Just as the crew of seven ”sailors” had made themselves precariously comfortable in the small dinghy, all set to take a 10-minute trip into shore for an evening meal, the skies opened and rain fired down on them in wind-driven waves.
As they made their way slowly through the deluge, the outboard motor died at least twice. Visibility was near zero since the sun had set two hours earlier and the moon had yet to rise over the mountains that looked like huge dark eggplants enclosing Admiralty Bay in the isle of Bequia. Navigating more by feel than sight through a crowd of sailing yachts bobbing at anchor, the group soon was drenched to the skin.
”This is really miserable,” announced one woman over the gurgling of the Evinrude. The comment met silence at first. Then, as if everyone realized the joke at once, all laughed.
Miserable? This was not miserable.
Miserable is 20 knots of the Chicago ”hawk” kicking the wind chill factor down to 15 below and freezing your eyelids rather than the same amount of tradewind breeze cooling the fire from the Caribbean sun. Miserable is stomping your boots in cold snow rather than curling your toes in wet warm sand. Miserable is pulling on longjohns, two scarves, a wool coat and heavy gloves to go out rather than slipping a cotton shift over your bikini and putting a fresh frangipani flower in your hair.
This is misery?
The rain in Bequia stopped just as the group reached shore. It was a fresh water rinse that evaporated from their hair and clothes in the warm breeze in less than 20 minutes. If this was misery, the rest must be paradise. When you live in the northern Midwest there`s no substitute for a Caribbean vacation in winter. Add to that the thrill of ocean sailing and the adventure of exploring rather inaccessible islands, and the Grenadines become ideal.
For four of us it was the second trip to the lower windward islands that stretch in a kind of scymitar chain from St. Vincent on the north to Grenada at the south. The first trip in 1983 was just before the United States`
invasion of Grenada to rescue the American students at the Grenada College of Medicine from the clutches of a revolutionary government which grabbed power in a bloody coup.
During that vacation, there were far fewer yachts in the Grenadines, especially in Grenada itself. Other forms of tourism also were slack. The communist politics brought to Grenada by the Cubans had tended to manifest itself, not so much in Cuban nationals floating around the island, but in a derth of merchandise on store shelves and a plethora of revolutionary slogans painted on rocks and walls.
Certainly this time around there were many more visitors from Europe, Canada and the U.S. and even a few from the Soviet Union. They were there in hotels, having flown to Barbados or St. Lucia on large jets and then hopped over to smaller airports on two engine planes run by Liat or Air Mustique. They had come on huge cruise liners, including the Feodor Dostoyevsky from the Soviet Union, emblazoned with a hammer and sicle on its stack. And they had come on yachts ranging in size from 300-foot multimillion dollar floating motor palaces to weatherbeaten wood and fiberglass ketches and yawls not much longer than 25 feet.
Islanders are relaxed
This time the attitude of the island inhabitants seemed somewhat more relaxed (if it can get more relaxed) with evident eagerness for more tourism and thus improvement for the economy.
To truly taste St. Vincent, Grenada and the Grenadines, however, it is important that travel be done by sea. It is the only way to get to Bequia, for instance, or to numerous small bays in the other dozen islands in the chain.
We had arranged a bareboat charter from Caribbean Sailing Yachts, the Sail La Vie, a 50-foot cruising sloop, which allows travelers freedom to poke into wherever the water is deep enough, to arrange their schedules according to their own plan or whim and to partake of the thrill of being tiny instruments playing in the symphony of wind and ocean, both of which there is plenty of in the Grenadines.
Bareboating-that is, sailing a yacht yourself rather than with a professional captain and crew-takes a bit of sailing and navigating experience and requires a little more exertion than rolling over on a beach blanket, but the rewards are compelling. Not the least of them is sensual: watching an island slip away behind you as the boat yaws and pitches into the waves, squinting ahead as a new landfall emerges in the haze-first like a ghostly apparition as if your eyes are playing tricks on you and then a definite shape of a cloud-covered mountain, listening to the wash and often baritoned slug of the sea as it is parted by the sharpened bow of the boat. All this under the incessant white hot blast of the sun and the brush of the wind. For most, it is bracing yourself against the rocking of the yacht with one hand and sipping a beer with the other, having great fun. For the few who truly allow themselves to absorb it all, it can approach nirvana, worth any amount money and tedious travel machinations are required to achieve it.
