'The Rolling Stones' really did sing some rubbish. How can someone who was followed by 1000's of adoring nubile young women sing about not getting any satisfaction? In the same vein how can they release a sing called 'Sad, Sad, Sad' when they could afford to fill themselves with so many uppers that they would rattle when they walked. To be fair to 'The Rolling Stones' they also had some real gems. They penned the Lyrics 'I'm free; To do whatever I want; Any old time.' Ruffian is finally free, we can go wherever we want and we can go there whenever we like. It's great being free and fixed.

Now set free from both being landlocked in the yard and tied to Ruffian giving her the loving that she needed it was time for some good old R 'n' R. Fiona found her R by simply enjoying time to stop on Ruffian, enjoy the gentle rocking and the sound of lapping water around her hull, in contrast Iain found his R by hiking to the top of the biggest hill in northern St Lucia and proceeded to scoot down the perfectly smooth tarmac road on the other side. It was whilst travelling at mach 1 on his scooter that he thought that not only would having a helmet be a good idea, but also that his R was more like an 'Ahhhh'.

We decided that after a being n St Lucia for a week we had to make an effort and see some of the island. We boarded one of the local busses with its booming reggae and rattling windows and made our way to the hills via the capitol Castries. In Castries we put on our bargaining heads and bartered down the coconut sellers, the grapefruit vendor and the breadfruit woman.

It was then into the hills via another bus station and the good will of a bus driver saw him dropping us off at the start of the trail even though he wasn't on duty and it wasn't even on his route. When we arrived the one problem was that the trail was closed due to landslides. We've never been put off an activity by the thought of a lot of mud, so we scaled the fence and walked in glorious isolation with only massive vista's for company. With the trails completed it was then time to try and get home. Within minutes of standing by the side of the road a car stopped and the driver offered us a lift to Castries. After regaling him with our story he then diverted, via a supermarket, to drop us and our shopping off just where we'd left Thug. Both the bus driver and our knight in shining armour confirmed our thoughts that St Lucian's are simply lovely people (except for customs officers, but that's another story, Grrrrr).

We had high expectations of the sail from St Lucia to Martinique. Ruffian had been loved and her bottom was as smooth as a babies. As we left the anchorage she took off like a scolded cat. Her clean bottom, mixed with 20 knots of wind and our want to sail efficiently enabled us to slowly haul in boats both bigger than us and those that should be faster. This was Caribbean sailing at its best. The crowning glory was as we arrived at Martinique the water was so clear that we thought that the depth sounder was not working properly as we could so easily see starfish on the seabed 8 meters below us.

Grand Anse d'Artlet in Martinique is a beautiful place. There are loads of free mooring balls (so new they're not even mentioned in our pilot books yet) the locals hope these will help the marine life and particularly the turtles as it is felt that the anchors and chain might be damaging the sea grass on which they feed. We donned our masks and snorkels and found starfish and tropical fish everywhere with sea turtles coming up for air every few minutes around us. Our particular fishy favourites were some joyful little black and white spotty tricksters and a playful black one with yellow stripes. Quite a difference from the time in the boatyard in St Lucia.

It was not all play and R n R however. We had a leak in our fresh water system to find and so Ruffian was taken to bits. With pumps dismantled and serviced, plumbing joints cleaned and made good, and lots of bad words from Iain after having to get into painfully awkward positions, the pump was turned back on. All our hard work was rewarded with the confirmation that there was still a leak and we'd achieved nothing in our morning's work. Time for another snorkel.

The anchorage slowly turned into social central. We hooked up with Pip Knight and her crew who Iain had raced with in the UK and then Willie arrived on Quaver. We were welcomed back into the cruising community with abandon and the time we'd spent sat sadly ashore suddenly felt like ancient history and a dim memory.

Chocolate box houses and amazing views. That'll be St Lucia.


Where Ruffian belongs again. At anchor under a setting sun.


Taste of the Caribbean. Fresh coconut opened by a madman with a machete.


Walking in the forests was like walking through a florist.


Seeing miles and miles with smiles and smiles.


Larry was not too impressed being made to go for yet another hike.


Caribbean sailing at it's best.


With Ruffian romping along with her newly cleaned, faired and painted bottom.


Another island, another anchorage, another amazing sunset.


Larry samples yet another national beer.


Hunt the leak. Oh joy.


The fun of cleaning inside pipes that haven't been cleaned for years.


Bonjour, bonjour, mon petit pois.


X marks the spot. Larry finds some treasure.


But Larry was not allowed to dig and is dragged away by Iain into the deep dark forest.