11th February to 18th April 2024

After reaching Martinique in mid-February, Henrietta had some more rigging surgery.

One day there’ll be an epilogue to bore you with the tale of her expensive and enfuriating sufferings (my sufferings too!). Meanwhile and in future I’ll avoid all rigging bits that come from Stalok – whatever other folk may tell me of this company’s sound pedigree. (For non-sailors among my readers I’ll add that Stalok make, among other things, bits and pieces of high-price stainless steel that are meant to hold the mast up.)

Since then we’ve sailed and slopped around a few of the islands in the East Caribbean. ‘We’ has included crew members, Christine and Sonja, a pair of fine cooks who’ve tried delicately to curb my more manly traits, and who’ve added new dimensions to my usual solitary world. On occasion I’ve been quite gregarious and sociable, and have talked to dozens of fascinating folk – as is the way while cruising around popular parts of the high seas.

Clouding my mind (apart from the glum sadness and frustration that comes with global news), I’ve been trying to fathom what it is that makes me feel so underwhelmed by this supposed sailing Mecca of the East Caribbean. What is it that curbs my enthusiasm, and  dampens my joy? Why do tens of thousands love it so much while I remain guarded in my judgement? (And don’t think I don’t know how lucky I am to be here.)

I’m quick to acknowledge the Caribbean’s finer points. It’s hot and sunny with good sailing breeze at a time of year when most of northern Europe and North America is grey, wet or cold and probably all three, so if you’re from these places (and sailors overwhelmingly are), there can be no climatic reason to doubt its delights. Who doesn’t want to swap their icy feet and soggy grey European winter for tropical sunshine and a swim in the sea?

Furthermore the scenery is fine with high hills and volcanic peaks swathed in greenery, waterfalls here and there, plenty of birds, colourful homesteads and sandy beaches. Water is clean and in gorgeous shades of blue that range from deep dark cobalt to delicate aquamarine, sometimes inhabited by coral reefs, colourful fishes and gentle turtles. Local people are at best helpful, very friendly and welcoming, and at worst, merely disinterested.

Given all this, what on earth troubles me? The problem probably lies in me. Just another seriously grumpy old man. Don’t let me dissuade you from sailing here. Like most others, you’ll probably love it. I think I do most of the time!

But, to quickly hit you with some less rosey news, most of the popular anchorages are crowded; officialdom can be heavyweight and costly (hands up Antigua); food prices seem extraordinarily high and quality extraordinarily low; you might need to lock up your goodies (dinghies, outboards etc) and it’s best if you are untroubled by displays of stupendous wealth alongside dismal poverty (or even moderate wealth, such as us lot, alongside some sad dereliction).

But most blogs are filled with excited tales of fabulous places and fascinating people, alongside photos of yummy meals, exotic scenery and ‘sailors having fun’, so I’ll move on and tell you where we’ve been and some of what we’ve done.

Some photos are thanks to Sonja, who’s good at taking them

Via a few of Martinique’s prettier anchorages, we headed north to neighbouring Dominica. It’s perhaps the least spoiled and most scenic of the Windward Isles: waterfalls, silvery beaches, high mountains, sulphur springs and luxuriant vegetation.

Next stop, Montserrat, an island I’d not yet visited. It had been devastated by a volcanic eruption in 1997 and the capital, Plymouth, was buried in ash. Half the island’s population was forced to leave.

Christine, with an Irish passport and penchant for parties, pointed out we could get to Montserrat for St Patrick’s Day. For some (not very sound) reason – which I knew but have forgotten – Montserrat enjoys a St Patrick public holiday and celebrates with carnival, a multitude of festivities, lots of food and quite a bit of drink*. Here are some photos. Furthermore there was a lovely young Irish couple anchored nearby. We were invited to drink and nibble with them, and every other person at anchor nearby – not many.

Oh! I’ve got that wrong. After Dominica we went to Guadeloupe before Montserrat, then back to Guadeloupe and north again to Antigua, then south,  again to  Guadalupe, Dominica once more, and now Martinique. You can understand why I might get things wrong. Rum doesn’t help – but tastes nice.

It’s now time to think about sailing back to Europe and England. I’ll go and buy some onions and bananas, wait for a more helpful weather forecast, and sail on to the Azores (about three or four weeks away.)

* For more about Montserrat and the Irish connection read here