Carriacou
Hillsborough and Tyrell Bay
After a short but pleasant sail from Union Island, we arrive
in Hillsborough, Carriacou, one of three islands comprising
the nation of Grenada. Hillsborough is an authentic Caribbean
town, lacking the superficial glamour of towns catering to
cruise ship passengers. It reminds me of Eleuthera and even
Luperon.
After one night in Hillsborough, we relocate to Tyrell Bay
on the south side of the island, an anchorage favored by cruising
yachts because of its protected harbor. The anchorage is crowded,
though, and the town has less to offer in the way of shopping
than Hillsborough. There is a boat yard and a mangrove swamp
here, so many sailors choose to spend hurricane season in
Tyrell Bay. That evening, we meet friends for drinks and pizza
at the Turtle Dove. Several dogs are playing on the beach
below the restaurant. After the dogs tire of splashing and
frolicking, they run around under the tables in the restaurant,
rubbing their wet, sandy fur against the customers' legs.
Tour
The next day, we join several other boaters for a taxi tour
with Thomas, who is quite knowledgeable of the local history
and flora. During the tour, he frequently pulls the taxi over
and reaches out the window to break branches off a shrub growing
along the road. The branches are then passed around for us
to inspect and keep. Carriacou is the sweetest smelling island
we've visited.
As on most islands, there are goats grazing on the hillside.
Thomas gives us a valuable tip: a goat's tail points up; a
sheep's tail hangs down. Some of the grazing animals are actually
sheep. The island sheep, which aren't woolly, are raised for
food. Mutton is a popular menu item around here. At least
now we won't foolishly point to a sheep and call it a goat.
Thomas knows all the home remedies for the local plants.
The most bizarre remedy he recites is for asthma. First chop
open a coconut and pour the coconut water into a bowl. Then
take an unsuspecting lizard and plop him into the bowl. Leave
the lizard treading water for 10 full minutes. As the frantic
lizard struggles to stay afloat, he releases adrenaline into
the coconut water. When the time is up, remove the lizard
and drink the adrenaline-infused water. This should alleviate
symptoms of asthma. The soggy lizard, meanwhile, will never
drink another pina colada for the rest of his life.
Thomas tells us that 90 percent of Grenadians favor the U.S.
invasion in 1983, which ousted the socialist government and
gave them democratic elections.
All good things come to an end
Nick hasn't had to do any boat repairs since St. Maarten,
so I know we're living on borrowed time. Sure enough, while
in Carriacou, Nick notices that our generator's water pump
is leaking. We can continue using it temporarily, but it should
be fixed ASAP. Nick calls Outfitters International in Grenada,
who can rebuild the pump or order a new one for us. We want
to take care of it before heading to Venezuela, where we're
told it can be difficult to get parts.
After five nights in Carriacou, we make plans to move to
Grenada. For the past few weeks, we've enjoyed the company
of several boats that we now part company with. I feel that
familiar sadness and sense of loss, but we hope to see everyone
again after hurricane season.
Grenada
Anchoring dramas
On Wednesday morning, June 27, we prepare to depart for St.
Georges, Grenada. When Nick goes to the bow to retrieve the
anchor, he discovers that the anchor windlass is not working.
The windlass uses an electric motor to retrieve the anchor
and its chain. Without the windlass, the captain must perform
this difficult task manually. Sigh--add the windlass to our
repair list.
We have a pleasant sail 31 miles south to St. Georges, Grenada,
where we anchor in the crowded, murky lagoon. The anchor holding
here is terrible in the silty mud. On our second day, with
dark storm clouds looming over the hillside, we decide to
back down again on our anchor but only succeed in pulling
it out. Now it's raining and, because the windlass is broken,
the captain must manually retrieve the muddy anchor and chain.
We set the anchor again, back down gently, and cross our fingers.
The captain is covered in mud.
During the week we spend in the lagoon, we watch numerous
boats pull up and reset their anchors. One French boat--located
behind us, thankfully--sets their anchor at least half a dozen
times in one day. The poor holding combined with the crowded
conditions and squally weather make us reluctant to get far
from the boat. As a result, we miss out on several fun excursions.
One afternoon, a local man tows in a British sailboat with
a broke-down engine and puts him just ahead of us and a French
boat. The stern of the British boat is less than a boat length
from the French boat's bow. The French captain is not on board,
and his wife stands on their bow looking worried. Nick hollers
to the towed boat that they're anchored too close. The local
man on the tow boat becomes incensed, swearing, insulting
Americans, and giving Nick the up-yours arm signal (apparently
he is not part of the 90 percent who love Americans). Nick
swears back, but the British boat stays put. Later, the French
captain returns and relocates his boat--not fair since he
was there first.
Early one morning, a 25-foot sailboat motors into the lagoon.
The boat has no mast or rigging, and it anchors close enough
to us that I could almost reach over and pour its gray-bearded
captain a shot of rum. Turns out the captain, a single-hander,
could use a drink. At such close quarters, we hear his sad
tale. Four days ago he had sailed from Nevis. At 4:00 P.M.
the day before and just 20 miles from Grenada, he was down
below when he heard a terrible crash. He came up on deck to
discover the mast and all its rigging and sails had toppled
into the sea. He was unable to retrieve any of the rig and,
being afraid it might puncture the hull or foul the prop,
he had to cut it away. Conditions offshore were pretty rough,
and it took him all night to reach Grenada under engine power.
The captain seems to be past the point of exhaustion and in
shock, but he maintains a sense of humor. It appears unlikely
he has insurance or the financial means to purchase a new
rig and sails. After a few sips of rum, he says he won't get
any rest with our boats so close. He gets out his "windlass,"
a pair of gloves, and reanchors his sad little boat away from
us. A dismasting is every sailor's nightmare. Hearing this
poor fellow's tale reminds us of just how quickly your fate
can change.
