Saturday July 13th, 2002
More of the Whole Dragging Business: Frigate Island, Grenadines
I'm sitting in the cockpit and Curt has
just donned his snorkeling mask and gone for a swim to survey
our anchor. It appears our boat has once again dragged her
anchor, and once again I'm reminded of the peculiarity of
our lifestyle. Imagine if throughout your day, each and every
day, you had to continually assess if your home was going
to be dragged into the street, or into a ditch, or into someone
else's home. Some days I have more patience for it than others.
Just this morning we headed into Clifton on Union Island to
stock up on staples, and we returned to find our home/boat
had moved about 100 yards or so from where we had left it.
Luckily, we're in an open anchorage with only True Blue beside
us, and the current merely dragged us further toward the open
sea rather than onto the reef.
While I'm surprised to find I've become
accustomed to waking up three or four times a night to pop
my head out of the hatch and look around to see if our boat's
position has moved closer to shore, another boat, a reef,
etc., sometimes it takes its toll more than others. Just recently
in Bequia, the holding in the anchorage was terrible, and
consequently with the strong winds, I don't think Curt nor
I ever really fell into a deep sleep and spent our days there
yawning. One ear is always tuned to the noises of a sleeping
boat: the anchor chain creaking over the bow roller, the flags
ruffling in the wind, the swells lapping over the transom.
When we hear an unfamiliar sound, we're both immediately wide
awake, and at least one of us leaves the warmth of our bed
with sleep in our eyes to walk the deck in the dark looking
for the source of the sound. The first night in a new anchorage
is always the worst, and each night as we gain more confidence
in our anchor's holding and familiarity with our surrounding
winds and seas, we sleep better. But for instance in Admiralty
Bay, Bequia, we woke each morning to see that we'd moved just
slightly, and so we could never rest with any certainty of
how much to trust our anchor in the holding there. The good
news is that it seemed the boats around us were all dragging
at more or less the same rate, so it didn't appear we'd run
into anyone else with any luck.
I'm not sure how well I'll sleep tonight.
A weather front is supposed to be coming through with substantial
gusts and lots of rain. Certainly with the knowledge that
our anchor doesn't want to hold here, I'll be up three or
four times, but it seems luck is on our side as there doesn't
seem to be much to run into? Always look for the silver lining
Monday July 15th, 2002
Petite Martinique and Petite Saint Vincent
After spending longer than we had planned
at Frigate Island, this morning we made our way to the nearby
island of Petite Saint Vincent (a.k.a., "P.S.V.").
The island is wholly owned by a private party and has a beautiful
resort there. While they seem happy to have sailboats anchor
in their bay, they are a bit less happy to have yachties wondering
the grounds and using the facilities. Regardless, Curt and
I were (as always) happy to be back in on of the Caribbean's
white sand/clear water little bays so we put together a picnic
lunch and headed for an isolated stretch of beach around a
point. It was one of those picture perfect afternoons where
we kept laughing to ourselves that this was indeed our life!
After imbibing in a bottle of French wine, cheese and crackers
we'd saved from Martinique, we headed back towards the boat,
collecting seashells along the way.
True Blue showed up later that afternoon
and we rallied to go to Petite Martinique (or, "P.M".)
for dinner. We hailed the restaurant on the VHF and made a
reservation for 6pm. Better late than never, the water taxi
showed up around 6:20 or so to take us to a typically Caribbean-funky
restaurant. The food was good, and we ate with kids, and chickens,
and goats running around underfoot.