1980 (12) - St. Lucia

The Pitons, St. Lucia - Internet photo.

To go to the beginning of this book, Tropic Moon: Memories, click HERE.

The next morning, with a favorable wind, we again headed for St. Lucia.  Tropic Moon was pointed southwest, with a southeast wind.  We had a beautiful beam reach, doing the 25 miles in 4-1/2 hours.  We sailed to Castries, the capital of St. Lucia.  Our anchorage was outside of town at the St. Lucia Yacht Services in Vigie Cove.  It was a Friday afternoon, so we hurried by taxi into Castries to take care of our business.  When a boat plans to stay at an island less than 72 hours, it can be cleared in and out of customs at the same time. 

Our afternoon in Castries was a good example of what it was like to take Ed anywhere.  By the time we finished at Customs, Ed was already limping.  We went a block down the street to American Express.  Ed plopped in a chair to massage his leg, while I took care of getting more travelers checks.  We then walked a couple blocks to a large department store.  I was picking out Mother’s Day cards; when I looked around, Ed was on the floor.  We moved to the book section, shopping for paperbacks, and did our selecting with Ed scanning the lower shelves from the floor.

The next stop was the supermarket.  I left Ed sitting on the front steps, writing out the Mother’s Day cards, while I did the shopping.  When I came out of the store, I piled the groceries around Ed.  He waited there while I walked to the post office.  I got there just after it closed, but ran into a helpful postal employee.  He told me about a stamp machine in the wall, and explained that 50 cents in local stamps would send a letter, airmail, to the States.  I fed quarters (EC currency) into the stamp machine – and emptied it.  I ended up with only two stamps – enough to mail one card.  The man came up to me, and I told him my problem.  I had two Mother’s Day cards to mail, one to my mother, and one to my mother-in-law, and could only mail one.  Which one should I send?  He threw up his hands, as if indicating this was a problem too difficult even for Solomon.  I opted to mail the card to my mother-in-law.  I explained I was on a sailboat leaving the island.  I asked him if he’d post the other card for me on Monday.  I gave him the card, and the fifty cents.  (Both Moms received their cards.) 

I headed back to Ed, and babysat the groceries, while he hobbled across the street to a hardware store.  A taxi driver had his eye on us.  When Ed came out of the store, we took the taxi back to Vigie Cove.

The motor yacht, Kalizma (Elizabeth Taylor’s old boat), was also anchored in Vigie Cove.  We talked with Sam, the boat’s agent.  We asked about Jonathan, Kalizma’s first mate, whom we’d known in Grenada.  Sam told us that Jonathan had died in a scuba diving accident, at the Pitons, on Easter Sunday.  Altogether, I think we heard three different versions of Jonathan’s death, but it seems he dove with only half a tank of air, and ran out.  He either suffocated, or had a heart attack, or maybe both go together.  As Sam said, the women were all crying - Jonathan was quite the lady’s man.  Jonathan’s body was sent to Trinidad, to be cremated, but then the government in Trinidad refused to release the ashes.  We gathered that the Trinidad folk didn’t like white South Africans, and claimed there was some problem with the passport….  A couple months later, we heard that Sam was still faring, unsuccessfully, in getting Jonathan’s ashes back from Trinidad.

Postcard

The only stop, other than Castries, that we had planned for St. Lucia was a visit to the Pitons.  We sailed there the next day.  The Pitons are a famous tourist attraction.  They’re a pair of impressive mountains, nearly 2700 feet high.  They seem to rise almost vertically when you’re close under them.  The bay, Anse de Piton, is tucked between the two peaks.  The water in the bay is very deep.  The method of anchoring is to go up close to the shore, drop the anchor, and swing the boat around, backing in, to tie a stern line to a palm tree on shore.  Some local kids were earning money by taking stern lines and tying them to palm trees.  We had two helpful young fellows who, when asked, provided their own version of Jonathan’s death.

Normally, Anse de Piton would have been packed with sailboats, anchored side by side.  But, as it was race week up north in Antigua, there were a total of three boats there that night.  Winds howled eerily down the mountain and through the bay.  I was very uncomfortable there.  While standing on deck that night, I felt like someone was looking over my shoulder.  I quickly turned, but only saw the dark mountain looming above me.  Perhaps it was the thought of Jonathan dying there that had me spooked.  I was very glad to leave the next morning.  We took several slides of the Pitons, but none of them came out.  The battery on our light meter also died at the Pitons.  Those were the only pictures from our travels that we lost.

