During the first week of March, the more I read the news, the more I realised life here in the Caribbean was not in a protected bubble but would be changing very soon. With the Coronavirus spreading rapidly around the world and hundreds of people starting to die from it every day, it was only a matter of time before the effects were felt in Antigua. It began to feel like human civilisation was playing out the script of a far fetched Netflix series, completely surreal.

lockdown anchorage off Pigeon Beach

For what seemed like an age after many countries had started lockdowns, life in Antigua continued as normal, planes landed, charter boats still crammed the anchorages and cruise ship passengers from all over the world still walked the streets and packed out the bars and cafes. With the future becoming so uncertain I decided it was sensible to get Fathom stocked up for the Atlantic crossing when I could. I sailed a few miles down the coast from Falmouth Harbour to Jolly Harbour for a few days to visit the better supermarket and make the most of the greater selection. On the way I passed close to the beautiful J-Class yachts Velsheda and Lionheart match racing in a regatta. It would turn out to be their last race for the foreseeable future, the next day both Classic Yacht Week and Race Week were cancelled. The excitement and buzz around the harbours of Antigua dimmed instantly and there was a big sense of disbelief. Back at Falmouth I moored Fathom on the dock for a couple of days to top up the diesel tank and jerry cans and plugged into a shore power connection to give the batteries a conditioning cycle. Then back to my favourite local anchorage off Pigeon beach to see what would play out. I had everything I needed to be self sufficient except drinking water which was easy to get hold of.

By the end of March there was a lot of uncertainty and a considerable sense of fear circulating as no one quite knew how bad it would get. With less than 20 ventilators on the island and a population of over 80,000 there was a real risk of a major disaster. Flights were now being cancelled and many sailors were rushing to haul out their boats, ship them across the ocean or leave them in a marina and get back home when they still could. Hurricane season was only a couple of months away. On the 28th the authorities introduced a curfew meaning beaches, bars and restaurants would close. Furthermore, cruisers living on their boats would only be allowed ashore between 0600 and 2000 for a visit to the supermarket. Break the rules and face a $5,000 fine and or 6 months in jail. During the last afternoon of freedom a group of us enjoyed some beers on the beach and I went for a final run up in the hills. It was great to finally catch up with Barney, an old uni mate who I hadn’t seen since graduation in 2006. He is now Captain of Velsheda, one of the most beautiful yachts ever built. On the 1st April, a state of emergency was declared and a full lockdown was introduced with no one in Antigua allowed to move around unless for an essential hospital visit or food shop between the hours of 0800 and 1200. Everything fell eerily silent.

last afternoon before lockdown

last afternoon before lockdown

J Class yachts racing

neck warmer as face mask

Fathom on the dock

Lockdown anchorage

Being confined to my boat for extended periods of time is something I have become quite used to over the last few years and I never find it a problem, but being positioned a few metres off a beautiful beach and not allowed to step ashore is a very different feeling to being in the open ocean. I couldn’t complain with the situation I now found myself in; reliable internet connection with data to burn, swimming and snorkelling off the boat for exercise whenever I wanted and friends anchored next door. I was lucky. In not such a fortunate position were friends currently at sea who were struggling with the uncertainty of where they could legally make landfall. David and Amy on ‘Starry Horizons’ were sailing up the South Atlantic and with more Caribbean islands going into lockdown each day they were running out of options. I continued to email them updates and thankfully they made it to Antigua two days before the island closed it’s borders. Mike and Marie on ‘Roke’ were on passage from Panama to the Marquesas and after a month at sea were unaware of the Coronoavirus situation. It was not an easy satellite text message to write as I updated them that the authorities in French Polynesia might require them to leave their boat in Tahiti and fly out on arrival. I won’t type Mike’s reply to me! Even here in the Caribbean, the rules and regulations on other islands were far more harsh than in Antigua; swimming off your boat in Saint Maarten was illegal and risked a fine and people were only allowed to visit the grocery store in Grenada once a week at a time dictated by the first letter of their surname.

