We returned to Chateau Mygo again last night, it being the easiest place to get to and dodge all the showers.  We keep the waterproofs and umbrellas in the blue bag these days so as not to be caught out.  We had a pleasant chicken and coconut curry but it appears that they forgot to put the coconut into it.  This lack of flavour was made up by the inclusion of a christophene gratinee, an enormous favourite of mine and one we don’t see enough on the menus.  We discussed “what next” and decided to head for the bottom of St Vincent and do a bit of touristing. Kingstown is written up in the Cruising Guide as a not very safe place to stay so, being very sensible in our old age, we are going to head further round the corner.  It is a 50 mile sail which is pushing it but very doable if we get a fair wind, Our strategy was to take a rain check (very hilarious, I think not) as we came parallel with Wallilabou and see how we were doing. 

I don’t know what happened to Bob the lark this morning but he was much later arising than planned.  My coffee didn’t arrive until nearly 7 am so we made a late exit from Marigot, turned left and spluttered along St Lucia in a piffling wind and a flat sea.  Things looked up when we reached the end of St Lucia, the wind hummed up to a nice 17 knots, it was worth putting up every sail we had and we cantered along quite nicely.  The only downside was the broadside waves.  If we stayed on course, WIndy caught the edge of them (and they weren’t insignificant) and tossed a whole deluge back into the cockpit.  Being sensible (we are having a very a sensible time ) we veered slightly off course so that they splooshed into the spray hood instead.  We had a lovely sail, in mostly blue skies but I still didn’t need my sunscreen because the angle of progress resulted in the position of the sun being smack behind the sails.  I could have a go at sun bathing if I stuck my leg up in the air, but it wasn’t comfortable.  We breakfasted, we lunched and reached the lee of St Vincent where the clouds gathered, spat at us and out came the bat out of hell cape.  Sigh.  It became clear that we weren’t going to get as far south as we had hoped so opted for the Wallilabou choice and angled our way in.

Still several miles out, there suddenly appeared two pirogues, powering towards us, much shouting in local dialect going on.  They closed in on us, crashed into each other, turned on each other and started waving oars in each other faces while yelling aggressively and threateningly at the top of their voices, their ganga reddened eyes blazing.  I was petrified.  We don’t have any pirate repelling water canon, or indeed machine guns on board, (yes I have watched Captain Phillips) so I just kept going.  It soon became evident that they were fighting over who was going to moor us but I didn’t want such scary, shouty people anywhere near us.  I gunned up the engine to as fast as I am allowed to go and headed in seeking someone else to help us in.  To no avail.  There was only the scary man who tried to persuade us that his adversaries were fishermen who shouldn’t have been there and he was a genuine guy (As genuine as Tony Blair and his ability to assess weapons of mass destruction methinks).  Not having any alternative, I kept my eyes forward, did as I was told and got us on to a buoy, manoeuvred so that stern lines to shore could be affixed.  Once safely attached I then, in no uncertain terms, told anyone who would listen that I was not impressed having the living daylights scared out of me.  I felt the arrival beer was a little weak, I needed a stiff brandy. I have calmed down but skulked on the boat while Bob went on shore to check in , requiring a taxi ride to the nearest police station, and worried that “they” (in my eyes still pirates) might take their revenge on him while alone and vulnerable, it really was that much of a scare.  We have hunkered down reading while yet more rain came through.  Bob is now whacking four bells out of the ice (I hope it is the ice) for a nice, ice cold, nerve calming gin and tonic.