A New Year in the Caribbean
29 December 2010 | Falmouth Harbor, Antigua
H. Veisz
Provisioning at Iles de Saintes
The air temperature this week ranged from 77 to 81 degrees. The water temperature is always 80 point something. It's winter time in Antigua.
We are on Antigua's south coast, in Falmouth Harbor. Falmouth and adjacent English Harbor were once the base of the Royal Navy's Leeward Island Squadron. Here the wooden warships rode out hurricane seasons in relative safety and were maintained at English Harbor Dockyard, now known as Nelson's Dockyard. Nelson, as the young captain of the 28 gun Boreas, spent Christmas and New Year's Eve at the Dockyard at the end of 1784 and 1786, before sailing off to greater glory.
The English Harbor Dockyard was retired as a navy base in the late 1800's. After 70 years of neglect it was restored and brought back to life as a superyacht marina, historic site, and national park. Where the warships once put in, superyachts and lesser craft such as Aponivi now gather. When we entered Falmouth Harbor on December 15, we sailed into a world of floating palaces. Maltese Falcon, the world's largest sailing yact at 289 feet, was here. Marrying the old and the new, it has three 190 foot masts, from which 15 square sails can be unfurled at the touch of a button. The masts rotate to keep the sails trimmed to the wind. Near Maltese Falcon, and towering over it, was Mirabella V, the world's largest single mast sailing yacht. It would be an impressive sight in New York Harbor, but it cannot get in. Its 292 foot mast is 75 feet higher then the roadway of the Verrazano Bridge. The Queen Mary II can get through (barely) but not Mirabella V. Both Yachts are still in the harbor, along with others that show up regularly in yachting magazines.
Antigua also has simpler pleasures. Across the road from the Catamaran Marina, our holiday home, Sweet T's serves Philly cheese steaks and cheesebugers on an open deck done up in Caribbean colors. After nearly six months in Spain, Portugal, France, and French Caribbean islands, I can finally order my kind of food in my own language. It is something I have been longing for.
Now, about those French Islands....
Having shipped our boat from Palma on a Dockwise transport, we flew to Martinique to await its arrival. Our rendezvous point was Marin, on Martiniques's south coast. Marin has a large, well sheltered, and well marked harbor, but shoals encroach from all sides, and a long narrow shoal extends from one side of the harbor to its center. It was a good place to test our grasp of recently read rules for estimating water depth from water color.
The Dockwise vessel, Super Servant III, was due to arrive November 27. When we awoke that morning, in a hotel overlooking the harbor, it was already at anchor. Then followed the process of filling the ship's ballast tanks, lowering it 18 feet until the yachts within its cargo bay floated off their cradles, and the gunwales of the ship were no higher in the water than a floating dock. The ship was essentially a floating dock when we backed Aponivi into its 380 foot cargo bay in Palma, and a floating dock is what it became again. Only during the trans-Atlantic passage does the ship sit high in the water, its cargo bay dry and its cargo securely fastened in cradles welded to the deck.
On the 28th we, along with other owners and crew, took a launch to the ship. We stepped onto its gunwale, and then onto the deck of Aponivi. We were one of the first to load in Palma, and thus one of the last to exit in Marin. We followed a procession of power and sailing yachts, lined up four abreast in the cargo bay, as they departed. Instructions were clearly delivered to each boat by radio, and line handlers on the ship's outer walls and center divider assured a smooth start. We had briefly to maneuver in tight quarters, between the ship's wall on our port side and a 126 foot power yacht on our starboard side. Once past that, the ship's hull became a wide channel through which we motored easily out of the ship and into the bay.