The weeks went by relatively fast and I actually started to enjoy all the time I now had for catching up on writing and for the opportunity to reflect on my voyage over the last four years. I finally managed to finish another piece for Yachting Monthly magazine that I had been struggling to write for a while, it should be published in the late summer/autumn. I even started to think about what the future might hold but didn’t get very far with that. The lack of available outdoor space on 8.5m Fathom did spur me on to being creative and I discovered that the dinghy hoisted alongside made a nice comfortable seat for a sundowner! It also provided the perfect position to watch the diving Pelicans during their feeding frenzy every evening, just after the sun had dipped below the horizon. I wasn’t alone either as Greg on ‘Nebula’ was anchored alongside as well as Denis on ‘Oriana’ and new friends Ben and Caroline on ‘Balou’. We were all planning to sail back to the UK soon and met up regularly for catchups – respecting social distancing of course! Greg’s wife Jenny had flown back to the UK at the end of February to visit her unwell Mother and her return flight to Antigua in early April had been cancelled. With no possibility of reuniting in the near future Greg would now be a reluctant solo sailor back across the Atlantic. Fresh food continued to be in good supply with the two local supermarkets nearby well stocked with fresh produce. Face protection was now mandatory and I had to make do with a thermal neck warmer which was very hot and not so ideal for the tropics. It also gave me the appearance of someone who was planning to rob a bank! I later upgraded to a rasta style mask which was much more suitable.

social distancing in the dinghies

lockdown snorkelling

lockdown snorkelling

Ben, Caroline, Greg and Denis

stocking up

winch service

David and Amy

rasta mask

Finally, on the 23rd April, the outlook started to look more positive. There had been 24 confirmed cases on the island and sadly 3 deaths but thankfully no evidence of any community transmission. The curfew was relaxed and it was possible to exercise ashore again between 06:00 and 1800, some restaurants opened for takeaway which was exciting as cooking for myself night after night had become very dull. Denis was getting impatient to leave so decided to set sail for the Azores before the end of the month despite the unsettled Atlantic weather. He likes a good challenge having sailed his other boat, a 27 foot Albin Vega ‘Lizzie G’, solo from the UK to America against the prevailing winds and currents and has no satellite communications onboard or means of obtaining weather forecasts at sea. We went out in our dinghies to wave him off. My visa had been automatically extended until the end of May so there was no rush to leave and the rest of us decided to wait a little longer for better weather. One afternoon as I looked over some old photos from the confines of my locked down boat I realised it was the 3 year anniversary of my landfall in the Marquesas after 38 days at sea. I could never have imagined back then what a different place the world would become before I had sailed home. The unlimited freedom to explore is for now, at least, no longer possible.

The first days of May were busy with preparations for another long ocean crossing. It had been over 12 months since I had completed my circumnavigation in Grenada and I had not done more than a day sail since so a bit of adjustment to the mindset was needed. I began to feel that knot in my stomach I always get before heading off to sea, a combination of a little anxiety, excitement and anticipation I think. The coastguard granted me permission to move so I made one last trip down the coast to Jolly Harbour for a night which was a much needed shakedown sail. It was great to finally hoist the anchor after being in the same spot for six weeks and so nice to catch up with David and Amy on ‘Starry Horizons’ who I hadn’t seen since Australia. Amy spoiled me with some fantastic cooking and David kindly offered to get some drone footage of Fathom under sail, the first ever taken and the results are amazing. The five hour beat back to Falmouth harbour was a reminder that I much prefer the wind from astern but I am not sure how much of that there will be over the next weeks.

I type this now a couple of days before setting sail for Horta in the Azores which is currently open for yachts to stop to reprovision for a few days. I really hope that by the time I get there restrictions will have eased enough that it will be possible to step ashore, otherwise I am going to be onboard for the best part of 2 months. I have always wanted to visit those islands and it is where I was aiming for when I set off from the UK in 2016 as part of the Jester Azores challenge before diverting to Spain. Four years later I guess you could say I just took the long route! It is a very strange feeling to be starting the final leg towards home, something which always seemed so far in the future. The next chapter of my life is lingering close beyond the horizon.

I had been looking forward to visiting Antigua for a long time. Renowned for it’s racing regattas and parties it promised to be good fun. The sail up from Guadeloupe on the 29th January was one of the best, a beam reach in 15kts wind under cotton wool clouds and I made landfall mid afternoon, anchoring Fathom next to Tiama off Piegeon Beach in Falmouth Harbour. Turtles swam close alongside and stingrays glided under the keel in the beautifully clear water. At the end of the bay huge superyachts and the tall rigs of the J Class yachts dominated the skyline while the sound of Bob Marley drifted out across the water from the beach bar. My initial impressions were positive.

