Sailing a Cat In The Grenadines -- Part 2 -- The Adventure

We began and ended at the Blue Lagoon Marina on St. Vincent itself and visited eight other islands, putting in about 110 miles with only one lay day.










The first and last stops were in Admiralty Bay on Bequia, the sailing center of the nation. Both of our stops there, however, were Sundays which meant not much action. Below a pretty Bequian sunset.

We first took a mooring close to town and on the way back we anchored further out, near Jack's restaurant.  Our most memorable experience was a visit by a lovely affectionate stranger who invited herself to our table at Macs' restaurant. Harriet gave her some food. Then she engaged in a prominent, public, thorough, five-minute bathing ritual and curled up on my lap for half an hour of symbiotically pleasurable  petting, until we left. She looked a lot like our Alphie Girl, who was being sat in New York by our friend, Nanda, but more affectionate.

The Tobago Cays was my favorite stop. Three islands, almost surrounded by reefs make a nice harbor. So popular that it is a national park with a modest fee. We were led to a mooring in the cut between Petite Rameau to the north and Petite Bateau to the south by a boat boy, Neil, a grown man really. I asked: "Where are the lobsters?" He said "That's me!" We recalled that in 2011 we had enjoyed half a large clawless Caribbean crustacean grilled over charcoal in half a 50 gallon drum, served  with large portions of grilled potatoes, rice with peas, plantains and salad, with fresh fruit for desert. Then it was served on the east or windward side of Petite Bateau. This made for an after dinner challenge: launching and getting into the dink in the surf. But now the dinner is cooked on the protected leeward side of the island, closer to our mooring, under the tent like structures as viewed from our boat.

The price is a bargain at $110 EC, about $41 US. Back then they served no beverages at any price but now they do, though you still have to bring your own silverware. It is barefoot dining at picnic tables with other sailors from France, England, Canada, Germany, etc., all reveling in a magical experience. Lobstering season ended the next day, so our timing was lucky, but Neil will continue serving fish and chicken. Incidentally, in 2011 there was only a tarp hung between trees over the cooking station and only a dozen folks were served. Now there are about a half dozen friendly competitors who have the kind of covers used at street fairs and they served about a hundred revelers.
But the heart of the park is the turtle reservation on the SW side of the easternmost island, Baradel. It is marked off by swimming pool lane style floats to keep boats out. We dinked to the tiny beach at the south end of the island, to the right as seen from our boat, snorkeled, and then walked the path to the top of the island, only 70 feet high but providing panoramic views.

My joy is to find and float above "my turtle" for maybe 20 minutes with a clear underwater view thanks to the snorkel mask, watching him assiduously bite off bits of short seagrass. At one point he swam up the eight or so feet, poked his head out of the water, scanned the area and dove back down to continue breakfasting. Sort of like what we later did in climbing to the "summit" of Baradel. We also came to a large section where the bottom had a lot of large starfish, lying apparently dead to the world, about five or six feet apart in an irregular pattern. Bennett and Harriet did more snorkeling than we did and even brought their own gear. Bennett saw a ray as well. The only daytime rain during our cruise was during the snorkeling, while we were already wet. Many nights had brief five minute light showers and one a bit heavier while we were under shelter at a restaurant.

Sailing is always more fun with pretty girls aboard!

Next came the port of Clifton on the NE corner of Union Island. The harbor is created by a large surrounding reef and has another reef in its center called "Go Around Reef".  We dinked in to shop and bank, including fruits and vegetables from Eleen's, one of several shops in the market.

Eleen claimed to have remembered  Ilene from 2011. Then to Happy Island, a bar built with concrete on a tiny sandbar in the harbor, approachable only by shallow draft dinks, stand up paddleboards or by swimming -- they accept wet money.  The island behind the left boat in the picture below. Our only true indoor dinner with shoes was back in town. Bennett said that the Union Island people were the friendliest people of all the friendly folks in the Grenadines.

My original itinerary included Sandy Island next. But we were warned off of that plan in the chart briefing because that uninhabited sandbar is a suburb of Carriacou Island which is a suburb of Grenada, a different nation. So technically this stop would have required four visits to customs and immigration: to check in and back out of both St. Vincent and Grenada. The attraction at Sandy, where we had taken a mooring for the night in 2011, is the schools of larger tropical fish when snorkeling. Our chart briefer suggested Mopion, instead of Sandy, an even smaller sandbar near Petite
St. Vincent. Is only good for day anchoring while snorkeling, to be followed by anchoring at Petite St. Vincent at night. Well it was blowing 25 knots across tiny Mopion so even if we had anchored there, snorkeling would not have been fun. We took a look and went the extra mile to anchor at Petite St. Vincent, thinking we could snorkel Mopion next morning before the winds built up. PSV is a private island operated as an exclusive resort with 22 separate elegant one or two bedroom houses and two dining rooms. The rate in high season for a one bedroom is $1980 US per night plus 21% for taxes and service charges but that includes three gourmet meals per day, except alcohol.

