We left Bequia a bit later than planned because I didn’t fancy driving in soaking rain, Bob hides under the Bimini and is less exposed.  We still got to Kearton Bay for elevenses after a gloriously typical Caribbean sail between Bequia and St Vincent, with winds around 16 to 18 knots and a placid sea, which brought a smile to our faces.  As we hit the lee of St Vincent the wind dropped dead and we went from 7 knots to 0 in less than 60 seconds.  We put away the sails and resorted to motoring the last few miles.  A cheerful, friendly chap helped us moor so it was simply and quickly accomplished despite having to attach to two buoys and being strung between them like a hammock.  Said chap was then sent on a mission to buy us beer and water, the two essential life preservers when sailing in the Caribbean which he did as eagerly as a puppy.  He said that he would let Orlando know that we wanted to eat at Rock Side Cafe, whose moorings they are.  He did so in the time honoured Caribbean way, shouting very loudly to a bunch of guys on the beach from the boat. Orlando then swam very gracefully out to talk us through the menu and to take our order before swimming back again.

The Keartons is a lovely unspoilt tranquil bay, a looming cliff with a cave at its foot, picturesque rocks posing in the water, a clean clear sea and a small village of happy people who come and play joyfully on the beach.  We had the anchorage all to ourselves until mid afternoon when we were joined by just one other yacht containing three old men who have to shout at each other very loudly to make themselves heard.

Just as we were having lunch, there was suddenly a bit of a kerfuffle and two large blokes were dashing about, yelling at each other in pursuit of something by the cave.  There were great thrashings and shoutings and they dashed over to borrow a snorkel from us before continuing their manic hunt.  Triumphant cries were followed by a sudden silence.  They returned the snorkel and showed us the two rock iguanas they had captured.  Apparently they taste rather good stewed, a bit like chicken but sweeter.

Amongst the various vendors that ply their trade to all the yachts, we were visited by a man and his daughter in their boat who wanted us to buy fruit but we didn’t need any.  The father professed to be hungry and in need of food.  He didn’t fancy the offered Carrs Table Water biscuits, having sardines more in mind, but ended up with a packet of jelly geriatrics, like jelly babies but old people, from Bob’s Christmas stocking as a compromise.  The daughter tried one with great trepidation and they went away probably not entirely satisfied.

Snorkelling around the cave is interesting, I saw a rock iguana that had escaped the earlier hunt, and both Bob and I had a good ogle at a huge variety of fish.  Bob has discovered that the seat cushions make an excellent buoyancy aid for leisurely swimming and snorkelling and potters about happily for ages.  The three old men are probably blogging that they think we are an odd couple swimming around, Bob with cushions as water wings and me attached to the Fender Step.