Aponivi arrived in good shape, clean and with no more wear and tear than it had in Palma, 3,672 miles away. I have some lingering regrets about not sailing it back, but these are diminishing by the day. I have crossed the Atlantic three times, and I do not envy the boats that made the passage from the Canaries to the Caribbean this year. It was an unsually long passage for most boats, in weak trade winds. I looked at the crossing times for sailboats in the Atlantic Rally for Cruisers, a floatilla that is assembled each year in the Canaries for the passage to the Caribbean. Thirteen boats in the cruising division took over 30 days to cross. Another 99 boats arrived between the 25th and 30th day. A Dutch couple that we befriended in Portugal as they were heading to the Canaries on a fine 50 footer, crossed in a little over 27 days. While light winds predominated, some days must have been exceptions: one yacht lost its mast when it was a few days from the finish, and another turned back with rigging damage a few days after the start. Those who did it have my respect.
We took a slip at Marin, and it was a pleasant spot. A large number of cruising families were tied up there, and a cheerful collection of children and pets spilled onto the dock. We loaded food, became acquainted with the local rum concoctions, and began to get acclimated to the sun and rhythms of the Caribbean. And then, after a few days, we headed north along Martinique's leward coast.
We dropped anchor in Fort de France, near the wall of a 17th century fortress that rises from the waters. The fort, the town, and the mountains behind it, made for an attractive scene. Fort de France suffered somewhat on closer inspection -- our cruising guide may have been a bit over-enthusiastic -- but it certainly extended a helping hand to cruisers. A dinghy dock runs 350 feet along the town's waterfront, making it easy to get ashore to provision and to visit the few notable buildings. The best of these was the Schoelcher library, an ornate iron building that was erected at the 1899 World Exposition in Paris (the same one for which the Eiffel Tower was built) and then crated up and shipped to Martinique. Schoelcher was a leading French abolitionist and civil rights advocate-- one who believed not only that enslaved blacks should be freed, but also that free blacks should be equal. The library is a fitting tribute.
On the opposite side of the harbor, and the opposite end of the spectrum, are the remnants of a sugar cane plantation where the Emperess Josephine was born and raised, and where 150 slaves toiled. Her background and influence over Napolean may have been a factor in one of the crueller reversals of his inglorious reign. In 1793, revolutionary France issued a proclamation calling for the abolition of slavery, not immediately but soon. Martinique and Guadeloupe, 72 miles to its north, were prime targets. In 1802, Napolean rescinded that proclamation, and threw the weight of his millitary behind the plantation system.
Both the emanciption proclamation and Napolean's decree rescinding it faced practical obstacles. The British took Martinique in 1794, and held it until Napolean recaptured the island in 1802. During those years, the edicts of France's revolutionary council, including the emancipation proclamation, meant nothing on Martinique. On Guadeloupe, by contrast, the emancipation proclamation, and the revolutionary practices that followed it to the island, had an irreversible effect. Britain captured Guadeloupe at the same time that it captured Martinique, but held it only from April to December. The British were then ousted by a French force under Victor Hugues, who brought revolutionary enlightment -- and the guillotine -- to Guadeloupe. Hugues freed the slaves, and decapitated most of the slave owners, whose wealth and allegiance to the crown made them enemies of the revolution. Napolean's decree officially restored slavery, but the mechanism by which headless planters could reclaim their slaves is unclear
After leaving Fort de France, we headed further up the coast and dropped anchor at St, Pierre. This is a town with striking surroundings -- a volcano, Mount Pelee, towers above it -- and an interesting history. St. Pierre, the guidebooks tell us, was once considered "the Paris of the Caribbean". The island's most prosperous plantations were built on the slopes overlooking St. Pierre's harbor, and sailing ships routinely stopped there on voyages between France and the French Antilles. Then, in 1902, the volcano erupted. The eruption killed about 30,000 inhabitants of St. Pierre, sparing only two. (One of the two was a prisoner, saved by the thick stone walls of his jail cell.) Remnants of stone buidings scorched by the volcano can still be seen in town. A few streets have been brought back to life along the water, and they are pleasant enough, but St. Pierre will not again be likened to Paris. Twelve ships in the harbor were also destroyed, and their remains sit on the bottom of the harbor today.
Above the town, something exceptional has reemerged. In 1922, a descendant of plantation owners killed by the eruption returned to rebuild his family's home, the surrounding cane fields, and the distillery that turned the cane sugar into rum. The Depaz property is open to the public, and it was the nicest spot that we visited on the island. Also, the rum produced and served there is quite good.
