A Benign Bye-Bye

Quest
Jack and Hannah Ormerod and Lucia, Delphine & Fin
Sat 5 Nov 2016 11:25
Position: 12:29.063N 061:27.628W

As Caribbean newbies, we're still trying to figure out the weather.. I can hear you say, 'It's the Caribbean! What's there to figure out?' And you'd be right, right? Weather? We're from Borth. Borth, where you put on what you think is suitable clothing, drive to Aber and realise you need to take about half of it off. Beautiful Borth, where trees are scarce and wind is king.

The hurricane season has certainly been the sultriest of seasons for Quest. It's been a time where I've gone to the skin doctor, Dr Isaacs in St George's so many times that she's raised an eyebrow and said, 'If you go back North, your skin will clear up in no time.' Oh right. Then, for a weeping sore on Delphine's leg, she raised the same eyebrow. 'I'm sorry to say there's an epidemic of impetigo in Grenada right now.' Ok. Having enjoyed Dr Isaacs company very much, listened to her fond memories of Medical School in Cardiff and tried a variety of antibiotics (some of which I'm happily prepared to take for the rest of our stay in the Caribbean) we met an American family who've been living in Panama. 'Alcohol. Everyone sprays their skin with alcohol,' the mum, Ruth said, 'to dry it out.' I looked at the strange rash on Lulu's leg. Oh right.

Skin infections we're used to. Humidity? Yes. Sun so searing you forego a trip to the supermarket. Absolutely. But the one thing we've forgotten about, gasping in the summer months in the tropics, is wind. Hurricanes? Cue the Speedy Gonzalez trick to Trinidad. But not the gusty normal stuff, the stuff you get back at home.

We know November marks the change of seasons in the Caribbean. It's supposed to be something of a quiet period when the threat of hurricanes are much less but when the trade winds are not yet so strong. And since we have a date in Antigua in early December (hi Muggie and Gareth!), yesterday we started our move towards Antigua. Motor-sailing up the supposedly calmer side of Grenada, we got hit with thirty-four knots right down the mountainside. I looked at Jack. He looked at me. That's weird. Once we passed Grenada's northern tip, our sail to Carriacou was lively. A tight kind of lively though since Quest is still loving her new feathering propellor and we can fly with a hanky! We got to Hillsborough with our hanky, parked and snorkelled the anchor. This we're used to. Oh yeah, she's sitting in sand, all is well. There were local parties on the beach while Quest watched a movie and fell into sleep like into a deep hole.

At one in the morning, I felt us judder. I got up, checked where we were and went back to bed. Still, sleep wasn't so steady now. Gusts were up and down like the volume of a microphone. And then a couple of hours ago, we were hit by a wailing steam train of wind. Quest didn't just judder this time. She raked and groaned. The old fogey crew were up as quick as an insult, me securing the popped awning and Jack staring at the lights in the town. 'We've dragged,' he said softly against the howl. My heart sank. I hate dragging. I find it hard not to feel like I've failed the sailing game. 'We have?' Jack, on the other hand, looked quite cheerful. 'Yeah.'

So here we are, having now let out more chain, set the anchor alarm and watched a stormy sky turn from indigo to light grey. The gennie is on to give Quest a power lift like a machinery shot of coffee. Fin is lying prostrate on the sofa cushions, apparently building her energy for an encounter with an intruder or failing that, a piece of cheese. The Captain's happy so he's gone back to bed. Goodbye summer. Hello wind.

Love from Quest and her crew xx