Carissimi!

We are in Antigua's North Sound enjoying some well deserved boat ownership rewards time (= doing very little), including watching the RORC Caribbean 600 regatta contestants sail north past us, enjoying the full moon and the sunrises, counting the Star...links, swimming, and exploring by dinghy. Yesterday, for example, we landed our Achilles on Exchange Island, or The Acropolis as we've come to call it during the years - as its lime-based rock formations are very defined and geometrical, making it all look like a scene from ancient Greece! It was a pleasure to "bushwhack" among the scrub and succulents, enjoy the infinite shades of blue of the ocean and going back to our dinghy wading in the water, clear bottom and soft sand under our feet, which we were splashing like little kids!

The Cap'n has put new bearings on our Silent X wind turbine, a six hours project involving, among others, climbing up the secondary mast to take the turbine down, pulling out the old bearings stuck in their casing with solvents and a good 2 pound hammer, climbing in and out the starboard lazarette fifteen times, stand, kneel, squat and crouch to use a range of tools spread out on the aft deck on a protective blanket. Repeat to install. Your Friendly Narrative Manager helped as best as she could: recently she's been nursing tennis elbow on the left arm and golfer elbow on the right, yay, but that hasn't affected her "passing the tools" and "holding stuff still" skills.

Since my last post, the weather has continued to be intense: hurricanes, storms, brutally hot temperatures and, this year, cold front passages in the Atlantic pushing very far south (Anegada Passage! Cape Cod to Mexico!). You know things are bad if you're "forced" to drink hot chocolate, wear warm clothing and test the boat heaters, as happened to us during a particularly cold and rainy day while tucked inside the cove at Green Island not long ago, here in the Caribbean! And did I mention the really long period of reverse trades (= zero trade winds) we experienced during the holidays? Crazy mon.

Weather notwithstanding, we were able to wrap up 2023 with seven fabulous weeks in Martinique, an island so French that even the pretty clouds hovering over it are shaped like baguettes. We sailed there from Grenada last November after hurricane season was over-ish. The passage featured a memorable "I can't believe my eyes!" moment: while in the proximity of Carriacou, a catamaran rammed into The Sisters, not a visually understated rocky feature, at full sail! We had been monitoring the heading of this cat for a while saying "come on, they must know, surely they are gonna stop... or are they?" Crash! Nobody was on deck at the time but shortly afterwards an incredulous skipper emerged from below and broadly assessed the damage, which luckily mustn't have been too bad as he was able, eventually, to take the cat off the rocks and motor to Tyrell Bay. The damage to our jaws however must have been a little more serious, as we were well in the lee of St. Vincent before we could bring them from the "dropped" back to the "closed" position, such was the extent of our disbelief!

We approached Martinique's south coast with some trepidation as the bays of St. Anne and Le Marin, being popular cruising destinations (beaches, marina, boatyard, chandleries, stores, restaurants and supermarkets...) are always chock full with boats. Let me re-phrase that, there must have been at least 400 boats when we were there, including derelicts, squatters and a sprinkle of treacherous wrecks with rotting masts sticking outside the water.

Coming in, we gave a wide berth to the cardinal buoy along the channel marking the shallows to the east of it. With few exceptions, including a sailboat we saw coming at dusk and operated by an experienced crew who easily sailed all the way in while shouting commands in loud, cheerful and rather tipsy French, I can't tell you how many boats we've seen ignoring the buoy and either running aground or getting very close to run aground. Come to think of it, it feels like it's been a Running Aground Fest wherever we've been! Even here in Antigua we've seen a few episodes that qualify for the next "Epic Fails" series on You Tube. But back to the buoy, even if you aren't familiar with it, doesn't the sight of two black triangles, tips pointing against each other, on top of a bright yellow shaft inspire even the slightest sense of alert?

Anyway, after picking up one of the Marina Le Marin's moorings and during the following couple of weeks we checked most of our to-do list, including:
- Clearing C&I, easy peasy.
- Provisioning.
- Having a wooden swim step made to replace a previous one that decided to take a dive into the ocean while sailing from Grenada.
- Buying the famous French Islands Digicel data plan as we waited for a new Starlink to be shipped to us. The previous one failed and the saga around shipping its replacement almost deserves a blog post all by itself.
- Assessing the quality of croissants and pains au chocolat through frequent and rigorous sampling at the boulangerie Douceurs Marinois, possibly the most important item in our to-do list.
- Fixing the staysail foiler, which came apart at two of its joints after we unfurled the sail leaving Grenada.
- Getting the hulls scrubbed by highly recommended local divers who, in reply to the Cap'n making them politely notice that they had left the job unfinished, giving just a surface pass to the hulls, said, with a hint of Gallic presumption, "You should have told us how clean you wanted the hulls, this is how we always do it for the charter cats". Ok, so: 1) if that's the type job you deliver that's obviously part of the reason why charter cats can't sail 2) for the records, a basic hull scrub does include removing any growth and barnacles completely so "you should have told us how clean you wanted" my... dèrriere. We had done a better partial job ourselves while in Grenada - we've had a crazy amount of growth last season, basically our own private reef! Bottom paint change is in the plans - and we'd actually have a go at it again before hiring the infinitely better team in Antigua who has worked on our hulls in the past. But I digress.

We made sure to play tourists, feeling bad about having been a little lazy while in Grenada: for one reason or the weather, we didn't leave the boat aside for walks on Hog Island or the vicinity of Le Phare Bleu, and your basic errands. On this topic, we started using public transportation while in Grenada. At EC$ 2.50 a pop it's a deal, the wait only moderately lengthy, and the experience of traveling inside a tightly packed medieval tympanum-on-wheels, sometimes with loud music on the stereo, unparalleled. How do they fit that many people inside those tiny vans remains a mystery!

Our first expedition was to Morne Gommier, west of us, at about 950 ft elevation. It is a hike composed of a trail in the vegetation, a portion of it flanked by private residences protected by viciously barking dogs, and a looong stretch of paved road uphill, very quiet, with rare traffic. The view of the bays from the top is definitely worth the sweat and, as we discovered the second time we did the hike, you can enjoy it just going a few yards down the road from the Belvedere (Point Vue), whose entrance is 5 Euros.

We then rented a car for a couple of days, a little compact worthy of Schwarzenegger's line "My shoe is bigger than this car!" in "The Expendables 2". A flying drone would have seen this tiny vehicle going up and down twisty mountain roads, la di da, like in a cartoon. Our first stop was the Habitation Clément, a sugar plantation turned rum distillery by Homère Clément, one of the first doctors of color of the island, in 1887. The Habitation sits on forty-three acres of land shared by a beautiful park with bespoke trees (beware of the Figuier Maudit, The Cursed Fig Tree!) that doubles as a canvas for contemporary art installations (huge metallic spheres against a background of banana trees anybody?), the residential area where the founder lived with his family, a distillery and a dedicated museum building.

A lot of history accompanies you as you walk around: the original béké (white Creole descendants of the first colonizers) owners, the gradual acquisitions of nearby plantations, the abolition of slavery in 1848, which deprived the Habitation of its workforce for some time, financial troubles and resurgences, and even the hosting of the meeting of Presidents Bush and Mitterrand to discuss the ending of the Gulf War in one of the Habitation colonial style buildings.

We checked the distillery, with its machinery evoking steampunk aesthetics, and the cellar where their top-of the-line vintage rests in rows and rows of barrels with Monsieur Homère's serene face printed on it. We did a little aromatherapy by inhaling all the different essences that can be detected in rum (Citrus!Liquorice! Bark! Vanilla!...) and took our time sampling a variety of final products. Yes, we also bought a few bottles for the famous Boundless Marine Rum Cellar and we were even given a set of rum glasses with the engraved Habitation monogram, partly as a gift with purchase, partly because the nice lady at the cash register gave me a horrified look when I told her we usually drink rum out of egg cups...

We then visited the Église du Sacré-Cœur de Balata, or "Montmartre of Martinique", as its design is inspired by that of its famous counterpart on France mainland: it was literally a tiny morsel of Paris surrounded by luxuriant greenery, mancheneels and birds of paradise way up there on Morne Rouge! Built by Parisian architects Charles Wulfleff and Aloïs Verrey between 1923 and 1925 in concrete and local andesite, the church has definitely been affected by the harsh tropical climate during the years, as shown by flaking and other humidity damages on the walls. But we could still admire the fine mosaics lining the Roman-Byzantine dome and the delicate stained glass enhancing the interior's clean volumes.