Veteran crew
Our group was seven ranging in age from 44 to 54, two married couples, one single woman and two single men. All but one had cruisied together before in the Sea of Cortez, Belize, the Virgin Islands and elsewhere. All were able to cope with the social adjustment required of anyone spending two weeks living together in a space less than the size of an efficiency apartment. Essential to a successful bareboat cruise is the right combination of individuals; social compatibility is far more important than sailing ability. The boat, made by Gulfstar, was plenty large for the seven of us with a main salon, forward and aft cabins and a small central cabin with bunk beds. There were two heads (toilets), two showers, hot and cold running water, a three-burner propane stove with oven, refrigerator, tape player, beds enough for eight. All the comforts of home squeezed into a space about as large as a small studio apartment. In addition there was a DC to AC power converter, which could be used to run a microwave oven, blender, hairdryer or televsion if any cared to (no one did). And, of course, there were sails and appropriate rigging and gear, a large turbo charged diesel engine, and a dinghy with outboard motor.
The tour had begun in St. Vincent about 10 days earlier, about three hours later than planned on a Sunday afternoon because of some last minute problems with the boat, and we made a very quick sail nine miles for our first stop at Admiralty Bay on Bequia, a very popular anchorage filled with yachts sporting flags of more than a dozen nations. Tired from the hassles of the day`s preparations we cooked dinner on the boat (the galley is equipped with a three-burner propane stove with an oven and even a tiny microwave that runs off an AC inverter).
The game plan
Our overall game plan was to scallop our way south to St. George`s harbor in Grenada by Friday evening, stopping each night along the way. We would spend all-day Saturday exploring Grenada and then use the second week of the cruise to work our way back north. Because we planned to stop again at Bequia on our way back up, in order to attend a famed ”jump up” on Wednesday night, we embarked early Monday morning. Destination: Canouan, perhaps one of the world`s most beautiful islands.
Along the way as the yacht made 6 1/2 knots down wind we uncoiled about 100 feet of 100-pound test nylon fishing line to which was attached a pink plastic bait and a big hook. No fishing pole, mind you, just an H-shaped plywood card on which to roll in the line. You tie it to a stern cleat, rig it with a piece of elastic shock cord and let the speed of the boat troll it through the water, said one of the dock workers at Caribbean Sailing Yachts. Sure.
But less than half an hour later the elastic cord drew tight. The hook had caught something, a flying fish perhaps. Winding the line in slowly, we soon realized whatever was on the other end was larger than a foot-long flying fish. Whatever it was, it was creating a powerful pull and bouncing in and out of the bubbling wake, glinting silver in the sun. Slowly winding, we managed to coax the fish up near the stern long enough to recognize that it was a brilliant purple sailfish about three to four feet long with a large dorsal fan and a long swordlike snout. But how to land it. We had no gaff hook and attempts to snag it with the boat pole proved useless. Before we could concoct any more bright ideas the wire leader parted and the fish found freedom, although not before we grabbed a few photos, just to prove our story later.
Island adventures
Not all adventure is to be had at sea. The isle of Canouan is only sparsely inhabited and then only on the western side, which opens into a wide bay and safe anchorage. A hike along the eastern windward edge reveals an line of exquiste and isolated white sand beaches protected by a reef that extends the length of the island and encapsulates a four-mile-long pool of shallow water that flashes bluegreen and white and deep blue in the sunlight-prettier in person than any publicity photo in a travel agency. An abandoned gray stone church presides on the side of the hill above one beach and bay, having stood up to the wind for at least 100 years. While poking around in the tangle of trees and bushes near the beach, we uncovered some other stone construction, perhaps a base for a lighthouse, long deteriorated and occupied now only by lizards.
Visit to Mayereau
Other stops on the trip down included a night at tiny Salt Whistle Bay on the isle of Mayereau, where a morning hike to the top of the mountain gives one a commanding panorama of several islands; Union Island, the busy international Customs port, teeming with boats and tourists en route to somewhere else, and a rolling anchorage in Friendship Bay at Carriacou, the first of the lower Grenadines, those islands politically associated with Grenada.
Anchoring, if not the most critical part of bareboating, is certainly the most stressful. With constant high winds, it is important to be sure the boat is secure at night as it swings around the anchor and bobs in the waves. The prospect of dragging out the anchor and floating off to Venezuala while you sleep or, worse yet, into a reef, sometimes makes for a few trips to the bow in the middle of the night ”just to check.”
Probably our longest sail was the trip from Carriacou toward St. George`s Harbor, a large port on the southwest end of Grenada. But the wind was fair and, though the seas sometimes rose to 10 feet, especially between the two islands, they were from behind us so that Sail La Vie was propelled at almost seven knots across the 30 or so miles. Grenada, unfortunately, was swaddled in clouds that loomed over its 2,500-foot peaks like a Russian`s fur cap.
From the sea Grenada looks ruggedly dark green with a few small bays and red roofed buildings in tiny patches along the coast, with the mist hanging gray and wet over the forested terrain that rises abruptly behind. One wonders if this is an island worthy of a military assault. It seems akin to invading Yellowstone Park.