Low Bay, Barbuda

The following morning it was a short walk to Nelson’s Dockyard in English Harbour to visit customs and immigration. The area was named after Admiral Nelson who lived in the Royal Navy Dockyard from 1784 through to 1787 and it is now part of a national park and UNESCO world heritage site. Many of the old buildings have been restored and you get a feel of how it would have looked back in the day. It’s naturally a tourist trap with a few restaurants, cafes and shops on site and plenty of seating available alongside the marina for the envious to sit and look at how the other half live. It is undeniably a pretty place. Falmouth Harbour on the other hand is much bigger and spread out with a large number of small bars and restaurants along the main street. Both of the harbours are a bit of a bubble catering for the upmarket yachting industry, charter boats and cruise ship passengers and prices reflect that. Over the following few days I started to become a little disenchanted with the busy bars full of flashy superyacht and race crews, dressed in their pristine team uniforms and splashing the cash. After so long as a vagabond sailor, and having spent most of the last four years living the simple life with likeminded cruisers in remote corners of the globe, I found myself feeling a bit out of place. I did though meet some interesting people including a couple of crew from Maiden, the yacht Tracy Edwards skippered in the 1989 Whitbread race with an all female crew. She still owns the boat and it is sailing around the world again to raise awareness for girl’s education. I was also pleasantly suprised to discover the Antigua Yacht Club ran a happy hour from 4 to 7pm every day with any drink 5 East Caribbean dollars, the equivalent of £1.50. The only place I could find that seems to cater for visiting cruisers and I felt at home there with my holed shorts and 20 dollar sunglasses!

morning exercise

with Harry and Isy at Shirley Heights

Shirley Heights

Michael, Anna & Tuamos

opening a Ti-Punch bar!

Velsheda support boat a little close

sailing to Barbuda

sailing to Barbuda

overtaking Nebula!

Low Bay, Barbuda

sunset at Barbuda

cooking dinner

super moon at anchor

start of the Carib 600 race

It was soon time to bid Dustin bon voyage. He was pointing the bow towards Saint Maarten then on to the BVI and the Panama Canal before sailing back to Hawaii later in the year, a feat that will make him the first double amputee to sail solo around the world. His story is both shocking and inspiring; hit by a drunk driving a lorry, losing his left arm and leg in the accident, ending up $450,000 dollars in debt to his insurance company as a result, on food stamps and then his insurance denying him medical care. When all seemed lost he declared bankruptcy and began to rebuild his life, taught himself to sail by watching youtube videos and sold everything he had to buy a $12,000 sailboat! Now, ten years on, he is achieving incredible things. We have so many mutual friends from our respective voyages across the Indian Ocean and the South Atlantic i’m not sure why it took until Grenada in November for our paths to finally cross. I’m glad they did as the Caribbean has certainly been far more memorable as a result. Fair winds to the pirate!

February seemed to disappear quickly and I spent my days trying to write and work through the job list. Fathom was treated to a new toilet (head) after the 30 year old original developed a crack and started leaking (not pleasant!). I made a couple of trips along the coast to Jolly Harbour for a change of scenery and to stock up at the better supermarket. One of the highlights during this time was a visit to Shirley Heights for a Sunday sunset party. The restored military lookout and gun battery is a bit of a tourist trap but the view from 490ft down over Falmouth and English harbours is superb. I had gone up there with Harry, a yacht crew from the Oyster world rally that I had first met in Australia and his girlfriend Isy but ended up bumping into Denis Gorman, a fellow Jester Azores challenger from 2016 and his partner Lizzie, Finnish couple Anna and Tuamos and Greg and Jenny from Nebula. It was great to see everyone again and it turned into a fun evening. Soon afterwards Jeremy, a friend from the Isle of Wight, flew in to participate in the RORC Carib 600 race which was good timing as he could bring a spare part for Fathom in his hand luggage. Just before he set off on the race we went with Greg and Jenny to see British rowers Paul and Phil arrive on their tiny plywood boat after a 70 day, 3,000 mile row across the Atlantic as part of the Talisker Challenge. Watching them take their first tentative steps on shore and be able to have a chat and congratulate them was fantastic. The following day Jeremy managed to get me a ticket to the Carib 600 pre race party with free bar but I woke up the next morning with more than a sore head. Achey and with a fever that lasted 24 hours I then developed a relentless dry cough for the next ten days. This happened before anyone was talking about the Coronavirus out here so I assumed it was just a bug but in hindsight maybe it was Covid-19. I will never know for sure but felt pretty rotten.

