Yippee - we’ve arrived.

For our regular readers I must as skipper apologise for the tardiness of my resident blogger, who on arrival at St. Lucia neglected his scribing duties and went off to enjoy himself of all things, with Neil being the co-conspirator and off they went scuba diving. However, he did try to put a photo album of our exploits onto the blog but this has bounced. Also I apologise to our e-mailers as our satellite phone went down a couple of days out so some e-mails that we had answered and sent off didn’t go. We’ll get back in contact in the next couple of days.

Anyway, Sunday lunchtime St. Lucia hove into sight over the horizon just where my sextant and Raymarine GPS said it would be. Great excitement as Neil cried ‘Land Ho’, the first land we had seen in 22 days. The grey smudge got bigger then turned dark green as the rich covering of tropical rainforest began to take colour. We charged on as the wind increased in the wind acceleration zone between Martinique and St. Lucia and suddenly we saw another four white sails ahead of us. The sea turned from Azure blue to turquoise green, a result of the sun reflecting on the sand below, said our resident geologist ,Neil. Determined to sail all the way, we jibed at the north end and continued down the north west coast at 8 knots on headsail alone. As we passed the mini pitons of Pigeon Island we could clearly see the old fort from Napoleonic times and PEOPLE walking along the pathways to it. As we turned the point to head east for the entrance to Rodney Bay we were met by dozens if not a hundred boats at anchor outside the bay. We were ok though as some e-mail activity the day before had secured us a berth alongside a dock belonging to a dinghy and inflatable repair centre who were replacing our faulty Rib, which hasn’t held air since new. After coming alongside and clearing in through immigration and customs I returned to the boat to find the crew mildly concerned regarding our planned stay overnight at the dock. Alan had found a passage in the pilot book saying not to moor or anchor near this village as it has a reputation for being extremely dangerous and violent. The argument that Neil and I were also extremely dangerous and violent and that we had both worked in extremely dangerous and violent towns didn’t hold water and we were forced to slip our lines and meander gently into the inner lagoon to see if there was enough room to swing at anchor anywhere inside the bay. We motored to the south end of the lagoon into an area surrounded by millionaires’ houses with private docks at the end of manicured gardens. We dropped the hook and waited for a fast launch to come hurtling out to chase us away. Hey- you don’t get if you don’t try. Four nights later no-one has said a dickey bird and we are in the best spot in Rodney Bay.

After a quick vote we had decided to forgo the local Creole food for the night and visit the ’best Indian Restaurant in the Caribbean’ a place called ’Razzmatazz’. As we prepared to go ashore there was a ‘food forecast’ called out on channel 16 to turn to channel 68. We did so to find it was Razzmatazz transmitting their evening menu. At the conclusion of the transmission I grabbed the handset and booked a table for five in half an hour. This was of great amusement to the staff when we got there and we had one of the finest Indian meals that I can ever remember. The staff were excellent, making us feel like millionaires as opposed to yachtie bums. Bev wouldn’t let me go ashore in my working shorts- they’d been on for weeks’ and broke out my pristine new khaki ‘Tea Planter ‘type shorts that she’d been buying up before the trip - Disaster- I’d lost four inches off my waist and even with an old police belt six notches down from normal I could hardly keep them up. I looked like one of these rappers who’s left hand is constantly on the waistband of their hugely oversize breeks.

Anyway that was a couple of days back now and we said goodbye to Neil and Allan last night at the airport, but not before we took them swimming at a freshwater pool at Soufriere on the journey down. That was quite amazing, swimming in a big freshwater pool in the middle of the jungle with a 40’ fountain feeding it. Of course everyone had to climb the fountain and stand underneath the flow. It was magical and a great introduction to our planned daily swim. The day after we arrived Neil and John went diving for the day but I’ll leave John to tell you about that.

Now it’s back to the grind. This morning I’ve to return the hire car, take the Raymarine auto pilot in to be repaired/replaced and chase up this new Rib (dinghy) It’s been officially named by Bev as

’Doodie II’ for a couple of reasons. Years ago when my friend, Billy McFadyen’s children were young, the oldest couldn’t say ‘Dougie’ so he called me ‘Doodie.’ For some reason our old and trusted Avon dinghy which I stole from John Mactaggart for £100 in 1990 was then named ’Doodie’ and since then Doodie has had many happy adventures on the west coast of Scotland and Norway, giving great pleasure to dozens if not hundreds of ’Smokey Bear’ and ’Swiftwing’ crewmembers over the years. Another good reason for putting T/T (Tender To) Swiftwing on the dinghy is that when ashore the bad guys can see which crews are ashore from which boat and can ‘tan the gaff’ when we’re not there, so ’Doodie II’ it is.

You’ll all be wondering what has happened to Bev since Gran Canaria,- has she been made to walk the plank for insubordination?

did she fly home from the outset, not fancying the Atlantic Crossing,

Why is Dougie doing all the cooking? 2+2 = 5. Bev found the big Atlantic rollers a bit of a problem. She found that she could either sit in the cockpit or lie horizontally down below but couldn’t function on her feet below except to sit in the bottom of the shower for her daily

wash. However, now that we are in the calm waters of the West Indies you will be hearing a lot more from her once she has mastered this computer.

Anyway, we’re off to the beach now.

Duggie/Dougie/Doogs/Trapper/Captain Bligh/Captain Pugwash