Toward Trinidad

Quest
Jack and Hannah Ormerod and Lucia, Delphine & Fin
Thu 29 Sep 2016 00:32
It's been a long time since we've sailed somewhere new and it's got the Atlantic feeling tonight, stars like pinpricks in a dark blanket, where the heck are we and is that a storm cloud over there coming our way? Who knows, I can't see a damn thing.. This sailing thing is so... well, dark.

For a week our anchorage in Grenada has been a-twitter with storm chat since a tropical wave got ejected from the African coast and is making its way steadily across the Atlantic. People have been talking of moving anchorages, tying themselves into mangroves, even getting themselves hauled onto land before the force of the rain and wind start to hit. We were umming and ahhing about whether to go to follow the golden rule to go South before Fast Manicou came on the cruiser's radio net. 'Folks, I suggest you go and do your shopping today because the last time we saw a storm like this coming, there was nothing to buy in the stores afterwards except paper plates.' I looked at Jack. 'What time do we leave?'

So with sadness that we were going to miss our last rendezvous with our too-soon-to-depart Honeymooners, we started to prepare our departure to Trinidad. Then Mick from Martlesham came over. 'Are you going too?' 'Once I turn round the corner and hit that Equatorial Current,' he said, 'I might end up going backwards.' Everyone on Quest winced as Mick sipped his tea and looked at the horizon. 'Might as well give it a shot.'

So here we are, sailing the passage with lights out and AIS off. Reports of attempted piracy from the Venezuelan-based skiffs that hang round the big Trinidadian oil rigs has made this passage the way to travel. Poor Venezuela. And what a peaceful night it is. We did beat into the wind for the first two hours so we could go around the oil rigs but Mick decided to rhum-line right through them. 'I'm going to leave an outdated credit card on the nav desk and 50 EC bucks.' 'Mick,' we said, giggling like the juveniles we are, 'they're going to end up giving you money.' He didn't descend to our level to answer. Since then, we spoke to him via VHF at 6pm. 'How are you doing?' Jack asked as we all crowded around the white plastic VHF to hear. 'Oh you know,' the voice came sonorously back, 'just creeping along.' We arranged to speak again at midnight but we're too far now for the signal to carry. Good luck, Mick.

Love from Quest and her crew x