On our way to Fort-de-France, the capital city, we found a little waterfall called "Le Saut de Gendarme", The Policeman's Jump. Faster than Clark Kent turning into Superman inside a phone cabin, we shed our civilian clothes in favor of waterfall attire (swimsuit, flip flops, and towel, part of the "Absolutely Everything Kit" we carry on these road trips), walked the short distance from the car down a long set of well-kept steps and into this Eden-like basin with myriads of birds tweeting away to kindly distract you from how cold the water is (that's my story and I'm sticking to it). Invigorating though!

In Fort-De-France we visited St. Louis Cathedral, a cathedral that's had a tough life. Destroyed by fire - soon after its completion! - and later by cyclones and earthquakes, it was given a metal skeleton by architect Pierre-Henri Picq in the late nineteenth century, one of several structural interventions aimed at making it more resilient to natural calamities and that gained it the nickname "Iron Cathedral". A blend of Neo-Gothic and Romano-Byzantine styles, (a steeple rising 187 feet over the city and walls supported by flying buttresses outside; barrel vaults, semicircular-arches and octagonal domes inside), the cathedral is the focal point of a quiet square, where it can be admired sitting on a stone bench in the small garden facing it, two slender Royal palms planted to look like they flank the building, or while enjoying a meal with a glass of wine right there at the restaurant with outdoor seating. Very French and very Caribbean!

Last the Bibliothèque Schoelcher, another one of architect Picq's creations and where the vast collection of books and musical scores bequeathed by Victor Schœlcher, a French journalist and politician who fought for the abolition of slavery in the colonies, to the Council of Martinique, is stored. Built in the nascent style of metallic architecture of the mid-1800s, this glass and metal cube was first presented in the gardens of the Palais-Royal in Paris in 1889 as part of the Universal Exhibition, then dismantled, transported in separate parts by boat and reassembled in Fort-de-France in 1893! A bit of a schlep if you ask me, but its lively façade alternating brick red and beige is a nice addition to the buildings of Rue de la Liberté, and, inside, its silent spaciousness with two tall floors of neatly organized volumes, a nice reprieve from the outside hustle and bustle.

Once we were all city-touristed and Le Marin'ed up, we set sail to Martinique's east coast, unknown sailing grounds for both of us. Unlike the south coast, "la côte au vent" (together with "brume de sable", the mist made of Sahara sand, one of my favorite French translations of marine words. So poetical!) isn't as popular as the South coast. There's very little in terms of tourist infrastructure and the sailing is more challenging. You are on the windward side of Martinique, exposed to the open ocean and the full force of trade winds, stronger in winter. Coral reefs skirt the approximately thirty miles of coast making the access to the numerous and sheltered bays challenging. Add fishing nets in the water, a buoy system only partially covering the area and you have your little adventure in one neat package! Doyle's cruising guide to the Caribbean doesn't even cover this coast, so we bought a copy of Jerôme Nouel's excellent "Guide Nautique de la Martinique".

We sailed close hauled with a single reefed main and staysail around the south tip of the island, where things were a bit nautical with wind gusting up to 23 knots and odd waves. But sailing north inside the reef after we tacked, things gradually settling down, was very pleasant. A sunny sky combined with it being the right time of day granted us favorable light to help with navigating through the reefs. Our first anchorage was at Îlet a Eau, one of the nine islands inside Havre Le Robert, towards the north of the island, and already revealing the more tranquil essence of this coast. While there we landed the dinghy on nearby Îlet Chancel, treated our feet to a soft sand massage and looked in awe at the clear waters: you could see how much fun those vain mangroves were having looking at their own reflection!

We were hoping to see the near-extinct Lesser Antillean Iguanas (Iguana Delicatissima) that still inhabit the island and that are said to have populated a vast area of the Caribbean eons ago. Since some areas are off limits to avoid disturbing both the iguanas and the sites built for them to deposit their eggs, we sat on a tree log near the shore and waited for the impressive reptiles to show up, as they sometimes do... but it must have been their day off. Oh well. Birds were everywhere though and we could catch fleeting glimpses of turtle doves, white herons and spotted sandpipers among the trees, a true ornithologist paradise! We saw the archeological remains of a sugar dwelling, a pottery and a boiler house, as well as kilns used to make lime for sugar and construction material from the abundant coral on the island, under a canopy of figuier maudits and other towering tree species, gnarly branches and roots reaching everywhere to claim the whole island back from these man-made disruptions.

Off to Le Robert, a town that's one part urban neglect medium-light and one part brand new and shiny cars everywhere... I'm still processing this. A short stomp uphill from the waterfront took us to the main square with the Hôtel de La Ville (City Hall) and a local fresh produce market. "Edenne Sushi", a fabulous Japanese restaurant, is very close by and highly recommended by your favorite sailors, followed by ice-cream in the tranquil park on the waterfront. A walk to the main commercial area of town revealed a McDonald's, a little eatery going by the perplexing name "O'Tacos - The Original French Taco" and a huge shopping mall, where we could provision to our hearts' delight. From the harbor at Le Robert you can actually take the dinghy all the way to Shopping Central via a little river. It's a great shortcut that beats the walk back to the boat carrying shopping bags, but we didn't get to try it this time. I can't say I mind too much, the water looked a bit nasty and sewage-y, especially near the shopping center, so I'm happy we spared our loyal Achilles the soaking experience.

From Le Robert we drove to Le Domaine d'Émeraude in another one of these itsy-bitsy efficient cars. Le Domaine is a gorgeous botanical garden on the way to Mount Pelée, the famous and active Martiniquan volcano, populated by many examples of the island's biodiversity. Along four kilometers of well kept trails, mahoganies, balisiers, tree ferns and flamboyants, breadfruit and even Bixacea Orellianas, with their furry bright and conical red flowers show off big time! An educational pavilion focuses on Martinique's natural history alongside quotes, proverbs and regional poetry that made me regret my ignorance of French Creole, let alone French. Driving to Le Domaine was spectacular in itself, with giant umbrella leaves made shiny by the rain drops, and clusters of the thickest and tallest bamboo plants we've ever seen, at times arching as a tunnel over your head!

On to Baie de Tresor, where, although we didn't find the famous treasure dropped by a caravelle in the seventeenth century and that gave the bay its name, we found eleven days of pure scenic bliss and superlative quiet. The bay is surrounded by Presqu' île La Caravelle, a peninsula that is a beautiful natural park lined by arcs of pristine beaches. With the exception of a group of youngsters participating in what looked like some kind of boot camp jumping in the water amidst much hooting after covering themselves in mud - quite fun to watch - visitors from land were generally very quiet and observing the park's regulations. They might have been quiet from fatigue, as the only way into the beaches was a minimum 2 mile hike from the parking lot.

We scouted the bay thoroughly before we dropped anchor, as the bottom was either too deep or too shallow and there was your complimentary isolated reef patch. A small Canadian power-cat seemed to have taken the best spot (where you could also get backwinded into the mangroves, however) but we eventually found "home", dropping anchor in considerable depth. We could see Îlet du Tresor to our starboard, a little island whose vegetation has been so "combed back" by the blowing of the trades that it looks like...Elvis Presley's hairstyle!

Our favorite hike on Presqu'ile la Caravelle was the one to Pointe Caracoli. We slightly miscalculated the intensity of the hike and wore our Tuff Stuff water shoes, which, albeit sturdy, weren't enough it turns out, ouch! Foot blisters and general aches were compensated by soaring views over the Atlantic at the end of a mixed trail including rocks, arched tunnels of vegetation and cliffs against which the ocean broke con fuoco, its foam exploding through blowholes like nostrils of a marine dragon. A word of warning: the hikes in Martinique are all real and often strenuous hikes, not your nice stroll to digest breakfast...

Swimming, relaxing, having after lunch caffé freddo with a cookie (the Cap'n's stash of Petit Lu, the renowned French chocolate cookies, has lowered Boundless waterline a little, I'm afraid. His French is so good for a gringo that they started giving him these cookies for free! Only partially kidding), enjoying some good grilled meals and the newly purchased rum, pursuing the arts and tending to baby Boundless as needed completed our Baie du Tresor experience. We loved Martinique, and next time we're in the area we want to do the hike in the water to the waterfalls of La Falaise, in the Mount Pelée area and closed this time due to excessive rain, and even more nature... immersion!