After leaving St. Pierre, we sailed across the 22 mile gap between Martinique and Dominica, motored along the 33 mile leeward coast of Dominica, and then sailed onward to a tiny island group called Iles des Saintes. There we had our finest Caribbean experience to date. The sail from Martinique was a good prelude, and put us into a fine state of mind.
Sailing between the islands, with nothing to block the trade winds, is exhilarating. With up to 20 knots of wind on the beam, we flew from Martinique to Dominica, and from Dominica to Iles des Saintes, at over eight knots. Coasting along the leeward side of the islands is another matter. Where the volcanic peaks do not block the wind altogether, they bend it into a weak northerly flow, and the engine must go on. But there is magnificent scenery to compensate.
The largest of the Saintes, and the only one of the islands with a town, is Terre de Haute. It is crescent shaped, and wraps around the harbor. The island is only 2.6 miles long and about half a mile wide. When we arrived in the Caribbean, we didn't know it existed. But the cruising guides described it as a place not to be missed, and this time they were right.
The town is two streets wide for the most part, and nealy half the business establishments -- cafes, a patisserie, fruit and vegetable stands -- are right on the water. The buildings are nicely designed, brightly colored, and well maintained. There are good walks to beautiful beaches elsewhere on the island, and to peaks from which you can view the island's entire coastline, as well as the volcanic mountains of Dominica to the south and Guadaloupe to the north. The atmosphere is as welcoming as can be.
Our initial welcome came as we were hunting around the harbor for a suitable place to drop the hook. The harbor is fairly large, but the areas that were neither too deep nor too shallow had a fairly large number of boats. We were hailed by the owner of another American boat, La Dolce Vita, who saw us wandering about and guided us to a spot alongside his boat. It was a spot, I feared, that could put us too close to shore if we were to swing in that direction. But, with the trade winds blowing constantly away from the shore, I need not have worried about swinging, and the spot served us very well for what turned out to be an eight night stay.
In the morning, we lowered our dinghy and motored to town. As we headed through the anchorage -- me at the outboard looking forward, Lorraine at the bow looking the other way -- she shouted "don't look back". I had no idea what she had seen, a sea monster perhaps. In fact, she had seen "Don't Look Back" a catamaran that we had last seen three years earlier in Rhode Island. At the time, its owners had just severed their ties to land and were embarking on the cruising life. Their boat name reflected their philosophy. We liked them then, and were elated at the prospect of seeing them again. As we approached the dinghy dock from the water they stepped onto the dock from the shore, as if we had made a date back in Rhose Island to meet at the Saintes dinghy dock in three years at 10:30 in the morning.
Over the next several days the crews of Aponivi, La Dolce Vita, and Don't Look Back, were nearly inseperable. We spent time together at Fort Napoleon, a little fort that has been converted into a museum, and that offers great views of the harbor below. We had a fine dinner and game night on Don't Look Back. We hiked an almost unmarked, and barely exisiting trail to Fort Caroline, a look-out post with commanding views. Ascending to Fort Caroline, we left most other visitors behind. People became scarce and goats plentiful. At times, we wandered off the hiking train onto a goat path, but the goats clearly had other destinations in mind and it soon sorted itself out.
On one particularly fine day we all piled into our dinghy and went to an even smaller island, Islet a Cabrit, that has a population of one. A young French artist has lived there for four years, using the ruins of a little beachfront hotel as his home and studio. A little dock on the island had all but disintegrated, and we pulled the dinghy onto the beach and tied it to a tree. We had very pleasant conversations with the artist and, after we walked around the island (climbing, as always, to its highest point) he gave us a papaya (I think) to carve up and eat on the beach. Islet a Cabrit is named for the type of small goat that thrives on these islands and, as we ate the fruit on the beach, a number of them gathered around like household pets looking for table scraps. They got a few.
