!?&@!!!

 Hurricane Beryl had just crashed through Carriacou and taken a side-swipe at the Grenadines as she passed. I was in Trinidad’s Scotland Bay a hundred miles to the south watching it all on YouTube.

I had joined the exodus and was feeling exceptionally pleased with myself.

Here’s a tip: Never feel too pleased with yourself.

The next morning, I puttered back to Chaguaramas to complete Trinidad and Tobago’s byzantine customs and immigration process (How many people have died on the voyage other than as the result of an accident?)

I knew the way – just round the corner, round Delgado Point where the buoy’s missing, and someone has helpfully posted the fact on the Navionics Chart. Two miles round the corner was no trouble. I had just dodged a hurricane…

That was when I hit the rock. The rock that is clearly marked on the chart. The chart that I was not looking at because I’ve just got Starlink and had flicked over to Facebook to look at pictures of all the boats piled up like spilikins on the hard at Tyrrell Bay.

In other words, I wasn’t paying attention to the job in hand. It’s something I do a lot – have done all my life. People called me a dreamer (one of the kinder explanations).

What I say to myself when I knock a chunk out of a boat has not always been so forgiving. Hitting a rock at four knots is just the sort of thing I would beat myself up about for days. Samsara certainly didn’t deserve to lose a great scrape of gelcoat from the leading edge of the keel. Now she’ll have to come out for repair – more expense.

More reason to berate myself for the fool that I am.

Except I don’t do that anymore.

Now I know there is a reason for it – this not paying attention, these temporary absences from real life. This is classic ADHD.

Get over it.

If you would like to read about the other absurdities (and hilarities) that I lay at the door of this ridiculous mental kink. I have written my life story – now that I understand it. You can find it on Amazon. It’s called Faster, Louder, Riskier Sexier – Learning to love ADHD.

And if I do say so myself, it’s a cracking read.

But then I would say that, wouldn’t I? So, don’t take it from me. Take it from the first couple of reviewers.

One says: “I’ve read a few of John’s books and I read his blog, this book is his best work yet – in my opinion! “

Another writes: “This is a wonderful memoir and a great read… John writes with the style of a top journalist and the honesty of a great memoirist.”

https://amzn.eu/d/00WelhNb

13 Responses to !?&@!!!

  • Hi John, I’m glad you dodged Beryl. Blame the rock mishap on Elon. I ‘m reading your book, excellent, and an eye opener for me… those symptons you described were too familiar… I took the test and I also have ADHD. Thanks for the enlightment and good luck with your repairs. Yes, I’ll leave many stars on Amazon.

  • Hi John,

    glad you dodged Beryl if not the rock; maybe some sort of stainless strip on top / ahead of the repair ? Now how do I get a copy of your book please ?

  • Hello John. Good to hear you managed to avoid the hurricane. I must a copy of your biography. I wrote 36000 words of my own, then thought “ who would want to read about a guy who lives in a Citroen Picasso”. Safe travels. Tony

  • John, another self deprecating and enjoyable read. When this happens to me I satisfy myself that it could have been worse! Keep ‘em coming John. Brilliant!!

  • I’m glad you missed Byrel. I thought about you a lot during that time and hoped you went pass Carriacou. That rock shall now, and forever more, be known as “Passmore Rock”.

  • John. I really enjoy your travel experience updates. This is is also a study in how to cruise the Carribean during hurricane season…… looking forward to your next installment…. and ….. I’m reading the book !

  • I like your headline. Very expressive. Does the damage put your structure at risk?

  • Thanks for quoting my review John! I hope Samsara heals soon and don’t be too hard on yourself!

  • I have been watching Beryl’s progress, glad to see you escaped the worst of the blow, it’s certainly coming early this year.

  • Now that’s a publicity stunt – eat your heart out Ed Davey

  • Don’t feel too bad, John. I did that last year and in a place I’ve been dozens of times. And as far as I know, I don’t have a good medical reason for it like you do!

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Beryl and Elon

The Great Escape from Grenada to Trinidad

Three days ago I left Dominica because there was a tropical disturbance 1,500 miles away. Now I’m approaching Trinidad where the weather forecast for tomorrow is “a gentle breeze”.

For the Grenadines – just 100 miles to the north – it is: “Hurricane Beryl will develop into a Major Category 3 Hurricane with life-threatening winds of 150km/hr and higher gusts. Major storm surge likely…”

Oh look, in the time it’s taken me to write that, Beryl has graduated to “Extremely dangerous Category 4 Hurricane” with wind speeds of 209-251 km/hr.

Jogging along against the Equatorial current so that I’m really only making two knots towards my destination, I know all this stuff because I have Starlink.

Starlink, if you’re not familiar with it, is the satellite communications system that is the practical by-product of Elon Musk firing off all those rockets.

