Blissfull Bequia

Irie
Thu 10 Apr 2008 03:15
Position 13 00.04N 61 14.61W Admiralty Bay Bequia
 
Wednesday 9th April
 
The first full day in Bequia has been just perfect. For the first time in in what seems weeks there's no rain, there's a light breeze, the sun has had his hat on since early morning, and a crystal clear, azure sea runs round the boat and to the golden shore a hundred yards away.
Monday was also a memorable Caribbean day, but for entirely different reasons. Clearing out It all takes place in Marigot police station, and took nearly an hour. The customs guys were fine, and despite forms to fill, it took five minutes and we left with a cheery farewell as we left one door and turned right to the police desk. A large notice announced that no food was allowed while visiting prisoners, and there was a target card advising 34 warrants for execution in hand and 14 pending - cheering news. A number of chaps in basketball shirts sauntered in and out, before one of the gave us a form to fill in; 'You'll need this' before vanishing to another room for banter and a chat. The form required limited information already contained in another copy we handed in. Anyway, it was over half an hour before our friend emerged to process the details, and then with scant comunication and no eye contact. Usually it's tolerable, today for some reason, just plain frustrating. Dropping the mooring we entered the small marina to take on and fuel and water, and then we were off down the coast. It's only eight miles or so to the Pitons and the village of Soufriere, and in an hour and half, after some sun and a couple of heavy showers, we turned east round Grande Caille Pte , steering well clear of its extending reef; as the pilot points out 'Keep cleer, for not only will you ruin your boat, but you'll be liable for a hefty fin for damaging the reef!' From now on the day started to look up. The view of the twin Pitons on the way in is magnificent. They are old volcanic plugs, tree covered tapered cones towering up nearly three thousand feet directly from the shoreline and are one of the iconic sights in the Caribbean.  We'd picked the Bat Cave area to pick up a mooring, and were staring suspiciously at a buouy that looked hairily near some shallow rocks tucked close under a tall cliff, when a guy roared up in his pirogue - a local style speedy twenty foot fishing boat with a thumping great outboard clamped to the stern. His wide smile had a welcoming gleam, highlighted by one single, shining tooth. and he announced his name was Francis, assuring us that a mooring was good. He helped pick it up, and was rewarded by a few EC but was less forthcoming when asked about the local security situation, mumbling 'OK' while looking at his large boots. The mooring was fine, belonging to the the Soufriere marine Management Area, a sort of marine national park, though the stern of the boat was no more than five or seven metres from the rock. By now the weather had turned rather damp, but the location was fantastic, with view to Soufriere on the left, and then across the bay a mile or so to the Pitons, now eerily shrouded in mist. The sun emerged in an hour or so, bringing a brief chance for a swim and snorkel. Off the back of the boat, and our rogue rock turned out to be home to one of the most prolific coral gardens so far. Dozens of filigree sea fans waved gently above multi-coloured  brain coral, fire coral and urn like pot sponges. Fishes dodged in and out of the rocks, a mottled eel wove its way along the bottom and a small family of silvery reef squid shimmered their way on some errand or other. The drop off was steep all along the cliff, and swimming along the edge, about fifty metres from the boat, I lifted my head for a scan around and heard an immense twittering noise. Just before me, a large fissure split the rock vertically for a hundred feet or so, and dozens of large bats were flickering and twisting in the entrance, excitedly waiting for dusk and a nights hunting, obviously the bat cave of Bat Cave Bay. We'd planned to stay on the boat, especially as the park ranger who collected the mooring fee was unequivocal about security -' Lock everything,  nothing left above board, leave lights on inside, cockpit and anchor lights on and no cash in the boat' so there! Still, it was a beautiful spot, the pilot book sang the praises of the Humming Bird Hotel, and it seemed churlish not to put foot ashore, so we set off and rowed to the beach for a drink. Humming Bird looks somewhat unprepossessing from the shore but inside it's a delight. The dinghy was securely locked to a conveient palm tree on the beach and we'd brought the oars in to the garden, having already had one set 'borrowed'. Casting around for somewhere to put them, we were spotted by the lady behind the bar who trotted down, called me dear and indicated a safe spot to stow them. A little path ran through the garden, up some steps past a pool to a welcoming bar and restaurant. A couple of rums later, the owner saw we were off a boat amd started chatting. He'd had the Humming Bird for twelve years or so, but hailed from Bequia and had recently been back for the annual regatta. He'd been involved with boats for much of his life, at one time helping bring an old tug from the Mediterranean to Bequia, though the reason for this strange odessey was obscure. Out on the pool terace, the evening was drawing in. The Pitons sat in full and glorious view, glowing in the last of the sunlight, framed in palms and underscored by the sea. In the little garden gardea were hibiscus, frangipani, mango and breadfruit trees and neat clipped hedges.Brilliant blue hummingbirds darted in and out of the flowers and yellow breasted banana quits whistled and hopped in the branches. Just in front of us, a large tree creeper with a curved beak played hide and seek with a tiny lizard. It looked like a game, with both darting round the  branch at bewldering speed, though a result would have mean curtains for one and dinner for the other. In fact, the lizard feinted left, dummied right and then slipped away down the trunk, leaving the bird still darting around unaware his prey had rumbled him. As dusk grew, a mellowness settled in to the evening rendering it impossible to refuse the invitation to dine; the food was excellent the staff friendly and over the pool, a cluster of fireflies mounted a flashing cabaret, though pursued all the while by silhoueted bats. It was a great finale to the last evening in St Lucia. Back on the beach a gentleman appeared from the shadows advising that he'd been in charge of the boat. He was very tenacious, following the dinghy into the shallows, but gave in with a measure of good grace and retired whence he came. The elements had the last laugh. Approaching the line of half a dozen moored boats, we could see the masts arcing in a strange, twisting dance. The tide had turned, and the north east swell was licking round the corner, leading to an uncomfortable, sleepless night before the early start at five thirty.
Tuesday dawned fair, with little wind and a number of early boats on the move taking advantage of the better forecast. Once clear of the island though, the wind freshened to twenty or more knots with a sharp sea and an exciting sail towards St Vincent. Life quietened down in the island's lee, before a fresh beat on the last leg to Bequia. Then we arrived, the anchor ploughed firmly back into the clearly visible sand, and there was enough time to complete the local formalities and visit the Frangipani once more for a little something to welcome the next chapter.
 
Pitons in view