Our happy band of boaters could not stay forever; on successive days La Dolce Vita headed south, Don't Look Back headed north, and we began our northward sail to Antigua. With their years of combined Carribbean experience, the others in our group were good Caribbean mentors as well as friends. It was sad to part, but we caught up with Don't Look Back for another few days in Antigua, and we hope to see them all again at some point.
We departed the Saintes on a fine day. To our north, the peak of La Soufriere, a tall volcano on Guadaloupe, could be seen from our harbor for the first time. Normally, clouds obscure its upper reaches, and those of other large volcanoes on the islands, as the trade winds push moist air from the Atlantic up the windward slopes. It was a beautiful sight, but one that signalled the onset of light winds.
Our next intended destination was Deshaies. Thirty-three miles up the Guadaloupe coast, it is the last place to anchor before crossing the 43 miles to Antigua. Deshaies was an attractive harbor. A little town at the head of the harbor looked inviting, but we were content to stay aboard. In the late afternoon a "patisserie" boat came around to take orders for morning deliveries of bagettes, croissants and the like. We ordered, and at 7:00 am they arrived fresh from the oven and delicious. (The Saintes had a similar service, but there we took our dinghy direct to the source.)
On route from Deshaies to Falmouth Harbor, we could see Montserrat clearly to the west, about 20 miles away. The southern part of Montserrat was deciimated by an eruption in 1995, and its volcano has not been quiet since then. It continues to smoke, and boats that come too close to its leeward side sometimes leave with a coating of ash. The southern two thirds of the island remain off limits, and there is a two mile wide exclusion zone in the waters around that part of the island.
We passed Montserrat, passed through a group of dolphins doing their usual acrobatics, and made our way into Falmouth Harbor. It would have been another fine place to anchor, but the need to finish the rigging repairs that began in the Med caused us to get a slip at the Catamaran Marina. (The very fine Antigua Rigging company is next door.) The reception was memorable. Within minutes of tying up, a procession of local entrepreneurs with business cards in hand made their way to our boat. There was a woman from Mavis Laundry to take our laundry bags and return them to our boat the next day. There were taxi owners ready to take us on tour or to any destination. There were a number of people who will varnish your wood, wax your fiberglass, or do anything else your boat could need and, from what we have seen on surrounding boats, they do this all very well. Everyone was extremely curteous, not the loeast bit overbearing. Although we couldn't give up the thrill of varnishing or waxing, we utilized some of the other services and we enjoyed meeting the people who rendered them. What does not come automatically to your boat can generally be arranged over the boat's radio. The local grocery store, the wine shop -- pretty much everybody -- has a VHF radio to take calls from boaters.
Beyond meeting locals whose families have been on the island for generations, we met some world cruisers who sailed in and never left. One former cruiser, who still does boat deliveries to and from Europe twice a year, stopped her car to offer us a ride as we were walking off to Nelson's Dockyard, and threw in a snack from a large bunch of bananas that she had just cut from one of her trees. It is an island of warm people with a generous spirit.
We neared the end of our stay on a high note. Every Sunday night on the island is party night at Shirley Heights, a former artillery site that towers over all of English and Falmouth harbors and a good deal more. In addition to sweeping views of the harbors and surrounding hillsides, there was a wonderful view of Montserrat As the sun set behind that island its peaks glowed in shades of red and orange, as if they were once again erupting. Amidst this beauty a band played, rum punch was poured, good food was served, and people from all over the island had a great time. I know we did.
We will leave in another day or two, heading through a string of islands that will include Nevis and St. Kitts, St. Barts, St. Martin, St. Croix, St. Thomas, and elsewhere in the US and British Virgin Islands. At the end of February we plan to leave the Caribbean, and our passages will stretch out once again as we make our way to the Turks and Caicos, the Bahamas, and our expected east coast landfall, in the latter part of March, at Charleston South Carolina. This being a sailing trip, everything is subject to change, but that's the way it looks for now.
We wish all of our friends and family --and if you are reading this you must be one or both of these -- a good new year. May all your dreams be fulfilled.
Howard and Lorraine
[Work in Progress]