A whale past turtle o' clock?
A year afloat: to the Caribbean and back
Sam and Alex Fortescue
Sat 19 Feb 2011 00:41
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16:18.38N
61:47.86W
"And what would monsieur like?"
"Why, I think I'll start with the turtle
sashimi.... hmmm, then the iguana dumplings and finally... yes, I'll finish with
the whale steak."
Menu du jour
~ entree ~
beady-eyed turtle
(caught taking a lungful of air at the
surface, while hunting at dawn)
~ plat ~
an indolence of iguanas
(on a bed of volcanic rock, adorned
with mango)
~ poisson ~
whale
(dans sa petite sauce
salee)
Had today been a high-falutin' French restaurant
specialising in endangered species, this is what I might have ordered. (This is
beyond hypothetical, I hasten to add). However, since today was a series of unexpected encounters with other
members of the animal kingdom, it went a bit like this. Waking at 7, we poked our noses out of the fo'c'sle
hatch and beheld a smallish turtle, with his beak protruding from the water at
an odd angle as he took a deep breath. He seemed to eyeball us beadily for a few
moments before diving out of sight, crystal clear water not withstanding.
Heaving up the anchor after a strong coffee, we
donked off to the nearby Ilet Pigeon, where we planned to moor up for a
pre-breakfast swim in the Jacques Cousteau marine reserve. We had already swum
here the day before, after finding vacant one of the two yellow mooring buoys
reserved for visiting yachts. The water here, despite being 20m deep, is as
clear as cut glass, and looking down from the deck you can make out the reef
below, as well as the fish that abound. This was the starter
We were the only boat in sight when we arrived at
about 8 and as I climbed down the stern ladder into the water wearing my snorkel
and mask, I stepped into a shoal of completely unconcerned fish that had come to
investigate the boat. As the first rays of the sun cleared the island,
the motley collection of large, yellow-tailed mullet, silvery jacks and the
odd grouper seemed to delight in shoaling in the shadow of Summer Song's
hull. You could get within inches of them before they swam lazily away. They
seem to know that they are protected, and are therefore completely uninterested
in humans. Indeed, Alex reckons they see us as unthreatening fish, and treat us
with appropriate disdain. For the meat
course, we climbed onto the deserted island in
the centre of the marine reserve, dislodging a bevy of iguanas who were sunning
themselves on outcrops of black volcanic rock. They crashed away into the
undergrowth of mango saplings, setting up dozens of roosting birds with a
mightly flapping of wings.
Diving down to look at the reef more closely, I
could here a series of strange echoes, almost like cows mooing. Alex had heard
it too, and we wondered if it was the noise of whales talking to each other. We
noticed a small ketch about a mile out to sea which had been more or less
stationary for an hour or so, with a couple of grockle boats converging on it.
We followed the pack out, then drifted, waiting for something to happen. All of
a sudden, there was a hubbub onboard a French boat; people were jumping up and
down on the foredeck and pointing away out to sea. Sure enough, we soon spotted
a dark form curving through the water. Even with binoculars it was hard to make
out, but we could clearly see a whale's fin arching out of the water. Then it
would disappear for ten minutes, while the tension in the surrounding boats
built up. When the whale surfaced again, the boats would roar off towards it, no
doubt scaring the poor creature into another protracted dive. After half an hour
of this haring about, we decided it would be better to leave the whale to its
own devices and set sail for the north. Thus went the fish course.
We're now anchored in the most northerly bay on
Guadeloupe's west coast: a small village called Deshaies. All along this
volcanic coast, plumes of smoke and steam emerge randomly from fumeroles
hidden on the hillside, and here is no different. The colourful town is built
around catering for boats, with restos and bars aplenty and some fairly ropy
food shops. All the same, we don't know when we'll next be able to buy cheese
and have laid in strong supplies ahead of our rendezvous with Mission
Control in Antigua. Tomorrow, we're bound for English Harbour and Nelson's
Dockyard, from where the great Horatio harried French fleets the length and
breadth of the Antilles.
In the meantime, an American boat has anchored
antisocially close to us. As the wind died away after sunset, the boats have
swung randomly in great arcs on their anchors, and we are perilously close to a
slow motion t-boning. We will have to keep an eye on the reckless cove and take
action if necessary...
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