1980 (11) - Trying to Leave Martinique

Postcard

To go to the beginning of this book, Tropic Moon: Memories, click HERE.

When we were ready to leave Fort de France, Ed decided he wanted to sail out of the anchorage.  I wasn't keen on the idea because, although we were at the head of the pack and could sail forward, there were an awful lot of people around to see us if we made a goof.  My objection duly noted, Ed raised the mainsail and mizzen, and went forward to the anchor.  My job was to put Tropic Moon where Ed wanted her.  For example, I'd pull in on the main sheet, the sail would fill with wind, and the boat would move forward, allowing Ed to pull in on the anchor rope.  (Note:  Tropic Moon didn't have an anchor winch - not even a manual one.)  Once the bow was over the anchor, I worked the main sheet, pulling the boom from side to side, pointing the sail in line with the wind.  This kept the sail luffing - and not pulling us forward.

When Ed had the anchor up, he came back to adjust the sails.  I took the wheel, and we fell off to starboard, sailing past the anchored boats.  Once out of the anchorage, we turned to starboard again, raised the jib sail, and headed westward for five miles to the entrance of Fort de France bay.  Outside the mouth of the bay, we pointed south, towards St. Lucia, and into the teeth of a S-SE wind.  It was a beautiful day for a sail, the blues of the ocean and sky rivaling each other in intensity, puffy white clouds floating by above.  We spotted a pair of shiny black whales.  They were between us and the island, and were having what looked like a great time, shooting out from the water, and diving back in.

We just wondered where the ever-dependable (HA!) northeast trade winds were, and why the wind was coming from the south.  Despite Tropic Moon's best efforts, we gradually drifted westward, taking us away from the line to St. Lucia.  After a few hours of sailing, it became apparent that the head wind would keep us from reaching St. Lucia during daylight.  We decided to put in at Ste. Anne for the night.  Ed started the engine, and we motor-sailed eastward, along the southern coast of Martinique.  It was our day for wildlife.  About a dozen dolphins joined us, frolicking alongside the boat.

Nothing ever topped the joy of dolphins swimming near the boat!

On reaching Ste. Anne, we decided to anchor off the beach.  I was at the wheel, while Ed was on the cabin top, furling the mainsail.  He wasn't paying any attention to where I was going.  While I was well aware of shallow areas to be avoided, I had thought I was clear of them.  I wasn't, and we came to an abrupt halt - a really strange feeling on a sailboat.  Since I'd been going slowly, there wasn't even a jarring motion; we just stopped.  I pulled the gearshift into neutral.  Ed told me to put it in reverse, with full power.  Tropic Moon pulled off, but the stern bore to the right, and we backed onto another shoal.  I put the boat in forward, with the wheel over to port, and we drove away, leaving a murky underwater cloud.  It did occur to us that, had we taken a taxi from Ste. Anne to Fort de France in the first place to clear customs, we could have avoided all this extra time and effort!

1980 (10) - A Boat Named Lyra

The anchorage at Fort de France, Martinique.  Internet photo

To go to the beginning of this book, Tropic Moon: Memories, click HERE.

On April 21^st, we sailed from Ste. Anne to Fort de France, to clear customs to leave Martinique.  While we were in Fort de France, a boat named Lyra arrived.  We had been anchored near Lyra for about a month in St. Maarten, but had only met Sandra and Leo when we were leaving the island. The day after Lyra arrived in Martinique, I invited them over to Tropic Moon for drinks. 

Sandra’s first comment, when she climbed on board, was to mention that the boat people in Martinique must be really lonely.  While they were still putting down their anchor, a boat they didn’t know invited them over for drinks.  Then some people on a powerboat extended a dinner invitation, to follow after Sandra and Leo had drinks with us.  Rather than be cool about it, and say I’d just wanted to see them again, I started telling them they wouldn’t believe how lonely I’d been.  I missed having a conversation with someone who spoke English.

Sandra and Leo were from Montreal (where he was in electronics, and she was a psychologist).  In 3-1/2 years, they had sailed Lyra as far south as Martinique.  We had finally met someone who traveled as slow as us….  Whenever Leo and Sandra were running low on funds, they stopped and worked.  They’d spent eight months in Puerto Rico, where Leo had a carpentry job.  They had just been in St. Barths (a French island) for four months, while Sandra worked in a boutique.  They’re bilingual in French and English; Leo also speaks Dutch, as he was originally from Holland.  While in St. Barths, Leo rewired a house for a man who collected solar panels.  Leo took one in payment for that job, so Lyra, like us, charged with solar energy. 