When I wrote The Voyage books (#1 & #2), part of the charm was supposed to be “No contact with the shore, no high-frequency radio or satphone. No weather forecasts, no texts from loved ones. No news…”

I had books on my Kindle, films downloaded onto Amazon Prime. I told the family when to expect me (but not to raise the alarm if I was late). As for weather forecasts: My view was always to get a good forecast before you leave and once you’re out there, you get the weather you get…

And this was fine before weather apps and hurricane trackers and Mr Weatherman on YouTube. But an iPhone needs the internet. Until now, this meant a SIM card – and in the Caribbean, a different SIM card for every island… and even when you’ve got one, it’s not going to work in the remote anchorages, so you end up in a beach bar trying to make WhatsApp calls in competition with wall-to-wall reggae.

Yet, for the same price (cheaper in many cases) you can get Starlink’s unlimited high-speed internet – blisteringly high-speed, actually. We’re talking 172mbps – and all you need is a stylish white box full of clever electronics and a dish the size of an airline tray table.

The Starlink dish (top right), with the solar panel and wind charger.

 

Chiefy in his perch on top of the Starlink router.

Starlink has been a revelation: As long as I have battery power, I can leave it switched on and people can call me whenever they like – even my son Owen at six o’clock in the morning because he’s buying his first house and forgot about the time difference. I can decide, on a whim, that Hollywood on Netflix is brilliant and download the whole series.

Admittedly, once away from shore, I do have to opt for the pay-as-you-go tariff – but even that is worth it for my daily fix of The News Agents podcast (so I can sit with my face in my hands, not daring to peek between my fingers in case Joe Biden’s geriatric mumbling turns out to be real…)

And I can follow Beryl in real time – from her tiny beginnings as a “tropical disturbance” to her blossoming into a genuine life-threatening Category 4 force of nature. If I’d known she was going to end up like this, I’d have been a lot more frightened in the first place – but I’m a hurricane virgin. The one thing I did know was “Go South” and “Go Now”.

Admittedly, I had a long conversation with an old hurricane hand at last autumn’s Ocean Cruising Club party in Gran Canaria. “Hurricane preparation” he explained, is a last resort when you’ve left it too late. Even then: “Don’t just take off every scrap of canvas, everything on deck, the boom, anything you can unscrew. Take down your halyards. Do you know how much windage there is in a halyard? Now count how many you’ve got…”

Yet on Facebook, someone was asking whether he should leave the canvas doors of his cockpit enclosure open for the wind to blow through…

Someone else was saying she wanted to get clear but her partner wouldn’t leave because they’d paid for a month’s mooring…

If you flick back a few posts to ”Barbuda” you can see what Hurricane Irma did to a brand-new beach hotel. Imagine what it’s going to do to the guy in Grenada Yacht Club Marina who asked if he should put out an anchor or extra lines to the dock…

Meanwhile, the AIS screen shows a stream of yachts heading for Trinidad’s Boca de Manos. North Coast Radio checks us in – breaking into my reverie with crackling Channel 16 updates. I’ll wait until I’m ten miles off. Yes, I filed my Float Plan online but no, I’ll need to dig out the printer for the Maritime Declaration of Health (Has anyone died on board otherwise than as the result of an accident?)

I’ll keep you posted.

The Great Escape from Grenada to Trinidad

 

 

 

4 Responses to Beryl and Elon

  • Dear John, bumped into you today in the laundry at Power Boats boatyard. Thank you for the book, from a Rival 38 owner!

  • I’m pleased you got that call right – but not half as pleased, I guess, as you.

  • Good luck, John. We will be thinking of you.

  • Always a trade off with technology vs peace and tranquility… problem is once you have it, it’s almost impossible to turn off. I’m guessing eventually Starlink will be standard issue on boats and rv’s like XM radio.

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A disturbance

This started as a particularly pedestrian blog post.

Now I’m writing it sitting on the leeward berth, the laptop sliding off my knees as we race south – and it is a race: Me and Samsara against the “tropical disturbance” which may or may not develop into a tropical storm or even a hurricane. One way and another, it is not to be trifled with.

But it is stomping across the Atlantic at 20 knots – straight for me.

I am relieved to report that the map shows it is still 1,500 miles away. But there is no doubt that it is coming and since I am rather new to sailing the Caribbean during the hurricane season, I have convinced myself that it is coming for me!

So, this is not going to be a post about how these delightful islands are becoming as familiar as my local high street. I was going to say that Instead of the Co-Op for Pringles and Timpson’s for more front door keys, it is St Lucia for the watermaker and Dominica for the Kindle repair. Actually, it was supposed to be Martinique for the watermaker repair but the company there was useless (never returned calls, didn’t acknowledge emails, had no idea when they might get round to it…)

So, as you might try the cycle shop if you can’t get what you want in the hardware store, I sailed over to St Lucia where Jon White of Regis Electronics fixed it in no time at all (and told me I was operating it all wrong).

I stayed just long enough to give it a quick test in the marina and drink several bottles of Piton aboard a big boat called Stargazer with some lovely people called Andy, Jo and Jo’s sister Vicky. Jo had given Andy Old Man Sailing and now Andy gave me all the electronic charts for the whole world!

After that, it was time for a proper sea trial of the watermaker.

