Guadeloupe proper, in style
A year afloat: to the Caribbean and back
Sam and Alex Fortescue
Fri 11 Feb 2011 00:14
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16:13.58N
61:32.04W
Possibly the second best sail of the Caribbean so
far has brought us at last to Guadeloupe proper. Despite a night that was so
windy we could barely sleep, as Summer Song sheared left and right, tugging at
her anchor, the morning dawned remarkably squall free. Though there was plenty
of swell and waves, the wind blew a constant and relatively gentle 20 knots.
This allowed us, with one small tack, to point directly from Les Saintes to
Pointe a Pitre (in the centre of the butterfly-shaped island), and we surged
along at up to 7 knots. On the right was nothing but the Atlantic swell rolling
in from Africa; on the left, the green volcanic hills of Guadeloupe's Basse
Terre reared up into the clouds, with a hundred small villages scarmbling up
their flanks.
On the approach to the port here, we were
ponderously overtaken by a boat with a bit more sail up than us. But as a shower
rolled in from the east, they hurried to roll up their genoa. Feeling happy that
we were well reefed down already, we stood on and caught up 100m on the sloop -
called Avocet, and flying a red ensign. Then she dived off to windward to get
her main down as we approached a shallower patch - a couple of miles in to the
harbour over white coral sand which almost glowed turquoise in the sun. The wind
rose to about 22 knots, and as we bore away over the shallows, we roared on a
beam reach up to 8 knots. Before long Avocet was a mere speck in the distance
astern, rolling heavily as she laboured in under power. We were able to run in
under sail until we were off the town itself, at which point we thought it
prudent to donk up... just in case.
An hour or so later, after recceing a good
sheltered anchorage in the 'carenage' we sidled off to fill up our empty water
tanks in the marina. Returning to the anchoring spot, we saw a boat flying a
blue ensign this time, motoring hard for the same space. In a rare moment of
decisive manoeuvring, we shot in to the space, dropped the anchor and roared
astern just as the other boat glided up to us. The anchorage firmly claimed, the
challengers - Scots, as it turned out - made do with running a few metres astern
of us and stomping farther out to pick up a less choice spot.
To cap it all, we made it in to the marina in time
to show our damaged lower shroud to the rigger, who is now ringing around local
chandlers to find the special parts we need. He'll report back tomorrow. We're
hoping he'll find the parts close to home, otherwise it's a five day wait from
Europe, taking us perilously close to the time we need to be in Antigua to meet
Mission Control, a week on Monday.
This would have been the end of a cracking day,
except that in our hurry to get in to see the rigger before he went home for the
day, the skipper had neglected to clamp the outboard motor on tightly enough to
the dinghy. Consequently, as we slowed on the approach to Summer Song, the beast
slid off the bracket on the dinghy and dipped into the water. It didn't go fully
under and was in for less than a second, but this appears to have been enough to
stop it from firing up again. I've rinsed it in fresh water, as per the
instruction manual and am hoping for great things in the morning. Failing that,
I'll have a jolly time dismantling it in the morning.
As night falls, the harbour here is a aglow. On the
opposite bank to us, a huge container port is lit with arc lights and is still
clanking away, despite the advanced hour. The anchor lights of a dozen
small boats bob quietly in the near calm of our side of the harbour. And the
clear water is alive with phosporescence. Buzzing home in the dinghy, we left a
wide trail of glowing turquoise in the dark water behind us, and even pumping
water in to the loo produces an eerie glow. All in all, it seems like a good
spot, which is just as well, considering we may be here for a
week!
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