We bonded with Sandra and Leo.  We talked about the loneliness, the boredom, and the alienation from the life back home – as well as the many good parts of the cruising life.  We talked about politics, and religion, and not having children.  We both had some funny stories on that last one.  The people of the islands placed a high importance on having children.  We were frequently asked if we had kids.  I told one taxi driver that no, I didn’t have children, and didn’t want any.  He snapped back that I’d better not let my husband hear me talking like that!  He mellowed, and then waxed eloquent, after I asked him if he had kids.  He described his little daughter to me, obviously the prettiest and brightest child there ever was!  Large families were popular.  My “vegetable lady” in Grenada, and my “laundry lady” in Antigua each had ten children.

I asked Sandra how she answered the question.  She said she’d given up trying to explain about birth control pills.  She just shrugged her shoulders.  Sandra and Leo had spent four months in Haiti, probably the poorest island in the Caribbean.  While the Haitians were the poorest people they’d ever met, they were also the happiest and, in Sandra and Leo’s opinions, the most beautiful, physically, of all the islanders they’d seen.  Children and family were very important on Haiti.  Because Lyra stayed there several months, they became well known to the local people.  There was general concern that Sandra and Leo didn’t have children.  Leo said that after several months in the Bahamas, he had lost a lot of weight, and was skin and bones by the time they reached Haiti.  People looked at Sandra, and looked at Leo, and decided he was the one with the problem.  Several people approached him to offer potions to help him out!  Even the immigration officer was concerned, and told Sandra there were good doctors on the island who dealt with those types of problems.

Having company on a boat was a far cry from having company in a house.  We had to think about weather, and other environmental considerations.  The anchorage at Fort de France had the tendency to be very rolly, and this night was one of the worst.  All the boats in the harbor were rocking heavily from side to side.  We were sitting in our cockpit when the people on the powerboat, who had invited Sandra and Leo for dinner, came by in their dingy.  They said they had to cancel, because it was too rough to cook.  Our new friends were disappointed, so I invited them to stay and have dinner with us.  They accepted.  Ed, who was thinking a little more clearly than me (too much rum & coke), asked me what I planned on fixing.  I said, not to worry, and headed down below.  I quickly realized how difficult it was going to be to cook, despite the gimballed stove.  It was too late for my company quiche, which takes an hour to bake.  I decided on a tuna, macaroni, and cucumber salad.  The only part needing cooking was the macaroni.  With French bread, a cake I’d baked earlier, and the bottle of wine Lyra had planned on taking to the powerboat, we managed fine.

1980 (9) - Bourg Ste. Anne, Martinique

Diamond Rock (small bump on left) at sunset.  Taken from Bourg Ste. Anne

To go to the beginning of this book, Tropic Moon: Memories, click HERE.

All the churches in the French islands ring their church bells, tolling the hours.  In Fort de France there were two churches within hearing distance, plus a noon siren, as well as our own marine clock, which chimed ships bells.  No two ever sounded at the same time, making the changing of the hour rather noticeable.  On Easter Sunday, at 10:00 a.m., I thought I heard the church bell chime eleven times.  I listened more carefully at 11:00 a.m., and counted twelve bells.  I mentioned this to Ed, and he, (not being one to fool around), glanced across the water to the clock on the church steeple, to verify Fort de France was, indeed, one hour ahead us.  We realized the island had gone on daylight savings time, but decided not to change our clocks, and to live in our very own time zone. 

Ste. Anne's Chapel

We didn't hear any church bells in Anse d'Arlet.  When we reached Ste. Anne, we were surprised to find their church on Tropic Moon time.  We decided it was some sort of independent move on their part.  Some time later, a Martinique student solved our time zone mystery.  We learned that for the first time in ages (maybe forever?), Europe had decided to go on daylight savings time.  Martinique, being a Department of France, had followed suit.  When the clocks were set ahead and everyone had to get up an hour earlier, the students weren't too happy about it.  After a week of protests, and student demonstrations, the government had returned the island to Atlantic Standard Time.