By now my more ambitious plans to sail towards Cuba and the Bahamas had become unrealistic as the reality of my dwindling cruising budget hit home and I didn’t want to make the sail back across the Atlantic in May any more tricky than it needed to be. Likewise plans to head South towards Dominica seemed less attractive as I couldn’t face another windward bash north and going back on myself felt wrong. It was a strange feeling to have so much time on my hands and not be in a rush to move but I made a vow to spend it productively and try and concentrate on writing. The Classic Yacht week in April promised to be a good spectacle and I looked forward to that. I decided to get fit again and started running most mornings on a nice trail up in the hills and immediately felt better for it.

pretty Fathom

At the end of February the weather was looking calm so I took the opportunity to sail up to the island of Barbuda alongside Greg and Jenny on Nebula. On the way we stopped for a night in Nonsuch Bay off Green Island on the Eastern tip of Antigua, a great anchorage just inside the reef. On the sail north the following morning Greg was not best pleased when Fathom overtook them to leeward halfway to Barbuda and then ripped a spinnaker trying to catch me up! To rub it in I managed to get the overtake on video. Barbuda is part of the Antiguan nation and has a population of around 1600 people. It is still recovering from hurricane Irma in September 2017 that destroyed 95% of the buildings and infrastructure but is such a pretty place. We enjoyed a fantastic few days anchored off the 8 mile long beach at Low Bay. The beach glows a pink champagne colour due to the crushed coral in the sand and as there were very few other boats around and it was extremely peaceful and a nice contrast to the high energy Falmouth Harbour.

By early March excitement was building for the racing regattas coming up in a few weeks time and the harbour was a hive of activity. One morning while reading the news I became aware of a virus spreading out of Wuhan in China. It seemed another world away though and I didn’t really give it another thought. Little did I know things were about to change very quickly.

Before leaving Martinique in mid January I made sure to stock Fathom up with food and make the most of the good selection and better prices available. A cruiser favourite is definitely the duck confit – seared duck breast and legs in a can of duck fat. 12 pieces in total and the can only costs the equivalent of £4. It might not sound too appetising but trust me, after 15 minutes in the oven the meat melts in your mouth. The trouble was a long running strike in France was affecting shipments of some foods to Martinique and it had become a rare commodity. I did luckily find a few hidden at the back of a shelf so left with 3 tins in the locker which should provide some nice meals mid Atlantic. A big improvement over corned beef!

After a period of strong reinforced tradewinds a calmer period coincided with the sail from Saint Pierre up to Roseau, the capital of Dominica at the SW of the island. For once it wasn’t a rough, lumpy bash to the north but a nice pleasant sail. Despite a new fancy looking lure my Caribbean fishing exploits continued to be a disaster with not one bite on the way. The anchorage at Roseau is deep with bad holding so a few local businesses have put down moorings. As I approached, a couple of locals in a speed boat directed me to one and helped thread my mooring lines. On the mooring next door was Tiama, it was good to see Dustin again, and you guessed it, a few rum punches ensued that evening.

arrival in Dominica

It was a long dinghy ride to the fish dock which is the best place to go ashore and leave your dinghy safely. Check in was nice and easy and the locals seemed friendly. Walking round the town there was still plenty of evidence of the category 5 hurricane Maria which passed overhead in 2017. Many buildings had crumbling walls and were missing roofs and the downtown area had quite a few gaps waiting for a new property to be built. It was a shame I forgot my camera. I couldn’t believe how many clothes shops there were, every street seemed to be full of them. What also struck me was the lack of white faces, Europeans only make up 0.8% of the population on the island.

There wasn’t any reason to stay more than one night so the next morning Fathom and Tiama headed up to Portsmouth, a large well protected bay towards the north of the island. The tradewinds had by now completely died so it was a long motor the 30 or so miles along the coast in a glassy smooth sea. We made a couple of detours over sea mounts to try and catch fish but still no luck. By early afternoon we had safely anchored and headed ashore to check out the town. It just so happened that the carnival warm up was taking place right then and the whole place was a hive of activity, dancing and singing as large cut away lorries drove down the streets while live bands played on top. The ‘music’ was so loud you could hardly hear the person talking next to you and although it was basically a bit of a racket the atmosphere was fun. As the lorries travelled down the road they reached power cables hanging across from the rooftops and I couldn’t believe my eyes when a few gloved hands would reach up and push up the wires so the lorry could pass underneath. Health and safety at its finest! The afternoon and evening had been a real authentic Caribbean experience and I made a vow to return at the end of February for the real carnival.

The following day I met Liz, a Canadian working on the island and Josefine, a Swedish couchsurfer and we ended up hiking up to Fort Shirley together which sits in a National Park at the edge of the bay and is a UNESCO world heritage site. The fort is most famous for a revolt by African slave soldiers in 1802, an event which led to the freeing of all British slave soldiers in 1807. It had been built and modified as part of a network of defences along the Lesser Antilles during the international conflicts between the British and the French in the 18th and 19th centuries. The hike provided some fantastic views and a good opportunity for seeing some snakes. There are many different types on Dominica but not one is poisonous to humans. Despite knowing this we did stop in our tracks suddenly at one point when we heard some loud rustling in the undergrowth, only to find a snake mid way through squeezing the life out of a Gheko. My impressions of Dominica after only a brief time were very positive, it was definitely the most visually beautiful of the islands I had seen in the Caribbean and easy to see why Pirates of the Caribbean had been filmed here. I was keen to come back for some hiking and exploration in a month or two but in the meantime decided to keep buddy boating with Dustin towards Antigua.