Back in Le Marin for Christmas and New Year - an ok display of fireworks - a few more errands, then back to the east coast, one more stop in Le Robert (and one more fabulous Japanese meal), and off to Antigua, which was bursting with activities: crews busily tending large yachts, marine contractors scuttling back and forth from the docks in their vans, beautiful Oysters docked at English Harbour and getting ready for the next leg of their rally, and progress being made on the reconstruction of the Antigua Yacht Club, hit by lightning during tropical storm Philippe!

Next, it looks like we'll be sailing to St. Thomas USVI, to have our life raft serviced by the only authorized center in the Caribbean (or we can spend ~$1,200 and a horse-choking amount of HazMat paperwork to ship it to the US and back...not) and take care of the boat as we wait. Ugh. Not really looking forward to it. To quote the Cap'n, "In the St. John's National Park (most of the island), you are required to use first come first serve moorings. If all full, there is a single overflow anchorage for the entire island. Outside of the National Park, the VI Dept. of Natural Resources requires an anchoring permit with exact details of when you will anchor, where you will anchor (with Lat & Long down to seconds), etc. Same applies to St. Thomas...There are limits for how many consecutive nights in any particular bay, by bay. There are cumulative limits, by bay and by island and by region...They're over run, everybody I speak with says every marina is full, every bay is full, they need fewer visitors not more... They're struggling to preserve the natural ecosystem...But meanwhile the mangroves are full of derelict boats sinking and releasing fuel...". Also, there's no dock space, and when there is the prices are ludicrous.

After that, we'll make our way down the islands and eventually be in Grenada for a haulout in April. A fire destroyed Driftwood and Palm Tree, two of the major marine contractors in Clarke's Court who have done work for us many times in the past. It happened during the night, so nobody was there or got hurt, luckily, but they suffered huge damages. It sounds like they are getting back on their feet, however. We want Boundless to be in ship shape (we've already had sails and sail bag checked and patched where needed here in Antigua, and a bunch of other things) if we decide to cross to the Pacific later this year, as we've been threatening to do, El Niño effect on local weather and crowded anchorages permitting.

For reasons not quite clear yet, our map on Sailblogs.com has lost all tracks related to the first part of our cruise, including the circumnavigation of Newfoundland, darn! Luckily we had a picture of it saved before this happened so if you'd like to take a look at it let us know and we'll send it to you.

A big hug, a ciao and a Petit Lu + a Petit Sacripant (another brand of French chocolate cookies maybe not as good as the Lu but with a name meaning "Little Scoundrel", I mean, how cute is that?) to y'all and to Pat and Gary on Eärendil and Robin and Fort on Mo'orea, great to catch up with you as always, Jamie and Sun Yun on Enki, nice to walk with you on Hog Island, enjoy your Pacific sailing, Polly and Bryan on Joli, great checking out the Devil's Bridge with you guys, Livia and Karol on Cloud Base, thank you for initiating us to paddle boarding, we love it and we got a couple of those ourselves now, and lastly the fabulous Spotted Eagle Ray who showed up at the end of a snorkeling session off Green Island and made our day (she may be indifferent to the cookies though). Wow, our social life seems to have experienced a spike since Grenada, what's happening to us?

Thank you for reading, partially or all the way, thanks for your comments and feel free to check the Galleries!

Carissimi!

Many tropical vibes to you from the turquoise oceans of the Caribbean! We can't stop saying what a great idea it was to chicken out on the much touted 2023 Summer North Atlantic Circle! Said chickening out began during the last 36 hours of our six-day, taking-longer-to-get-there-than-the-actual-distance passage from the Bahamas to Bermuda in May. Being on a schedule, we couldn't wait for a better weather window than the one we got, so after a flat calm start we ended up sailing close hauled at 8-9 knots in 25+ knots true, and 9' seas. Nothing the boat or ourselves couldn't take, mind you, aside for my stomach spending a lot of quality time up there with my armpits, but while in the forward cockpit putting a second reef in the main, taking solid water over the bows and enjoying a complimentary cryogenic Jacuzzi, the Cap'n and I thought: "Ma chi 'cce 'o fa' fa' ?" (pron. muh kée tchay-o fafà), Neapolitan for "Why are we doing this to ourselves?". Let's go south! Gentlemen don't cruise to windward! Wear sunscreen, not parkas (catchy hashtag).

It further sank in that this was but a sampler of what was to come had we stuck with our original plan. Set aside the two weeks and change passage from Bermuda to the Faroes, during which we'd most likely be run over by one or two depressions, we'd then have to deal with the challenging Sub-Arctic conditions (the warm Gulf Stream meeting the cold Arctic waters at the Faroes, for instance, can produce some interesting weather...); during good weather, we'd often have to be on the move to find shelter from upcoming bad weather. During bad weather, we'd have to stay tucked in mostly small man-made harbors on a dock to wait it out, no room to anchor or fjords too deep, etc. Covering a lot of ground in the short summer window would have turned into a forced march cutting into the leisure part of the cruise. Who wants to hike a sky-high cliff in 40° F gray weather to enjoy the (invisible) majestic views up top while trying not to fail a popular intelligence test (falling off a cliff while taking selfies) and thinking "I gotta run back down to move the boat before the next weather Ragnarok arrives"? For the record, and because even with all the rationale I've just expounded we've second guessed our decision a few times, we've been monitoring the weather up there on a regular basis: it's been mostly horrific!

With that behind us, let's get you up to speed. Bermuda: we got into St. George's Harbour at about 3:45 AM a bit shellshocked, mostly tired from the very nautical final 36 hours. We announced our arrival on the radio as required and we were told to come clear Customs and Immigration right away. We politely pointed out that it was gonna be only a couple hours before daylight, might we perhaps come in then and not have to find our way to the customs dock through a harbor chocked full with boats at anchor in pitch dark? Nope, no can do. Now, if we'd had been more rested and our mental reflexes quicker, we'd have replied "But sir, we wouldn't want to take the place of the boat just ahead of us!", referring to a monohull that had arrived right after us and was blatantly ignoring the "come clear in now!" mandate having laid anchor, hoisted the yellow flag and all crew gone to sleep! Instead we cautiously wove our way to the dock where the officer waiting for us, a fine blend of grumpiness for having to show up at this ungodly hour, and just plain ass... I mean, aBsence of people skills, immediately served us a portion of Full Unfriendly, including sneering at the Cap'n for having "an inexperienced crew" (I in particular was having a hard time tying a bowline and throwing it over the darn piling in the excitement of things and the darkness). Like, did we expect HIM to help us with the lines? Of course not, and I can understand that: not being crew or marina staff, if something goes wrong during docking he can be liable for damages. But frankly his tone was out of line and deserved at least the Cap'n's coldly polite "Sir, I don't think you should make comments about my crew, inexperienced or not". You tell him Cap'n! And just for the record, it's worth noting that some of the most famous and successful sailors of the last 100 years were sheer terror around a dock!

We all (Cap'n, myself and nephew and valiant volunteer crew Alexander on his first multi-day passage on Boundless and a total pro!) took one deep inhale in one exhale out to prevent things from getting more animated. With some effort given the hour, I even engaged my Be Nice Module, including the smile-while-silently-wishing-you-to-depart-this-plane-of-existence-via-fatally-being-run-over-by-a-Vespa extension and, once Boundless was secured to the dock, we went to the office to complete the clearance. I have the feeling the officer made this part of the protocol (= having us compile the traditional bunch of useless paperwork) a tad extra-cumbersome just for kicks. After we were done, he demanded we leave the dock immediately, to accommodate the (non-existent since they were asleep) next boat, or he would have someone move the boat if we didn't. It was gonna be light soon, as mentioned, at which point we would have left the dock anyway but, since he so "kindly" asked us, we cleared the lines and went to anchor in the harbor putting as much physical distance as possible between us and this nice experience. We stowed away lines and fenders, gave a quick fresh water rinse to the deck and went to get some well deserved rest.

