09 March 2013 | Portsmouth, Dominica, 15’34.72N 61 27.60W - Baie du Marigot, Terre de Haut, Les Saintes, 15’52.59N 61’34.67W
So you've done some healing or you've worked with lepers, better still you have managed to make the image of the Virgin Mary in a piece of toast, you've been recognised by the church and they have made you a Saint. You can't work relentlessly and there is only so much toast out there to be carved so you've got to take a holiday. But where, as a saint, would be good enough for you to put your feet up and kick back? There is only one place and you've already put your name to it. It's 'The Saints' and boy is it good enough for you.
Ruffian's crew left Portsmouth in Dominica with no expectations of what was to come, just more islands and more swimming. Suddenly as we turned left into Baie du Marigot, we knew we were in for a treat. The bay was deserted and the water shimmered whilst the main bay in The Saints, in front of the bars and restaurants, was full to bursting and overshadowed by huge cruise ships. We'd discovered a gem and our new philosophy of reading around the pilot book and using our brains has paid dividends.
Whilst finding somewhere to anchor we had something akin to empty car park syndrome. Which piece of sand did we want to put the hook in? Which view did we want to bag? Where would be the best spot for the sunset or rise? Finally after many confabulations, with the view and sand selected we stopped in what we had been searching for since we arrived in the Caribbean. Iain made the excuse he had to 'check the anchor' and dived into the water, Fiona quickly followed suit and there in an empty quiet bay we simply floated around in water as warm and clear enough to have been in a bath.
Having moved into yet another country, this one under the ownership of France, we had to pull ourselves out of our 'bath' and check in. Into town we ventured and as soon as we saw it we knew we were in France. Our eyes took in the flamboyance generated by the French and our noses were being serenaded by dishes being prepared in restaurants, the pastries and breads in the ovens of the Patisseries and even by the fine fare that the street vendors had on sale. Making it to the cybercafé, to check in, without sampling any of the treats on offer was a feat that would have tested the resolve of the any of the saints on holiday here.
Back on board Ruffian the smells were not quite so delicious. For a while, very occasionally the whole boat stinks of petrol and this was one of those occasions. We'd not been able to trace it and every time we searched we came up empty handed. There was a difference this time, however, in our rush to get ashore we'd left all our jerry cans in the sun and the heat had expanded all but one to the point of explosion. We'd bagged the culprit. There was a teeny tiny hole in one of them and the heat had increased the pressure sufficiently to create a little petrol based blow hole. With the petrol weighed, the volume worked out and diluted with 2 stroke oil, we could now dispense it into the sealed cans and would be safe in the knowledge that we'd not get high on petrol fumes again.
The second bad smell of the visit to The Saints was bad. As in really bad, so bad in fact that we can safely say that Iain has never smelt a smell as bad. We have what's called a 'holding tank' on Ruffian and whilst we are at anchor in pretty bays we try to keep all our 'human outputs' on board until we go out to sea. We them empty it away from the precious coral and our swimming grounds. When Fiona made her 'morning deposit' into the holding tank instead of just sitting in the tank it spurted out of the vent pipe and trickled down the outside of Ruffian. We shouldn't be able to overfill the tank as there is a little mechanical sensor that tells us when it's full. This had clearly failed.
With our 'human output' deposited offshore and Fiona deposited on shore to run some errands, it was time for Iain to fix the sensor. The inspection hatch was opened and after gagging at the smell, the cause of the problem was obvious. Inside the tank was over a years worth of 'human output' compacted onto the inside of the tank and the sensor. There was nothing for it but to literally 'get your hands dirty', and deal with the smell. Iain did his best to get over it by imagining that he was simply putting his hand into a little mud. After much gagging, scrubbing and unblocking of the seacock multiple times, the holding tank was back in operation and with the smell subsiding Fiona was able to make her merry way back onto Ruffian.
Having met the 'Saint of Smells both good and bad on Terre du Haute, it seems like now is a good time to move islands to where Iain can thoroughly cleanse himself and so we are on our way to the rarely used anchorage of Grand Anse on Terre De Bas where we can take another outside bath.
Sun, sails and splashing. Another fab day sail.
Swimming is just like getting into the bath. Now where is the book and the shampoo?
Entertainment in the super flat deserted anchorage.
The hills of 'The Saints' & Guadeloupe make a dramatic evening backdrop.
Larry meets his nemesis and he has horns.
This is the Caribbean we've been looking for. Empty bays full of sandy bottoms, protected by coral reefs and fringed by beaches and palm trees.
No caption needed. Perfect.
After hiking to the fort Larry was not impressed with his new job. Cannon ball Llama.
This could be Scotland. There is even a cloud.
Ah ha. The source of the petrol fumes. Now time to weigh it, work out the volume and dispense.