A Sail of Two Idiots (40 page)

Assuming we'd sell the boat within the next year, and knowing we had to haul it out anyway, we figured we might as well see what
our
surveyor had to say about the boat so we wouldn't have any surprises during a survey with a
buyer's
surveyor later. (Ha! Boy did
that
not work, but you have to admit it seemed logical.)

Just as in the Bahamas, we had a narrow canal to squeeze through to reach the Travelift. Then we were strapped into it and hoisted out of the water. We then made one of the most expensive mistakes ever. We were asked if we wanted the bottom pressure-washed or just have a quick rinse. Because Americans often think that more is better, we went for the most powerful option. Our bottom paint had held up well from the Bahamas application, but with pressure washing we watched $3,500 of liquid gold (or blue antifouling paint, in this case) wash into the boatyard. The boat bottom was now nice and clean, all right, but it would need repainting. You do
not
want to make this mistake.

Our survey went well, just as we thought it would—we had worked hard maintaining that boat! Of course, the surveyor did find a few things he suggested we fix while the boat was out of the water, so we just moved ourselves on the hard (into the boatyard), bought our supplies (mainly paint—grumble, grumble), and got set for some serious work. We'd do it ourselves this time. The plan was to get in and out in two days. The drill was much the same as in the Bahamas.
Jacumba
was wheeled into the boatyard and put up on jack stands. We lived aboard and used our swim ladder to get on and off the boat. Once again we enjoyed being hooked up to electricity and water. What was also the same was that the weather turned ugly during the process. What was different was all the hard work that
we
put in this time.

While Michael was supposed to be doing a light sanding, I was repainting the now very faded boat lettering. By the time I got around to where Michael was, I noticed that he had gotten overzealous (remember that more-is-better issue?) and had sanded some areas down to the fiberglass. Not only had that taken a lot of time, it made the bottom uneven, and now the paint wouldn't stick to the fiberglass. Back to the store for primer (we hadn't planned on that). That was not a pleasant conversation.

The upper portion of the boat, including the topsides, had gotten splattered with antifouling paint during the pressure wash, and the crane sling had left some serious marks of its own on the hulls. When it rained during our second day on the job, we took advantage of the deluge to scrub, scrub, scrub.

In between squalls (which included 30-knot winds whacking into the boat and making it wobble on the jack stands), we got the boat cleaned, taped, and painted and the propellers scrubbed and antifouled. If the rain wasn't frustrating enough, the yard added an element of vexation as well. Their contribution involved dumping tons of rock nearby. Dumped rock equals dust, which we were desperately trying to keep from embedding in our drying paint and wax (yes, we waxed the gelcoat too). We worked at night to avoid the rain and the dumping.

This is where having a catamaran instead of a monohull really stinks. There is
a lot
of area to cover on a catamaran (yes, I'm shouting). Two hulls with two sides and a wiiiide in-between (bridge deck). Whose idea was this? We worked and worked and worked.

We needed to address the chunk we had taken out of our keel on Antigua, so we hired a fiberglass repair guy to fix it. We also had to replace our zincs (sacrificial metals that help protect the other metals on the boat from electrolysis), which were located on the saildrives beneath the boat. Getting the new zincs required a long round-trip to another boatyard on the island. There went half a day.

We also had to hire someone to do a rigging inspection (yes, we had to; our surveyor had added that requirement to his survey report to our insurer). When the rigging inspector finally showed up 36 hours after he said he would, we were pleased to hear that the rigging was in good condition considering that it was mostly original. Only one part was missing—a rather important part, but easily remedied.

The day we were supposed to relaunch, the fiberglass guy came to put one more coat of something or other on the keel. It melted whatever else had been on there, and the whole repair job dripped onto the ground. It would have to be redone. NOOO!

We were already two days late getting back in the water, and our visas were due to expire in four days. We wanted to be back to the Grenadines in four days, not renewing our visas! Work faster! Finally, after lots of hand-wringing, we were plopped back into the harbor—to the sounds of clapping. Everyone around us commented that they'd never seen two people work so hard. I'll bet! I know that I was quite happy to have our paint-splattered, dust-covered, soaked and sweaty selves be done with it all. I felt as though I had just given birth (or at least I imagined it felt that way).

Jacumba
looked fantastic. We were pretty impressed with ourselves and the outcome. We also vowed never to do that again.

We sooo deserved this upcoming trip. Heaven awaits!

Well, there was the obvious haulout and survey, which was a lot of work. We probably saved ourselves about $1,000 doing the work ourselves. The survey was cheaper as well, but we still ended up saying good-bye to about $3,000 at the end of it all. We also cleaned the dinghy bottom, the metalwork, and the cushions, and fixed the still-leaking windows. (Why does this keep coming up? Because it wouldn't stop raining! This is a recording.)

We replaced some of the running rigging, including genny sheets, mainsheets, and lazyjacks. They were so old that they were swollen and frayed and not going smoothly through the clutches and other things that lines go through.

F
irst things first.