Round five
While we wait for our generator part to come in, we decide
to have another go at fixing the engine-driven refrigeration
system. A local refrigeration man comes to the boat and quickly
determines that he can't help us. He suggests a workaround
to alleviate the problem, but unfortunately the necessary
part isn't available in Grenada. This makes professional number
five who has failed to fix our system. We do have one success:
an electrician makes us a cable splice and the windlass is
now working. Yeah!
A little bit of Texas
We're in the FoodLand grocery store, and Nick is perusing
the local rum selections (alcohol is sold in grocery stores
in the islands). I walk over to the frozen foods and stop
dead in my tracks. I blink and rub my eyes. Yes, it's true!
I hurry over to tell Nick that he should brace himself for
what he's about to see: his favorite food that hasn't been
available since Florida (and not easily found there). Covered
in a shimmering mist of frost are quarts and half-gallons
of Blue Bell ice-cream made in Brenham, Texas. Even though
our freezer can't keep ice-cream frozen when we're not plugged
into shore power, we buy two quarts. Back on the boat, we
tune to a local country music station. While Patsy Cline croons,
we eat soft-serve Rocky Road and strawberry.
History lesson
On Sunday, we take a walk to the Carenage, the commercial
port area in St. Georges. As expected, all the shops and restaurants
are closed. In the Caribbean, businesses actually close on
Sundays and holidays. In fact, most shops close early on Saturday.
They take their leisure time more seriously in the islands.
As we walk around the sea wall, a local man joins us. His
name is Smitty and he's quite knowledgeable about his country
and seems to like Americans. To our surprise, he's familiar
with the Texas/Oklahoma football rivalry.
Smitty says that Hurricane Ivan was the scariest day of his
life. We're surprised that there's little evidence of hurricane
damage in St. Georges (we haven't seen the rest of Grenada,
but other cruisers report the same). Most of the damaged buildings
have been repaired. Oddly, the beautiful Catholic Church still
sits roofless and open to the elements three years after the
storm.
Smitty tells us that Grenadians are glad the US invaded their
country and instituted a democratic government with free elections.
Prime Minister Maurice Bishop gained power in a 1979 bloodless
coup and then aligned Grenada with Cuba and Russia. At the
time of the US invasion, Cuban advisers were in Grenada to
assist with the building of a new airport. The US was concerned
about the possible military uses of the new airstrip, among
other issues related to having a communist government in that
part of the Caribbean. According to Smitty, Bishop was popular
with the people, but some members of his socialist government
thought he was too moderate. The Deputy Prime Minister led
a coup on October 13, 1983, that wrested control of the government
from Bishop and placed him under arrest. Six days later, a
popular uprising freed Bishop, whereupon the jubilant crowd
convened at Fort George to celebrate. Government troops arrived
and executed Bishop and 10 supporters later that day. During
the skirmish, a number of civilians were killed when they
fell from the walls of the fort. On October 25th, the US landed
troops in Grenada, citing the need to protect US medical student
in St. George. Seventeen coup leaders were subsequently imprisoned.
The day we arrived in Grenada, three of these men were released
following an appeal to the London Privy Council. Ten men remain
in the hilltop prison overlooking the St. George lagoon.
(Note: For more information about Grenada and the invasion,
see "Grenada" and "Invasion of Grenada"
at wikipedia.com.)
Hasty departure
We're expecting our generator part to arrive on Tuesday.
As we sip our morning coffee, we're disturbed to hear Chris
Parker discuss a low pressure system associated with a tropical
wave in the eastern Atlantic. This weather system has the
potential to become a tropical depression or even a tropical
storm, and it could arrive in the eastern Caribbean by this
weekend. It suddenly dawns on me that we're nearly 2000 miles
closer to developing tropical systems than we were in the
States, so we have to take action a week earlier while the
forecast is still uncertain. As of July 1st, our insurance
does not cover damage from a named storm unless we're in Trinidad
or Venezuela.
When we call Outfitters International to find out if our
part has arrived, we learn that it hasn't even shipped yet.
Tonight is the last weather window to sail to Venezuela before
the weekend, so we decide to cancel the order and leave. It's
a busy day: jugging fuel and water, going to the bank, buying
groceries, checking out of the country, and loading the dinghy
on deck. By 5:00 P.M., we're tired but ready to depart. Nick
goes to the bow and puts his foot on the anchor windlass button.
Nothing happens. The %@#& thing is still broken! Once
again, Nick pulls the muddy mess up by hand and tediously
feeds the chain into the windlass gypsy. We've spent a week
in Grenada to make repairs and have accomplished nothing.
The sun is setting ahead of us; the wind is on our stern.
We're headed for Chavez territory and an uncertain hurricane
season.
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Looking from the northeast coast of Carriacou
to Petite Martinique and Petite St. Vincent. The white line
in the water is waves breaking on a reef.
A stone bread oven sits in front of this
house in Carriacou.
Carriacou tour group (left to right): crews
of Solstice, Tusen Takk 2,
Sol Magique, Caribbean Soul, and Adventure
Bound.
Thomas, our tour guide, knows all the home
remedies. Lizards run in
fear from this guy.
Before being a shrubbery planter, sugar cane
was ground in this tower.
Volcanic black sand beach in Carriacou
Wooden boat under construction in Windward,
Carriacou.
A rusted wreck in the mangrove swamp. During
hurricanes, boats seek
refuge by tying up to the mangroves. However, several wrecks
in this
swamp would become killer torpedoes during a storm.
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