The Calvary is at the top of the hill

Ste. Anne was a small, pleasant village, and the people were friendly.  A beautiful Calvary, with stone monuments, climbs the steep hill behind Ste. Anne's church.  The Calvary formed the Stations of the Cross, marking the fourteen steps on Christ's journey to his death.  There were stone steps, and gradual inclines, zigzagging between the Stations, as they wound their way up the hill.  My Catholic upbringing came in handy, because I could explain to Ed the background behind the religious statues and monuments.  I told Ed that people are supposed to stop and pray at each Station, and what they pray for is the strength to make it up to the next one!  That wasn't such a joke in Ed's case.  Because of his pains, he stopped several times to stretch out on the walls, to relieve the cramps in his leg.  It was the week after Easter, and each marble monument was covered with partially burned candles. 

Station of the Cross, with burned candles

The view from the top of the Calvary was magnificent; you could see miles of island and seas in several directions.  The beauty was enhanced by the contrast between the white marbles and stone steps, and the bright reds, oranges and purples of the bougainvillea and flamboyant trees.  I had brought the camera along and took several pictures, including some of a miniature Tropic Moon floating far below us.

The view from the Calvary.  Tropic Moon is the second boat out.
Diamond Rock is the small bump on the horizon.

We moved the boat again, this time to the mile-long beach to the north of Ste. Anne.  The beach was lovely, and usually deserted.  It was part of a park and campground; cars paid a fee to come into the area.  I walked in and out several times with no one paying me any attention.  When Sunday came around, our beach really sprang to life.  Cars and buses arrived in the park, disgorging crowds of people onto the beaches.  Wind surfers and sunfish zipped across the water, making colorful patchwork against the blue green of the sea.  Tropic Moon became the tacking buoy in a sailboat race, giving us a grandstand view.  Snorkelers risked life and limb, finning their ways facedown through all the activity; some trailed bright balloons as warnings to the boaters.  Music and laughter wafted out to us across the water.

Three young women swam out to Tropic Moon, and were complimenting Ed on his "pretty boat."  I came on deck and invited them aboard.  They told us they were French language exchange students from Wellesley, Massachusetts.  They were highly flattered when we mistook them for Wellesley College students.  They explained they were mere "enfants" from the high school.  The young women were part of a coed group of fifteen exchange students.  They were at the beach with the fifteen Martinique students who had visited them in Wellesley a few weeks before.  Over the course of the day about twenty of the thirty young people visited Tropic Moon.  It was fun at first, but we did get a little tired of answering the same questions over and over.  One of the young women asked our ages, and I told her we were in our thirties.  It was a little disconcerting when she replied, "So are my parents"!  They enjoyed being on the boat, were very polite, and apologized for imposing on us (which they weren't, really).  Most asked to dive off the bow (the highest point of Tropic Moon's deck), when they headed back to the beach.

1980 (8) - Health Problems

Ed in his pareu - bought at Ste. Anne, Martinique

To go to the beginning of this book, Tropic Moon: Memories, click HERE.

During our fourteen years on Tropic Moon, receiving mail from home was an ongoing challenge – especially in the islands.  When we decided we’d be staying in Martinique for a while, we’d given our family a ‘Poste Restante’ (General Delivery) address for Fort de France.  We had our mail addressed to Mr. & Mrs. Edward Baardsen. 

The guardian of Poste Restante was ‘tres formidable.’  When I tried to collect our mail – though I had both of our passports with me – all I got was a slew of French in my direction.  I finally caught the word ‘Monsieur,’ and called Ed over.  He’d been waiting by the door.  That made her happy, and she gave us our mail.  You see, my name, ‘Jean,’ wasn’t written in the address….  The same lady was usually at the window.  After a while, she was getting to know us, and came really close to smiling.  We only checked the mail twice a week, so as not to antagonize her.

Post Office, Fort de France.  Photo from the Internet

Ed had started having some pain in his lower back while we were home over Christmas.  When we were back in Antigua, he decided to see if he was better by trying to touch his toes.  Somewhere along the way, he did some serious damage.  For about a week in Antigua, he could barely get out of his bed.  Ed rigged up a pulley system, with a rope noose, at the foot of his berth.  He would put his foot in the loop, and pull on the rope to lift his leg, putting some traction on it.  After a certain height, he wasn’t able to straighten out his leg.  He was also having problems if he sat up too long.  We weren’t able to imagine what was causing the problems. 