Also, the Kindle needed to go back to the repair shop in Dominica. They said they’d fixed it a month ago – and it packed up the very next day on the way to Antigua.

So now – by this somewhat circuitous route – I was back in Dominica, anchored off the fishermen’s shacks in Roseau and Maria at Compusol said to come back tomorrow.

Then the Hurricane Tracker app opened with a big red X. A red X means “seven-day cyclone chance greater than 60%”.

I turned to Facebook (when you don’t know what to do, turn to Facebook.)

The advice was as universal as only Facebook advice can be:

Get into the mangroves in Martinique.

Get into the mangroves in Antigua.

Wait and see.

Go south now.

Watch YouTube videos about hurricane preparation.

Pray.

“Go South” is the standard advice. Even I know that – but the predicted track for this disturbance covered the coast of Venezuela. There wasn’t any gap to “go south” into. Maybe I should go north instead – there was plenty of room to the north.  Come back when it’s all over… The Facebook seers didn’t even dignify this with a comment.

Meanwhile, I had to change the freshwater pump or I wouldn’t be able to flush the watermaker even if it was working. The pump is under the sink. Changing it took the whole afternoon. With the cabin temperature at 38°C, tropical disturbances didn’t seem so urgent.

But by five o’clock, a new Windy prediction showed the storm passing north of Grenada. Suddenly Trinidad was shown in blue which means “light winds”. Now it made perfect sense to go south.

This was on Thursday evening. The disturbance/storm/hurricane wouldn’t hit until Monday afternoon. That gave me three and a half days to do 300 miles. With a trade wind on the beam, I could average 100 miles a day, no trouble.

I did spend some time working out that if I left in the morning, I’d still have three days and that way I could stock up with beer and buy a 7mm spanner which, I had discovered during the water pump replacement, I am lacking.

You can just see the headlines, can’t you: “Sailing pensioner drowned in hurricane. Beer and spanner blamed.”

So, I left. Waving to the Frenchman anchored next door, I pulled up the anchor and the sails all at the same time and hastened south.

The Frenchman raised his glass. The French don’t worry about hurricanes. Why do you think nobody bothers to translate sang froid?

And so, as I say, here we are on target, tramping along at five knots with the super zero flying in nine knots apparent – 122 miles to the turning point at the bottom of Grenada. ETA Trinidad midday Sunday.

I wonder if I can buy a new Kindle in Trinidad?

And a spanner?

6 Responses to A disturbance

  • Glad to hear that everything is ‘under control’ JP. Upon arrival in Trinidad, after resting, could you cast you eye over my Moody 422 and send me a couple of pictures to update me on the condition of ELLEN II. Kind regards and Onwards and Downwards to T&T

  • Your more amazing, mad, but amazing, I am a gog at your exploits.

  • Good Luck you lovely man!
    You’re bold and brave and practical too. Wonderfully evocative writing.

    I sailed with a friend a few years ago, from Antigua to St Lucia and back. We had exciting adventures through Guadalupe, Dominica Martinique and St Lucia, but nothing like the prospect you are contending with.

    Thanks for writing!!
    We’re with you

  • John,

    If you survive, transit the canal and get to NZ, I and Cavalier of Cowes (Rival 32) will be waiting for you off Auckland NZ along with all you desire, free mooring, cold beer, showers and big washing machine.
    Must go now, kettles just boiled and I’m going to sit on the deck and drink a fresh coffee……………mid-winters week, 16c and sun shining, you’ll love it here!

  • Thank you
    Always nice to read what you’re up to. Hope you outrun the storm
    Alan

  • Great read as always

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New books and missing words

A big thank-you to Tom Fisher and Marco Schaal who, between them, cleared up all the errors in my new book The Voyage #2: Falmouth to Grenada.

Tom managed much of this while sailing from Bermuda to Nova Scotia.

Neither has accepted the offer of a refund, insisting instead that I put it towards the boat maintenance kitty (or the booze locker).

What this means is that, if you buy the book now, you get the new edition which includes all the words – it’s strange how many managed to get lost on the way.

And thank you also to the 37 people who have bought it already – and this is where I have a favour to ask. If you enjoyed the book, would you mind awfully opening up the orders page of your Amazon account and awarding it some stars (perhaps even writing a review)? These things are so important in getting a new book launched.

I now have seven on Amazon. In particular, I would recommend my autobiography Faster, Louder, Riskier, Sexier: Learning to love ADHD. I really believe this is the best of the lot (it’s certainly fat enough). I’ll put a link below, just to be helpful…

 https://amzn.eu/d/a7j8Re8

1 Responses to New books and missing words

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A long way for a lost hat

Barbuda’s Nobu beach bar is more of a resort really, with wooden walkways in the sand and piped music among the trees, secluded sunbeds, outdoor bars…

They have an indoor bar as well – although nothing’s really indoors except for the five-star loos…

Nobu – walkways in the sand and piped music

…and a shady veranda

I had walked all the way up the beach specifically for a Nobu cocktail. In all the time I’ve been in the Caribbean this year, I still haven’t had my bushwhacker. I thought everyone knew how to make a bushwhacker (Rum, Kahlua, Amaretto, Baileys, Crème de cacao, Triple Sec & Nutmeg). But when I got there, I had to put up with something which consisted of white rum, chilli, lemon juice and 90% ice – for $25 – and that’s US dollars, not the East Caribbean ones as in “EC come, EC go…”

I wouldn’t complain because at least $15 of that was for the veranda furniture and the glass that came with the bottle of Carib (that was a first…)

No, what upset me was that I left my hat behind and didn’t realise until I was back on the boat. Nobu closed early on Sunday and would not be opening again until Wednesday.

