Yuletide greetings from Bonaire

22/12/2018;  Bonaire, Dutch Antilles

Most passages up the Windward isles seldom enjoy the benefit of a rare southerly component to the prevailing north easterlies, so when one is forecast, everyone grabs it.  It was too good an opportunity to miss hanging round waiting for my anchor winch motor to arrive, so we also cleared out of St Lucia and had a glorious 25 nM sail up to Martinique.

This meant that a couple of days later, I had to sail back down by myself in some very bumpy seas, while the others enjoyed the quiet anchorage of Le Marin. It took another three days of typical stuff-ups, such as the agent assigned to collect the package from Fed-Ex going off on holidays without so much as a bye. Then the usual long lunch hours, half days, no days....

But in the end, it came through, really in rather remarkable island time of less than 6 weeks. I even managed to find some wall-propper-upperer locals willing (for $US20) to cut me a few inches of dirty old PVC pipe to wrap around the motor and hopefully retard the inevitable corrosion.

So with priceless treasures in hand (or bunk), I beat my way north again, where my good German friends were itching to help with the motor changeover. I won’t mention the uncharacteristic human error that entailed triple install and uninstall – which when being approached blind in a shoe-box was perhaps understandable. However, on the third go, woo-hoo! Super power to spin those gears and cogs and shoot elephants into orbit.

Le Marin is the most crowded anchorage I have ever seen, with literally a forest of masts spread for miles and many expats living out their days on all manner of immovable craft.  South African friend, Hurgen, unkindly compared them to rotting cabbages. Several sunken wrecks border the mangroves as testimony to old age, atrophy, natural attrition and hurricane devastation.

The anchorage is one of the safest, the soft mud providing good holding for most anchors. Most, apart from Hurgen’s “Bruce”, which is no match for his 17 ton steel ketch in a good blow.  We came back after doing a hire car tour of the island to find “Morwenna” had dragged over 200 metres, practically onto the wreck-strewn reef behind, a strong reminder of how easily one can lose everything. 

Land dwellers seldom have to worry about strong winds dragging their home away or crashing into another in the night.

From Le Marin it was a short sail around the coast to Grande Anse. 

Grande Anse on a harmless day.

One of those ominously uncertain rear-approaching dark clouds dumped its worst, with strong winds, torrential rain and zero visibility striking just at a narrow pass between mainland and Diamond Rock. I had to stand outside to keep a lookout for any oncoming boat that might suddenly appear in front of me, as well as for the ubiquitous fish traps.  These clear plastic bottles strung off metres of floating twine are near-impossible to spot and several boats have gotten caught up in them, even with more than one pair of eyes looking out.

Arriving in the crowded anchorage, drenched to the skin and teeth-chatteringly cold, I didn’t do my usual dive on the anchor to check if it had dug in well.  As it turned out, it had landed in a patch of weed instead of sand and had no hope of holding, despite being the best anchor money can buy.  But I wasn’t the only one; “Morwenna”, naturally, went slowly backwards throughout the night, missing all others, and “Rosine’s” anchor caught on another’s chain.  You can be lucky.

I was lucky too. At around midnight, realizing I was dragging, I saw my only hope was to try and pick up a nearby mooring buoy, which had been several boat-lengths behind me, but was fast closing the gap. I knew there was no time to lose, because once passed it, I was out to sea. Rowing around in pitch black and pouring rain in the middle of the night with a couple of long ropes tied together is not much fun, but I managed to get secured. The ‘mooring’ was a small float with only very thin rope attached to who knows what below, so I kept anchor watch for the rest of the night just in case it gave way.

German cruise line, Mein Schiff 5 in port at Fort de France

The anchorage at the capital of Martinique, Fort de France, was much better, and I did dive this time to check. Here, we met other interesting sailors, a young French woman, Margot, on a small 28’ yacht, and my first other Australian, Trevor, on a 35’ steelie, “Ironbark II”. He was about as different from your average cruiser as you can get, having spent a couple of years in Antarctica, then sailing directly from there to Ireland. He prefers the cooler latitudes and has no sun shade over his cockpit at all.

Aussie Trevor rowing over to say G'day

The town itself is that fascinating blend of first and third world, with the iconic buildings, like the pale green cylindrical high rise, the vaulted Cathedral and the Schoelcher Biblioteque, being the least typical but the most eye-catching.

Schoelcher Biblioteque (Public library)

Inside library

Creeping up the hills behind are the shanty shacks with the million-dollar views.  For me, it was great to be in a French-speaking country again, with more opportunities to have myself misunderstood.

Many happy sundowners were had on each other’s boats, watching intently for the elusive green flash as the sun kissed a cloud-free horizon.

Farewells are part of a cruiser’s life and so our little group disbanded, some to stay in the Caribbean for another season, me to begin my move West to the island of Bonaire in the ABC’s in the Lesser Antilles. The 470 nM passage which I expected to take 4 days took only 3, with strong winds and current assisting.

It was calm initially, but then one of those lovely black storm cells hit, bringing 30+ knots with 3 metre waves, which I was not prepared for. I’m very happy to report I seem to be (relatively) free of my old “mal de mer”.

Bonaire is the “B” of the ABC’s, the others being Aruba and Curacao. It’s easy to see why it is a world-famous dive-site, the waters being crystal clear. Dozens of colourful angel fish mill around Shanti’s keel, attracting the eerie luminescent green lights of night divers.

The next ports for me are Curacao and Aruba, then Santa Marta in Colombia, and the San Blas islands en route to Panama. So I’m homeward bound ....

Some token gesture of festive decorations on Shanti

 

Wishing you all a very Merry Christmas and a safe and stress free New Year, and may your homes always be where you left them.