Next up were Les Saintes, a group of small islands lying a few miles to the south of their dependency Guadeloupe. They had been recommended to me by several sailors for their beautiful waters and coastline. With the wind falling light again it was a motor sail for several hours from Portsmouth to the anchorage on Terre-de-Haut. Josefine was trying to get north so had jumped onboard for a lift and it was good to spend time exploring with her and Dustin. On our second day there the three of us hired scooters to do a few laps of the island and we stopped off at Fort Napoleon. Originally named Fort Loui it was destroyed by the British in 1809 and then rebuilt by the French in 1867 and named after Napoleon III. There is now an impressive museum on site and beautiful views across the bay from the ramparts. Despite being a very pretty place, I was not overly impressed with the island though, it was basically a white French bubble, expensive and rather fake with its fancy restaurants, a complete contrast to the laid back, authentic Dominica which I much preferred.

Roseau

Roseau

motoring to Portsmouth

tiama in a calm

Portsmouth

snake v gheko

view from Fort Napoleon

view from Fort Napoleon

with Josephine and Dustin

drinks on Tiama

canned duck

Back on the salty road again, this time to the town of Deshais on the NW of Guadeloupe. I hadn’t heard many great things about the island so Dustin and I only planned a short stop before heading to Antigua. Josefine hopped off to continue with her programme when we made landfall. In the anchorage at Deshais we met another boat Dustin knew with father and son crew of Russ and Jon aboard. After checking out with customs and immigration in the afternoon I invited everyone back to Fathom for a pasta dinner and a few of my famous Ti-Punch drinks. They are quite strong and Dustin was certainly feeling the effect when he dinghied back to his boat later that evening. A few hours later, about 03:00, I was fast asleep when I was woken by a message on my phone. It was from Dustin saying his leg had fallen off while climbing back onboard his boat from the dinghy! It turns out he had caught his prosthetic limp in the self steering gear on the stern and rather than jump in to the pitch dark water after it, he had assumed it had sunk and could be rescued in daylight . As the sun rose in the morning I swam over and the two of us spent a good hour in the water trying to find his leg but sadly to no avail. In hindsight it is likely that the fitted trainer provided enough buoyancy for it to float off and was probably at that point a couple of miles out to sea. As we both set sail for Antigua I did feel bad for my role in getting Dustin legless but on the plus side he was able to convert his swimming leg to a walking one as a temporary measure. Never a dull moment with the single handed sailor around!

Since setting sail from the U.K in 2016 I have had four Christmas Day’s away from home. The first was celebrated with my Atlantic crossing buddies in St Lucia, for 2017 I was in New Zealand, 2018 with my Indian Ocean sailor family in South Africa and now for 2019 with this salty gang in Martinique. Each one has been memorable and i’ve been lucky to have had such a nice variety.

On Christmas eve I took Fathom from the anchorage at Le Marin to St Anne’s, just around the corner, and anchored alongside Dustin on ‘Tiama’, Jeff and Cheri on ‘Grasshopper’ and Miki and Karl on ‘Fai Tira’. We had a nice afternoon on the beach drinking rum punches before ending up on Tiama for a bit of party. Christmas Day lunch was spent on ‘Grasshopper’ and we all cooked a dish and brought it along for a festive feast. We were joined by Liz, an old friend of Dustin’s from Hawaii, who had flown in for a few weeks holiday. Dustin then decided a second female crewmember would be a good idea so Alice, a French couchsurfer, joined ship. Alice had an interesting sounding tin pan instrument with her which inspired the rest of us into an impromptu jam session, me on guitar, Karl on his 3 string twanger and everyone else drumming along and singing made up lyrics. We thought we sounded great anyway.

Over the next week we sailed up the coast of Martinique as a flotilla but sadly had to bid farewell to Jeff and Cheri who were heading off to Colombia. It was great to buddy boat with the others and we always made a race of it between anchorages. Fathom, the smallest ship as always, just about managing to keep up. We made a stop at Anse Noire, a pretty but crowded bay and enjoyed some good snorkelling off the headland. Then past Fort de France where we anchored off ‘Dog Beach’, named after we encountered several playful dogs when taking a stroll that evening. More great snorkelling and Miki cooked us all dinner.