Of course, I could abandon the hat and return to Antigua for customs check-out before going back to Dominica to take the not-mended Kindle back to the electronics shop. But this was no ordinary hat. I had ordered it online and had it delivered to the Heathrow hotel when overnighting on the way back from the family skiing holiday. A lot of logistics had gone into that hat. Also, it wasn’t cheap, and I find I’ve become very parsimonious since losing £352,600 by being just plain stupid.

(If that figure made you to go back and read it again, it’s not a mistake – well the numbers are correct – losing that much money certainly was a mistake. (The full story is in my autobiography Faster, Louder, Riskier, Sexier https://amzn.eu/d/a7j8Re8)

So, I certainly wasn’t about to lose my hat as well. All I had to do was hang around until Wednesday…

Princess Diana might have been content to spend several days on the Princess Diana Beach (well, you’d feel obliged to if they named it after you), I decided to kill the time by going up to Codrington – or “the village” as the locals call it. I could check out there instead of stopping again in Antigua. Also, they don’t charge if you to do it in Codrington which would go some way towards the cost of the ice cocktail.

There’s a good reason it’s free: Much of the water around Barbuda was last surveyed in 1848 (HMS Thunder, Capt. E. Barnett). The Cruising Guide claimed to have the most up-to-date chart – although my 2018 edition was still at the printers when Hurricane Irma came barrelling up the islands and punched a hole through the sand bar.

Even the Navionics chart includes notes such as: “This area is encumbered with numerous coral heads… put a man in the rigging and eyeball…”

Eyeballing requires strong sunlight above and behind the man in the rigging so that the deep water shows up as dark blue, the sand as pale green and the coral heads in sharp relief. I compromised by standing up on the cockpit seat and going very, very slowly.

The best thing about modern electronic charts is that mariners can contribute, and somebody had helpfully plotted a line of depth readings all the way along between the lagoon and the reef, right up to the anchorage just off the wrecked Lighthouse Bay Hotel.

This was truly spectacular. I had seen plenty of houses with their roofs blown off by Irma, but a hotel which falls flat on its face because the land underneath it gets washed away is enough to make anyone throw out an extra handful of chain before going ashore.

This was not as straightforward at Codrington as it had been on the Princess Diana Beach. Admittedly, thanks to Irma, I didn’t have to drag the dinghy over the spit and into the lagoon. Another note explains: “As a result of two hurricanes in 2017, a new pass has opened up between the sea and Codrington… wide and deep enough for RIBs and other dinghies to pass into the lagoon.”

The only tiny detail omitted is that it is a full two miles from the anchorage to the village and the Trade Wind was blowing its usual 12-15kts.

And I still don’t have an outboard.

Of course, I could call on VHF for a water taxi ($40 US at 2018 prices).

Or I could row.

I once rowed one-and-a-half miles each way across the Sint Maarten lagoon (from the Dutch side to the French side because I had a French SIM card and they had some way of restricting coverage to comply exactly with the border). But that was without taking the wind into consideration. My usual two-knot rowing average could be seriously affected by a brisk headwind. I WhatsApped the Customs Officer and said it would take me an hour-and-a-half. He said he closed at four o’clock.

Isn’t there a bit in The Riddle of the Sands when Davies and Carruthers are planning to row through the channels to creep up on the Germans and Davies says: “How far can you pull?”

The answer has always got to be: “As far as I have to.”

Rowing – with hat

I stopped only twice – once to take a close-up of the collapsed hotel and once to check on my phone if I was still going in the right direction (I wasn’t).

And it did take an hour-and-a-half – and the lagoon is sufficiently wide for a 12-15kt trade wind to kick up an appreciable chop – which then gets blown over the bow of the dinghy, soaking the oarsman from head to foot. But that’s OK because the water temperature is 29°C. By the time I’d walked a mile through the meandering streets of Codrington to find the Customs Office, I had pretty much dried off.

The Customs Officer had gone home. A woman on a bicycle told me where he lived. He came back, bringing the Immigration Officer with him.

We spent a pleasant twenty minutes filling in the forms (only five of them this time). I apologised for being late – I’d had to row across the lagoon.

They were incredulous – both of them: “You rowed across the lagoon?”

I don’t have an outboard motor.

“Nobody rows across the lagoon!”

This became obvious on the way back. Not only did I have the wind with me – so this time it only took 50 minutes and I didn’t even get wet. But a man in an enormous Boston Dory with three (yes, three) giant Suzukis on the back, drove over to ask if I was OK.