Later, as we rounded, Moliniere Point, St. George opened to us. It obviously is the population center of Grenada with a history of military involvement made more obvious by the ruins of Ft. George that still commands the cliff that juts over the harbor.
We tied up in the yacht basin alongside a wooden pier that showed serious deterioration. We felt secure, however, recalling that it was the same deteriorating dock to which we had tied up six years previously, and it still was in service. Different than six years before, however, is the number of private and chartered yachts anchored in the basin. In 1983 there were fewer than a half dozen. Now there were more than 50 as well as some commercial island trading vessels-heavy wooden, no-nonsense boats that transport anything from bananas to lumber to household furniture from island to island.
Berthed beside fishing boat
We were berthed next to a very modern steel commercial fishing vessel from Florida rigged with all the latest gear for longline fishing, including a refrigerated hold kept cold by the running of the engines-day and night. Besides bringing in tuna and kingfish for profit, the boat is part of a program to teach longline fishing techniques to people in Grenada where fishing is the main employment but where unemployment is more than 50 percent. Later on a tour of some of the island we saw some evidence of new construction of residential as well as commercial property, the modern (if somewhat underused) airport and the concrete podium from which President Ronald Reagan spoke in 1984. Also we transversed acres of bananas trees with the fruit growing in blue plastic bags to protect them from rats. The university whose students were rescued by the U. S. invasion still is operating along the beach and the old Holiday Inn hotel, which had been closed down in 1983, has been redone and seemed to be flourishing along with a new shopping center nearby.
Those are changes, small but noticeable. But most of all we are aware of a change in attitude among officials, merchants, service personel and people on the street. Grenadians, who speak English in their own beautifully lilting patois, always have been friendly, but in 1983 there seemed to be undertones of reserve. Storekeepers had much less to sell and were not as anxious to sell it. Immigration and Customs officials were overly terse and rigid. A few younger people were openly hostile.
This time the Customs official at the dock actually came to our boat on Saturday evening to explain that if we were going to leave Sunday morning as planned, we had better complete the paperwork Saturday evening rather than have to call him from home on Sunday at some expense. It was an accommodation that we appreciated and one that probably wouldn`t have occured during our previous visit.
The simple life
In Grenada`s mountains many people live simply and poorly in one or two room buildings, sometimes built of concrete block, but more often of wood. There is little need for shelter except from rain. Temperature seldom dips below 70 degrees. Goats, chickens and a few cows roam almost freely.
A day-long tour by mini-bus costs slightly more than $100 U.S. which figures out to $15 each-not bad for a tour of several villages, a couple of waterfalls, fishermen casting nets from the shore, banana plantations, the St. George`s market, lots of back roads through tropical rain forest and a knowledgeable driver to provide running commentary and answer questions. We returned loaded with fresh nutmegs and mace and whole stalk of bananas to ripen on the backstay of Sail La Vie.
Return trip is work
As soon as we cleared the entrance to St. George`s harbor we realized our trip back up Grenada was going to be more work than sailing down. The wind was in front of us and we were heeled over about 20 degrees and bucking against the waves. When we reached the open passage between Grenada and Carriacou, we became vividly aware of why they call it ”Kick `em Jenny.” And this just when we were beginning to lay back into the slower rythmn of island life.
We reduced sail area by shortening the mainsail as the wind piped up to about 25 knots, maybe more, and the seas hit us like fraternity paddles. A 50- foot sailboat is pretty large, but in these kinds of conditions we were thrown around like a dingy with every fifth or sixth wave washing over the deck and drenching us with salt water in the cockpit. It`s great fun in the hot sun, but physically exhausting just keeping balanced. About halfway through the passage we turned on the engine to help keep us from getting set too far off course by a westbound current.
There are more highlights as we worked our way back to St. Vincent: some great snorkeling at Young Island; a very breezy night at Petit St. Vincent
(PSV)-where the wind hummed, whistled and sang, almost electronically, through the rigging all night as the boat bounced back and forth on its anchor-and a boisterous jump up (dance) to steel drums on the second floor of a Bequia bar.
Miss Mustique
We had planned to stop at Mustique, an island just taken over politically by its absentee landowners-the likes of Princess Margaret, Mick Jaggaer and other of the famous-but the wind was against us and we would have had a very tough sail to reach it in the time we had left. It gave us one more thing to come back for next year-or in six years.
By then, however, much could change. There could be more commercial development, something many residents feel will improve their lives. As North Americans used to life in large American cities where investment, convenience and ”civilization” are at their peak, we could argue with that view. Paradise definitely is not a panoramic view from an office in the Board of Trade, even if it has a private shower. Paradise could be a state of mind. It also could have something to do with a warm island, azure ocean and a breeze that blows skyful after skyful of clouds through every day. –
