From St. Pierre we sailed 56 miles to Prince Rupert Bay, Domenica, and then the next day, 22 miles to Marie Galante. We loved Domenica last season and devoted several days there to hikes to two waterfalls, being rowed up the Indian River, red rocks, snorkeling in Champagne Springs, a tour of the botanical gardens, and climbing to the fort. But we have other islands to visit, so we disappointed the friendly and non-aggressive boat boys there by declining their offers of services, other than to take away a bag of garbage, and rented a mooring for a quiet night’s sleep after all the rolling at St. Pierre. We did so under yellow quarantine flag, without going ashore and without checking in or out of Domenican customs.
The 56 miles to Domenica started and ended slow but for about five of the nine hours, in the middle, amidst six foot waves, under sunny skies and using small jib and reefed main we beat into the wind averaging 6.7 knots, including periods of much less speed, with apparent winds of 15 to 22 knots. Lene took the helm for two one-hour watches.
Each of us, while at the helm, got about a bucket full of seawater dumped on us: picked up by the boat’s bow as it dipped into the sea, thrown up and carried back by the wind. Our course was almost due north and the wind was from the northeast, so this entire passage was done on a single starboard close hauled reach. Once we got in the lee of Domenica, the waves diminished, but because we were sailing about three to four miles off the coast, the wind did not diminish much and with smaller waves hitting our bow and slowing us down, we kept the good speed.
We checked the weather and the same was predicted for the next day. It would have been easy to go on to the lovely Iles des Saints, where we planned to go next, but the challenge was Marie Galante, a much less visited island because it is a 22 mile detour to the north east, requiring tacking. The challenge is what attracted Roger. The wind would be behind us on the way back to The Saintes. Both The Saintes and Marie Galante are part of the nation of Guadalupe and all three have places where one can check into customs.
Rogers plan was to head north almost to The Saintes, and then tack the required 90 degrees to the east, toward Marie Galante. But after ghosting slowly out of Prince Rupert Bay, Domenica, and sailing close to shore the few miles remaining of Domenica’s west coast, we got to the open sea and, steering as close to the wind as we could, were able to sail on a course of 030 magnetic, only ten degrees from the rhumb line of 045 to our destination. But after an hour or so the wind shifted so we were steering a course of 000 – a mammoth thirty degree shift that would have taken us far away from where we wanted to go. So we tacked and now our destination was on our port bow but we were steering a course of 090. An hour later, when the wind came back to near where it had been, we were able to steer 045, directly toward the destination, until about an hour before the destination is shifted adversely, requiring us to steer 025.
But this sail was not as much fun as the prior one. Interspersed with all these course changes were about five rain squalls with accompanying strong winds. Roger had put up the full main without a reef and the small jib. The first of these squalls came upon us while Roger was doing something else and Lene sort of panicked due to the heavy heeling until Roger reduced the heeling and then put the reef in the main. Lene demanded a promise never to make inter-island passages without a reef in the main.
The island, named after one of Christopher Columbus’ boats on one of his voyages of discovery after his first, is roundish, and flat topped, it looks like a like a mesa from the sea. The passage, from 9 to 2, took us to the island’s capital, Grand Bourg, on the southwest coast. We think this translates into “Big City,” which it is not: about six blocks long along the waterfront and three blocks deep from it. They have built a seawall and enclosed a small area for the ferries, fishing boats, and a few sailboats and there we anchored.
(The birds are a happy accident in this photo; they hang about at fishing docks.) But the nights we spent there were uneasy ones because our stern was only 40 feet from the rocks piled to make the seawall – zero margin of safety if the anchor had dragged.
One benefit of being at Marie Galante is the ability to see the storm tossed, less viewed eastern sides of Domenica, Isles des Saintes, and Guadaloupe.
It being Sunday, customs (called douanes in French) was closed, so we remained aboard and Sunday became a cleaning day. Monday we breakfasted ashore at this shop,
cleared customs, visited the tourist information office, and engaged in a frustrating and fruitless search for wifi. We also bought a one inch thick, ten inch round tuna steak, sliced off the fish at the dock where we landed and kept it on ice until dinner time, for 5 euros (about $7.60). It made two dinners.
Then on to St. Louis, the beachfront town about five miles north on the western side of Marie Galante. This was our third beat and again in big winds. Roger used the Genoa only and when it came time to tack toward shore, we furled it and motored in. Here we were in the back of the fleet with lots of room around us and with 100 feet on chain out in 20 feet of water, we felt safe, despite the rolly nature of the anchorage. Roger tied a second line to our snubber so we were snubbed through both port and starboard bow chocks, which made for a quieter night. After six years with this boat, I think Roger finally got snubbing right!
During our lay day here, Lene was feeling a bit under the weather again and did not want to tour, but wanted a day away from Roger, so he dinked ashore. The touring guide talked of dinghy docks but none remain and the ferry dock was too high to climb out of the dink onto so it was on to the beach. There Roger met a French man, Fred, on vacation, and offered him a ride to Iles des Saintes the next day or the day after, depending on weather and on the concurrence of our respective women.
Then after a 30 minute wait in this little local Post office for postage of two items to the US, Roger took a five hour hike, which will be described in another posting, checked out wifi, thermometers (but they were all Celsius except a high tech electric one which measures when pressed to the forehead, bought some cucumbers (no lettuce available here as in most places) and returned for another home cooked meal after a call to Fred confirmed a beach rendezvous for 8 am but without his girlfriend.
In the morning we discovered that the clip atop the stack pack to which we attach the main halyard when it is not in use, had broken loose and were able to detangle the halyard with boathook and messenger line. The voyage was only 15 miles but with winds of 20 to 25 knots, we dared not attempt to run dead down wind. We headed west of our rhumb line toward mainland Guadelope and then gybed to a more southerly course straight to our harbor. Surfing down six foot waves we reached a peak observed speed of 10.1 knots. And the trip was not a long one. Fred is a salesman in his native Brittany town, speaks a lot better English than Roger’s French and expressed fear that he might become nauseous toward the end, but hung on.
The waves toss the boat’s head about quite a bit and it was a great joy for Roger to see how well Lene handled the boat.
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