Later that day we stretched our legs in town and grabbed a bite: nothing like a couple of large sized and gringo-priced fish tacos at the White Horse Pub and Restaurant to raise the spirits (the nearby Wahoo Bistro and Patio is better, FYI)! Town was busy, lots of inflatables tied up at the dinghy dock cheerfully bobbing up and down, beautiful sailing yachts of modern and classical designs lined the marina docks... Town was...colorful, too! From the vivid red of Towne Hall in King's Square, to the picturesque cottages and historical buildings along the quaint lanes and narrow alleyways scattered around the Square, the façades are all painted in pink, aqua greens, whites... it definitely made for a lively stroll back in time. As you walk past historical landmarks, the Old State House for example, or St. Peter's Church, one of the oldest churches in the Western hemisphere, you are reminded of St.George's prominent past not only as the former capital of Bermuda but also, at a whopping 400 years old, as the oldest continuously occupied British settlement in the New World (and a designated UNESCO World Heritage Site). I particularly liked the Unfinished Church, on Government Hill Road. Framed by slender palm trees, this gothic Church was conceived as a replacement to St. Peter's Church when the latter was damaged by a hurricane. Due to funding problems, bickering parishes and another damaging storm the construction was abandoned. The ruins are extremely well preserved and the eye wanders ceaselessly from vault to arch, column and lintel.

This and a later visit to Hamilton, the capital, mostly for some errands and just enough time to see an interesting show about abstraction in art at the City Hall and Art Center, the Cathedral of the Most Holy Trinity, whose intricately carved marble pulpit and stained glass windows left no doubt as of where the funding for the Unfinished Church had been re-routed to, St. Andrew's Church, with its outer walls painted in ...Barbie pink!, the statue of Johnny Barnes, a Bermudian native famous for waving to passing commuters during the morning rush hour into Hamilton every workday, rain or shine, and "Jetè", the bronze sculpture depicting David Wall, principal dancer of the Royal Ballet, by Italian artist Enzo Plazzotta in Queen Elizabeth Park, were our only Bermudian "explorations" mainly because the weather, with rare exceptions, was awful from the moment we arrived until the day we left. Gusty winds, heavy rain, gray and cold for days and days. It was so biblical we even thought of retrofitting Boundless as an ark and start gathering the animals on land (no, I didn't mean the cruise ships passengers, my sillies!). And everybody kept telling us you should go visit this pretty anchorage and that amazing beach, yes, but how am I supposed to even physically see all this beauty when it's raining this hard? Even the locals, while happy for the additional water gift by Mother Nature, acknowledged that this was very unusual for May...

This weather was a problem also because, as four of our brand new Lewmar hatches had leaked in salt water during passage, we needed to rinse everything that got wet and salty inside the boat with fresh water and let it dry thoroughly and pronto! Also, our solar panels needed sunlight to give our batteries a good charging. We were able to get it all done eventually, but waiting for even just one dry day became a little frustrating after a while...

Finally, on the seventeenth day of June in the year of Our Lord 2023 (I love those ancient nautical logs incipits!) we cleared out of Bermuda (better experience than clearing in, different officer in charge), said ciao to the many flavor vessels at anchor waiting to cross to the Azores, Europe and wherever the winds would take them, and began our passage to Îles Des Saints, Guadeloupe, an easy thousand miles away. Why start there in our cruise south? Because they have great ice-cream, duh, and clearing C&I in the French Islands is a walk in the park, or, as our case would be, an Internet Cafe: a do-it-yourself, no fuss, pay at the cash register type experience. Valiant volunteer crew for the passage this time was Italy-born Laura, who contributed solid boat driving and baking skills, the phrase "playing Tetris" when moving around items for the tenth time in a fully-provisioned fridge, and those unique conversations about everything and nothing we Italians are famous for, especially the latter.

The passage was... dynamic but, aside from having to fall off to the east of the rhumb line for a while to bring the wind angle back, essentially drama-free, not a soul around the whole time, mostly pretty good sailing, fabulous dawns and sunsets, a magic full moon night, and that much welcome transition to warm air temperature as we got closer to destination. It was fun to be back at anchor in front of round Pain de Sucre, where we eventually enjoyed the traditional and rewarding snorkeling session... followed, in the afternoon, by a lengthy toilet pump rebuild, involving mixing and matching parts from a previously installed spare pump with those from a "new" second spare pump, being secretly broken as purchased. And a thorough wipe down with bleach of the fifty sewage-contaminated tools employed at the end... So what do you do on a boat the whole day?.

Being low season, Bourg Des Saintes, the main town, was quieter than last time we were here - although the ferries to and from Point-À-Pitre on mainland Guadeloupe were still busy. Several restaurants were closed, including Bon Vivre, which we had really liked, but we were able to score some very nice meals nonetheless, including a masterpiece of French-Caribbean haute cuisine including chocolate souffle at Ti'Kazla. And Cesibon, the divine ice-cream joint on the main thoroughfare, was open and hopping. All was good.

Goats were brought to these islands - like anywhere in the Caribbean where "cabri" (French for goat) is appended to the name of a geographical location - by transiting sailors, who let them roam freely together with pigs and other farm animals, so that fresh meat and milk would be available when they returned. On Îlet à Cabrit, north-west of Les Saintes, we took a walk up the 300 ft elevation Morne de Josephine, a light hike mixing nature and military history (= the Brits and the Frenchies having at it all the time). Lower on the hill, walking through verdant tangles of scrubs and expanses of low cacti with pretty ruby red prickly pears, you get to a battery with impressive cannons and great views of the bay. At the top, you can walk into the ruins of Fort Joséphine, built by the French in 1777 to take advantage of the island strategic position and to add to the existing defensive system (Fort Napoléon on Terre Haute, for example, where we hiked all the way up to in 2022) and numerous batteries placed on the archipelago. Bespoke and hairy trees straight out of Tolkien's "The Two Towers" seemed to emanate from the walls themselves, branches and roots deeply embedded into brick and mortar.

Having extracted maximum amusement from Les Saintes, we were off to Dominica, with a relaxed and mellow day sail (novel concept!) on one tack, the island's coast line filling our view to port as Les Saintes, aft, became smaller and smaller in the distance. Plenty of showers interspersed with sunshine ("liquid sunshine"!) softened the colors and sharp edges of the volcanic Cabrits headland as we glided on the blue water canvas of ample Prince Rupert's Bay... I enjoyed reading in the Doyle's guide how Columbus had to resort "to crumpling a sheet of paper to show the awesome mountains and illustrate the dramatic layout of the land, full of valleys, gorges and pinnacles" in trying to describe Dominica to Isabella and Ferdinand, sovereigns of Castille and the explorer's keen financial backers, always monitoring their investment returns.

When we last sailed to Dominica in 2003, we took a local boat tour of the Indian River, one of the 365 rivers that flow in the island. It was beautiful, its banks lined with buttressed Bwa Mang trees whose roots "folded" into the water like elegant draperies. You could almost imagine being one of the native Kalinago (whose settlement in Dominica, by the way, is the last Native-American settlement in the whole Caribbean) rowing their canoes all the way down the sea. The tour we took this time, guided by native expert and total island lover Kish, began onshore with Cabrits National Park, where more examples of historical military architecture commingling with unspoiled nature awaited us. Along trails with towering silk cotton, mahogany naked Indian trees, their trunks textured like a contemporary art backdrop, the ruins of XVIII century Fort Shirley and annexed buildings (including one still full of cannonballs and other ammunitions!) stood out even while blending in with the thick vegetation. I have to say these ruins felt more "authentic" than the buildings at the summit, which have been very nicely restored, that's true, but they've been given a bit of a..."wedding reception venue patina" in the process (they are, in fact, available for events), and I wonder if Thomas Shirley, the British Governor for whom the fort was built, would approve!

Next was the Syndicate Waterfalls, about a fifteen minutes mild hike on moderate elevation including threading your way into the river upstream for a while. All you could hear as you stepped cautiously from one wet rock onto the next was the sound of the water, the rustling of the leaves from whatever breeze could "sneak" into the forest and a symphony of birds, seemingly invisible to the eye! Swimming in the waterfall was both invigorating and completely exhilarating, lots of hooting ensued, and it was just like going back to being kids one more time (some may say we never stopped...). Then Calibishie, a little village with great beaches on the scenic north east coast (not that there had been one non-scenic bit on the north west and north coasts - where we were coming from - either!) where we stopped for lunch (this is where we wished we had picked our own restaurant instead of Kish. Not really sure the - overcooked - fish was the mahi we had actually ordered...) before going to see the neighboring Red Rocks, an expanse of volcanic lava flow turned into an oxidized peninsula by the action of the ocean constantly washing over it and the interaction of salt with the iron minerals that composed it. This red, sand and burnt sienna color scenery with the sapphire blue of the ocean in the background was like... a postcard from Planet Mars -sur-Mer!!

