Position 12 00.26N 61 45.49W – Spice Island, Prickly Bay, Grenada (The Boat) -

Home, Long Sutton, Somerset, UK (Us)

Tuesday 27^th May

Surprisingly, it’s now nineteen days since the last log and thirteen since we left Grenada on the big silver bird. Already the burning sun, shimmering sea, the vivid blues and startling flowers are a wide world away, distantly seen through the mists of a half remembered dream. It certainly vanished rapidly while waiting for the train at Clapham Junction, shivering in a grey nine degrees after a night of terse ministrations from the pouting, peroxidees on our particular Virgin.  Still, having witnessed their antics at a number of layover spots, it’s a major tribute that anyone who’s been that wasted can arise the next night and stagger round a plane at all.

It’s bizarrely different, and initially disorientating, but England in the middle of May really is wonderful place Rattling away from London and clutching South West Trains’ attempt at coffee, the grey steadily turned to a patchwork of green; not the first naive light green of early spring, we’d missed that, but a richer, more knowing blend that’s seen a burst of procreation, and is still youthful, optimistic and as yet unknowing of the heavy, late summer decadence to come – (well, with any luck!) It’s been wet, then warm and then wet again, so the hedgerows are heavy with May blossom, and large limbed chestnut trees tower skywards, festooned in candles of white and pink.

Back in Grenada, all that was miles off as we waved farewell to Geoff and Val, and settled into the task of decommissioning Irie. Having done it once last year, it all seemed a little less daunting, and moving straight off the boat into the land-based luxury of True Blue (showers, ice, beds, air-con, bars, breakfast......) made the whole thing much less arduous, rather than continuing to live surrounded in an increasing shambles. We also immediately moved off all our living stuff and anything destined for home. The routine was: breakfast at six, on the boat by six thirty, work till nine then break for fruit and coffee in the restaurant, toil in the heat till one-ish, then up for a swim and a kip for an hour and half before continuing till six.  By Sunday all was pretty well complete, so an easier day on Monday preceded an early haul out on Tuesday. That went like a dream – motoring round to Prickly Bay and into the Spice Island slip sharp at eight, up in the lift, pressure washed and paper work complete by nine thirty and then a ten minute walk back to True Blue for a leisurely breakfast – very smooth. Back to the yard at around eleven, Irie was firmly in her steel cradle and we were able to finish off most of the final bits. She’s now a bare boat – booms, biminis, hoods and all the deck paraphernalia are stowed below, leaving just the mast, shrouds and a supporting network of firmly tensioned halyards. All that remains is for the yard to tie her down to the cradle and ground with thick webbing straps, and then it’s fingers crossed.

Wednesday was a holiday, so we bussed into St Georges and trundled round for an hour or so till it became too hot. The capital’s location is stunning, straddling a cradle of hills that surround a pear shaped bay called the Careenage, a historic port that has everything from fishing boats, to island steamers to large container ship, all jostling for space. The north western end is very attractive, with Georgian style buildings that house government offices, the library and a delightfull local museum, and all dominated by Fort Rodney on its rocky outcrop behind. At the very end is BB’s Crabback restaurant, and we repaired there for something cooling at around eleven thirty. BB is a prize winning West Indian chef with a strong London accent and an English wife. They still own a Caribbean restaurant in Ealing, but opened here a year or so ago. He’s larger than life and very present, so a special salt fish balls appetiser seems the thing. It’s excellent, and leads to grilled fish, curried goat and a very well spent couple of hours. The lunch requires walking off by way of a circuit of the Careenage and then the adjoining shallow lagoon. This had been much neglected, but there’s now a large marina development headed by a certain Peter De Savery – he gets about – and it looks like it will spearhead more investment in St Georges and the Island. Then it’s back on the bus for final preparations before tomorrow’s departure.  

There’s a real end of term feeling in the boating community here. Many boats are making for this end of Grenada to haul out for the winter, while others are resting here before moving south to Trinidad and Venezuela down below the hurricane belt. We’ve seen and spoken with a number of boats that have become familiar names down through the islands. We’ve also met some old friends in the last few days. Sunday we had dinner with John and Sally from Belle Lurette who we first met in Grenada over a year ago. Then on Monday, a Contest nosed into True Blue Bay, slid out again and round to Prickly before deciding it was too swelly and settling for a mooring just off the marina. It was Warren and Vicky from Zulane, very amenable Australians who did the ARC with us and who we last saw in the distance sailing the opposite direction over a year ago. It was great to catch up, again over dinner before they also hauled at Spice Island. Finally, Alan and Gillian, materialising on our last night for a final send off, before they too set off round the coast to haul out for the summer. This feeling of community is a real bonus and a great part of what makes cruising more of a way of life than just a holiday.  It doesn’t have to be invasive and you can take it or leave it, but there is always common ground amongst a very diverse set of people.

Thursday we flew away.

Katie and a very excited Millie met us at Templecombe at lunchtime on Friday, and half an hour later we opened the door at home to find flowers and a card from Geoff and Val, and a huge pile of post. It’s great to be back!

Hauling and cradled at Spice Island , A nostalgic look at Saltwhistle