He came close enough and shut down his horsepower so that I could shout my usual response: “If I don’t do this I have to go to the gym!”

All the same, he wouldn’t leave until I had given him a definitive thumbs up.

And so, on the Wednesday morning, I carefully retraced my route inside the reef, round Nine Foot Bank and wriggled through the coral opposite the Nobu until I was just off the beach. I could see the people on their sun loungers and in the shade with their chopsticks and seared salmon karashi sumiso.

This time I was so close I didn’t have to bother with the dinghy at all. I swam ashore and presented myself, dripping, at the bar.

And yes, they had found my hat. The only thing I hadn’t planned on was swimming back wearing it.

And, if you meant to look up the book when you’d finished reading this, here it is again:  https://amzn.eu/d/a7j8Re8

4 Responses to A long way for a lost hat

  • Pingback: The True Kit Stowaway – Old Man Sailing
  • John …. You are a classic… you remind me of my real good fun friends that I knew in the 70’s as a ski bum in Tahoe….a laugh a minute, not a care in the world and 3 or mor “ last runs” every ski day ! Keep it going … I’ll buy you a Bushwacker if I see you somewhere . I’m buying the book !
    Best ….Phil A

  • Ho, ho, very good. Do you know the Steeleye Span song – “All Around My Hat”. It’s a long time since I listened to it but I am doing do now. I think it’s quite appropriate to your predicament – just replace “my true love” with Bushwacker

  • More adventures in a week than some of us get in a life time.

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Barbuda

It was always going to be about Barbuda.

Among these islands lumped together as a tropical paradise, Barbuda is special. It is the only one that is truly unspoilt.

Here, there are no sprawling hotel complexes, no condominiums or cruise liners. No charter flights through the night…

Barbuda, I learned from the Cruising Guide when I first arrived in the Caribbean in 2021, is pretty much as it’s always been. The blue-green sea dotted with coral and teeming with every kind of fish. Endless beaches of the palest pink sand that seem to be entirely deserted.

The island is half the size of Antigua and yet has a population of just 1,634. Mostly, it is left to nature with herds of donkeys, wild horses, deer and goats roaming free.

There is a rather unusual reason for this. The people were originally imported as slaves by the Codrington Family who leased the island from the Crown in 1685 (for an annual rent of one fat sheep). However, the Codringtons did not establish their usual sugar plantation but used Barbuda for growing crops and raising livestock for their workforce in Antigua. Also, the island made a convenient hunting estate (the locals still go out with dogs and guns after wild pigs).

Mostly, the owners left the people to their own devices. This meant that when Abolition came, the Barbudans carried on farming and hunting and fishing in much the same way they always had. Also, they agreed to hold the land communally – which meant that nobody could buy it…

With independence in 1981, the Island found itself amalgamated with Antigua (honestly, how can you have an independent nation of 1,634 people?) But Antigua is not like Barbuda. Antigua is particularly keen on development.

Mind you, the government didn’t have it all their own way: When a construction company spent all day putting up Portacabins ready to build a hotel on Spanish Point, the locals turned up en-masse after dark and pushed them off the cliff.

As the Guide’s celebrated author Chris Doyle puts it: “Many people would love to get their hands on Barbuda’s beachfront real estate, including, at the moment, Robert de Niro and his rich friends with the full connivance of the labor government. Some Barbudans object strongly. It is difficult to know how long they can resist McDonaldsization.”

Well, at least I was getting here first.

But that is the trouble with being a cheapskate.  My cruising guide was not even up to date in 2021. I bought it off another boat that was heading for Panama. It is actually dated 2018-2019. It doesn’t even cover 2017 when Hurricane Irma caused the entire population (all 1,634) to be evacuated to Antigua until basic services could be restored – and the government used this as an excuse to amend the communal land law.

So, when I turned up on Friday at Princess Diana Beach, expecting to find 16 miles of unblemished pink sand with just Enoch’s beach bar and lobster grill to break the monotony, I was a bit startled to find a construction site.

This wasn’t what I’d sailed 30 miles for. I turned hard a-port for a couple of miles until I could drop anchor opposite a deserted stretch of beach. Admittedly the boat did settle right on top of a coral head, but you can do that sort of thing when you only draw one-and-a-half metres.

I was just getting out a cold Carib when a helicopter came and landed right opposite – and then another one.

Half an hour after that, an enormous motor catamaran loaded with tourists from Antigua came and drove right up onto the beach, let down a ramp and disgorged its cargo of oiled flesh as if this was D-Day.

Clearly, things have changed a bit since Princess Diana was here in 1997. She chose it specifically because it was so darned difficult for the press to get to.

It wasn’t that easy for me, it being seven miles from the anchorage to Codrington, the capital – or “the village” as the locals call it. A taxi was $70 US return even at 2018 prices and I was still smarting from the engineer’s bill at English Harbour. I got out the bike.

I hadn’t ridden the bike since the Canary Islands, it had a flat tyre and the pump seemed to be broken. I took it anyway. There was a garage in town. Surely somebody would give me a lift.