Last, the Chocolate Factory, part of enchanting 25-acre Pointe Baptiste Estate built by Scottish-born and Dominican icon Elma Napier (the first woman ever elected to a legislative council in Dominica and in the whole West Indies, and author of "Black and White Sands: a Bohemian Life in the Colonial Caribbean"...'nuff said!) and her husband Lennox in 1934. Alan Napier, their grandson, started the factory, having developed a taste for fine chocolate while living in Europe and not finding anything similar in Dominica. He learned the confectionery art and, utilizing the cocoa grown on the estate, began hand-making small batches of dark chocolate for his personal use. The news about the nouveau chocolatier on the block soon spread, a following was built, and Alan eventually started to commercialize its product. Assisted by local staff he still runs the factory today, enjoys talking to visitors, showing them the various manufacturing stages (from drying and roasting the beans to making chocolate paste, etc.) as well as checking said visitors' expression of awe once they've sampled his chocolate. The Cap'n and I are big fans of the good old, "boring", totally-disappeared-from-the-market 50% bittersweet Lindt, but we're always happy to try something new. A bite of the Pointe Baptiste chocolate definitely reveals the island's unique terroir of volcanic earth, harsh sunlight mitigated by transient lofty clouds, local herbs and salty breezes (how's that for chocolate critique, eh?).

Barely-tropical-cyclone (sic) Brett was headed our way, so it was time to leave Dominica and switch the cute-yet-smug-looking parrot surrounded by green stars on a red field of its courtesy flag with the nutmeg rampant of the Grenadian one, as it's in St.George's Grenada - Port Louis Marina- where we decided to go and wait it out. During the overnight to Grenada we got caught by one of a series of heavy squalls that we had managed to successfully dodge until then by monitoring them closely on the radar. Sheets of water kept pouring down with the strength of a pressure water hose, making reducing canvas a rather uncomfortable affair. There was lightning too, a little too close for comfort, but luckily we weren't hit. A stranded bird, who had been hitching a ride on Boundless' lifelines since the previous afternoon, was still in the same spot where we left it after that squally mess, completely soaked but busily primping, taking care of its plumage, etc. as if nothing had happened! The rest of the passage was fine and even greeted by a wonderful morning rainbow.

We were in Grenada and Carriacou from June 22 to July 7, and since then we've been island hopping in the archipelago of St. Vincent and The Grenadines: Tobago Cays (Sea turtles! Rays! Spotted trunk fish! School of very chilled barracudas checking us out at length while snorkeling!), Bequia, Mayreaux, Union Island (super-large avocados and mangos!) and Canouan. Alas, we had an intruder onboard the boat while at Canouan's Charlestown Bay. That was a first! During the night we both thought we heard a hatch slamming, and the morning after we found out someone had come in through the port salon hatch, stole one of our headlamps to move around in the dark, opened both fridge and freezer (and left them open), ate a block of feta cheese (he "politely" threw out its perfectly good tupperware in the garbage) a mango and a banana (whose peel he hid behind the back of one of the settees and bits of mango and feta cheese were all over the floor)...and stole the large chunks of fresh parmesan cheese we had got while in the States! You're gonna laugh, but that was infuriating! Parmesan cheese is a staple of our diet, difficult and expensive to find in the Caribbean, especially the good one). I'm grateful that in the end we got off lightly, mind you, but still! In any case, from then on, all hatches, all deck lockers, dinghy, everything, locked every night and when off the boat even briefly.

Well, I'm pretty sure you're all up to date now! Our plan is to keep enjoying our "summer holiday" before heading back to Grenada to wait out the rest of this busy hurricane season, catch up on boat projects and figure out our next plans. We are also thinking of compiling the first tome of "The Bareboaters & Charterers Book of Shame: A comprehensive list of things you shouldn't have to see while... at sea". Highlights include boats anchoring right up close next to you in a plenty spacious bay, maybe even letting ridiculously little anchor scope out; proceeding into an anchorage pedal to the metal; not letting your engine warm up before ramming it to full throttle; having bright underwater lights on all night; having an entire broadway theater worth of deck lights on all night, using strobe lights as anchor lights; sailing with table napkin-sized reefed sails when it's blowing 5 knots and you're going downwind...just (partly) kidding.

Almost forgot: during the recent passage of Franklin while it was still a "baby" hurricane (awww! So cute with all its tiny fluffy clouds and squalls...), we were waiting it out in Chatham Bay, Union Island, together with other boats - we saw a 34 knots gust during the night, tons of rain, and the wind was all over the place! Everybody was safe, no drama - then next morning the wind swirled through the hills and we turned so many circles around our anchor that, as we found out later, our anchor chain had got all wrapped around the anchor itself, and the latter wasn't even set anymore but just laying on the bottom under the weight of the chain... and we were very slowly dragging! Also, a 64 ft charter cat named Segundo Viento (Spanish for "fart"?) plunked down their anchor really close to everyone else! They were there for a while before figuring out that it wasn't such a great idea (someone from a sailboat astern of her had started to complain, also because with the weather conditions still unsettled it was a good recipe for an accident!), picked up the anchor and left at a considerable speed. Poor seamanship, unsafe behavior... where to begin? The crew seemed quite young, so it's reasonable to assume that they had learned their craft on TikTok.

I'm really gonna let you go now! Thank you as always for reading and any comments, we'll keep you posted on our next movements - we're vaguely thinking of crossing to the Pacific but El Niño can make sailing weather a little tricky over there - and wish you all a great Season finale (I mean summer, not Netflix!). Baci!

Carissimi!

Welcome once again to what's often referred to as "living the dream", a motto whose originator, if caught, should be immediately put to good use as a fender.

We've been in the Abacos, Bahamas, for the last three and a half weeks, collecting some "ownership rewards" after six brutal but productive weeks at the dock in Fort Lauderdale in March-April interrupted only by a tightly packed shore trip covering three US time zones. But let's backtrack a little.

Last February's passage from Antigua to Miami will always be known as the "We were so lucky!" passage because after waiting for cold front after cold front in the North Atlantic to run its course and stop affecting our areas, we finally got a good weather window to go. After that, no more windows, all gone, like Harry Potter's Platform 9 and 3/4.

The first 48 hours of the passage were a little rough, as expected, with seas about 8-11 feet. Aside from that making my signature frittata zucchini e funghi more challenging to flip square into the pan, it wasn't too bad, we were on a catamaran going downwind after all, and when the conditions settled we had beautiful sailing, full of those "I believe I can flyyyy!" moments that Boundless can deliver, including sailing at 17 knots on a broad reach with reefed main and A2 towards the end of the passage. We thought our old and heavily patched A2 would not make it - it was blowing 28 knots true - and therefore this would be her... last performance and Viking Funeral all in one - but she held up no problem!

From the Cap'n's log:

"We left at 9.30am on Saturday and had a fast and bumpy start as expected, sailing a broad reach with a double reefed main and double reefed (sometimes single-reefed) genoa in seas running 8-11 feet, turning in a 215 mile day, right on 9 knots average. Sunday was still a little bumpy and gusty though down to 7-9 feet and lower overnight into Monday morning, and we managed 205 miles.

Monday was getting pretty comfortable, though we had squalls around much of the day which sometimes ran to 27 knots, though all downwind sailing. We shook a reef out of the main in the afternoon, and then caught a massive mahi-mahi, I think the biggest we've caught on the boat yet. We actually had two fish on at once, but lost one of them. Fantastic fresh fish dinner last night, nothing else quite like it!

Last night seas and wind were pretty far down, and we managed 193 miles to this morning - though a bit of a cheat since we put the clock back an hour to Eastern Daylight Time, so it was a 25 hour day. Today so far is brochure sailing, the waves are 3-4' and the wind is running 15-18 knots, bright and sunny and dry. A little slow going downwind, but very comfortable. We're just about the half-way point for distance now with 614 miles left to Lauderdale, so it's looking like a Friday arrival.

It's been a strange trip in one particular way - we've been in sight of land a lot of the time, which I guess I hadn't thought about in choosing this route. Quite different for a passage! Right now we're between Haiti and Middle Caicos Island (of the Turks & Caicos), but over towards the Caicos side so no land in sight. In about an hour we're going to gybe and head over towards the east end of Cuba to get lined up for the run through the Old Bahama Channel. I expect we'll be in sight of Cuba for a day at least. Weather forecast continues to look good for moderate winds, and I think we'll fly our Asymmetric spinnaker after we gybe".

