St. Kitts to Ile de Saintes........

After a quiet 5 night stay in St. Kitts, I was getting restless so it was time to move on. The wind wasn't really right for the trip, but I figured it would be ok, and I headed out around 7:30 am.   The first few miles along the coast of St. Kitts and Nevis were fairly calm with steady 20 knot Winds.  Valkyrie loves these conditions, and sprinted down the coast at 6+ knots.  Passing Nevis, the seas built up, and the rest of the trip was squall after squall, in confused, steap seas.

Passing Montserrat, I got a good look at the devestation left over from the volcano, and even smelled the stench of sulfur in the air for several miles.  It must have been traumatic for these people to loose their island home in such a disastrous way. The new town on the north end of the island has a relatively exposed harbor, so I continued on toward Guadeloupe. 


The ruined town of Plymouth




Another view of Plymouth

The ride down to Guadeloupe was rough and squally.  There were so many squalls that night that they actually pushed me off course, and I traveled down the coast of Guadeloupe about 10 miles offshore.  This was good because I avoided some of the wind shadow created by the island.  Arriving at the south end of the island, there was a problem.  Being so far offshore, meant I would have a difficult beat to windward to reach the Saintes.  Clearing the south of the island, the wind roared in from the east, and the sees built up to an uncomfortable 6' chop.  Between the wind and seas, and the 1 knot current that runs west through the channel, I could see I was not going to make Ile de Sainte before dark....ugh.  Weighing my options, I decided to turn back toward Guadeloupe, and spend the night.  I spent the night in Marina de Riviere Sans.  This is not a cruisers marina, and I would not recommend it very highly unless you have no other choice.  It is however, surrounded by a nice town, and most everything is available.  Guadeloupe is undeniably French.  In fact, if not for the landscape you would think you are in the south of France.  The population of nearly half a million people is a mix of french continentals, and afro-carib descendants.

Marina de Riviere Sans 

The next morning I set out for the Saintes about 8:30.  The strategy this time would be to hug the island to its southern point, Vieux Fort, and then set out across the channel.  The conditions in the channel between Vieux Fort and the Saintes were the same as the day before, but with a better angle, and an early start, Valkyrie covered the 10 miles in about 5 hours.  This is a difficult piece of water.  I think if I were approaching from the north again, I would head toward the center of Guadeloupe, pass through the river Salee which bisects the island, and sail SSW to the Saintes.

Terre De Haut, the main settlement in the Saintes, is probably one of the most picturesque harbors I have ever visited.  The clear waters are alive with dolphins and sea turtles and the harbor is surrounded by colorful buildings and beaches. Customs check in is completed via computer at the local mail center for 1 euro.  You must utilize the well maintained moorings in the harbor for 9 euros a night.  The mail center, Les Saintes Multiservice, also collects the mooring fees, has internet service and laundry, which I desperately needed. The town is absolutely bustling with people during the day, and the narrow streets are packed with, bicycles, scooters, four-wheelers, trucks and golf carts.  Huge ferries arrive from Guadeloupe 5 or 6 times a day depositing hundreds of tourists in the little town.  In many ways it reminds me of Cruz Bay on Saint John.  Except bigger, more scenic, and French.  Very French.

 

Customs check in is completed via computer at the local mail center for 1 euro.  You must utilize the well maintained moorings in the harbor for 9 euros a night.  The mail center, Les Saintes Multiservice, also collects the mooring fees, has internet service and laundry, which I desperately needed. The town is absolutely bustling with people during the day, and the narrow streets are packed with, bicycles, scooters, four-wheelers, trucks and golf carts.  Huge ferries arrive from Guadeloupe 5 or 6 times a day depositing hundreds of tourists in the little town.  In many ways it reminds me of Cruz Bay on Saint John.  Except bigger, more scenic, and French.  Very French.

Nanny Cay to St. Kitts

After a relaxing 5 night stay in Nanny Cay, It was time to get underway again, so on the morning of the 12th, I untied and set off across the Anegada Passage. I had some trepidation about this trip, because at 120 miles, it would be my longest solo trip to date, and the estimated travel time was about 30 hours.  Crossing the Drake channel, and passing Salt Island, I set a course directly for Saba Island, about 95 miles across open water.  The wind was generally moderate at around 10-15kts, with occasional squalls.  The squalls really suck, because they bring rain, and sometimes high winds, so when they approach, you must shorten sail before they roll over you.  Usually they just dump rain for about 15 minutes, followed by about a half hour of dead hot sticky air before the trade winds settle back in.  During the day, you can see them coming.  Not so much at night.

On the morning of the 13th, I was approaching Saba.  Saba is a unique island in that it is small, about 3 square miles, has no natural harbors, and is very high, around 3500ft.  It's basically just a steep mountain rising out of the sea.  The settlement on Saba, is accessed via a single road cut into the cliffs and starts at around 1500 feet above sea level.  I would very much like to stop at Saba some day, but with the easterly swell rolling, it would have to wait, so I continued on to Statia as planned.

St Eustatius, typically known as Statia, is an unusual island.  Historically it was the trading hub of the Caribbean.  Today it houses one of the largest oil transshipment terminals in the region.  Approaching the island, my AIS receiver, which tells me when ships are approaching, went nuts as dozens of tankers and supply vessels came into view around the north end of the island.  The AIS alarm went off so often, I had to shut it off.  Weaving my way through the tankers and rain squalls(for some reason it rains more than usual on Statia) I arrived in Oranje Baai, which is the only harbor on Statia. There was only one other cruising boat in the harbor.  I picked up a mooring as close to shore as possible, and after sailing 33 hours, I drank a bottle of champagne, and slept for 10 hours.  Oranje Baai, which is adjacent to the capitol Oranjestaad, is a unique harbor.  Surrounded to the east by high cliffs topped by a picturesque 18 century Dutch fortification, the harbor is basically an open roadstead, exposed to the south and west.  Upon arrival, the harbor was glassy with crystal clear water.  The only sounds were from the huge brightly colored parrots which nest in the cliffs, and the occasional family of goats which through some amazing feet of mountaineering, also lived on the cliffs.