His name was Chris and he was from Jamaica – an architect on the construction site. He reckoned that a little tasteful development for seriously high-end clients could only be good for the island – maybe they could build some decent roads.

He had a point: The reason a taxi costs so much is because a seven-mile return trip is going to take a while if the fastest you can go is 20mph and even then you’re going to wreck the suspension in the potholes.

Also, he had some bad news: The high-pressure pump at the garage was broken. The good news was that the dive shop could pump up my tyre with a SCUBA tank.

More bad news. The dive shop was closed. In the end, he left me at the General Store in the hope that they might stock a pump.

The General Store was closed because the proprietor had gone down the road. He would be back in fifteen minutes. This I learned from a tall young man with the biggest and whitest teeth I had ever seen. He said his name was Scuzzy and after a couple of beers from the Tummy Feast Restaurant two doors down, he found a SCUBA tank from somewhere and pumped up my tyre.

Then he chaired a Question Time debate among the other Tummy Feast customers gathered in the shade of the General Store (it now transpired that the store was closed because the proprietor was also the proprietor of the Tummy Feast – and that seemed to be more profitable just at the moment.)

The thing is that Barbuda is just getting left behind. It may be great to visit and sit on the beach, but you should try living here. Have you seen the hospital? Don’t fall off that bike…

You can’t stop progress – and it’s not as if there isn’t enough land. They’ve got more land than they know what to do with. Maybe letting a few rich people build a few fancy houses will get them some decent roads…

Yes, they may have a point there. I set off to see the Frigate Bird colony in the north of the Island. That would be another three-and-a-half miles down Route 1 with only the donkeys for company. I was about halfway when it occurred to me that I hadn’t seen a single other vehicle and that if I did get a puncture from one of Route 1’s potholes, it was going to be a long walk back. If I fell right into the pothole and went over the handlebars… well, maybe better not to think about that…

In the end, I never did get to see the Frigate Birds because it turns out the only access is by water across the lagoon. The road takes you to Two Foot Bay – which was charming and ended in a scramble over huge volcanic boulders.

It was only later, sitting over a Carib in Enoch’s that I learned I had missed the Sink Hole too – 80ft deep with an entirely different eco-system at the bottom, all cool and dark and mysterious.

I wouldn’t have known about this either if it hadn’t been for Ian who picked me up on the road back to the beach – yes, I did get a puncture in the end.

Ian works in construction too and invited me to join him and his friends for Happy Hour. That was when I discovered that in fact Messrs de Niro and di Caprio do not have it all their own way.

The PLH development (it stands for Peace, Love and Happiness) may have a paved road and a chain link fence and a cute little security lodge painted pink. But the law still states that no matter how many notices they might put up saying “Private”, the beach is public for six feet from the high-tide line.

…and that includes the island’s oldest residents: the donkeys. Every night, they walk in single file down the beach (sticking to the public part as if they know the rules). Then, under cover of darkness, they graze on the expensive landscaping so painstakingly planted and watered every day for the delight of the seriously high-end guests.

I think that’s a nice touch.

5 Responses to Barbuda

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Green Island

Green Island and the No See Ums (you can’t see them in the photo either)

Green Island gets a good press. The Cruising Guide calls it “charming” and goes on about the abundant birdlife and the snorkelling on the reefs. The Caribbean Compass calls it a “must-do” and puts it in the top-five Antigua destinations.

So, I was rather excited to get away from the ministrations of Jesse the mechanic at English Harbour and the Nanni diesel agent (who wasn’t) in Falmouth.

This was going to be wild cruising.

I anchored in Ricketts Bay. I blew up the dinghy. I went ashore to inspect the wildlife.

Have you met the No See Um? I thought they only had them in the Pacific – a sand fly that is so small as to be practically invisible (hence the name) but packs a bite which on a pain-to- weight ratio leaves the Scottish midge at the starting gate.

To begin with, I thought the wind had got up and was blowing the sand along the beach – remember how it used to sting at the seaside when the British bank holiday weather turned on the Monday afternoon?

But there was no great gale of wind – just the stinging sensation. Eventually I spotted the tiny black specs on my arm. Honestly, they’re smaller than grains of sand.

But ouch! This was agony.

I ran back to the dinghy. I rowed towards the boat.

But of course, the No See Ums went with me – still crawling, still biting.

I did think of diving over the side, but my little dinghy is so small and light that getting back into it from the water is virtually impossible. It turns over before you get halfway. In fact, I’ve only managed it once and that was at the Yacht Club dock in Sint Maarten when I was drunk (I’m not sure how much help that was because it follows that if I hadn’t been drunk, I wouldn’t have fallen in in the first place…)

Instead, I grabbed a T-shirt, dunked it in the water and sluiced myself down. When I reached the boat, the first thing I did was to dive over the side.

Never mind, I had a better idea: Opposite Green Island is Nonsuch Bay which the Guide calls a “gunkholer’s paradise”. In particular, there is Hughes Bay where the Harmony Hall resort welcomes yachties on the same terms as its regular guests – who have an inclusive deal. This means there is a set price for the buffet – effectively an “eat as much as you like” deal.