Six days and one hour after leaving Jolly Harbor...land ho!, the Miami skyline finally appeared, its reflection sharp on the glassy water and lots of motorboats running around. We anchored in Key Biscayne for a couple of days to catch up on some rest, enjoy the sunsets, have a swim and stretch our legs in the Bill Baggs Cape Florida State Park (a little black rabbit lingered for a moment on the path as we walked by and those "Turkish slippers" curly tailed lizards are really cute!). We bid our goodbyes to Nic and Jonathan, our excellent volunteer crew who helped with it all, sail handling, watches, galley duties, fishing and being a fun company, and motored to Fort Lauderdale on March 1st. We went a mile into the inlet, checking out the tug boats slowly pushing large freighters piled high with colorful containers, and eventually made it to our reserved dock space at Harbor Towne Marina, where we tied up. Not any particular order... let the fun begin!

A stretch of Pex pipe failed in the starboard forepeak due to age and UV exposure while we were off the boat. When we later did the troubleshooting we found water gushing out of it like the Bernini fountain in Rome! The team from Maz Ocean boarded the boat to start work, heard the water pump running dry and turned it off, but not before 40 gallons of freshwater turned the forepeak into a small swimming pool! Crash pump, bailer, large sponge and bucket in hand, the Cap'n and myself were eventually able to dry it all up and, later, even be on the cover shot of "What do you do all day on a boat Illustrated" given the upper body work out from all the pumping. The failed portion of the pipe and its fittings were replaced and a new "replace all forepeak Pex pipes and fittings completely, port and starboard" item was added to the to-do list. Spoiler alert, the pipe on port also failed a few days after we arrived in the Bahamas and just as we were about to transition to relax and enjoy holiday mode. Since we caught it as soon as it started this time, the "flooding" was smaller and drying it up less time-consuming. Now we have all brand new Pex pipes and fittings on both sides, yay!

The lithium-ion batteries install required a level of boat interior disassembling not seen since The Great Boat Interior Disassembling of 1973 (look it up online. No, it's ok, I'm making it up) including, among others, laying down acres of Cover Guard to protect the boat's surfaces, removing lockers doors, settee contents and anything located port and starboard aft to midship to access all relevant cables and wires. The new batteries work great and seeing them still charged at, say, 90% in the morning puts a big smile on the Cap'n's face, as opposed to his sad cocker spaniel expression because of the previous lead acid batteries low charge even after running the engine canonically at least for an hour and a half every evening! The only issue seems to be some unpredictability in the behavior of the port and starboard regulators, to which the Cap'n, after a lot of disciplined testing, gauge reading and amp output analyzing - not to mention pendulum swinging and careful monitoring of the planets alignment - seems to have found an optimal solution: to start the engines sequentially, not together.

We have a new washer-dryer! Removing the previous Splendide from its "nook" and replacing it with the new unit involved very strong men moving like ballerinas along Boundless's reasonably wide passageways...that too can feel a lot narrower when you're carrying around a 140 lbs machine! A doubt now lingers however as of whether the "old" washer and dryer was actually no longer working. Removing it revealed that it wasn't getting enough water, resulting in never-ending washing cycles, most likely due to an easy to fix problem with the water supply rather than other issues diagnosed during earlier troubleshooting and that required repairs almost as expensive as buying a new machine. So, there's a chance we may have disposed of a perfectly good washer-dryer...expensive mistake and disposing of a perfectly functioning item... not cool, dude. But I have to say I really like the cheerful little tune the new Splendide plays when it starts or turns itself off.

Starlink! After we purchased the dish, the company went "Surpriiise!" and changed its terms and conditions, so that neither the type dish nor the plan purchased with it worked for us anymore. The Cap'n had to spend precious time and synapses choosing a different plan, returning that first dish and buy a different one to match the new plan. We've had the aft awning fitted with an ample sleeve to host the dish so that it's out of sight and sheltered from the elements. A "tubular" and narrower sleeve at the edge of the same awning accommodates the cable running from the dish to inside the starboard accessory mast (and from there to the lazarette, where the relevant gear is). With the exception of the occasional drop in connection, and assuming you can keep up with Starlink's policy changes from one day to the next, the system really provides great wi-fi...

About the new A2 sail, all I have to say for now is that it looks beautiful and we're looking forward to sailing more than one mile (as it's been the case in the Bahamas) to hoist it! Fun fact, the guy who made the sock for the A2 was an old acquaintance of the Cap'n's from his professional sailing days. Fort Lauderdale is after all the Cap'n's old playground!

Mast step #2! We'd had some problems with the mainsail halyard and sheet blocks attached to the mast step, keeping them attached with some of the highest loads on the boat. The first fix we tried in Sint Maarten, revealed like a miracle only minutes before we had to install it to stay on schedule to re-step the mast, was predictably inadequate. We had been shooting for a clean "original construction" look, but unwilling to remove the mast again for access to the back of the step we settled for a "highly polished farm implement" look instead - with the benefit that it's actually strong enough...!

Once all projects were completed (of course there were tons of other minor but not less important ones, like the one involving the Cap'n going all Mc Gyver on the "accordion" salon shades, or the endoscopy we gave to the boom in search of spots that could chafe the reef lines, but something tells me you're ready to move on) and Boundless now truly turned into the ultimate live aboard and performance sailing machine, the only thing left to do was to... almost get stranded by the April 13th flash flood that filled Fort Lauderdale and surroundings with over 25" of water in 24 hours! We were out provisioning and the conditions got so bad that we had to stop under a bridge to wait for a lull in the rain and wind. When that eventually arrived, sort of, we began making our way back to the marina extra-cautiously, avoiding the stretches of road where the water looked deep. We made a run for the boat from the parking lot trying not to get completely soaked in the effort and came back to pick up the (imperishable) provisions we had in the trunk only the morning after, as the night before it kept raining till around 11, plus thunder, lightning and tornado alerts for the area.

Alas, the lids on our port and starboard head hatches didn't survive the experience. It was disappointing given that they had been replaced not long ago. The glass on one of them was literally sliding off from the surrounding gasket in places! And even replacing the lid only, not the whole hatch, is a royal pain. I asked the Cap'n, only partly joking, if there is a viable alternative to hatches on a boat and his deadpan answer was yes, a piece of plywood. Not a bad idea, you know, I could always paint a little trompe l'oeil sun and blue sky on it... Fret not, after complaining to the manufacturing company, they actually sent us two new hatches, which was nice, and the lids were replaced just yesterday morning, amongst a lot of sweat and a fair amount of swearing. Let's see how long they'll last this time!

It was really nice to get off the dock, and on schedule (our dock space was no longer available after April 15 and the little else that was available cost an arm and a leg)! Goodbye big fork lift taking motorboats in and out and up and down the dry dock behind us all day with soundtrack to match! Goodbye jets taking off from the nearby airport dropping that nice and greasy dark film that is a pain to wash off boats! Goodbye Far Niente and Vivo Per Lei, large motor yachts docked near us, may the trend of choosing slightly cheesy Italian names for schnorters remain strong! Goodbye clearing Customs & Immigration into the US in Miami, which I'm sorry to say had little of the charm of doing the same in Eastport ME back in '21 and more of the cumbersomeness you would expect when clearing C&I almost anywhere in the Caribbean. Finally, goodbye aggressive gnats, Floridian of residence but definitely Swiss in the punctuality with which you showed up every early morning and late afternoon to devour us...we're so not missing you already!

We motored all the way from Fort Lauderdale on to the Little Bahama Bank on April 15th, not a breath of wind and sea like a pond - easiest Gulf Stream crossing ever! On approaching our destination, my jaw dropped seeing how exceptionally clear the water was: you could see so many star fish and sea slugs on the shallow bottom! The general scenery is mellow, almost non descript at times. None of the drama of those coastlines in the Caribbean which look like they've been clawed by some giant feline. One exception though are the dazzling white or pale pink beaches of fine coral sand, against which the water, in hues from the deepest ultramarine to the most brilliant aqua green stands out even more.

