This be the tale of two intrepid mariners who set sail in the Caribbean in search of gold (aka RYA day skipper qualifications).
The yarn starts at the dockside of St. Georges harbour in the ancient seagoing nation of Grenada, a pleasant afternoon did not hint at the efforts to come. Midshipman Where The Fuck Are We (Midshipman WTFAW) and Cabinboy Deckant presented themselves at the dock and were taken aboard to meet Captain Hook No Fish and his trusty vessel Chao Lay. Oh yes, she was a fine lass, broad of beam and with classy lines, we liked the cut of her jib, a trusty sea gipsy if ever I did see one.
This was to be our abode for the next 7 days, days that would separate the men from the buoys. Well I should hope so, this isn't a catholic country is it?
This was never going to be a case of “water, water everywhere nor any rum to drink”, as Cabinboy Deckant had come well supplied and was taught how to mix a manly punch by Captain, one sour, two sweet, three strong, four weak. Cheers me hearties.
Grand Anse Bay, Point Saline, True Blue and Mt Hartman Bays all saw action over the first few days, men overboard drills, tacking and gybing under the watchful eye of Captain Hook No Fish, reefs were spotted and avoided - just, in fair winds and foul, we hoisted headsails and mains, swung the boom and narrowly avoid walking the plank. Captain was unhappy with us - our pilotage stank, we didn't know our cardinals from our diver down below marks, or our collision avoidance rules if they slapped us astern. And when it came to even knowing where we were, Midshipman WTFAW was as lost as a tuna off Captain Hook No Fish's hook.
Worse was to come, Captain worked us hard, after a days of exacting and draining manoeuvres, we turned north west and left the calm, familiar waters behind and sailed through the dark night to islands anew. The black leeward side of Grenada was a brooding hulk as we moved northwards, the darkness obliterating the inky waves on our bow, twas a hairy passage to be sure, to be sure.
After a tough journey Tyrrel Bay was unwelcoming, northerly swells to numb the heart. In the darkness we turned Chao Lay around and headed out to sea again to find a calmer mooring. The Sisters, western cardinals, winking nine times was an eerie sight. We took safe refuge on Sandy Island and fell quickly to our berths, deep below in Chao Lay's boiling hot heart. My berth was such a sauna that I set off the fire alarms a few times.
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| Keith aka WTFAW at the helm - dangerous...... |
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| the one that dodn't get away... |
The morning was fine and fair, Sandy Island was a white stripe in an azure sea, even ‘The Sisters’ winks were friendlier. Bathing meant a jump into the sea each morning to wash away yesterday’s salt and get a new layer to turn our skin to leather as the week passed. Our proficiency was also definitely improving by now as we were able to pee downwind off the back of the boat without backlash.
However, Midshipman WTFAW’s troubles were just starting, disappearing down the hatch to check his charts every few minutes, he looked to all the world like a meercat looking out for dangers, except Midshipman WTFAW had no idea where to look (sorry Keith).
Were the charts upside down, did latitude run left to right, port to bow, or up and down? Did true bearings have to have variation added or taken away to get magnetic, what of deviation for our lady’s metal bits? Did back bearings remain back bearings if they were off our bow? So much to take in, then there were reefs to avoid, islands to spot, which one is that one, and which one that, was I Carriacou, or Union, Palm Island or Mayreau, was that still Grenada, then? Oh dear, ‘ twas a muddle.
Everyday Captain Hook No Fish let off lines off the stern, with fishy tales of 20 kilo tuna and barracuda to take your hand off, we looked forward to eating well each night, sadly most days our hooks were unlucky and it was chicken and pasta again. To be fair on one run, the good lord must have been smiling at Cabinboy Deckant’s skeletal state and sent us a baby tuna and a barracuda, we dined likes kings at the captains table, we didn't mention the ones that got away tonight.
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| Cabinboy Decant at the helm - safer...... |
Mayreau came and went and the dangers of Tobago Cays were soon upon us, Cabinboy Deckant got to grasp with transits and clearing bearings, as we sailed our way through the jaws of hungry reefs to the calm blue waters of Tobago Cays and dropped anchor into the clear blue depths. Turtles were swimming around the boat, could we have that to eat asked Deckant? Sadly not, that too got away.