On the afternoon of the 30th we had reached Saint Pierre, a charming and pretty little town on the NW of Martinique which is overlooked by the domineering Mount Pelee. The volcano erupted in 1902, destroying the town and killing 30,000 people in the space of a few minutes. The only survivor was a prisoner who was locked up in a small dungeon like jail cell and somehow managed to escape with only a few burns. Imagine his reaction when he realised everyone else was dead. The anchorage at Saint Pierre is very narrow and there is not much space to drop the hook before the depth shelves deeply to 20m+. With plenty of other yachts around it was a battle to find a suitable spot but we all squeezed in eventually. One catamaran had dropped their anchor too close to the edge of the shelf and we watched after dark that evening as it dragged out to sea in the strong wind. It took a good half an hour before the frantic sweep of torch lights on the bow indicated the Owners had realised they were no longer located off the beach but a mile or so out to sea! No harm done and they got back in safely.

On the 31st an American couple in the anchorage offered to host us all onboard their boat for an early evening dinner party and we were joined by Finns – Anna, Tuamos and Sirkka, old friends of Liz. It was a fun night and later we ended up seeing in the New Near on Tiama while drinking Dustin’s pirate strength rum punches. As you are probably realising from reading this, the rum always flows in the Caribbean. I can confidently report that we all started 2020 nursing sore heads but quickly rallied and were back on Tiama that afternoon for some card games and sundowners on deck to watch the first sunset of the New Year. We thought it would be a good idea to raid Dustin’s fancy dress collection as you can see from the photo.

We stayed a few more days and one morning Liz, Alice, Karl and I decided to hike up to the summit of the volcano. To reach the start of the trail we chose to save some energy and hitchike rather than walk for three hours to get there. As we started walking up the trail thick cloud closed in reducing visibility before we got soaked in torrential rain. Thankfully as we approached the rim of the crater the clouds cleared allowing us a fantastic panoramic view across Martinique and down over Saint Pierre to our boats, tiny dots in the distance. The hike had been well worth it and also provided some much needed exercise.

Saint Pierre rainbow

NYE

Mount Pelee

Liz, Alice, Karl, Me

volcano hike

volcano hike

volcano hike

volcano hike

volcano hike

volcano hike

The days ticked by and I was keen to get back to Le Marin to reprovision and give my liver a rest. Dustin and Liz planned to sail up to Dominica for a week so I offered to give Alice a lift back south towards the airport so she could catch her flight to Guadeloupe. It was another race along the coast, this time a head to head between Fathom and Fai Tira, a clear win for Fathom this time! Once back at Le Marin, Alice caught her flight out and I enjoyed some lazy days writing and catching up on boat jobs before picking up a bug that had been doing the rounds and feeling pretty rough for a while. It was great to have Miki and Karl closeby and to see Max and Tania again for a few days when they sailed ‘Alalila’ up from Bequia.

I still didn’t have a plan in place for the next months, the option of sailing towards Cuba and the Bahamas before an Atlantic crossing in May was an exciting thought but the route would be a challenging undertaking sailing solo. Another consideration was my cruising funds which were getting dangerously low and going that way wouldn’t be cheap. In any case there were more islands to explore nearby so no rush to make a decision. I was rather enjoying the lazy day sailing anyway.

December 2019: With gale force reinforced tradewinds on the way imminently there was just time to sail up to Saint Lucia but it was still a feisty windward bash, particularly in the acceleration zones at the north of Saint Vincent and the southern tip of Saint Lucia. As ever, Fathom was sure footed and just about managed to keep up with Dustin on Tiama despite being 8 feet shorter. Grasshopper joined the convoy an hour later. The approach to Saint Lucia is always spectacular with the Pitons providing a dramatic backdrop, Gros Piton rises 798m out of the ocean while Petit Piton is 753m. It wasn’t possible to anchor but there were moorings available for approx 20 US dollars a night. It was a relief to be in a sheltered bay and out of the strong wind. A nice evening followed as Cheri and Jeff invited Dustin and I over for a spag bol dinner and one or two rum punches.

approach to Saint Lucia and the Pitons

The next morning all three boats departed for the anchorage at Rodney Bay, about 20 miles up the coast. It turned out to be a motor sail as even though we were in the lee of the island, 35kt katabatic gusts barreled down from the mountains followed by several minutes of calms making it frustrating to come up with a suitable sail plan. Once anchored at Rodney Bay, the same spot I had anchored Fathom in for Christmas 2016, we all went ashore to clear in with customs and immigration. After Saint Vincent and the Grenadines it was a bit of a shock to the system to see a modern boardwalk with plenty of bars and restaurants. The local Piton beer was a nice change too. It was good to catch up with Anthony Davies from the Royal Solent Yacht Club and get up to speed with all the gossip I had missed from home over the last four years….a surprising amount!