This would not normally seem so exciting since vegetarianism has yet to make much impression on the Caribbean. But breakfast: Now, that might be an option…

I went looking for Harmony Hall.

First, I found a private dock with two prominent notices to that effect.

Then, what appeared to be a hotel on the point with steps leading up from a little stone dock decorated with conch shells.

I walked up the steps. I walked all round the place – I couldn’t work it out: It seemed deserted but the swimming pool was still full (although somewhat neglected). There was a car in the garage, doors open and rubbish scattered about. It wasn’t until I got down to the end of the drive and the locked gates that it appeared this was not Harmony Hall but Cinnamon Point.

Across to the other side of the bay, then – there was another dock over there.

And a private beach. With rows of sun loungers on the sand which someone had carefully raked to remove any trace of guests.

There weren’t any – at least, not until I heard the sound of voices and followed them past the beach bar (closed), past rows of self-catering cabins (all shut up) until I came to the infinity pool and a solitary American family splashing about. Apparently, the resort has been sold and the new owners yet to take over. Anyway, no as-many-as-you-like pancakes…

Tomorrow I shall sail to Barbuda. Barbuda is open, I believe.

2 Responses to Green Island

  • It’s always a pleasure to read your stories from the field. Please, keep up the good work.

    • Hello John,

      always a treat to read your missives – and a reason I think I’m happy to sail between the UK & south UK coast…

      I first heard of the ‘ no see ums ‘ in the book ‘ Narrow Dog to Indian River ‘ by Terry Darlingnton, the sequel to his excellent ‘ Narrow Dog to Charcassone ‘ – then on the profits of the first book they had their British narrow boat transported to the US Intracoastal Waterway; all my late Dad and I picked up from the book was ‘ everything there is out to kill you ! ‘ from alligators, no-see-ums ( being the major snag, like a souped up version of the Midges in Scotland ) to pissed up locals with big guns.

      Thanks for your messages, I and others enjoy them hugely – I’m computer daft but if I can contribute a bit vicariously please let me know.

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The new oldmansailing book!

 

I am pleased to announce publication of The Voyage #2: Falmouth to Grenada. This follows the success of The Voyage #1 which told the story of my crossing of the Atlantic going the other way. That was something of an experiment: Would anybody be interested in a day-by-day account of an old man all alone on an old boat in the middle of nowhere – especially when nothing much happened and he spent most of his time counting Pringles?

But, as one Amazon reviewer put it: “The man can write. Entertaining and fun. Makes you wish you had the courage to do this too. He turns every disaster into an opportunity. Great character and great attitude.”

And sure enough, the book sells consistently in the wake of the original best-seller (in the sailing category) Old Man Sailing – and that’s important because I’ve just realised how hot it’s going to be in the Caribbean in the summer and ordered a rather expensive awning.

However, The Voyage #2 is a very different beast – for a start it’s a good deal longer. And this time something did happen: A knockdown, a broken rudder – 1,500 miles with the steering held together with string…

Believe me, this one’s got the lot!

You can find it on Amazon in Kindle edition and paperback at: https://amzn.eu/d/cMaUG1s

9 Responses to The new oldmansailing book!

  • It’s on the way. Look forward to reading it.
    Would enjoy another engagement with Jeremy Vine, so to speak.
    Best Wishes
    Liam

  • I’d love to buy it, but Amazon says not available for purchase…

  • Hello John! When the book is so good as the last book I will forward to read it! Just got it! Cheers Marco

  • Hi John, so pleased you have brought out a new book. Sincerely hope that you will narrate an audio version soon. Looking forward to it. Nick.

  • Grandad always said carry a bit of string, pocket knife and a nail in your pockets. Looks like the big Of string might have been useful on your rudder.

  • Hello John,

    I have followed your exploits with interest since newspaper days – am loving following your experiences but I don’t do Kindle !

    I don’t happen to agree with carrying tons of chain especially at the end of the boat – but then I only sail coastally / cross Channel in my Anderson 22 ( 24 crossings to date but then my health put a spanner in ) have had larger cruisers but the A22 for 46 years, longest serving boat at my club in Chichester Harbour ) so speed dodging the weather is primary, have spent a few times at anchor in Studland Bay in F8-10—

    In that place, sheltered from the SW’ly gales despite quite wild conditions – the strong Katabatic gusts from the hills were by far the main concern, with other boats dragging ( we set off in rescue, long story but all was fine ) I was OK with my – real, original – 7.5 kg Bruce anchor, 20′ or so of 1/4″ heavy chain, 30 m of 14mm nylon warp and a 7kg folding grapnel kedge let down the bower line in folded state as an ‘ angel ‘ to take the shock out of the waves – I know Angels aren’t fashionable any more but it worked for me.

    The reason I carry a folding grapnel as kedge on holiday cruises – normally I just potter around the Solent – is apart from its’ primary role as angel, in unfolded pointy state might grab a toehold through weed onto rock, ie in emergency in a place I’d never contemplate anchoring usually !

