17:04.57N 61:53.74W

‘Rrrrrr….’  Then nothing.  I pressed the start button once again.  Same thing.

Surely our trusty engine couldn’t break down now?  Since leaving England over a year ago, it had never failed to start on the first push of the button.

“Looks like we’re anchoring under sail this time, Stellie”

We approached the anchorage off Spanish Town, Virgin Gorda, under reduced canvas, chose our spot carefully and let the anchor go in deep water.  It held fast.

Having spent a splendid Christmas in Gorda Sound we were on our way to explore some of the smaller islands.  Time to stock up the larder and so we motored ashore in the tender for fresh groceries before setting to work on the engine.

After much exploration, sloshing about in diesel, changing filters and testing solenoids, we discovered the problem to be simply due to a sticking switch and easily rectified.  The rim of the ‘stop’ switch on the binnacle had corroded slightly, holding the button in and closing the fuel solenoid. 

But worse was to come.  As we approached the crowded bay at Norman’s island and were about to anchor, Stellie heard a strange noise, then smelt burning.  Down below, the skipper’s cabin was filled with acrid smoke. 

“Keith, come quickly!”

I made fast the anchor and rushed inside.  We opened an inspection panel to find the starter motor with flames coming from it.  Quickly isolating the electrical supply, we doused the fire with wet cloths, thankfully before the automatic extinguisher discharged to compound the mess. 

Safely at anchor we drank tea and contemplated what might have been before exploring this new problem – the second one of the day.  And what was the cause of the fire?  It was another sticking switch – this time the ‘start’ switch on the binnacle had jammed on, running the motor for over 5 minutes continually, burning it out and setting the wiring loom alight.  Apparently starter motors are only rated for 30 seconds continuous use – run any starter motor for longer than this and the same will happen. 

So two switches, both 11 years old, failed on the same day.  We were lucky to have got off so lightly.  Fires on boats can be disastrous.   But now we had a new dilemma.  Until we replaced the starter, we had no working engine.  And the nearest spare part was in St Maarten, 100 miles directly to windward. 

No matter, Ananda is an excellent sailing boat.  So with help from friends in dinghies, we extricated ourselves from the crowded anchorage in Norman Island under sail and beat back up Drake’s Passage towards Spanish Town to clear customs.  Whilst anchoring here, we had a ‘close encounter’ with a sailing catamaran whose skipper was chatting away on his mobile phone and not looking where he was going!  Much yelling and shouting saved the situation, much to the embarrassment of the (professional) skipper.  We both nursed sore throats afterwards.

By now we were getting the hang of doing everything under sail and popped into Gorda Sound for New Year celebrations, tacking through the moored boats to find a good spot to anchor.  At midnight, the bay was filled with a cacophony of boat horns, the loudest and deepest from the superyachts, and all mingled with loud music from the celebrations ashore.

The trip to St Maarten was hard on the wind, which blew at up to 30 knots with big seas to match.  All went well and we arrived at Simpson’s Bay just before dawn.  But with no moon, all was black, and, startled by another yacht barely visible ahead of us, we quickly dropped anchor in deep water a long way out from shore.  After a much needed sleep, we awoke to find the anchor had dragged, though with clear water behind us we were quite safe.  So we upped anchor again under sail in strong winds to sail further into the bay and re-anchor.

Our time in this yacht friendly island, half Dutch and half French, was a happy mixture of repairs and socialising, and we even enjoyed a trip to a multiplex cinema (with an escalator – probably the only one in the Caribbean) to see Mission Impossible 4.  Bizarrely, there was an Italian ice-cream parlour complete with a working antique carousel and a fascinating photo-gallery of famous people eating ice-cream.

One of the delights of Simpson’s Bay is to enjoy a drink at St Maarten Yacht Club overlooking the swing bridge into the lagoon at 5 o’clock and watch the parade of the superyachts as they carefully manoeuvre through this narrow passage.  Some have only inches to spare and earn cheers from the increasingly merry onlookers!

With a working engine at last, we continued eastwards to a tiny island, Ile Forchue, and anchored in the completely unspoiled bay. 

Next stop was the chic French island of St Bartholelemy .  Now an independent commune of France, this island was long fought over by the English and Spanish.  The French gave it to the Swedes in 1784 in return for free port rights in Gothenburg.  It enjoyed a second period of prosperity supplying American rebels during the American war of independence, then the Swedes sold it back to France in 1878.  Many streets still bear both French and Swedish names as testament to this strange heritage.  But now the island is definitely on the ’up’.   Favoured by the smart rich and famous, it has become the ‘Riviera’ of the Caribbean with film, music, flamenco and food festivals, as well as a carnival and ‘Swedish week’.

Our first stop in St Bartholemy was in Anse de Colombier  with its lovely sandy beach where  we snorkelled off the rocks.  A beautiful gaff-rigged schooner, Meteor, 170 feet of gleaming brightwork, anchored alongside us, her owner’s family onboard.  Onshore, a shady trail led us northwards to Anse de Flamands where we watched a local man fly a radio-controlled model glider, soaring it off the adjacent hillside and out to sea with consummate ease.  He told us he was a novice, but had practised flying with a computer simulation programme!  Rockefeller once owned land on the headland and built a house and summer cabin there.

Then we continued on to Gustavia, St Barths main town.  The bay is packed with superyachts. 

Here we climbed the steep hills to the ruined forts where we were amused by the anti-English inscriptions. 

 After a spell swimming on the appropriately named ‘shell beach’, we returned to Ananda in readiness for an early start for our passage to Antigua.

It was almost 2am when we weighed anchor and carefully threaded our way past the moored superyachts, each floodlit and with a crewmember awake on deck keeping watch.  The weather was squally with rain showers as we pressed on in the heavy seas.  But it was a fast passage and we arrived in daylight at Jolly Harbour, Antigua where we anchored and watched the pelicans skilfully diving for their supper as the sun went down.

The next day, William the dock master helped us tie up in a lovely marina and resort where we were to leave Ananda for a flying visit home.

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