Rodney Bay was the furthest point I had ventured north in the Caribbean before so I was keen to keep on moving and discover some new islands. After a few days in Saint Lucia all three boats set off in convoy again. There was always a competition to see who would be first to leave in the morning. This time I won and the look on Dustin’s face as I motored past him still at anchor at 06:00 while he hadn’t even taken his sail cover off or finished his coffee was priceless. The lead didn’t last long though and it was yet another windward bash, this time probably the roughest so far with gusts up to 28 knots and horrible short period slab sided waves. I tucked 3 reefs into the mainsail with a heavily rolled foresail but it wasn’t pleasant. These strong tradewinds are normally referred to as the Christmas winds but had set in a few weeks early this year.

Martinique is pretty much like being in France with the EURO currency and lots of French speaking white people. The best part about being on the island is definitely the supermarkets, the selection in Carrefour and Leader Price a real eye opener and genuinely quite exciting. Oh to have freshly baked baguettes each morning and a fridge full of brie and camembert. The lagoon at Le Marin on the southern tip of the island is where we all anchored and it must contain the largest collection of yachts in the Caribbean, a real yacht city. The chandleries are first class and even the self service laundries are ultra modern.

There is never a dull moment hanging around with Dustin and sure enough one morning even a trip to the laundry provided some entertainment. He had offered to pick me up in his dinghy but turned up a little bit late and uncharacteristically pissed off. It turned out that he had put his large bag of laundry on the deck while launching his dinghy from the davits but out of nowhere the wash from a large superyacht had rolled his boat from side to side and his laundry bag had fallen overboard and started sinking. At lightning speed Dustin dumped the dinghy in the water and somehow with his one arm managed to pull the now waterlogged and extremely heavy bag of clothes into the dinghy. In the process lucky to only lose his best pair of shorts and save the rest of his wardrobe and all his bedding from disappearing forever into the murkey water. After we had tied up at the dinghy dock the two of us couldn’t even carry his laundry bag two paces between us as it was soo heavy, so I commandeered a shopping trolley and we proceeded to the laundry, the sodden bag sprinkling water as we went. The sight of Dustin loading his salt sodden clothes into the washer from a shopping trolley in the middle of the laundry room provided some entertainment for the other laundry goers.

While anchored at Le Marin I got in touch with Miki and Karl, a great couple I had first met in Grenada last year and who sail a Nicholson 32 ‘Fai Tara’. They are fun company and suggested I moved and anchored next to them at the other side of the bay. What followed was a fun evening catching up and playing music, me on guitar, Karl playing his homemade 3 string version and Miki providing the percussion. It was a reminder that I had really missed playing music and jamming in a group, and we all agreed we should do it more often. For the last few weeks I had been assuming it would be a very quiet Christmas this year and I had no plans in place, but with Dustin on Tiama, Jeff and Cheri on Grasshopper and now Miki and Karl we had a nice gang and it promised to be a good one. Another example of things just working out.

The anchorage at Tyrell Bay on the island of Carriacou is one of my favourites in the Carribbean and I had enjoyed my visit in early 2017. But this time round I was struggling a little, no longer crossing oceans and sailing to a timeframe, and with all of the Caribbean sailing season ahead of me, I almost had too much time on my hands. Friends Greg and Jenny on SV Nebula were closeby but otherwise the anchorage was filled with older cruisers that never moved and I didn’t have much in common with them. I tried to spend some time writing but wasn’t feeling inspired and for a few days felt a bit fed up. Should I sail slowly up the Caribbean island chain or be more adventurous and head to Cuba? Not bad options to be considering so I told myself to cheer up.

Luckily Max and Tania on SV Alalila, great friends from the Madagascar and South Africa days, were closeby having started work for a charter company just north in the Grenadines. On the 9th of December I day sailed up to Clifton on Union Island to clear in and on approach to the anchorage watched a large 60 foot catamaran smack straight into the reef at full speed. It took about 10 local boat boys in their tenders to pull the catamaran back into open water. After lunch and having checked in I sailed the 2 or so miles further north to Saline Bay on the island of Mayreau. It was fantastic to see Max and Tania again and soon Dustin on SV Tiama had arrived plus Jeff and Cheri on SV Grasshopper, a really fun gang and the drinks flowed. We had an early Christmas dinner on Alalila one evening and then the following day Dustin and I took our boats round to Saltwhistle Bay on the N.W of the island. This is a beautiful small bay but in true Caribbean style means it was jam packed with charter boats. That afternoon whilst having a couple of rums at the beach bar we got chatting with Sasha, a German charter skipper and her German crew. They were super interested in our voyages so invited us back to their boat for dinner. A really fun evening and nice to meet a younger crowd for a change. The next day I went back to Saline Bay to spend some more time with Max and Tania before it was time to part ways yet again.

