Antigua………….Big boats, Mademoiselles in distress and Jump ups.

17:03.95N 61:53:01W

3^rd February 2015

5778 Miles from Ramsgate by log.

Today finds us still in Antigua snugly moored in Jolly harbour marina some 14 miles around the corner from English harbour. We arrived here yesterday after a very squally run up the coast, the forecast was for force 4-5 winds with occasional rain showers so no surprise when we sailed out of English harbour to find a 153ft Dutch super yacht laying right over on its side having been caught out with all sails up in 37 Knot prolonged gusts. Pre-warned by his misfortune we kept the sails small and had a relatively dry and comfortable run, Steve and Norma did anyway as they found important jobs to do below at first sight of any black clouds, not that I am one to complain you understand. Anyway, bright sunshine now and Norma and myself have just returned from the beach. So that’s how we got here, but what have we been up to over the last four days?

The beach just outside Jolly harbour

As mentioned before we initially anchored in Freemans bay in English harbour which although the holding was pretty poor did give us a grandstand view of a super yacht regatta that was being held just outside of the harbour entrance. Every morning a procession of yachts passed us by going out to do battle, and what yachts they were. One which was bright green in colour was noticeably smaller than the rest and seemed out of place and so we looked it up on the internet only to find that it was in fact 105ft long so not such a tiddler after all. The largest was 195ft and had what looked like the entire staff of London underground (but much better dressed) standing on the side deck every morning. As I am waxing lyrical about the posh boats I must mention Leander the 50^th largest motors yacht in the world which was moored behind us just across the bay, I could go as far as to say we were harbour buddies. Anyway being nosey we also checked this out on the interweb. Owned by Sir Douglas Gosling and hired by the Prince of Wales and Camilla for their last official Caribbean cruise, in order to reduce their carbon foot print by avoiding air travel apparently, it could be yours for a mere $490,000 per week, plus expenses of course. I was going to enquire about a booking but I just couldn’t be that disloyal to Spectra now could I?

The winner of the regatta and that is a 45ft catamaran in the foreground

Nelsons dockyard, for those that haven’t seen it, is a real treat for a history buff like myself and we topped the week off with a meal out in Nelsons officers mess which like so many of the buildings has been really tastefully restored to its former glory. It wouldn’t have been right not to include a visit to the Shirley Heights jump up on Sunday night and so on went the dancing shoes, we jumped in a cab and off we went up to the old gun battery that overlooks English harbour and Falmouth bay. A great night was had by all and I even spotted Steve’s feet moving to the music at one stage. The night started with watching the sun go down, (no green flash I’m afraid), went on to a BBQ which was really good and I generally hate BBQ’s, had the best steel band I have ever seen or heard and ended with a reggae band, so to say it was good would be the understatement of the week. After that lot we cadged a lift back down to English harbour to find the Super Bowl still in full swing. Me being me I identified a group of Americans at the hotel bar transfixed by the screen and asked them if they would mind if I turned the television over as I thought there was some cricket on the other side. The Americans turned out to be British who quite seriously asked me who was playing in the cricket, God you have to spoon feed humour to some people. Anyway we had a chat and it turned out they were all crew on one of the super yachts, they asked how big Spectra was to which I replied, 53, oh about the same size as ours they said, trouble was they measure in meters and I measure in feet!!

Very big boats battle it out

Now that’s a starting gun. Anyone dare cross the line early?

