All at sea in the Tobago Cays
Irie
Fri 18 Apr 2008 19:53
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Position 12 37.92N 61 21.40W Off Baradal Isle,
Tobago Cays, St Vincent and the Grenadines
Thursday 17th April
We left Bequia yesterday around midday after picking up a
few provisions, and more importantly the washing - best value so far at
£30 EC (around £6) and the delight of exchanging a large load of salty,
sandy and otherwise distasteful linen for an unrecognisable, neatly folded
and freshly smelling, plastic wrapped bundle. The initial plan was to sail to
Canouan and then move on to Mayreau or the Cays the next day, but a fresh breeze
propelled Irie along at seven knots, thus arriving off the protective reefs
around three thirty, and dropping the anchor in three sparkling clear metres of
water just after four o'clock. In any case, half of Canouan has been developed
by Donald Trump as a resort, casino and golf course, which seems ample
excuse to give it a miss. The dinghy caused a little excitement on the way, as
one of us had elected to tow it, instead of hauling onto the foredeck as normal
for passages. Like a well trained hound, it pattered along just behind us for
most of the way, despite seven to eight foot swells, but off Canouan it all
became rather steep and suddenly we were towing a salty bathtub. After a
somewhat acrobatic transfer with a bucket, it was bailed out, pulled well
up to heel on a shorter leash, and behaved rather better, staying dry for
the rest of the trip. Moral - no short cuts with boats, it almost always
backfires
It's good to move on, but Bequia is a lovely base. After
the foray to the Atlantic side we walked along Princess Margaret and Lower
Beaches, scouting for somewhere to rent with the family next
year. The beaches are amazing, the first hardly
developed, with no houses and just one new bar, and then a little headland to
cross, and Lower Beach stretching for nearly half a mile with a couple of
low key bars, - De Reef a favourite spot, and a mix of local and
rented property just behind the road. We were joined by Larry and Fiona and a
couple of their Canadian friends, Peter and Eileen for a reciprocal sundowner on
Irie, sundown stretching from six until a little after ten. The English couple
are on a new Jeanneau 40 called Tiger Frightener, apparently because Fiona was
brought up in India, and the last drink of the night was thus named
for obvious reasons.
On Tuesday we'd had an expedition to Moonhole. This is a
sort of commune that was the creation of an American guy called Tom
Johnston. He and his wife ran a guest house on the island in the sixties, and
wanted somewhere to escape from work. He bought 36 acres of land, accessible
only by boat and built a 'free form' house under the Moonhole arch. It had no
doors or windows, and only propane coking and oil lamps. Bit by bit the project
grew to some nineteen homes under the care of the Moonhole Company. All the
houses cling to the curves and contours of the rocky isthmus, with walls
that bend and meander and furniture crafted from Guyanan hardwood and
whalebone. Tom's architectural style was to stand on the site of a proposed
building, throw a stone and say 'build a pillar there', throw another, 'a wall
over here', and the structures just evolved. The place is now under the care of
his son Jim and English wife Sheena who now own only three houses, though the
other sixteen have to conform to the Moonhole articles, and new owners are
vetted to see if they'll fit in. There's still no power, hardly any windows or
doors and it's possible to rent for US$1200 a week, or buy for $750k. It's a
remarkable and unique place, but reading between the lines the creator was a
visionary who must have been pretty difficult to live with.
On the way back, there were a number of locals
parked up and looking south over the sea with binoculars. Beating up
to windward were two of the sailing whalers that still operate here. The islands
are on the migratory path of the humpbacked whale, Bequia has along tradition of
whaling and they're still allowed to catch up to four a year, harpooned by hand
from the twenty five foot double enders. There was great excitement last week as
one was caught in the Mustique Channel, but unfortunately it was a big bull, and
sank and died before he could be secured. It's a dilemma - these whales are
apparently not threatened as a species, the hunt really pits man
against the elements and a very large beast , and they are eaten and used,
but it is a cruel way to kill a lovely animal.
Later again, walking back to the dinghy just before dusk,
the path led past the part of the beach where the Rasta boat
guys gather. They have a lot of hair, a rather wild appearance, andtheir
boats carry expressive names - 'De African, Burnin Desire, No
Surprises and Phat Shag', a little different than some of the
islands who look from help from above - 'In De Lord We Trust and Jesus Walk
Wid Me'. Anyway, the chaps here sit on the sand under the palms, and
while away the day with a little beer, an occasional beefy roll up and a lot of
banter and chat with the passers by. 'Eh', said one of them to one young
lady , 'You lookin good today. Crispy!' - spot on!
So now to the Cays again, four or five tiny islands behind
us, and a huge horseshoe reef in front with between us and Africa. The three
quarter moon's bathing the ocean in soft light, the wind's humming at twenty
knots and in the distance the Atlantic swell is bursting it's energy on the
coral in long, silver, roaring lines of foam - this is the
Caribbean.
Moonhole living room, a whaler in the
distance
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