dinner on Alalila

with Sasha and Dustin

German friends

Next stop was Bequia, about 35nm north of Mayreau, where I arrived on the afternoon of the 13th after another day sail. The weather was squally and quite unpleasant but I quite enjoyed the sensation of sailing to windward again after so much rolly downwind sailing over the last few years and Fathom galloped along at a good pace. I anchored alongside Tiama and Grasshopper and then spent the rest of the afternoon sampling the rum punches at the local bars with Dustin and Jeff. Cheri joined us for a great local dinner ashore that evening, a rare treat not to cook. I still didn’t feel very set on any one plan for the months ahead and continued to yo-yo between moving slowly north or being more adventurous. There was never a dull moment hanging around with Dustin and Jeff so I decided to go slow for the rest of the month and see what I felt like doing in the New Year.

Dustin and I set sail for Saint Vincent on the 15th December. I had not stopped at this island back in 2016 because at the time some cruisers had been boarded, robbed and sadly killed by some locals in the dark of the night. The island had gained a bad reputation back then but more recently cruisers were starting to visit again. The advantage of stopping was that it was a day sail away and split up the otherwise overnight passage to Saint Lucia. It was another windward bash into the N.E tradewinds but very manageable and I anchored Fathom next to Tiama in Chateabelair Bay. We were the only cruising boats in an otherwise empty bay and within half an hour two locals paddled out to us in their small wooden tender. I couldn’t help but feel on edge but they seemed friendly and sold me a couple of freshly caught red snapper fish. One of the two, a tough looking middle aged guy introduced himself as ‘George’ and offered, infact insisted, that he would be our protector when we stepped ashore later and no one would bother us. I wasn’t sure if that was a reassuring to hear or not.

After lunch Dustin picked me up in his dinghy and we looked for a place to land on the beach. Our main intention was to visit the customs and immigration office so we could clear out and then sail on to Saint Lucia early the following day. We knew roughly where the office was so beached the dinghy nearby in front of the house of a toothless local lady who must have been pushing 80. She told us she would look after the dinghy and ensure no one stole it. The customs office turned out to be closed but there was a note on the door with a phone number and the man that answered said he would be there in an hour. Now what to do. The decision was made for us by George who suddenly turned up, slightly aggrieved we hadn’t landed on the beach nearer his house, but all the same invited us to have a beer with him and some of his friends at a local bar while we waited for customs to open.

with Dustin and George (to my right)

It turned out to be a good 20 minute walk to the bar and the sight of double amputee Dustin walking along on his peg leg certainly drew some attention. We were back at Customs an hour later and the formalities were quick and easy. George was still with us and insisted we joined him for a couple more beers before heading back to our boats. I gave the old lady a few coins as a thank you for her sterling work as dinghy guardian which she seemed pleased about. This time we took the dinghy closer to avoid the walk and George jumped in with us as we motored back along the bay. I jumped out a little early during the beach landing, the water quite a bit deeper than it looked, and was soaked up to my waist. My damp appearance plus Dustin on his peg certainly provided further intrigue for the locals but with George by our side we were pretty much left alone. The small shack we stood outside served cheap cold beers and we made sure to buy George a cold one every time we went to the bar inside. The locals turned out to be mostly friendly, those that were awake that is, probably half of those around us were sleeping on the bench seats. No surprise really as they all appeared to be addicted to drinking 80% rum and smoking weed which was sad to see. They were happy that we were making an effort to socialise with them as most cruisers stay well away and as a thank you brought out a plate of local food for us as a gift. George certainly seemed to have the respect of the locals who continued to come up to him and give him a fist pump. He later told us he had killed a guy who had cheated him at a card game and had been summoned to court next month..

As the sun began to set we made our excuses to leave as it wouldn’t have taken much for the atmosphere at the bar to take a turn for the worse. Dustin and I were back on our boats by sunset. I think we were both on edge after dark, we had seen a dodgy looking guy on a kayak a bit earlier very close to our boats so for the first time ever I locked myself in the cabin overnight. We also kept our VHF radios on and monitored channel 6 just in case any trouble arose. It wasn’t my best nights sleep but no one bothered us. The coffee certainly tasted good as the sun rose in the morning. It was time to continue with the island hopping, next up Saint Lucia.