Bang. Crash. Sploosh. Now, repeat.

A year afloat: to the Caribbean and back
Sam and Alex Fortescue
Wed 9 Feb 2011 15:43
15:52.22N
61:35.12W
 
'Bang'
 
'Thump'
 
'Sploosh'
 
These, along with 'howl' and 'forlornly drip', are the noises and sensations which characterised our trip across the Dominica channel yesterday. The wind gusted up to 35 knots, but did so in such a manner that you could never be sure what was going to happen next. We'd be sailing along nicely in 15 knots, then suddenly laid over on our side by a fearsome gust from a different angle. Conditions were at their worst as we cleared the mountainous northern point of Dominica, where the wind races down from on high, picking up speed as it goes, then erupting onto the flat surface of the sea in a random display of might. Worse than the wind, though, which eventually settled down to a steady 25 knots, were the seas, which just thumped into Summer Song's windward side with little regard for decency. Where normally she would just ride over their crests, the boat seemed to be ambushed every time, with each wave sending a shudder through the hull and a massive jet of water into the cockpit.
 
We're now anchored up in Les Saintes, a constellation of small islands off Guadeloupe's southern tip. It's packed with boats here and we ran again into Remi and Laurence, a French couple who we met on our epic hike to the Boiling Lake. They rowed over last night with some home made passion fruit punch for a chinwag. But it seems that our hopes of a rigger to replace our damaged lower shroud (a wire supporting the mast) are to no avail, and we shall have to sail on to the capital Pointe-a-Pitre, 20 miles farther on. From then, we're a mere stone's throw from Antigua, where we're meeting Mission Control on 21 February for 10 days of exploration.
 
We spent longer in Dominica than we had planned. And I'm bound to say that if you, dear reader, visit just one Caribbean island in your life, Dominica should be it. The people are warm, the scenery astonishingly rich and plentiful and the sights enough to keep a fellow going for months. It's musical, there's cricket and the mangos there were the best yet.
 
After five nights in Roseau, we decamped north to what our various French acquaintances called 'Paurtsmoot' and we call Portsmouth; Dominica's second town and a place renowned for the unruly rabble of boat boys that come miles out to sea to accost you. With some trepidation we approached the wide bay, before noticing the forest of masts belonging to anchored yachts. Sure enough, a fellow met us about five miles out in a precarious looking skiff with a huge engine to 'claim' us for any sightseeing opportunities. But Alexis turned out to be decent cove, and he took us for a trip up the Indian River.
 
This small waterway is overhung with thick creepers and crowded on each side with tall mangroves and cedars. Hummingbirds throng the shores, iguanas laze about in trees and huge yellow crabs wave their claws menacingly from the muddy shore as we pass. This is yet another location for the Pirates of the Caribbean films - this time the scene where the crew of the Black Pearl row into the forest to consult a crazed soothsayer living in a forgotten shack poised on stilts over the swamp. Despite a really early start, bursts of torrential rain kept all but a few slow-to-react birds and half an iguana out of sight. It was nonetheless a stunningly beautiful trip.
 
Anyway, back to the croissants and cafes creme...
 
 
Coasters on the beach after a hurricane
 
 
Indian River
 
 
Portsmouth, Rupert Bay
 
Terre-de-Haut, Les Saintes, Guadeloupe