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| Our first cruise took us from Grenada, north to the U.S. Virgin Islands |
Grenada, April 13, 1979
Tony and Joyce were due yesterday, but called a couple days
ago to say they will arrive Monday, the 16th. We were pleased, because we can use the
extra couple days to finish a million odds and ends, and maybe to relax a
little. Ed’s working on equipment like
the depth sounder, and getting the radio hooked up. Hopefully, we will leave here on the 18th. I was so tired last night. After we had some crackers and cheese, with
Pina Coladas, I passed out about 7:00 p.m. and slept for twelve hours.
Tuesday was Sam’s last day, as all the big jobs are
done. We gave him the propane stove we
had removed from the boat. It was both
a going-away present and to thank him for his help. We also gave him Ed’s wooden trunk, which had been traveling
around with Ed for thirteen years.
Wonder where it might travel to now?
We have our VHF radio hooked up, and it works fine. We’ve used it to speak to a few people. The life raft is stowed on the aft deck, the
sails are in the peak, and I’m anxious to get going!! I’ll try to mail postcards while we’re traveling. The EC money is used through most of the
Caribbean, but we’ll have to get stamps at each island, as they’re all
different countries. When we get to the
Virgin Islands, we’ll be back to American dollars.
Postcard, Grenada, April 18, 1979
Tony and Joyce arrived on Monday. We went for a sail yesterday, then anchored at the beach and went
swimming. Today we will do our last
food shopping, and probably leave Grenada tomorrow. Tropic Moon sailed well, and is looking really good! Tony cooked a delicious eggplant casserole
for dinner last night, and is talking about eggs and hash browns for breakfast
this morning.
Newsletter, May 17, 1979
We made our first adjustment from the work-a-day world to a
work-on-the-boat life, and after 5-1/2 months in Grenada, we were more than
ready to make a further welcome adjustment to the cruising lifestyle. The whole concept of "cruising" was new to
us. For example, we had little idea of
how long it took to travel from island to island, or, more importantly, that
when we reached a new anchorage, we wouldn't be overly eager to rush on to the
next one. Combine that with a
preconceived notion that we wanted to spend the summer in the Virgin Islands
and you have our rationale for racing through the Caribbean in three
weeks. We had contacted friends from
Ann Arbor, Tony and Joyce, invited them to fly to Grenada, and told them that
we'd drop them off in St. Thomas in time to fly home at the end of their three
weeks of vacation.
We started the trip, which was to cover 650 miles, fairly
leisurely. We left Grenada on April 19th
and spent our first night at the island of Carriacou, just north of
Grenada. From there we sailed to Union
Island to clear Customs to enter the Grenadines, a 50-mile-long chain of small,
lovely islands. We spent a night at
Palm Island, and then sailed into the Tobago Cays. The Tobago Cays are really beautiful. They're a group of uninhabited islands with lots of reefs and
white sandy beaches. There were a few
other yachts there, but as there are several areas in which to anchor, it was
far from crowded. We enjoyed the
swimming and snorkeling in the area.
By chance, we anchored next to a boat, Aquarian Mistress,
that we had met in Grenada. We invited
Tony and Paula over for drinks and dinner.
Our Tony was chef for the evening, and he fixed fried rice using a
couple of conchs which Tony and Paula had caught. Conch proved to be a lot of work to prepare. First, the fellows broke open the shells and
wrestled out the conch, which was still alive.
Then they cut off its eyes and legs and any other protruding parts. Next they beat it to death, using a hammer. If the conch isn't pounded well, it chews
like shoe leather. And after you've
tortured the poor mollusk, you have a piece of meat with very little
flavor. On its own, not worth the
bother, but useful in dishes like chowder or fritters.
After a couple nights in the Tobago Cays, both boats were
ready to sail on to Bequia, one of the larger islands of the Grenadines. We decided to sail in company with Aquarian
Mistress. The boats were very well
matched in terms of speed, arriving in Bequia at virtually the same time, after
a 7-hour sail. There are two major bays
on Bequia, Friendship Bay and Admiralty Bay.
After failing to consult the cruising book carefully enough, we
mistakenly chose to go to Friendship Bay.
The town, stores and restaurants were all on the other side of the
island. As it was too late to go around
the island, we stayed in Friendship Bay for the night. It was an uncomfortable, rolling anchorage,
so we decided to move nearer to the shore, where we set two anchors (bow and
stern). No one measured the depth of
the water, and we soon found ourselves hitting bottom. Things got worse as we tried to correct the
situation, but we finally got ourselves free again. It was after dark, and rather scary. Less than a week out, and already aground!
We met another boat, Osprey, in Friendship Bay. The family was also from Ann Arbor. Osprey had just completed a 2-1/2 year
circumnavigation. One other boat came
into the bay that night, a charter boat with charterers from Ann Arbor. Of the four boats anchored there that night,
Ann Arbor was represented on three of them.
We had a couple hours of sailing the next day to get around
Bequia to Admiralty Bay where we spent the next three days. The town is small, but looked good to us, as
it was a chance to restock fresh food.
Small boats with young boys came out to the yachts with things to
sell. Joyce bought a pretty piece of
coral from one boat. One
"vegetable" boat sold me fresh eggplant and tomatoes. They also offered laundry services, which we
declined; such services usually end up costing a small fortune.
