Blissfull Bequia
Irie
Thu 10 Apr 2008 03:15
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Position 13 00.04N 61 14.61W Admiralty Bay
Bequia
Wednesday 9th April
The first full day in Bequia has been just perfect. For
the first time in in what seems weeks there's no rain, there's a light breeze,
the sun has had his hat on since early morning, and a crystal clear, azure sea
runs round the boat and to the golden shore a hundred yards away.
Monday was also a memorable Caribbean day, but for
entirely different reasons. Clearing out It all takes place in Marigot police
station, and took nearly an hour. The customs guys were fine, and despite forms
to fill, it took five minutes and we left with a cheery farewell as we left
one door and turned right to the police desk. A large notice announced
that no food was allowed while visiting prisoners, and there was a target
card advising 34 warrants for execution in hand and 14 pending - cheering news.
A number of chaps in basketball shirts sauntered in and out, before one of the
gave us a form to fill in; 'You'll need this' before vanishing to another room
for banter and a chat. The form required limited information already
contained in another copy we handed in. Anyway, it was over half an hour
before our friend emerged to process the details, and then with scant
comunication and no eye contact. Usually it's tolerable, today for some
reason, just plain frustrating. Dropping the mooring we entered the
small marina to take on and fuel and water, and then we were off down the coast.
It's only eight miles or so to the Pitons and the village of Soufriere, and in
an hour and half, after some sun and a couple of heavy showers,
we turned east round Grande Caille Pte , steering well clear of
its extending reef; as the pilot points out 'Keep cleer, for not only will
you ruin your boat, but you'll be liable for a hefty fin for damaging the
reef!' From now on the day started to look up. The view of the twin
Pitons on the way in is magnificent. They are old volcanic plugs, tree
covered tapered cones towering up nearly three thousand feet directly from
the shoreline and are one of the iconic sights in the Caribbean. We'd
picked the Bat Cave area to pick up a mooring, and were staring suspiciously at
a buouy that looked hairily near some shallow rocks tucked close
under a tall cliff, when a guy roared up in his pirogue - a local
style speedy twenty foot fishing boat with a thumping great outboard clamped to
the stern. His wide smile had a welcoming gleam, highlighted by one single,
shining tooth. and he announced his name was Francis, assuring us that a mooring
was good. He helped pick it up, and was rewarded by a few EC but was less
forthcoming when asked about the local security situation, mumbling 'OK' while
looking at his large boots. The mooring was fine, belonging to the the Soufriere
marine Management Area, a sort of marine national park, though the stern of the
boat was no more than five or seven metres from the rock. By now the weather had
turned rather damp, but the location was fantastic, with view to
Soufriere on the left, and then across the bay a mile or so to the
Pitons, now eerily shrouded in mist. The sun emerged in an hour or so, bringing
a brief chance for a swim and snorkel. Off the back of the boat, and our rogue
rock turned out to be home to one of the most prolific coral
gardens so far. Dozens of filigree sea fans waved gently above
multi-coloured brain coral, fire coral and urn like pot sponges.
Fishes dodged in and out of the rocks, a mottled eel wove its way along the
bottom and a small family of silvery reef squid shimmered their
way on some errand or other. The drop off was steep all along the
cliff, and swimming along the edge, about fifty metres from the boat, I
lifted my head for a scan around and heard an immense twittering
noise. Just before me, a large fissure split the rock vertically
for a hundred feet or so, and dozens of large bats were flickering and twisting
in the entrance, excitedly waiting for dusk and a
nights hunting, obviously the bat cave of Bat Cave Bay. We'd
planned to stay on the boat, especially as the park ranger who collected
the mooring fee was unequivocal about security -' Lock everything, nothing
left above board, leave lights on inside, cockpit and anchor lights on and no
cash in the boat' so there! Still, it was a beautiful spot, the pilot book sang
the praises of the Humming Bird Hotel, and it seemed churlish not to put foot
ashore, so we set off and rowed to the beach for a drink. Humming Bird
looks somewhat unprepossessing from the shore but inside it's a
delight. The dinghy was securely locked to a conveient palm tree on the
beach and we'd brought the oars in to the garden, having already had one set
'borrowed'. Casting around for somewhere to put them, we were spotted by the
lady behind the bar who trotted down, called me dear and indicated a safe
spot to stow them. A little path ran through the garden, up some steps past
a pool to a welcoming bar and restaurant. A couple of rums later, the owner saw
we were off a boat amd started chatting. He'd had the Humming Bird for twelve
years or so, but hailed from Bequia and had recently been back for the annual
regatta. He'd been involved with boats for much of his life, at one
time helping bring an old tug from the Mediterranean to Bequia, though
the reason for this strange odessey was obscure. Out on the pool terace, the
evening was drawing in. The Pitons sat in full and glorious view, glowing in the
last of the sunlight, framed in palms and underscored by the sea. In the little
garden gardea were hibiscus, frangipani, mango and breadfruit trees and neat
clipped hedges.Brilliant blue hummingbirds darted in and out of the flowers and
yellow breasted banana quits whistled and hopped in the branches. Just in front
of us, a large tree creeper with a curved beak played hide and seek with a
tiny lizard. It looked like a game, with both darting round the branch at
bewldering speed, though a result would have mean curtains for one and dinner
for the other. In fact, the lizard feinted left, dummied right and then slipped
away down the trunk, leaving the bird still darting around unaware his prey had
rumbled him. As dusk grew, a mellowness settled in to the evening
rendering it impossible to refuse the invitation to dine; the food was excellent
the staff friendly and over the pool, a cluster of fireflies mounted a
flashing cabaret, though pursued all the while by silhoueted bats. It was a
great finale to the last evening in St Lucia. Back on the beach a gentleman
appeared from the shadows advising that he'd been in charge of the boat. He was
very tenacious, following the dinghy into the shallows, but gave in
with a measure of good grace and retired whence he came. The elements
had the last laugh. Approaching the line of half a dozen moored boats, we could
see the masts arcing in a strange, twisting dance. The tide had turned, and
the north east swell was licking round the corner, leading to an
uncomfortable, sleepless night before the early start at five
thirty.
Tuesday dawned fair, with little wind and a number
of early boats on the move taking advantage of the better forecast. Once
clear of the island though, the wind freshened to twenty or more knots with a
sharp sea and an exciting sail towards St Vincent. Life quietened down in the
island's lee, before a fresh beat on the last leg to Bequia. Then we arrived,
the anchor ploughed firmly back into the clearly visible sand, and there was
enough time to complete the local formalities and visit the Frangipani once more
for a little something to welcome the next chapter.
Pitons in view
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