Since we arrived we've been cay hopping, mostly motoring and occasionally sailing with reefed main and staysail or just genoa. (I've been happily fulfilling my role as additional lookout at the bow because the sand banks and coral reefs that surround the islands prompt you to proceed cautiously and use all eyes available). We've been in Mangrove Cay, Crab Cay, Spanish Cay, Man Jack Cay, Whale Cay, Guana Cay, Man O War Cay, Elbow Cay and Hope Town, Marsh Harbour, Sandy Cay, Buccaroon Bay, Tilloo Cay, Tahiti Beach, back to Marsh Harbour ("I've been everywhere, man..."). Here are our top favorites:

Man Jack Cay: located on the Atlantic side of Great Abaco Island, the treat here is to take the dinghy up the shallow Inner Creek. It's strongly advisable to go slowly - we actually turned the engine off and paddled - because you'll start seeing sea turtles darting left and right. Seriously, this is Sea Turtle City! The boldest among them will check you out while lingering on the surface for breathing, then... adiós!. And you can rely on herons flying gracefully over the mangroves, sunlight flecking their leaves, to provide the aerial entertainment. Another arm of the creek will take you to Man Jack Beach, at the northern end of the island, a natural jewel where the sand is lightly brushed by the leaves of the casuarina, the evergreen plant which is a common sight on the islands and whose overall look bears a striking similarity with a conifer) and the reef gets visited by the occasional young nurse shark, as it happened while we were there!

Man O War Cay: continuing south-east with Great Abaco on starboard you'll get to this lovely island with gorgeous beaches and two of the safest harbors in the Bahamas. The little town is busy, as there's a lot of construction going on: boat making, residences and, in general, re-building post hurricane Dorian from 2019, yet the overall feel is very peaceful. The pleasant fragrance of lumber is everywhere but don't get too distracted by it or you risk finding yourself in the way of... an oncoming golf cart (very popular means of transportation)! From "downtown" Man O War we walked north west to the beaches, where we could see the sheltered Sea of Abaco on one side and the vigorous Atlantic Ocean on the other, great contrast!

In Hope Town, on the north-east side of Elbow Cay, we really enjoyed our visit to the "candy striped" lighthouse, which makes this the most photographed harbor in the Bahamas. We climbed the stairs all the way to the top and enjoyed the beautiful 360° view over the harbor and the ocean. We also checked the huge Fresnel lens that focuses, magnifies and directs the light from a kerosene vapor lamp outward, where it's visible up to 20 miles offshore. The pool of mercury on which the lens floats keeps it level and eliminates friction. And the rotating mechanism must be rewound by hand every two hours - but the Cap'n up at 5am found the modern light keepers apparently asleep on the job as the lens wasn't rotating! A real feat of engineering and a true piece of maritime heritage!

By the time we got to Sandy Cay, east of Great Abaco, we had heard and read so much about the excellent snorkeling in the area that we were ready to jump in the moment we arrived from Marsh Harbor! Except we'd just had a brisk sail, had a little lunch, caffé freddi on the pointy end, the water and air temperatures were a little cold and, well, we were perfectly happy hanging out in the front cockpit enjoying the view, what can I say. We missed our chance as the following couple of days brought strong winds, lumpy seas and clouds. But once the weather got back to beautiful day in paradise, we got ready to go in no time. The snorkeling was as wonderful as advertised (and best experienced in full wetsuits, but that's just us). Huge parrot fish, queen angelfish and triggerfish, yellowtail damsel fish, butterfly fish... and many coral heads in perfect condition, including a stag horn coral "gate" extending for substantial length along the bottom. Definitely one of our best snorkeling sessions so far and, it's worth noting, it took place at the southernmost point we'd ever be for a long time!

Tahiti Beach, on the southern tip of Elbow Cay, was wonderful! We waited a couple of days at anchor in Tilloo Cay for strong winds to back off (in case it isn't clear yet, the weather has been overall... robust since we've arrived!) and once the weather settled we went for a walk on this soft sand, coconut palm-lined beach that, at low tide turns literally into a triple-sized peninsula and arches into the Sea of Abaco as far as the eye can see. Did I mention the cute sea mushrooms popping out of the sand?

Now we are in Marsh Harbour, the islands' commercial center and, together with New Plymouth on Green Turtle Cay, one of the remaining original settlements founded by New York Loyalists who migrated to the Abacos after the end of the American Revolution (more about the Abacos very interesting history here). We've come here twice now, first time to take advantage of its greatly sheltered harbor and wait out, you guessed, some severe weather with wind gusting up to 39 knots before heading to Sandy Cay and, until yesterday morning, to stay at the marina dock and get Boundless some much needed exterior cleaning. We'll be in the neighborhood until this weekend do some provisioning and wait for the arrival of our nephew Alexander, our next valiant crew for the upcoming passage to the Bermudas - departure this coming Sunday, as of current plans.

I think you're all caught up now, so I'm gonna let you go. Before I close, one big CIAO! to Daniel and Katherine on Allure, Mark on Merlin, John and Alexis on Ashling, Harry and Addie & friends on Wabi Sabi, Karl and Val on Valianna: great to meet you - running into you again - reconnect - spend time over sundowners or lunch - chat from a dinghy or on the radio... fair winds and calm seas and we hope to see you all again soon out there. And hugs to Diane, Chip, Carmen and Lisa, our South Floridian "family". I'm pretty sure I'm not missing anyone!

Until the next one, thanks for reading, for any comment, check the Gallery and a hug y'all!

For me though, the only adventure worthy of this name is to "navigate" the music by Johann Sebastian Bach. Enjoy!

Carissimi!

It's been too long!

No worries, to a certain extent you haven't "missed much" since my last post. Last summer we waited out hurricane season between Grenada and its islands and St.Vincent and the Grenadines, the traditional "safe zones". We've enjoyed interesting sailing with winds either 8 or 22 knots, nothing in between, fabulous swimming and snorkeling, excellent hiking, divine sunsets, postcard beaches... and many chances for smiling at assorted lapses of seamanship sometimes seen on other boats: sails flogging for no apparent reason (it will shorten the sail life by dog years) or left uncovered under the sun when not in use, slack main halyards endlessly clank-clank-clanking against the mast, often to the complete unawareness of the "crew", engines brought to speed without being warmed up first, anchors laid out with so little scope that dragging seems like a plan not a risk, double accidental jibes, attempts (eight in one case!) at docking with little or no clue of how a boat moves "under the influence" of water, engines and the wind...The poor old bus mistreated by the villain in Asimov's "Sally" comes to mind.

We've had spells of severe weather during the summer, as expected. For example, a pop-up storm in late July while we were at anchor in Saline Bay, Mayreaux, generated 90 minutes of pure Tropical Storm force winds, with peak gusts of 45 knots and up to 70 knots at a couple of places on shore, even in Grenada and St. Vincent. Houses lost roofs in Bequia, cell towers blown down in Grenada, trees down, lots of boats dragged anchor in multiple harbors...and, later, the "Now go pick up all the fenders, paddle boards, boogie boards and cushions drifting all the way to Central America because you didn't think of taking them off the deck and secure them down below" Show and Revue. Unless of course your dinghy was flipped over by the wind because you left it in the water before the storm, its engine isn't working now because soaking wet and you need to go and complain about it on Facebook first...

But we've also had a more than generous dose of beautiful bluebird days, bringing out that unparalleled turquoise color in the water and the bright green grass of the hills... Talking about birds, after being at anchor for some time at Sandy Island, Carriacou, the local bird population started turning up on Boundless to monitor the fish feeding frenzies in the water around us. Our bows were packed with chatty sooty terns, boobies, pelicans... We love the feathery creatures as much as the next ornithologist, however their poop, ceaselessly issued, is tough to remove, especially after it dries up. Sticking a large plastic owl on deck isn't really in our plans so we got creative securing a long handled cleaning brush at each bow, hard bristles sides up, in the hope that they'd keep the birds away by making their landing really uncomfortable. It worked for a few minutes, but ultimately running out on deck at regular intervals, clapping our hands loudly and stomping our feet like Gorgon the Inhuman turned out to be the most effective remedy. We got a little tired of this exercise and decided to head for new shores...

