The big difference between our way south and our way north is that (for now at least) we know where we are going. We have stopped at almost every little island along the chain, and we know which are our most and least favorite.
The place we decided we "must see again" was the Tobago Cays, part of the Grenadines. Consequently, we left Trinidad when a favorable weather window opened on December 2, and motorsailed north through the Boca del Monos and out into the Caribbean. The passage was a 24-hour motorsail. We crossed the 80-mile-wide passage between Trinidad and Grenada in the night, and made landfall at the southwest corner of Grenada at 0530, just as dawn broke. We motorsailed through calm seas in the lee along the western side of Grenada, then got slammed by big head seas as we stuck our nose past the northwest corner of Grenada. Kick 'Em Jenny, the local name for Diamond Rock, lived up to her name as we bashed through the big waves that churn up the sea in her vicinity. By 1530 we had dropped anchor behind the reef at Clifton Harbor in Union Island. We stayed at Clifton overnight, long enough to check into the country of St. Vincent and the Grenadines, then left for the Tobago Cays, a short five miles away.
Coral and neon fish, Tobago Cays
The Tobago Cays
were as we remembered them: a scattering of undeveloped islands,
with a good harbor protected only by an offlying reef. The main attraction
there is the snorkeling. We took advantage of this by snorkeling
twice daily, once each morning and once each afternoon. The coral
was still alive and healthy. The reef still swarmed with parrotfish,
blue tang, sergeant-major, bluehead wrasse, yellow-tail, and dozens of
other varieties of fish, plus the odd moray eel, barracuda, and shark.
This time we dove out at the exposed eastern edge of the reef, where we
could look down the wall of coral as the bottom steeply dropped away and
dimmed out of sight into the turquoise haze of the depths. Our only
regret was that our scheduling is once again being driven by the weather,
and we had to leave after only three days.
We had a fabulous sail from Tobago Cays to Bequia, with 18-knot ENE trade winds making the trip hard on the wind. We were just able to lay our course, so it turned out to be a great sail instead of a loathsome beat or motorsail. It was strange to be back sailing in the trades again, with long rollers of inky blue sea magically changing to clear crystal gems as they smashed off Sovereign's starboard bow and cascaded back to the cockpit. Every wave shone its own rainbow, whitecaps flashed in the sunlight, and the day seemed perfect. The five hours it took to cover the 23 miles was far too short.
We stayed in Bequia overnight, just long enough to check out of the country. The following day's passage was a long one--we had 70 miles to make before nightfall. Since we didn't have the luxury of the somewhat slower pace of sailing, we had to motorsail the whole trip. As is usual when passing through the wind acceleration zones of the inter-island passages, we got slammed just north of Bequia, and again north of St. Vincent. For a while at each channel we had 35 knot winds and ten-foot seas which, after a while, calmed down to the 20 knot winds and eight foot seas typical of the winter trade winds. Sovereign was well prepared for the conditions with a triple-reefed mainsail set and the staysail ready to furl. Still, it was an uncomfortable 12 hours of powering into seas and listening to the rumble of the engine until we finally dropped anchor in the calm of Rodney Bay, St. Lucia.
Landfall at St. Lucia
As we entered the
harbor, we noticed that the marina was filled with boats, many of which
were flying flags and were otherwise "dressed" for a celebration.
We soon learned that the 2000 Atlantic Rally for Cruisers (ARC)--a 250-boat
cruise-in-company across the Atlantic Ocean--finished here this year, and
boats have been arriving for days. As we cleared in with customs,
the usually deserted office was bustling with captains of ARC boats.
Looking at their paperwork, I saw that most of them had crews of seven,
eight, even nine people. When I arrived at the Immigration desk,
the official looked at Sovereign's paperwork suspiciously and asked, "Is
this all your crew?"
Despite having just crossed 2800 miles of ocean, many of the ARC boats don't seem to have been cruising very long. The ARC boats stay in the marina, something that is prohibitively expensive for long-term cruisers, who generally prefer to anchor. The ARC organizers have arranged for entertainment: local bands that start playing REALLY LOUD at 2200, two hours after our bedtime, and play until 0400, two hours before we normally awaken. For us, the entertainment is the ARC fleet. We watched one ARC boat that had left the marina try five or six times to anchor next to us without success, then complained about how poor holding the harbor bottom is (in fact, it's excellent). We have listened on the radio as these boats hold long conversations on the distress channel (a definite no-no, and a dangerous safety hazard).
We figure that in very little time most of the big crews of the ARC boats will have flown back home, leaving behind the normal shorthanded crew more typical of cruisers. They will find that marinas are few, far between, and expensive. After relying on battery power instead of a marina's shore power, they will figure out that it's best to sleep when it's dark, instead of draining the batteries all night. With a little trial and error, and some practice, they will learn the many skills that make cruising easier.
Yesterday the last official finisher of the ARC came into the harbor. The crew of every boat in the harbor, whether a member of the ARC fleet or not, went out on deck, blowing their foghorn and shouting in welcome. We all recognized that, regardless of the level of experience and expertise, that just getting here is a feat worthy of celebration and congratulation, and we joined in, blowing our horn and taking a video of the event.
Sometimes I think it's too bad we can't know everything before we go cruising: the boat handling and seamanship skills, the locations of the best harbors, the local weather patterns that don't appear on any forecasts. It would certainly make sailing much easier. But when the going gets tough, I keep telling myself, "if it were easy, everyone would be doing it". And I suppose if we knew what it was going to be like before we got here, there wouldn't be much point in any of us going in the first place. So we greet our revisit of the Caribbean with mixed emotions. We are glad of the ease afforded by our familiarity, but look forward to new cruising grounds for the new millenium.
Smooth sailing,
Jim and Cathy