Spectra in Freemans bay English harbour when the sun was out

Freemans bay from Shirley heights with Leander and the super yachts in the background

English harbour and Falmouth nay as the sun starts to go down

The jump up at Shirley heights in between showers

The steel band trying to stop their drums from going rusty in the rain

Even the rich and famous get rained on sometimes. Super yachts at Nelsons dockyard

That night the wind picked up and swirled around the anchorage which with twenty or so yachts crammed in there resulted among other dramas with the French catamaran that had anchored far too close in front of us ending up about 5 meters from our bows by the morning. I watched for a while and then decided that I would have to encourage them to do something so I went up the front and asked if they were happy about how close they were to us. At this stage all three of my anchors were underneath them somewhere so I was a bit short on available manoeuvres and they were now about three meters from our bow.  A rather panicky French lady replied that all of the men were ashore jogging and they did not know what to do. This would never have happened on Spectra for two reasons, one Norma knows how to work the boat, and two I have a policy of never doing anything physical in public. That left us in a bit of a stalemate but after five or ten minutes I heard their anchor chain clanking in so thought all was well. The problem was that between the four of them they had found out how to pull the anchor up but not how to start the engine and so the inevitable happened, there anchor popped off the bottom and they drifted back onto us at a rate of knots. Luckily we managed to push them around our bows and secure them alongside before they committed further carnage to the yachts behind us. At this point a rather bemused French jogger appeared on the jetty about 100 meters away to be met by a tirade of abuse and arm waving from his wife. We found out later that he was the skipper but the other guy, who was still jogging, had the keys to the dinghy. This was now getting a bit like a Peter Sellers Pink Panther movie as with a large dose of Gallic flair he dived in and started to swim towards us. The trouble was he was in his latter years and had just been jogging so after 30 meters he rolled over onto his back and started blowing like a pregnant walrus. Enter stage left the second Frenchman returning from a pleasant jog to find his floating home attached to an English yacht (the shame, the shame) and his skipper floating around the harbour doing a very presentable whale impression. All four women now gathered on the foredeck to shout, advice, encouragement, admonishment, and probably the addresses of several divorce lawyers but as I can’t speak French it may have just been general abuse. Frenchman number two now leapt into action, he untied the dinghy, started it up and roared across the harbour towards Frenchman number one who was still gallantly trying to swim across to rescue his ladies. On approach he slowed and Frenchman number one with obvious relief grabbed the dinghy grab handle. Frenchman number two now opened the throttle nearly drowning Frenchman number one who was left behind in a welter of salty foam as the dinghy roared away. He noticed his error, returned and circled his now desperate skipper several times at high speed nearly drowning him with the wake he created on each circuit before heeding the desperate pleas of the skipper to leave him alone to die quietly and speeding toward us.

At this point it must be noted that Norma had made us all a nice cup of tea and the three of us were being very British and hardly smirking at all.

Frenchman number two arrived alongside the catamaran in a welter of spray and leapt aboard to the relief of all. I think I have mentioned that I don’t speak French but by observing the body language it became apparent that although Frenchman number two had the dinghy keys and had indeed arrived to save the day, Frenchman number one who was still spluttering towards us across the harbour had the yacht keys in his pocket. Oh dear the ladies were not impressed….

At this point it must be noted that the gallant crew of Spectra were risking serious injury by burying our quivering stiff upper lips in our scalding hot tea.

Frenchman number two duly made himself busy by first saying a pleasant bonjour to us and then checking his anchor which was hanging about two foot below his bow doing absolutely nothing for anyone and then with his head firmly down and eyes averted from the ladies and the watching English he busily checked all of the lines that were attaching the two boats together.

At this point our tea finished we tried to make pleasant conversation and I even asked whether they had any spare croissants, they didn’t.

Enter stage right, one very wet, very tired and very embarrassed Frenchman number one who although clearly on his last legs was leapt upon by a gaggle of furious women. He gave us an apology, a sheepish smile and then with his last ounce (or should I say gram) of Gallic flair produced the keys and saved the day….hooray.

As an aside they did give us a bottle of Rum and quickly moved into our spot when we left, so all's well that ends well.

Tomorrow we head of for Montserrat and then onto St Kitts from where I will blog again. Until next time……………..

 PS: we are looking for some crew to come back across the Atlantic at the beginning of June. Three legs of about 2 weeks each, Norfolk to the Bahamas, Bahamas to the Azores, Azores to Cork….anyone interested in all or part? drop us a line.

Spectra {CHANGE TO AT} mailasail {DOT} com

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