Forced off board we left trusty Chao Lay to the horrors of an inflatable dinghy that refused to let Deckant steer it, was left right or right left on this tiller, it never did tell him. Snorkeling brought the wonders of the reef to life, Captain Hook No Fish led the way but we caught nothing!
That dark night strangers came on board, some old contacts of captains from ancient years, dangerous men they were, with tales of earlier courses and the horrors of RYA yachtmaster examinations. Bloody and horrible they sounded.
But they sounded nothing like Captains accordion, oh no we would cry as every evening he tried to torture our ears with carols and sea shanties on his old accordion, as if we weren't in enough pain, Deckant took to the rum, at least that was his excuse. And finally de Captain put his accordion away and shut his cabin door. We were left to gaze at the stars and wonder what tomorrow had in store.
The trusted blackberry with it's Facebook and Twitter updates providing a steady supply of supportive messages from loved ones across the oceans. ‘Nautical but nice’ read one message which provided a boost.
At Petit Martinique we went ashore it had been days since we’d touched dry land, Palm Beach restaurant provided some welcome rations of cocktails and coconut shrimps, eaten on the sands above the spring high water mark, which was well above chart datum. We knew it was springs as it was full moon, in fact a very special full moon, a lunar eclipse no less and on the winter solstice too, the last time that occurred, the Mary Rose was afloat and Chao Lay was a twinkle in Neptune’s eye. At 4am the sky was clear and the moon full and then slowly as shadow crossed its face, it was us, I tried to make a rabbit but it didn't show. The moon was red and bright in the night sky, a sight to behold indeed. I lapsed into a cosmic phase for a while as I pondered life, the universe and how to drop anchor, but thoughts soon turned to breakfast of bacon, sausage and eggs.
At dawn it was as if nothing untoward had happened, had nobody else seen the moon turn red? Messages from land lubbers in Grenada and London confirmed that I wasn’t dreaming.
Many islands, passages and reefs away lay Carriacou, a morning’s sailing away and with Midshipman WTFAW in charge we didn't get lost or shipwrecked! It was time to go ashore for provisions, in the quaint one street town of Hillsborough. The tender came out again Deckant was happy to lower and raise it out of the water on the winches but he left the bucking bronco to others to steer.
Visits to the bakery, roti shop, rum shack and market for cassava ensued, this sure was a small place, Captain knew the ladies who drove the bus, and we took a trip across the island to Tyrell Bay, which looked a lot more welcoming in the day time, with its string of rum shacks. The local folk were very friendly, they didn't have to do the rya course and could be relaxed!! Turns out that many are from London town and have retired here, to the sunshine and blue seas, it is certainly a long way from the snowy slums of Mayfair.
We were becoming better sailors, and the big challenge was to come, a 35 mile passage back to southern Grenada, this time windward of the big island with its unchartered waters and reefs. Deckant kept Tantes and Sugarloaf to starboard, skirted a reef inside Green Island, then his tidal vectors went astray and whilst he kept Black Rock to his port, his leeway calculations left a little to be desired, nevertheless he found Grenville reef and its 8m depth contour, resulting in high fives with Midshipman WTFAW and waited for Captain Hook No Fish to pull in the promised haul. Bare, bare lines once more. We sailed on empty handed dreaming of kingfish and ocean grouper.
Keeping St. David's two cables to starboard, bearings were sought and found for The Porpoises, nasty and dangerous unmarked little fuckers and Prickly Point came into view, a welcome relief after what seemed like a major ocean passage, we had survived and triumphed.
Captain Hook No Fish had done his job well and turned unlikely Midshipman WTFAW and Cabinboy Deckant into day skippers, we had indeed returned with gold and treasured memories. To celebrate we went ashore to a local bawdy tavern called 'de Big Fish' and dined like kings on chicken, Captain Hook No Fish living up to his name right to the end.
With huge thanks to Alex starring as Captain Hook No Fish, and Keith starring as Midshipman Where The Fuck Are We. May we all sail together again and relive this happy journey of exploring and learning. Land ahoy me hearties.
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