12:00.59N 61:14.57W
24th March 2012 – Bequia
Tuesday 20th March was another day of wind from the ENE as we
set out northwards for Bequia. Once
we’d got Arnamentia pointing prettily, Bob got out the fishing rod. Before he’d even finished adjusting it,
there was bite – a small barracuda, a couple of feet long – so that was supper
sorted! A couple of hours later saw
us making landfall in Admiralty Bay, Bequia. It is a favourite with “yachties” with
its tree lined bay, stone walls and paths along the seafront leading to lovely
restaurants and bars.
One of the diving centres, Dive Bequia, has an excellent reputation, so
Carol signed up for a couple of dives with them – her first since getting her
Open Water qualification. Polly
(from Cowes!) was a confidence inspiring dive master/instructor who helped
Carol begin to sort out her
buoyancy problems – she suggested
losing some weight – the lead kind not the other – and on her second dive
she felt far less like a yo-yo and so used less air and could stay down longer.
Whilst Carol was enjoying the delights of the coral reefs just outside
Admiralty
Bay, she was completely
unaware of the drama that was unfolding inside the bay. Jon and Bob had dinghied ashore for
lunch and were enjoying a leisurely beer and awaiting the arrival of the food
when they were approached by a Norwegian girl asking if they were from
Arnamentia (Impressive detective work, that. OK, it may not be rocket science that
Englishmen are apt to go for a pie and a pint at lunchtime but if you’ve never
met them and you have a few dozen cafés to choose from. . .). They confirmed that they were only to be
greeted with “Thank goodness; your anchor is dragging!” Ah, next stop Venezuela
then. To the consternation of the
café waitress they legged it, promising to return “in a while”. Sofie explained that her husband, Alex,
had boarded the yacht (they had been anchored about 50 metres from us but we’d
done no more than exchange waves and smiles), was monitoring the situation and
would take any action he saw fit until we returned. Whilst we’d spent two nights firmly
secured, the strong winds that morning must have caused the anchor to shift in
what we were to discover was a thin layer of sand covering rock hard coral. After a bit of faffing about and trying
to anchor again in much the same place (Alex diving on the anchor to report
progress, Sofie helping Bob on the foredeck) we gave up and headed for the more
secure hard sand holding of Princess Margaret Beach a few hundred metres
away. Once all had been sorted, the
café waitress was mightily relieved to be able to greet the return of Jon and
Bob having been told by the proprietor that any loss incurred would come out of
her meagre wages! It really
is true that the cruising community helps each other out and we are very
grateful to Alex and Sofie for all they did. Dinner that evening was definitely on us
but they drove a hard bargain by insisting that lunch the following day was to
be on them.
Princess Margaret Beach, Bequia
– now known as Tony Gibbons beach – who he?
An interesting aside to this tale.
The first thing Sofie had to do once she’d made contact with Jon &
Bob was to ferry them about half a mile round from the restaurant to where
Arnamentia’s dinghy had been parked at one of the dinghy docks. They got into this very dilapidated
looking RIB which had a reasonable amount of water sloshing around in its
bottom, bit of slime around the place – you get the picture. But, it set off, three up, going like a
dingbat. OK, it had a hard bottom
but how, we enquired, was it possible that this thing went so much faster than
ours given that it was powered by a 6 HP outboard engine – ours by a 5HP
engine? With a wry smile Sofie
explained that the apparent condition of the dinghy was all artifice
anyway. Moreover, the engine was
actually a 9 HP engine – they’d merely turned the decal upside-down to make the
whole package as unattractive to thieves as possible. They ain’t stupid, these guys. And, as for being resourceful . .
.
Again we bumped into Jack and Jo Brinckerhoff and they invited us for
sundowners aboard their trawler style motor vessel. Oh, steady on, chaps. What is this? A walk in engine room with a work bench
and absolutely everything easily accessible? The engine, the auxiliary generator, the
watermaker, the fuzes, batteries, filters (all of them), the whole shebang. Aaargh! Just don’t seem fair somehow! Of course, the rest of the boat was
absolutely immaculate. And, the
stowage! And, of course, none of
that available is taken up with bulky stuff like sails and rope and blocks and
all that. But, y’ cain’t go further
than your diesel tanks will take you.
So . . .
Come the morning of Saturday 24th March it was time to be gone
again. This time we were bound for
Wallilabou Bay in St
Vincent. This, of
course, is what Captain Jack Sparrow knew as Port
Royal. And the props
for the filming are still there.
More anon.
