Lesson number one: don’t read scary books about three South African boys viciously attacking a white father and daughter on their lonely farm just before doing a deal with three big black boys regarding your personal transport and security when you are the only yacht parked in a remote anchorage.  I am sure Doctor Feelgood, a name far too old for his callow youthfulness, and his cohorts Jimmy and Jean Claude were perfectly reasonable young men, they seemed very polite and most helpful getting me up and down ladders in sploshy waves but somewhat pushy about what constituted a fair price for the job.  It can very easily turn nasty when you are the old and frail versus three fitties.  After a delicious dinner nestled between the Pitons, with a novel choice of wine from Languedoc, a novelty not to be repeated I may add, but the most delicious dessert wines, we returned and slept fitfully and not just because of the rolly anchorage.

We headed out of Soufriere in good time, having been brought my “get out of bed” coffee at 7am which generally does the trick and set sail for St VIncent.  Once away from the lee of St Lucia we met wonderful ocean waves and steady 18 to 20 knot winds and grinned happily as we plied away jauntily making our passage.  We were a little bit miffed that a monohull seemed to be getting ahead of us however many sails we put up, and we did put up both foresails and the main, we weren’t racing of course, but after a close encounter with a large gust decided to be sensible, put in a reef, lost a lot of ground in the process and settled down to simply enjoy the glory of the ride.

Reaching St Vincent we needed to put on our sexy new cagoules as the clouds seemed to be brought on to rain as they crossed over the volcano after days travelling the Atlantic.  One cloud held a nasty little gust which caught me unawares and nearly finished off my Kindle as it was flung across the cockpit as Bob leapt for the main sheet to spill some wind.  I know I shouldn’t have put it under a cushion to protect it from the rain.

After that the wind just died and we languidly lolled along, rolled in the sails, put on the motor and puttered into Cumberland Bay where we were greeted by very friendly locals and assisted with our parking, anchored at the front and stern to with a very long rope tied to a handy coconut palm on shore.  The procedure went off very well despite my trepidation at reversing.  We now realise that when the prop angle was changed, to solve a problem introduced way back in Puerto Mogan, that it has taken the prominent cow kick to port out of the manoeuvre.  It is a great improvement.

We are now chilling, actually sweating if the truth were to tell, listening to the locals returning from the sea and preparing the bars and restaurants for later and watching the Germans on the boat next door putting on their ritual show, when taking a shower, rummaging about in their speedos.  Very interesting.