Though Ed would improve for a while, the pains returned, affecting different areas in his back and legs.  While in the Saints, he was getting cramps in his right leg.  Not one to let a little pain stop him, he and I hiked over hill and dale, into town and back.  Ed even climbed the local mountain, Le Chameau (by himself, it was too steep for me).  By Martinique Ed was in worse shape, and could only walk a short distance before getting shooting pains down his leg.  He finally quit going into town, except for the mail, as the post office was just down the street from the dinghy pier. 

Map, Martinique

We left Fort de France after three weeks, and sailed to Anse d'Arlet, a bay on the southwest corner of Martinique, where we stayed for almost a week.  From there, we decided to go the Bourg Ste. Anne, a small village on the south coast of the island.  It took us seven hours to sail from Anse d'Arlet to Ste. Anne.  I was getting rather tired toward the end of the day.  We’d been traveling to windward, tacking several times to avoid the shallows near the coast.  Ed was in one of his "sailing purist" moods, and didn't want to start the engine to motor in.  It appeared to me we’d need at least a couple more tacks to reach the village.  So I suggested we anchor off a beach.  Long, curving beaches graced either side of the town.  Ed asked, “Which one?" I pointed straight ahead, and said, "That one!"  I didn't want to face even one more tack.  We anchored off the beach, and then sat through two days of heavy rains.  When the weather cleared, we motored over to anchor off the village of Ste. Anne.

1980 (7) - Fort de France, Martinique

Postcard

To go to the beginning of this book, Tropic Moon: Memories, click HERE.

Martinique was our first “repeat” island.  We’d been in Fort de France the year before, with Tony and Joyce, as we made our way north from Grenada to the Virgin Islands.  During our three-day visit in Martinique, we’d been more like tourists, eating out two nights, and wandering through the city of Fort de France on a Sunday, when all the shops were closed, and the streets were deserted.  That turned out to be an unrealistic indication of what it would it would be like to live at the island for several weeks. 

Fort de France was a big, hectic, bustling city with a population of around 100,000.  When I walked through the streets on a weekday, I’d almost think the whole 100,000 were out there hurrying along with me.  It was a city with a life of its own, quite apart from the influences of tourism.  Martinique was noted for its beautiful women. Empress Josephine, Napoleon's wife, was from Martinique.  There's a larger-than-life, Carrara marble statue of her in the Savanne, a beautiful 12-acre park near the harbor. 

Harbor at Fort de France

To me, there didn't appear to be racial stratification in Martinique.  I saw people of every shade and hue.  Part of what made the people so attractive was their attention to appearance and fashion.  The feminine daytime apparel was far dressier than anything I’d ever worn in my life.  Treacherous high heels, with no support other than a strap across the toes, left me in awe.  I enjoyed sitting on the steps of the post office, watching the passing parade, and feeling a bit like Cinderella, B.F.G. (Before Fairy Godmother). 

There were many beautiful buildings, new and old.  When my shopping took me across town, I made a point of varying the streets I walked.  The traffic was almost frightening to a simple pedestrian, long out of practice with city walking.  Cars, motorcycles, and mopeds frantically flew by, coming to jarring stops at the corners, and then speeding off for another block.  Salvation came from the fact that almost all the streets were one-way, with one-directional danger.

We’d been cruising in French islands - Guadeloupe and Les Saintes - but the fact that I really can't speak French didn't become totally apparent until we reached Martinique.  The truth surfaced because, when we stop at an island for a while, we start working on the boat, run low on supplies, and a certain amount of shopping has to be done.

The grocery stores were easy because items had the prices marked on them.  By watching other customers, I learned where to get my fruits and vegetables weighed and priced.  If I couldn't catch what the checker said, I looked at the cash register to read the total.  The clerks had methods for dealing with ignorant foreigners.  While I was mentally trying to work out what I needed in French francs, they would be taking the correct amount of money from their drawer, to spread on the counter for me to match.

Fort de France.  Photo from the Internet

When we needed some new screws or some rope, I would take a sample around with me to the marine stores.  The drain hose from the sink in the head had started to leak, and we needed new piping.  Unfortunately, we didn't think to take a sample with us.  We were sent from store to store, armed with the French words for plastic pipe.  At the third store, we found a man who was determined to help us.  He didn't know any English, but would work out what I was trying to say, and then repeat it to the man in the office.  Yes, they had plastic pipe.  Vingt centimeters? (20 centimeters in diameter?).  Oui.  Trois metres longueur? (3 meters in length?).  After a bit of not understanding, I gathered there was a 6-meter minimum (about 20 feet).  Ed wanted to know the price, and what I deciphered sounded reasonable.  I went into the office, where the manager wrote out my bill.  I came back out to find Ed shaking his head over a 6-meter section of rigid plastic pipe.  Our friend looked concerned.  I made lots of bending, flexing motions with my hands.  The light dawned.  With a "follow me" signal, he led us across the street to another store, and pointed in the window at just what we wanted.

