A year afloat: to the Caribbean and back - Spinnaker, fish and fine weather... all the good things in one day!

Spinnaker, fish and fine weather... all the good things in one day!

A year afloat: to the Caribbean and back

Sam and Alex Fortescue

Thu 24 Mar 2011 20:01

18:27N

64:25W

It's been a very good day. Night too. I was up at 3am to raise the anchor and slide out of Marigot Bay on skanky St Martin. I think we'd both been craving a good sail, and for more than 80 miles that's certainly what we got. The reason for leaving so early was to arrive on Virgin Gorda before he sun set. We'd agreed that Alex would try to sleep on while I did the departing and astonishingly, despite my raising 35 metres of chain just above her head on the foredeck, sleep she did. Motoring through a thicket of sleeping, anchored boats in the bright light of a keen half moon, it felt good to be up and going somewhere. Soon the sails were up and the donk off.

The wind was almost dead astern - never the fastest point of sail, but a treat after so much recent beating into the weather. Despite the smell of showers as we manoeuvred out between St Martin and neighbouring Anguilla, we stayed dry. The sun rose and the fishing lines went out in the hope of early fish. By eight, after two hours without so much as a nibble, we finally raised the fearsome spinnaker. It has been almost exactly three months - a quarter of a year - since her last deployment as we rounded the southeastern tip of Grenada, racing to join Jesse and Will in time for Christmas. Despite a false start that had us broaching into the wind, the sail went up remarkably easily. It was a thrilling moment to see the huge sail catch and fill, billowing out ahead of us like a giant banner announcing our arrival. We remembered the many days we'd spent flying across the open Atlantic with Graham and Will, under spinakoo alone and in truth, it seems almost as if the sail belongs to that part of the trip. For a moment, we missed our shipmates but by and by, as the foam fizzed under the stern at seven or eight knots, our spirits lifted and we began whooping with delight.

There wasn't a soul at sea until we closed Virgin Gorda, when a few sails appeared against the profile of the island, emerging out of the glare to the west. In a turn that has me almost believing in divine intervention, we got into a fish 20 miles out. Just a little fellow, mind you, and a mackerel to boot, but a fish nonetheless. As I speak, he's crisping lightly under the grill. We lie at anchor near 'The Baths', a heap of enormous boulders scattered as if by the hand of a monstrous marble player. The water is perfectly clear so that even without a mask, you can see fish going about their business 5 metres down. On the leeward side of the island, we're well protected and the horizon all around is dominated by islands. It doesn't take much to imagine pirates like Bluebeard and Francis Drake emerging from coves and mangroves to attack heavily laden Spanish galleons returning with bullion from the New World. It's all a question of perspective, though, and one man's pirate is another's patriotic businessman. Our pilot, being written by a Frenchman, firmly takes the former view.

After the tawdry delights of St Martin, it's good to be back in a place of deserted anchorages and a vigorous underwater landscape. We're looking forward to meeting Alexis, Rita and the Brussels crew on Saturday, but in the meantime, it'll be great to chill out and enjoy some time spent on a prime palm-fringed beach.

Going back a bit... steep Saba