Is It Time To Move?

Quest
Jack and Hannah Ormerod and Lucia, Delphine & Fin
Tue 19 Jul 2016 20:06
Position: 12:02N 61:48W

It's weird to move. Of course moving is what we do. Still, it's weird. After seven or so weeks in Grenada Marine, longer than sea turtles take to hatch and swim out to sea, Quest arguably now has the smoothest bottom of any of us and even has my birthday present stuck to her lovely rump; a feathering propellor. Thanks guys! I always wanted a feathering propellor for my birthday... So, after seven weeks and without any more room for any more solar panels unless we mount them directly onto Fin's back, it's time to try our new things out. With this in mind, we say good-bye to the most rural of Grenada's anchorages, the couple who sell fruit and veg from their van twice a week with a knuckle bump and 'Respect,', the travel lift operator who wears a Mr. T necklace and has a smile as sweet and ready as a baby's, the Grenville Posse's soulful soca songs and of course, Kerry's gap-toothed grin and his Dad's hand kneaded bread he brings us every day plus the odd massive bag of mangos. It's time to come around the coast. 

With my new birthday present, we only need to put up the smallest hanky of sail to fly around the tip of Grenada. You can imagine the look on the Cap's face. Before, his scowl was as predictable as the salt in the sea. 'Do you feel our propellor digging in?' he'd say to himself more than anyone, though we'd all be in listening range, 'It's like we're dragging a bucket behind us.' The Atlantic crossing all over again. Even Fin has learned to nod sagely at this and agree. Well, not anymore! Now, with a sleek feathering propellor we don't have to put so much sail out. Feathering prop means less drag and less drag means less sail. This makes all the heeling-over hysterics on Quest happy. Ok, you got me but guess who has to shoot downstairs at the first crash, bang and wallop when the wind grabs us by the ankles? I especially like it when I forget to tie the oven door shut and it explodes and pukes trays all over the floor. Oops. 

So we're all happy. The wind is in our cheeks, Quest is moving like a horse who's eaten super farty oats and we're off. Except then we stop. We stop because we reach St George's and the girls' ballet summer camp for the next two weeks and the marine park we'd dreamt of when we were fed up of the mangrove swamp at Grenada Marine while our legs were being shredded by mozzies. The marine park hasn't escaped the effects of the rain either though; the underwater sculptures are harder to see than when we here in dry April, muffled by all the stirred-up stuff in the water. While we snorkel around, it starts to rain again so we swim back to Quest. At least we catch sight of a school of cuttlefish for our efforts. They hang in the water in disguise, being cousins to the evil genius the octopus, brown as the sea bed but sparkly like the surface. We stare enthusiastically at their huge white eyes. They flap their beaky faces at us or is it their back-ends and drift away.

We spend a night at the marine park, squinting at lights and passing ships, feeling strange and unsure. In the morning we look over at the anchorage outside of St George's, about a mile away. This anchorage is as convenient as you can get in Grenada; you can dinghy straight into the city harbour, do most of your food shopping using the dinghy dock at the supermarket as well as visiting chandlery and petrol station. These facts are almost dizzying compared to the mile-long walk down the lane from Grenada Marine to the bus stop and then the half-an-hour bus ride in. The last time I'd walked down this lane, I passed a man on a lonely stretch of road. We'd both been walking slowly in the heat and dodging fallen mangos oozing orange. 'Good afternoon,' I said as formally as I could muster, trying not to look worried. 'Good afternoon,' he said solemnly back. At this point we left each other, me on my way and him continuing to swing his cutlass by his side. Shall I tell anyone that this is not dangerous, this is just Grenada, I thought? Would they believe me if I do? 

The new anchorage is patchy. 'One big piece of rock' we'd heard. And yet. There are loads of boats anchored here. We look at it lustily from where we are; as well as being close to St George's, it's also just a dinghy ride away to Grand Anse where locals like to rub happy shoulders with the main hotels on its long, sandy white beach. It's embarrassingly true too that in the four whole months we've been in Grenada, we've yet to visit its most famous beach. Since they don't let dogs on buses.. Plus we're dreaming we might be able to take the girls to their ballet camp via dinghy. For us, this would be a first of a first! Dance class via boat...

'We'll just have a little look,' Jack says. With Delphine pulling on a tormented Fin's moustache and Jack behind Quest's wheel, Lulu and I gander dreamily at the bow, each holding onto a furled sail and looking down into the turquoise water. 'Ok, here!' we hear Jack call. 'What do you mean, here?' 'Put the anchor down!' Oh crap, nothing's ready. 'I thought we were just having a look!' Still, Lulu and I manage to shoot into action and away goes the rattle of metal falling into water. After a few minutes, everything goes silent again and we wait for the boat to pull back and hold. 'Maybe we're a bit close to that guy,' Jack says. I look behind us. A small red and white catamaran lies within spitting distance. 'Maybe.' Suddenly we hear the buzz of a dinghy and a man's voice. 'Welcome! Let me tell you what I have,' he says in an American accent and points towards his boat, a handsome blue ketch called Pegasus a safe distance in front of us. 'I've got out 30 metres of chain and 10 metres of warp attached to a 50kg stainless steel Bruce anchor.' Jack and I look at each other. 'Is he trying to sell it?' 'Thanks!' Jack calls out, 'But I think,' 'I'm just telling you!' the American interrupts. 'So you know what I've got. Come for some tea when you're done.' With this he departs as swiftly as he'd arrived. 'We're going to need to re-anchor,' Jack says. 'I'm on it,' I reply, already halfway to the bow.

We pull up and re-set a little further along the anchorage towards Grand Anse, this time a little, rather than a lot close to another vessel, a small Swedish sailing boat called Patricia. An elderly couple look at us resignedly but wave from the shade of their cockpit. 'What do you reckon?' I say when Jack and Lulu come back from snorkelling over the site of our anchor. 'We're on sand,' Jack says, climbing up into the cockpit and being licked on the legs by Fin who, during her time on Quest in the last year, has decided she can dry us more effectively than any one of our crappy towels can. We peer over again at Patricia. 'We're not that close,' I say. The couple look up again when I say it. I smile again and wave. 'And they're Swedish so they won't mind our nakedness.' 'You guys are disgusting,' Lulu announces and for the first time in weeks puts on a bathing costume to jump in the sea. 'Who wants to swim down to the anchor with me?' 'Not me,' Delphine retorts. 'I don't have to get changed downstairs.' She heads back inside to find her headphones. 

Love from F/F Quest and her crew xx