After clearing customs the following morning, I walked up the steep path to the town for some exploring and provisioning.  The old fort is exceptionally well maintained, and is a footnote in history, in that it was the first place to return a canon salute to an American warship in 1776, thereby, although probably not intentionally, recognizing the sovereignty of the United States.  This made the British mad, and they later invaded, and the golden era of Statia, came to an end.

After buying some groceries, and having a fantastic lunch at the Old Gin House restaurant, I returned to the boat to find the swell had found its way into the harbor.  The swell increased over night, and got so bad, it was almost impossible to sleep. The next morning, there was a steady 2-3 foot swell rolling in from the south west, and I was eager to leave. First I had to load the inflatable on deck which would not be easy in the swell, especially since the outboard needed to be removed first.  This whole process took about an hour, and left me almost breathless.

The passage to St. Kitts, is 21 miles.  With a stiff headwind, I would sail 42 miles to arrive at Port Zante Marina around 5pm.  This made me nervous because I didn't have a reservation, and no one would answer me on the radio as I approached.  Not seeing any good anchorages in the area, I decided to nose into the marina anyway, and found a suitable place to tie up.  Grabbing my papers, I proceeded toward some official looking buildings to try an get some information.  The first person I saw was a disheveled looking character with a monkey on his back(yes a real monkey) who asked me if I wanted a picture with the monkey.  Honestly I kind of did, but I was in a hurry so I passed.  I went to the harbormasters office, who seemed unconcerned about my arrival, and proceeded to the customs/immigration offices, for  the somewhat bureaucratic entry procedures, which cost me $24.  Welcome to the Federation of St. Kitts and Nevis mon.

Heading back to the boat, I realized the sailboat in front of me was the same boat I'd shared the anchorage with in Statia, and the crew were back on board.  They were going to dinner at 7:30 and asked if I wanted to go, which I did.  We had a great dinner, and then it was back to the boat for a much needed rest.

Underway....at last....

The plan was to leave Red Hook on July 1st.  Of course the weather was crap, so I didn't get underway till the second.  The trip up to Coral Bay was dead to windward in 20-25kt winds and 6-8ft seas which made for an uncomfortable beat.  Tacking back and forth we managed to miss the heavy rain squalls passing the islands, to arrive in Coral Bay around 1pm.  The anchorage in Coral bay suffers from the same cancer as most warm water harbors in the free world, that of derelict vessels.  I'm not talking about older boats that need a little TLC, I'm talking about floating bird shit dumps with no rigging, no engine and marine growth half way up the topsides.  This not only detracts from the image, but also makes it more difficult to anchor in an already crowded harbor.  After circling around for about half an hour, I located a good spot and dropped my 45 pound Bruce and payed out about a 100 feet of chain in roughly 15 feet of water.  Backing down, I felt the anchor set and the boat settled in to the easterly breeze.  "Great" I thought.  About an hour later the wind switched around to the south, and as my half inch chain slowly shifted across the harbor floor, I began to drift uncomfortably close to a couple of the aforementioned vessels.  Rather than move, I pulled another anchor out and motored as far south as I could and tossed it out.  After about a half hour it became clear that this was not working, "damn"!   Pulling the second anchor up was no problem as it had already freed itself.  As the anchor reached the surface, I could see it was caked with thick black mud.   What to do?  I remembered down below there was an old fortress anchor that was stored in pieces under the settee, so I pulled it out, bolted it together and repeated the same exercise as with the second anchor, except this time it held, and I mean held fast!  By the time I got the dinghy inflated and launched, and the outboard installed, it was about 4pm, so I figured I'd go to Skinny Legs for happy hour, which I did, and then went back to the boat around 7 for a much needed rest.

Coral Bay is a cool little town.  There isn't much there except a couple of bars and shops.  The anchorage is crowded and it can be windy.  There aren't really any services for cruisers and I wouldn't really recommend it for a stop over unless you have a reason to go there.  I spent three days in Coral Bay relaxing and reconnecting with some friends from St. Thomas.

Saturday morning, it was time to leave for Tortola.  1st was removing the outboard from the dinghy, and pulling the inflatable up on deck and deflating and rolling it up.  Then after checking the fluids and firing up the engine, it was time to pull the anchors.  Easy right? Nope.  There was a problem.  the wind had shifted again, and now a 50 foot sloop was sitting right on top of my anchor.   As I pulled up the line, Valkyrie slowly nudged closer and closer to this boat, and the damn anchor just wouldn't give.  finally I sat about half a boat length from this other vessel, and was within easy talking range of the lady on the other boat, who seemed unconcerned about the whole affair while sitting in her cockpit leisurely reading a book. A retired teacher from the Antilles School in St. Thomas, as if I cared. I sat there for about 15 minutes hoping something would happen.    Nothing happened.  Frustrated, I pulled more rode in, inching closer to the other boat, until the line was pointing almost straight down and guitar string tight.  Every time a little ripple moved across the harbor, I used the motion to pull in the rode about a half inch at a time.  this went on for about ten minutes until........something happened.  the anchor grudgingly released its hold and I began to pull it to the surface.  As it came up, it was covered with about six inches of coral bay mud.  No wonder it held so well.  The first anchor came up without incident after about 5 minutes of pumping on the manual windlass. Off To Nanny Cay!