Africa, fine on the port bow...
A year afloat: to the Caribbean and back
Sam and Alex Fortescue
Sun 27 Feb 2011 22:44
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17:04.68N
61:40.35W
If the visibility were good enough and the mast
high enough, we'd see the coast of Senegal from our anchorage on the east coast
of Antigua. Only a wide reef is stopping the Atlantic breakers from rolling into
the bay, but there's not a scrap of land on the eastern horizon. Cloud is
scudding in from the east and a strong wind is keeping the wind generator
humming and the crew huddling in the shelter of the spray hood. What with the
weather and so many British boats in every quarter, it's a bit like the Solent,
but further from London.
The last two nights have been spent tucked just
round the corner of Green Island, where it's better protected and there is good
beach and snorkelling. We managed to convince the Gaffer to take to Jemima the
dinghy for a short run in to the shore, and spent yesterday relaxing on a shady
bit of beach. We discovered a nest of spiny lobster, lurking under a rock in
shallow water, waving their tentacles at passing swimmers. Also, a huge hermit
crab that had taken up residence in a long-vacated conch shell. Brought ashore
he proved rather shy, emerging for a few seconds before rattling back into his
shell. Mamma was enchanted by a small iguana, who rustled down from the bushes
to seize a piece of bread put out for him. It seemed like slim pickings compared
to the feast of jerk pork that we've had on the barbecue. Mangos have also
proved exceedingly popular, with the Gaffer partaking for
breakfast.
We're only 6 miles from English Harbour, but we
covered nearly 20 miles getting up here - tacking into the wind and fairly heavy
seas. it was a sploshy four-hour ride, but exhilarating all the same to round
the corner of the island, then bear away and race in between the coral at 7
knots plus. The two masts of a rusty wreck lie to port and the bleached hull of
a mastless yacht is perched up on the coral to starboard.
Ashley the rigger managed to fit in a lightning
shroud installation on Summer Song, setting her up to go back to sea after
nearly a month with a fraying lower. It's a relief to be back up to full
strength and not keeping half an eye on the mast at all times. Also a huge
relief that we managed to find an alternative to the obnoxious head honcho of
Antigua Rigging, who managed to fit a dozen sly insults into an eight-line
email.
Before we left English Harbour, we had time to poke
our noses into another world; one of 200 foot sailing boats and gigantic square
riggers; one of half-a-dozen crew and permanently gleaming metalwork; one of
sliding from one international regatta to another at up to 30 knots. The marina
at Falmouth Harbour is well found in mega yachts, most belonging to
astronomically wealthy Brits who can afford just a couple of weeks 'off' each
year. We spoke to several crews, who said they were mostly free to come and go
as they pleased, as long as they got the boats to this or that island to
rendezvous with the owner. One was the enormous Maltese Falcon, reputedly sold
for $130 million to a London based fund manager. She was designed so that a
single operator could control the five sails hanging from each of the three
masts at the click of a mouse. With many of the boats back from a 600-mile ocean
race around Saba, it was astonishing how many tales of dismasting there
were.
At the other end of the scale, we witnessed
calamity of a tamer sort when an Italian-crewed catamaran came storming into
English Harbour. The boat bounced around from one anchored boat to another like
a pinball - a scratch here, a gouge there, before dropping the hook in a space
barely big enough for a corracle. Realising this belatedly, the Italians tried
to raise their anchor, which had meanwhile become entangled with another boat's
anchor chain. Then, one of their engines conked out, leaving them capable only
of turning hard to the right. After about an hour of clowning about, they
shuffled off shamefacedly. No more was seen of them until we got to Green Island
the day before yesterday. In bustled the Italian cat, with a new, local skipper,
proceeded to drop her anchor in such a way that she hung back on to our bow.
Happily the skipper encouraged her to reanchor astern of Summer Song and by the
morning, she was gone.
We're on our way to Harmony Hall, an old sugar mill
converted into an Italian resto. Thrilling for the skipper and the First Mate
after so long in foreign parts, the prospect of Roman cuisine is perhaps less of
an excitement for Mission Control. Nonetheless, it sounds like a rather good
setting and will give us a well protected bay to anchor up in before continuing
tomorrow to the north-east of the island. This involves returning through the
coral pass and braving the Atlantic swell until we get round to another gap in
the reef. Frigate bird colonies have been promised, as well as turtle
sanctuaries and excellent snorkelling. Let's hope the Italian cat hasn't had the
same idea...
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