Of volcanoes, cousins of brothers-in-law and barracuda
A year afloat: to the Caribbean and back
Sam and Alex Fortescue
Tue 8 Mar 2011 00:49
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16:48.05N
62:12.42W
What is it about the Aston family and small, remote
islands? Whatever it is, it's good news and we're anchored up on the slightly inhospitable west coast of Montserrat. The
country is, to all intents and purposes, a fairly vigorous volcano. The knowledge that magma is boiling away somewhere
close beneath your feet seems to pervade people's
consciousness. Volcanic 'events' seem to be the defining rythmn of life
here.
We're living in total luxury with William's cousin
Emmy and her boyfriend Andy, who have a glorious little house on the cliff with stunning views northwest to Redonda and St
Kitts and Nevis. They have given us not only their spare room for the first nights of non-boat based sleep since Brittany in
September, but as much fresh water as we want and
*gasp* hot showers. Not only that, but the two are talented cooks, and have been
regaling us with a procession of glorious
meals.
The Skipper is doing a dive course with Emmy. Today
was the first day of three, and involved a pool-based exercise to get used to the weight and feel of the equipment and,
crucially for a snorkeller, breathing underwater. It went pretty well up to the point where I had to purposely fill my
mask up with water and clear it by bubbling air out through my nose. Something went seriously wrong, and the water in the
mask ended up backfiltering down my throat. Trying to figure out where I'd gone wrong, Emmy concluded: "You're
probably a nose-breather." Isn't that normal, I wondered? Not when you're 40 feet down, breathing through a regulator and
peering through a mask. Alex, meanwhile, was
reading about mortgage amortisation and the means of calculating an internal
rate of return. I'd sooner be drowning in the
pool, I think. Tomorrow, I may take my first underwater breaths in the sea,
surrounded by fish. Pretty cool.
Montserrat is a pretty charming island. Since the
major series of eruptions that buried the capital Plymouth in 1995, two-thirds of the 12,000-strong population left, leaving
only the committed in the northern part of the country. Nonetheless, it seems to be dripping with trees and wildlife,
including hummingbirds that swoop in to the terrace to take syrup from a feeder. Iguanas stroll calmly down the
street. Cloud lowers and boils around the peaks,
which are cloaked in green. It feels pretty Caribbean and everybody seems to
know everbody else
We had a really placid sail across from Antigua two
days ago. The wind was a pretty constant 15 knots from the south (a rarity in itself at this time of year), and the swell
was small. The west coast of Antigua was beautiful - all knee-deep turquoise water, rounded hills and white coral beaches.
Nonetheless, we were keen to push on to Montserrat. The decision was rewarded with a major catch midway between
the two islands. What we first took to be a two-and-a-half foot wahoo was successfully gaffed after we'd reeled him
in, and landed in the cockpit with a bloody thump. His vicious teeth and scales eventually betrayed him to be a
barracuda, which presents a problem here, as these aggresive predators are the most likely carriers of ciguatera - a
toxin acquired from stressed coral. In small
doses it is not a problem, but concentrated up through the food chain it has the
power to kill a human. The trick apparently to
feed a corner of the meat to a cat or a chicken and observe the results. If they
keel over within 15 minutes, you give the fish
away to a neighbour you don't like. Otherwise you chop it into steaks and
grill it with gusto.
We're still looking for a
cat...
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