A short hop to Martinique
Author: Shirlz
Sparky had had all his necessary vaccinations and the dreaded snip and was ready to go cruising. The wonderful animal clinic in Hillsborough had taken good care of him. I stocked up with some fresh fruit and veg and filled the water tanks and we were ready to head north.
What follows is not a rant just a slightly bemused description of the reality of a shortish hop up the island chain of the Eastern Caribbean from Tyrrel Bay, Carriacou to St Pierre, Martinique. A distance of roughly 130 nm.
I set off happily at about 10am on Wednesday planning to head for Rodney Bay in St Lucia for an overnight stop before the final leg to St Anne on the SE corner of Martinique. The forecast was favourable with a fair wind from the east and sunny skies. We sailed along keeping well up wind of the rumb line to St Lucia. Passing close to Chatham Bay on Union Island I wondered about stopping there for the day, but we were going so well I decided to press on. soon Canouan and Mayreau were abeam in the distance bringing back wonderful memories of previous visits.
As darkness fell the lights of Bequia twinkled to starboard. There was no moon and the sky was rich with stars. It seemed sinful to go below to try to snatch my regular 20 minute catnaps. Heading across the channel between Bequia and St Vincent we were still going well and keeping to the planned track. The current didn´t seem too strong and soon enough we found ourselves in the lee of St Vincent. It´s steep mountains blocked the wind but I valiantly coaxed the boat along at a careful 2 knots and drifted slowly up the coast, fairly close in. Tired by now, I fell asleep for a few minutes only to be woken by a different feel in the motion of the boat. I leaped up the companionway to find that the wind had died and the sail had gybed and was flopping about while we headed gently back the way we had come. I hauled out the electric autopilot from its safe, dry storage place down below and plugged it in. It worked! I tried starting the engine. It started! We were on our way again, but the peace was shattered. Approaching the northern end of the island the wind came back. The electrical stuff was safely packed away again and the engine killed. A nice wind to fill the sail and we headed across the next channel to St Lucia. But this time the current was a force to be reckoned with and the GPS informed me implacably that although the compass showed we were pointing ENE we were in fact moving NW, being swept along by the Equatorial Current. Getting further and further downwind of our track and the possibility of entering Rodney Bay that night.
At daybreak I could see the confused state of the water with waves and swells crossing in various conflicting directions making for a very uncomfortable time on board. I dug out my Force 10 fully gimballed gas cooker to brew up the essential caffeine shot. Trying to light the Primus would have been frustrating and foolhardy. Once fortified I tried an experimental tack to get closer in shore and back on track but it was a sad waste of time and effort. We just found ourselves going ever so slowly back the way we had come. I tried using the engine, which improved things slightly but with great discomfort and noise. Sparky came out to see what was going on and squeaked his disapproval. Such slow (1.5 knots), noisy and unpleasant progress was not worth the expense of the diesel. I killed the engine and resigned myself to another night at sea heading directly for St Anne. It soon seemed that even that was being overly optimistic as the current still had us in its grip. But then, approacking the northern end of St Lucia, we started curving in a more easterly direction and the compass and GPS almost agreed with each other. St Anne might still be possible. I decided to carry on and see how things evolved. We were all the time sailing as close to the wind as possible so there wasn’t much else to do. Just another black night. I opened a can of baked beans for a cold supper and fed Sparky.
All the while his litter tray, filled with sand, was down below as the cockpit was far too wet to leave it outside. He had used up all the expensive commercial kitty litter bought in Trinidad and had graduated to beach sand. Much to his enthusiastic delight. ´Mon! A beach! On the boat!’. Sand flung about with wild abandon in all directions. Sand crunched underfoot wherever I stood, sand in the bilge, sand in my bunk. A happy cat and a not so happy skipper. I resolved never to go to sea again without the more manageable kitty litter and hang the expense.
About 3 on Friday morning we were roughly 11 nm SW of St Anne and thinking about what I’d make for breakfast when the current grabbed us again. It didn’t take much deliberation on my part to concede defeat, let out the sail and head off downwind with the current to round the SW corner of Martinique. But the powers that be had not done with us yet. As we turned with the wind blowing down the companionway and speeding us along with all the ease of the junk sail, a heavy rain squall sent me scurrying below to find a waterproof as I needed to do some hand steering at this point. It was pitch dark with the coast uncomfortably close by. I was grateful for the warm jacket my son Pete had recently given me. For the next couple of hours the rain squalls kept coming blasting quite strongly, then dying away. The sky was starting to lighten and it was possible to get some warning as the menacing, black rain clouds approached one after the other.
At dawn we were passing the entrance to Fort de France with heavy rain making it almost impossible to see the way ahead. A big red tanker suddenly loomed into view. I couln’t be sure which way it was heading as it was after sunrise and it was showing no lights. At last it passed ahead of us and I relaxed only to be startled a short while later by a monster cruise ship suddenly appearing out of the gloom a short way off. We were passing ahead of it and it was moving slowly. The passengers probably still asleep while the staff were getting breakfast ready to serve. I had a few sips of coke to keep myself going. The rain kept raining. I thought of all those dry days in Tyrrel Bay hoping vainly for rain to fill the water tanks and now we were getting drenched and could do nothing about it. At least there was enough wind to keep us moving up the coast to St Pierre. We motored the last mile into the anchorage and found a good place to stop near enough to the beach in 10m of water. The bottom drops of steeply so I dug in well, let out 40m of chain and went below to have a sleep.
A typical Caribbean Cruise? Well, nothing broke, the junk rig proved itself as I must have reefed and raised the sail at least half a dozen times a day with the changeable wind conditions. Maybe with a powerful bermudan rig I could have got into St Anne, but then again, St Pierre is rather a lovely place to be.
March 16th, 2014 at 14:14
Shirley : my week is looking brighter with your lovely commentary….
Hugz to Sparky and hope the sand is sorted 🙂
Kris (soon back in Cyprus)
March 17th, 2014 at 08:49
Sparky looks like he has settled in rather well!