While not actually part of the Grenadines (but the sister island to Grenada), Carriacou is close enough in proximity so I snuck it into this chapter. We got pretty beaten up heading from Grenada northeast to Carriacou, and conditions continued to deteriorate once we got there. While we were hunkered down in Terrell Bay, on the southwest side of the island, we noticed our pals Booker and Dave on catamaran
Tortuguita
motor in and anchor. We had last seen them on St. Martin during New Year's. What a fun surprise!

The next day, all four of us jumped on a bus that went all around Carriacou to get a feel for its size, the towns, and the people. It was a sleepy little island. All four of us are vegetarians and were having problems finding a place for lunch when we mentioned our predicament to a local store owner downtown. The next thing we knew, she was on the phone calling a relative and sending us down the street. By the time we found the little kitchen, there were four home-cooked meals waiting for us. Couldn't beat that!

We later hit the fun little bar floating in the middle of the harbor, popped some popcorn, and hung out on
Tortuguita
for movie night. Life was full.

Just about every major island has a tiny, uninhabited “Sandy” something or other within puttering distance. Carriacou does too. We motored the 4 miles northwest into 30-knot winds to get over there and anchored ourselves so our boat's rear was within swimming distance of the reef. Being able to do this is so rare (Turks and Caicos and the Bahamas were two of the few places with the right conditions) that it was a treat.

A lot of the reef had been beaten up by various hurricanes, and warmer waters were bleaching much of the coral as well, but it was still fun. This was supposed to be a day anchorage, but we loved it so much we decided to stay the night.

The moon was so bright we could see the bone-white sand on the spit glittering all night long. We could also see not only the lights of Carriacou but Union Island beyond it … beckoning.

We sailed back to Carriacou the next day, with the high winds behind us this time, and checked out. Then we headed for Anse la Roche, in the southwest corner of the island (yes, we had checked out, but we had 24 hours to leave). We were all by ourselves, off a public but hard-to-get-to-by-land beach surrounded by rocks and waters begging to be snorkeled. There were more fish to see here than off Sandy Island, but both places were worth doing. We highly recommend this anchorage.

The weather was finally supposed to improve—for several days, no less! We had a slow sail north to Union Island thanks to a strong current against us (we did check for crab pots on our props!), but it was only 6 miles away, so we just enjoyed the view and the ride.

Once we got to Clifton Harbor, on the southeast side of Union Island, I was surprised to see reefs
inside
the anchorage. They had been on my chartplotter, but it was still jarring to see them occasionally peeking out of the water in there. And the harbor was crowded. We cautiously motored around until we found a good spot off the man-made (of conch shells) Happy Island, which supported one bar. We anchored behind a reef, with only open ocean in front of us, as on East Caicos. It was beautiful.

We hurriedly checked in so we could hike all around the island and take in our surroundings. The incredibly clear, multihued waters were breathtaking from every angle.

On our way back to the boat, we stopped off at a park square that was home to several vendor huts selling produce. I'm embarrassed to say what we got suckered into paying for a bag of veggies. We were later told that there were tourist prices and local prices and we should have asked for a “mixed” bag, which would have been the right lingo for a deal. Good to know.

We spent a nice evening at Happy Island getting happy and picking owner/builder Janti's brain about all things Grenadine.

We debated anchoring in Clifton Harbor for the rest of the hurricane season because there was a hurricane hole for shallow-draft boats like ours nearby, but then we decided we'd be too isolated. Oh well.

Our next sail was only about 6 miles northeast and entailed some reef reading, but, as in the Bahamas (only with more experienced eyes), the reefs were easy to read. A few well-placed buoys helped too. If you avoid the ugly brown/black patches and watch your depth sounder, you're good to go.

What can I say about the Tobago Cays? You'll just have to go there and see them for yourself. If I had to choose a word, I guess I'd go with “spectacular.” Talk about saving the best for last. We didn't have to work on anything on the boat, had a few sunny days, and were surrounded by indescribably beautiful water.

There was plenty of room to anchor (although moorings have since been installed and now must be used in lieu of anchors), lots of small uninhabited islands to hop around, palm trees to climb, reefs to snorkel, turtles to swim with … Happiness. We were relaxed and were even getting our tans back. And because we were there before the crowds, we had room to spread out and just take it all in. Did I mention it was paradise?

I'm not even afraid that my superlative-laden description will set you up for disappointment, because that's just impossible.

We snorkeled and snorkeled. Although the reef had damaged and bleached spots, it still had quite a bit of sea life, and the water was so clear that it was like swimming in an aquarium. Tip: You must have an underwater camera by the time you reach this place.

Continuing on our northeasterly course, we sailed another 8 miles to Canouan simply for the Internet access, the most powerful we experienced in all of the Caribbean thanks to The Moorings, a charter-boat company. We hadn't read about anything special enough to keep us there, so we didn't do much. This turned out to be a mistake, because several other boaters later found some wonderful reefy places off the north coast to enjoy. Do your research on this island.

Our timing couldn't have been better, though, because we found out we'd have another visitor in just a few days! J.D., a friend from our Arizona days, was a commercial airline pilot and could finally break away—yay! He and his wife had been tossing around the idea of becoming liveaboards some day, so J.D. wanted to try out a catamaran (which is what his wife wanted). We'd be picking him up on St. Vincent in less than a week!