Like I said, exclusive; its for folks who want to get away. But it was off season and they do allow (they can't stop) boats from anchoring off shore (ours was the boat to the left). They did allow us use of a significant part of the lovely beach and to have supper under a grass roofed hut a few feet from the water. Another barefoot fine dining experience. I made the mistake of ordering barracuda steak; too bony, kingfish is better.
In the morning Mopion was scratched because the wind had not died down. But we reverted to the original idea of Sandy Island, figuring that if we took a mooring for only a few hours and snorkeled without setting foot on the sandbar, we would not be violating Grenadian sovereignty.  This was the first time we tried to take a mooring without the help of a boat boy and we learned how useful they are for catamarans. After several attempts, we gave up. No pickup sticks, short pennants from the tops of the balls and a great height at the front of our two bows, 24 feet apart, from which the ends of each of the two mooring lines had to be inserted through the eye  and then lifted back up on deck.  It seemed impossible. In fact Bennett even put on his flippers and tried to do it from in the water. This swimming move was dangerous but no one was hurt. the wind would blow us off before we could accomplish the manouver. This shows our track, the black lines, during the attempts.

 We left Sandy without stopping and sailed to Chatham Bay on the leeward side of Union Island and anchored there. Despite being on the leeward side, catabatic winds come whooshing down from the hilltops so it was not really calm. I noticed that the jib furler had wrapped around the foil above the drum rather than in the drum. We found the jib halyard, lowered that sail, tied it down to the deck so it would not blow away and anchored. Then we set to work getting the furler straightened out and raising the jib again. We were struggling in the wind with me at the winch, Bennett trying to feed the luff tape into the foil's groove and trying to keep the women aft so they would not get conked by the flailing block at the clew. The mistake I had made was not straightening out the luff tape before we started feeding it, with a resulting twist. A voice appeared from a dink: "Can I be of help?" The answer was yes and the man tied off his dink, came aboard and provided the third set of hands.

It was Frank who with his wife Jules, became our friends for the next few days.

Their boat is a 40 foot Hunter named "Ever After" anchored next to us but a good safe distance away. I forgot to mention how huge Chatham Bay is, room for a hundred boats but only seven of us present; so no need to anchor too near anyone else. They live aboard with an orange tabby named cruiser, in Grenada and work aboard as proprietors of a boat canvas shop with two sewing machines. Frank was a Montana rancher and cowboy who became a farrier in the California thoroughbred racing industry where he met Jules, who had spent many years in Arizona and was a lady jockey.
We took them to dinner at Seckie and Vanessa's beachfront shelter. We had dined there in 2011 and reenacted the same routine. Me: "We are friends of Tabou, from St. Vincents, who now lives part of the year in the Berkshires in Massachusetts." He: "Yes, and how is his wife Rona?" They are now assisted by Summer, Vanessa's nephew.
Next day, was a lay day for us, except for me: Frank and Jules needed to go around to the Clifton side of Union island to visit an ATM and we needed provisions. I asked to hitchhike and they accepted me and gave me the helm. They are on vacation from their business until June. I got to know them a bit. Very competent and Frank is a lot like our friend, Dean, of "Autumn Borne": always eager to help strangers. Also, because they live in Grenada, and love animals, and with the Arizona connection, I am going to electronically introduce them to our friend Marty, another Arizona expat who has similar interests.  While I was away, Laurenz had fixed the outboard and seeing that the dink was not at our boat, Frank put me ashore where I walked the long beach to the other end which has a four room resort where I hooked up with the rest of Azurro's crew.

Harriet had looked up the fact that anchoring is permitted at Sandy Island, southwest of the mooring field, so we returned there, planning to anchor, dink to a mooring and then snorkel from the dink, without setting foot on the soil of Grenada. But a boat boy was present and helped put us on a mooring. I saw a large school of large black disc shaped fish and followed them for a while. Here is the northern end, where the fish are, and a southern part of this sandbar.

After a few hours we retraced our wake past Chatham Bay and on to Saltwhistle Bay in the northwest corner of Mayreau Island. A small harbor, but there was room for us. Bennett wanted ribs but none of the restaurants had any and we settled for chicken. Next to us was a boatload, and I mean load, of twelve physicians from Poland on a large cat; one was not a doctor yet but the daughter, in medical school, of the captain, a dermatologist.

Then, after Bequia, to Young Island Cut,on St. Vincent a mile away from Blue Lagoon, where we snorkeled and had dinner at the resort there. Bennett and Harriet, they are younger, climbed to near the top of the adjacent  sugarloaf shaped island where they got this picture with Blue Lagoon center background.

Next morning, at our request, Mike drove over in his dink, came aboard and piloted us back to the charter base in Blue lagoon where we were debriefed.

Lots of photo credits to Bennett.