We woke up in Bequia one morning to find everything inside
and outside the boat covered with ash from the St. Vincent volcano, which had
erupted during the night. I hated to
think of what it was like on St. Vincent, as we were about twenty miles south
of the volcano. What a mess! First, we swept up the ash, then reversed
the bilge pump, connected a hose, and washed down the boat. All the other yachts in the harbor were busy
with the same type of activity.
By the end of our stay in Bequia, 1-1/2 weeks of our 3-week
total had evaporated into the tropical air.
Knowing we would have to bypass many of the islands, and having
Martinique on our "must see" list, we left Bequia and the Grenadines
to sail to Martinique on what would be our first overnight sail. Leaving Bequia at about four in the
afternoon, we arrived in Martinique about noon the next day. My first overnight sail terrified me. I got a bit hysterical when we ran out of
wind, and Ed refused to turn on the engine.
I found it frightening to be "out there" in the dark. Still, the trip went well, and we even
arrived at the time Ed had estimated.
We reached Martinique on a Friday and stayed till the
following Tuesday. We anchored at Fort
de France, a very cosmopolitan city be Caribbean standards. Only French is spoken on Martinique, and I
had fun with my feeble efforts. Tony
and Joyce also know some French so we managed fine. We ate dinner out twice, my favorite being a place where I had
cheese fondue. My dessert consisted of
two large crepes filled with ice cream, smothered in a chocolate and almond
sauce, and topped with fresh whipped cream.
The last leg of our trip was direct from Martinique to St.
Thomas. We left Fort de France on a
Tuesday evening and didn't reach St. Thomas till Saturday morning. We were out of sight of land the whole
time. We worked on watches 24
hours/day, four hours on, four hours off.
Ed and I stood watches together, as did Tony and Joyce.
Three and a half days out.
You picture a sailboat zipping along through the water. Only for the first day, and then we ran out
of wind - becalmed! Now you picture a
boat sitting still in the water. Not
really! Becalmed is one of the worst
misnomers I've ever run into, as the situation is anything but calm. When there's no wind, there's usually still
a sea, which tosses the boat from side to side, and sometimes pitches it in
what seems like all directions at once.
It was impossible to move through the boat without hanging on. And the noise! Hoping for a breeze, through lack of experience, we left the
sails up without sheeting in the booms.
The booms crashed back and forth, halyards slapped, blocks were jarred
up and down, banging on the deck.
Things were knocking around inside the boat, and the noise and movement
just didn't stop. And on top of it all,
we weren't going anywhere!
I think those early sails set a pattern for how I would feel
about future passages. I was tired,
sick, and frightened. I found the
passage long, boring and totally exhausting.
I seemed to be the only one who felt that way - the other three were
enjoying themselves. I, on the other
hand, was suffering from feelings of claustrophobia. I found that being out on a sailboat far from land, especially
when you're not making any progress, and YOU CAN'T GET OFF, made me panic and
feel trapped. Ed thought I was
nuts. Luckily, I was asleep through
much of the trip - off and on watch - I actually fell asleep once standing at
the wheel. I usually managed to avoid
thinking too much about where I was and what I was doing.
Ah, you say, but the wind finally came back, and all was
well. No, the wind didn't come
back. After sitting in one spot for a
day, Ed finally relented, turned on the engine, and we motored over 100
miles. We found a little wind again up
near the Virgins.
One of my memories of the trip concerns the apricot pie
filling. The can had been opened at
dinner, but not used, and the filling was stored in a plastic bowl with
tight-fitting lid, on a counter (with rail), in the galley - a place that had
been a good stowage spot up till that point.
It was 1:00 a.m.; Ed and I had gone off watch at midnight. We were asleep when the wind died. I woke to hear something flying across the
galley. We got up to find apricot goo
spread through the hall, and into the head, where the floor is made of wooden
slats - through which the filling had oozed.
It was just about impossible to clean up, partly because it was so
sticky, and partly because Tropic Moon was lurching from side to side. We cleaned up what we could, but didn't take
up the head floor till we were in port again, at which time Ed had to use a
putty knife to chip off the remaining dried-up filling. During the clean up, I was in the galley
when the gingerbread, in its corning ware baking dish, took off across the
room. I managed to catch it as it
passed over the sink.
Ed and I were on the "dawn watch" and a little
after daylight one morning about twenty dolphins joined Tropic Moon and stayed
with us, frolicking around, for about five minutes. That was a joyful sight.
The next morning, dawn watch again, a large fin passed right by the
boat. It was a whale, traveling with
some friends. I guess it had come in
close to take a look at us. Ed
estimated it at about twenty feet long.
And lastly, on one of our night watches, I had just given the wheel back
to Ed, and was settling down in the cockpit, when something went
"flap" and landed in my lap.
I accused Ed of throwing something at me. He was laughing, and said it was a flying fish. I was madly trying to get it out of my foul
weather jacket, where it was jumping around.
It was about six inches long. I
saved it to show our friends when they came on watch.
Tony and Joyce enjoyed the trip, and hated to see it
end. Entering the large port of
Charlotte Amalie on St. Thomas was a bittersweet experience for them. We had arrived in St. Thomas on a Saturday
morning, and their plane was scheduled to leave at 1:00 that afternoon! Goodbyes were hurried as our three weeks
together ended.
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