Early last Fall the sudden passing of a loved one in the family brought to focus new priorities and we flew back and forth to the States a few times. The support of family and friends has been invaluable. At the end of October, we sailed overnight from Grenada to St.Martin, where Boundless spent quality time at FKG Marine in Simpson Bay Lagoon. We took off the mast for a full standing and running rig survey, replaced the rod diamonds, refurbished 7 of the 8 mast brakes (new molding parts, new jaws), put chafe sleeves on the lazy jacks where they exit the mast, added two mast exit chafe bars that were missing, end for ended the genoa halyard, replaced the staysail halyard, put a Facnor halyard lock to the starboard spinnaker and a new stripped Dyneema halyard for it, replaced the entire VHF cable and antenna, mounted the external VHF speaker to the existing starboard spreader bracket (lasted two months!), flushed the genoa furler swivels and replaced the top swivel on the staysail furler, reset all the set screws for the staysail furler foil sections, removed the masthead bracket and 80' of wire for the no longer used solid state weather station, replaced the masthead tri-color anchor light and the lens of the steaming light, replaced both genoa and staysail furling lines, replaced the topping lift, fixed the mast step turning blocks for main sheet and main halyard, put new Delrin washers on the staysail and main boom goosenecks, Awlwashed and Awlcared the mast, re-labeled the mast halyard brakes (the chosen font is such as you would see in a cute coffee shop on a label saying "Blueberry Chai" rather than "Topping Lift" but it will do) and, finally, called for pizza.

In the meantime, our main and genoa got a thorough check at North Sails, including some minor repairs, and more work was done on the engines: new oil pan on the starboard engine; rebuilt both raw water pumps and replaced gaskets and put in new impellers. The technician from Caraibes Diesel was great and, while working, he kept swearing in French like it's nobody's business. It was hilarious, although at times I went and checked on him because I thought maybe he had hurt himself or dropped an engine on his feet or something. But I stopped worrying when I realized that the passionate swearing was actually key to the successful completion of the job. I'm Italian, I should know. In fact, when the time came to help the Cap'n put the heavy 1,000 square foot main sail back where she belonged, a good dollop of swearing in romanesco really helped with the process.

After completing the projects and provisioning at the big Carrefour supermarket, a must, we left St. Martin and sailed to Ile Fourchue, where we spent the night on our way to Antigua. This pretty island, neighbor and part of the island of St. Barth's Collectivity, has got distinctive "bulbous" peaks, hard to miss at a distance. It used to be inhabited exclusively by goats, which picked it to bare stone. The goats were eventually evacuated and started on a more environmentally friendly diet - I hear they're doing great on pasta - to allow the vegetation on the island to grow back. Ile Fourchue was also first a retreat for Balthazar Biguard, a Frenchman who thought better of staying in his country during the Revolution and migrated to this island, where he lived apart from the rest of the world until he died in 1827 at the age of 85. Smart guy.

So, since our arrival in Antigua, we've hopped around our favorite spots, houseboating, taking care of lesser boat projects, and occasionally, lo and behold!, having even some social activities, including hanging out with our old friends Jeff and Krista on Agility, one of Boundless' sister ships, and new friends Val and Carl on Valianna, a Chris White mast foil 47 cat. A few more highlights:

- Many flavors of weather - from large squalls covering the sky in dark clouds and spooky orange patches where the sun tries to peek through at dawn, to Christmas Trades gusting steady (and loudly!) in the high 20s, to days of zero-wind and not one ripple in the water... Also, I know this sounds crazy, but it's been cold, with temperatures in the 70s, and water to match! A local fisherman we talked to and who was about to go out to fish lobster, wetsuit on and everything, confirmed that it's been cold, man, including the water giving "a chill on the skin"! I'm glad it wasn't just us being fussy because spoiled by the warm weather in Grenada!

- My dad visiting over the holidays. He loved Antigua and had a great time (walks on the beaches, swimming, some nice meals on shore, naming the colors at sunset "Cantaloupe", "meloncino") except maybe when we managed to terrify him with a lively upwind sail from Five Islands Harbor to Falmouth Harbour, especially the part that took place in open ocean on ... moderate-to-dynamic conditions.

- A new hike, the Falmouth Circular, in St. Paul, great addition to our traditional Middle Ground Trail. The entrance is not far from Bailey's Supermarket... a place so depress... er... focused on function rather than interior pleasantness that even the vegetables on display - when there are any - are on Prozac. You'll ignore a "No Entry" sign along the way, cross a cattle guard and try to calm down three dogs guarding a large residence, "chasing" any passer-by while barking like mad from behind the fence - having done this hike three times already, we thought our smell would be in their "not-a-threat" database by now, but no - . After a steep-ish paved part, you continue on dirt road and when eventually the trail bifurcates, one side goes all the way up to the old cell tower - you will pass through an arch that looks like a...misplaced ancient Roman ruin, down to its opus incertum, which consists mostly of the local copper-infused stones in the unmistakable green hue - and from there you can enjoy a spectacular view over Falmouth Harbour. The other side leads to the new cell tower, placed lower than the old one but with an equally beautiful view stretching all the way to the east of the island. The scenery on this side looks almost... Californian! Wide patches of long-leaved grass moving gently with the wind, bespoke trees and tons of butterflies in yellow, black, white and rust, reminded us of Windy Hill, which we used to hike a lot when living in NorCal. And of course the goats: hanging out near the old cell tower and sheltered by thick vegetation, you can sometimes see a family of the adorable quadrupeds, some of them nested on really narrow ledges overhanging the ocean! That was a long description, but it reflects how much we enjoyed it.

- The new Reef restaurant on the beach at Green Island. Now, that's a big change! It used to be just the pristine beach, a couple of roosters and the nice little path you'd walk to the windward side of the island and back! Now there's this fabulous small restaurant and bar, with a dock for the tenders to drop off the patrons, often coming from high-end charters and nearby resorts dressed up like for the cover shot of Departures Magazine. The food is excellent and beautifully presented. The Cap'n is still raving about the amazing texture of his pan seared tuna with cherry tomatoes!

- Boat names we heard calling each other on the radio while sailing from Falmouth to North Sound: "Sushi... Sushi... Sushi... Sashimi!" "Longitude... Longitude... Longitude... Latitude!". Just when you thought you'd heard it all...

So what's next? Well, hoping the weather gets better, as it's been cold front after cold front after cold front in the North Atlantic with ample effects trailing all the way down here (not passage weather, in a nutshell) we'll sail the boat from Antigua back to Fort Lauderdale this weekend, a week or so passage. While there we'll replace our lead acid batteries with a fully integrated lithium ion system, a big project. We'll install Starlink which, if all it's said about it is true, should mark the end of us running around buying local SIM cards and data plans. And we'll be getting a fresh new A2 spinnaker (with Boundless colors & logo - see gallery!) to replace the old one as it nears end-of-life. Once all that's done, our summer cruise plan of record, an Atlantic circle, will unfold as follows (drum roll please):

Leave Florida at the end of March then: Bahamas; Bermuda; Faroe Islands (half way between Norway and Iceland); Lofoten Islands; West coast of Norway; Scotland's Shetlands, Orkneys, and Outer Hebrides (including St.Kilda, the island after which the Cap'n's second sail boat was named!); west coast of Ireland; Madeira; Canaries; Cape Verdes; Antigua.

Why that far north, some of you may ask? That's obvious: at 68° degrees and change latitude, the chance of finding boats turning invasive underwater lights at night or obnoxious disco-style flashing mast lights plunges to zero. Same applies to thumpa-thumpa (= noisy) beach bars and overcrowding. Just (partly) kidding, the fact is we've been bobbing around the gorgeous Caribbean for quite some time now and it's time to rekindle that subtle inner connection we feel with the The Great North by, well, going there. Also, the Faroes and Lofotens are rugged and stunning, all we've seen and read about them make them feel like stepping into a different dimension. We expect a lot of amazing hiking, fjord-exploring and absolutely no swimming.

There's a lot of work to do in preparation of this cruise, including route planning, passage planning, weather monitoring, hot chocolate stashing, assessing safety gear conditions, and basically making sure Boundless is ready for the challenge (hence also the big work on the mast in St. Martin and the big battery switch). We are lining up some great volunteer crew for the longer passages, and I would like to raise a toast in advance to these brave people, who will find out too late it'd have been better if they had stayed home watching Netflix instead. Just kidding! Cheers, or rather, Skål!

That's it for now! I'm gonna leave you with a big hug, feel free to visit the Gallery for a few visuals, throw in a comment or two while you're at it and...stay tuned! And Happy Valentine!

Carissimi!

This is "Elegy for a King (in memory of Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.)", by contemporary composer Frederic Hand. Given the recent events, there should also have been an "Elegy for a Queen", but I don't have one in my repertoire yet, unfortunately. I'm sure Dr. King won't mind sharing his, just this time.🙂 Thanks for watching and a hug from Grenada!