Fai Tira Blog 16.00 Local  Tuesday 15^th December

Fai Tira still in Barbuda   17:33.27N  61:46.18W

There are many memories that will accompany us on our trip back from Barbuda. And I suppose, for both of us, the highlight has to be our trip across the lagoon to visit the frigate bird sanctuary, but there are many more.

Pete had already mentioned that we’d travelled in the company of the yacht Bionic and also met up with Natibou. The subsequent invite to an evening BBQ also included water taxi, courtesy of Hans and we turned up to their superb and palatial catamaran, to be greeted by the accompanying aromas of expertly prepared cuisine. Having had only limited boat experience, and that being confined to mono hulls, to be confronted with this vast deck dining area was quite a revelation. The flavours of the food, a fabulous potato dish and salad, matched the stimulating smells (yes there was meat and Pete tucked into a T bone) at the same time an inevitable consequence followed, that of dispersing any illusions I may have been harbouring about improvements in my own culinary efforts. On the scale of 1-10 I now realise I’m still firmly in the lower end of the bracket 0-5.

And for pudding? choc ice!!! I’d have killed for one of those halfway across the Atlantic and Hans has a whole freezer full. After all this came the entertainment. We moved forward on to the trampoline separating the two hulls. As we took position on our backs, gazing upwards, Hans turned out the deck lights. At the same time some mysterious hand in the sky operated another switch and out of the darkness emerged billions of sparkling pin pricks. How appropriate and magical.

We spent the next half an hour, in muffled conversation interspersed with ooos and aghs at the sightings of numerous shooting starts. Many thanks to him and his delightful wife, Monica, for being such generous and gracious hosts.

On Monday we all separated, Natibou sailed off in the direction of an island with Swedish connections while we left Bionic to make our way to a location further South, where the charts indicated a harbour that would allow us to land the dinghy with bikes and explore.

The shore line seemed to be just one long beach. Our destination was about five miles away. As we neared, the dark mass, that from a distance looked to be the harbour wall, turned out to be the rusting hulk of a barge that was being loaded with sand complete with backdrop of storage containers, mechanical shovels and spoil heaps of a working gravel pit. You see even paradise can’t escape reality.

The entrance to the anchorage was both exhilarating and scary. Me at the helm shouting out the depth and Pete at the bow shouting out directions as we manoeuvred between coral heads and shore before dropping anchor in 3 metres of water. With the waves visibly braking over the corals, no more than150 yards away we felt quite smug at our achievement.

It took little time for us to inflate and launch the dinghy and complete with bikes head for the shore. There’s only one road on the island and it heads for Codrington. It’s a mixture of metalled and unmade surfaces, almost like someone sold them a job lot of asphalt that wasn’t quite enough.

The only indication of your arrival is the presence of the street lights that could be seen from the boat the night before. It’s very much the stereotypical shanty town with no discernable centre.

Groups of people were gathered around, some just socialising others more enterprisingly selling things, but all time at a very measured and relaxed pace.

It was ice cream time. It was difficult to find a shop, mainly because they were just hard to identify. We stopped and asked one of the chatting groups for directions, a big lady, obviously the spokesperson, spoke up and pointed to one of the few two story buildings around, and said, go to de upstairs house just down there on the right. Why don’t we have great descriptions like that!!!

We passed the old police station, alongside the partially built new one that looked like it had been under construction for the last 10 years, and found the Ministry for Tourism. There were more groups sat outside and we were guided in to a large, dim, cool room that felt like it was asleep. A quite large, but colourful, attractive lady greeted us and the place came alive. Before we left we’d booked our trip to the Frigate Bird Sanctuary located on the lagoon.

Back on the boat, the effects of all that cycling and heat, meant an early night.

The last thing that we wanted or anticipated was the loud thump and judder that had us scampering, next to naked, on to deck in the pouring rain shivering and grabbing torches. As I fired up the engine, with Pete on the foredeck there was another load bang and judder. In a squall, the boat had swung round and with the strong winds and swell, the keel was grounding. Funny how all that earlier smugness quickly evaporated. Instead of being cleaver blokes who’d parked this boat neatly between all these obstacles, we were now two quite nervous guys not quite sure of what way to go in the darkness. Moving was always a last resort however, much too dodgy. Pete, pulled in 10 metres of anchor chain. I hung around on deck for a while, until things settled down, then it was morning.

In appearance, Frigate Birds are like the Caribbean version of our red kite, very forked tails, large wingspan and light structure. Their numbers are prolific, and their presence and flight spectacular. Even with this awareness, our arrival at the site provoked audible gasps (not from the birds)

The scene had already been set, by our boatman and guide George, who collected us at the jetty on the lagoon, he knew the waters well and had fished them for a long time. He chatted as we sped off with us in his pink boat at speeds that must have been close to 30 knots over these shallow waters. There was no slowing down, even as we approached channels marked by flimsy bits of wood, where the bottom looked no more than a metre deep. Great fun!!

The approach to the sanctuary was sedate and caring. The mango swamps were dense and stretched for miles. We drifted into an area marked off with buoys and George poled us quietly along. It was the height of the mating season. The sky was black with wheeling birds, the mangos full of the exaggerated, inflated red pouches of the males as they proudly displayed themselves and all the time the pungent background smell of guano hung in the air. We spent about 45 minutes photographing and marvelling at these magnificent, elegant creatures before speeding off.... A brilliant morning.

We tried to complete our bicycle tour of the island, but lack of roads and the heat defeated us. So back on the boat tired but satisfied, we up anchored and moved off to another location. Rendezvoused with Camamlie and spent a sociable evening in the company of Bill and Sue.

Very nice.     

Pete and John