We’re here in Bequia for a Caribbean Christmas and New Years . . .  or for long as we can afford it . .  perhaps a few weeks. This is a small island as these tropical islands go, but full of sea faring people, and a harbor packed with private  and charter yachts. We are one of the few American boats here. The village is what you dream of, a beach lined with shops, boutiques, a government building, a laundry, and open air markets selling fresh produce. The prices are high, a gallon of water is $1.50 EC (Easter Caribbean currency) that’s 57¢ a gallon . . . fine if it’s bottled spring water from Poland, Maine, but this is bulk water for the ship’s tanks. The price in the BVI was 15¢ a gallon. Diesel fuel is $14.75 EC per gallon, or $5.50 US. Ouch!

We’ll head further south to Granada in a few weeks, then turn around and head back north, up the island chain pausing at each island to clear in, go ashore, tour the rain forests, visit the local schools, swim under the water falls, paddle our kayaks up some of the rivers. We’ll be giving you reports on each island as we go. Our summer plans are still unclear. Returning to Maine appears to be only a dim possibility, unless something interesting comes up that would impact our financial future. The Azores is one option, and heading west around the world is another. We don’t need to know right now, it’s enough just to be here . .  in the tropics, on  our boat, with a breeze blowing and the kids swimming. Now, I gota get ready or Christmas . . .

More to come . . .

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