I was less than happy with Ed when he decided he needed more bedding compound.  (That’s a thick, viscous, waterproof mixture that is laid down where fittings are to be fastened, to keep moisture out, and prevent rot.)  There was no way I was going to try to translate bedding compound into French!  We went through the several marine stores in Fort de France, and even spoke to clerks who knew some English, and who tried to sell us everything from glue to paint to screws.  Unfortunately, none of them had ever heard of bedding compound.

1980 (6) - Passage to Martinique

Martinique is labeled in orange, half-way down the island chain.

To go to the beginning of this book, Tropic Moon: Memories, click HERE.

Facing a 100-mile passage to Martinique, we decided to do an overnight sail.  We left the Saints on March 13^th, at 4:00 p.m., and anchored at Fort de France, Martinique, at noon the following day.  Ed had said it would probably take us twenty hours and it did, exactly.  Our last overnight sail had been three months before, when we headed from St. Maarten to Antigua.  It had really been a trial for me.  But since even my own mother, who wouldn't go anywhere on a sailboat, for love or money, thought that I got unduly upset, I decided this overnight passage would be different.  I pictured myself relaxed, and enjoying the sail, watching Orion march his way across the sky.  Well, it wasn't quite like that. 

While we averaged 5 knots for the trip, that was a combination of flying along at 8-9 knots, with reefed mainsail and no mizzen, when we were between the coasts of the islands, feeling the full force of the Atlantic, contrasted with one dead calm we had to motor through, and 3-4 knot sailing while in the lee of Dominica.  We encountered rough waters between the islands.  A few times we were buried under walls of water, one of which knocked me to the full length of my safety harness.  The wave tried to wash the man-overboard pole, and a cockpit cushion, overboard.  Ed grabbed me, I grabbed the cushion, and the pole got tangled in the mizzen boom topping lift, so we were able to pull it back on board.

Fort de France, Martinique, taken from Tropic Moon

I suppose I got more sleep than Ed.  I didn't go below all night.  Instead I curled up on the cockpit cushions behind where Ed stood at the wheel, and napped there.  That way I didn't have to worry about his disappearing over the side, because I could open my eyes and see him.  I only got sick once on the trip, which was a vast improvement over the previous night passage.  I had made a supper before we left the Saints, so Ed could eat when he got hungry.  I just gave him a withering look when he asked me if I was going to eat too. 

I had been asleep, and woke up to find us in the lee of Dominica.  Ed pointed out the lights of the town of Roseau to me.  I had expected to be able to see the outlines of the island's mountains, even at night, but I couldn't make out anything.  That caused me to worry that we were heading straight into the island by mistake.  I kept imagining I saw mountains ahead of us.  (Note:  this was a decade before personal GPS.  Many sailboats had satellite navigation, and most boats had radar.  We had neither.)  I was relieved when we felt the tug of the Atlantic again, and knew we had passed the southern tip of Dominica. 

Another unnerving thing that night was a large ship that looked like a huge, lit-up parking lot.  It was sailing in our direction at something like a 90-degree angle to our path.  Ed could tell we wouldn't be out of its way before it reached us, so we fell off to starboard, and ran downwind to avoid it.  A couple mornings later, a similar-looking vessel sailed into the harbor at Fort de France.  The ship belonged to the U.S. Navy, and carried helicopters and beach landing craft on its decks.  It entered the harbor at 8:00 a.m., using its peashooters to give a 21-gun salute.  The local officialdom responded with their own 21-gun salute, from the cannons at the fort, which boomed and reverberated through the entire anchorage, and got everyone on deck in a hurry!

1979 (3) - First Cruise

Our first cruise took us from Grenada, north to the U.S. Virgin Islands

To go to the beginning of this book, Tropic Moon: Memories, click HERE.

Grenada, April 13, 1979

Tony and Joyce were due yesterday, but called a couple days ago to say they will arrive Monday, the 16^th.  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 19^th 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.