    BUT the folding grapnel relies on relatively weak hinge pins, so definitely if it held in an emergency just a case of getting one’s breath before the next plan, not an overnight stay if one could avoid it.

    Hope you are well and shipshape and your accounts may be on here sometime soon – look after yourself,

    Andy

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Chain

There is a man living in my chain locker. His name is Marcel and he’s a second-row forward for the French national rugby team.

Marcel is a big lad – just over 20stone (that’s 130kg to the French –  286lbs if you’re American). But stocky: Marcel has very short legs. Second-row forwards don’t have to run.

I am fantasizing, of course – but the weight is real enough.

It’s all to do with replacing the anchor chain. The last time I wrote about this was in March 2021 – when I was enthusing at getting it re-galvanised for a fraction of the cost of a new one.

Well, now I’ve got a new one.

Periodically, I was supposed to take the stainless steel swivel off the end and measure the last link. This was 10mm chain and one day the last link would rust away to 8mm – at which point it would need cutting off so the swivel could get on with sacrificing the next link. However, the corrosion seemed to have stopped at a fraction below 9mm – and a 32ft boat doesn’t need even that much.

Like many things about Samsara, the chain is somewhat unusual: When she was built 51 years ago, it seems she started off with 30metres, and then one of the succession of previous owners decided to add another twenty. It was the last link of this 20metres that I had been measuring so conscientiously.

Then, a couple of weeks ago, on a whim, I decided to measure some of the links at the other end – the older end – the end that was (not to put too fine a point on it) fifty years old…

I found one that was down to 6mm.

Not 10mm chain – and there’s a link somewhere even thinner than this!

And you know what they say about the weakest link…

So, a new chain was called for – and what did I say about a 32ft boat and 10mm chain?

The worst part is the way it gets jammed in the chain locker by its own weight. So, the new chain would be 8mm.

But then there is this thing called catenary – the weight of the chain providing a shock-absorbing effect. This would be reduced with a lighter chain, meaning that I would need a bigger scope. Up to now, I’ve worked on 3:1, which is very old-fashioned. Modern anchor manufacturers all seem to recommend 4:1 as a minimum.

Well, that was OK, because 50m of 8mm weighs only 70kg, compared to 115kg for 10mm.

Or I could get another 32 of length for the same weight. I would be able to anchor in 20metres – and still have 4:1 scope!

But who walks into a chandlery and asks for 82m of chain? I rounded it up to 85m – it was only another 4kg.

And this is where Marcel and his short legs came in. Instead of measuring all 85m, he cleverly paced out the remaining 15 to leave in the tub. In fact, he paced out 14, to be on the safe side – at least, that’s what he said he was doing. I was over on the other side, working out how many more chain markers I was going to need.

It turned out I didn’t buy enough.

When I loaded the new chain into the dinghy to row the half-mile back to the boat – and then, when I laid it out between two pieces of plastic tape stuck to the deck exactly five metres apart, it transpired that Marcel’s little legs hadn’t measured out 14metres to leave in the tub… but only seven.

Either that, or he’d forgotten to double it.

Either way, I’ve now got 93metres of 8mm chain, weighing a colossal 130kg or, as I say, just over 20stone (or 286lbs).

I could just cut off the excess – but who throws away brand new Vigouroux chain? Also, the extra eight metres only adds another 15kg…

But when you add it all up – with another 20kg for the anchor – that’s an awful lot of weight up front. It’s a whopping 150kg!

As I say, that’s the same as having a rugby player in your chain locker (instead of where he should be, on the weather rail.)

I can only hope that the Rival’s famously fat and buoyant bow will be able to cope…

10 Responses to Chain

  • Forgive me if I’m wrong, but I was under the impression that the length and weight of the chain added to the holding power of the anchor. I’d like to know if that is so.?

    • Oh dear, I fear you will have started another anchor war (or, in this case a chain war). Heavier is better obviously, but it’s all a trade off – the heavier your chain, the less length you can carry … and I would suggest that (providing you have the room) the more length, the better. Geoff Crowley (who is an anchor specialist) suggests that in a strong wind, heavier chain will go straight fairly soon anyway – which means the only benefit of it being heavier is that it is less likely to break – and how often do you hear of chain breaking? The anchor will pull out long before that happens.

  • Isn’t it just wonderful how the topic of anchor & chain keeps us pondering for years and years and never fails to fascinate. There must have been hundreds of thousands of words written on the subject yet it still finds us wanting more! Thanks John. Keep ‘em coming.
    Best wishes, Nick.

  • This is the perfect post – for my 36 footer, I am going through the same arguments. Today planning to put big tub of water (150kg) on bow to see what the chain weight will do to the trim!

  • I have been considering doing all chain on my 27ft boat. After reading this I am more convinced it is a good idea. I can shorten my scope in busier anchorage’s around here with less worry.

  • I ‘chaperoned’ a friend’s Rival 34 for over a decade, which had something close to 300′ of 10mm galv chain, in two chunks – one in the chain locker with the notoriously delinquent navel pipe, and t’other in the port cockpit locker. “You can never have too much chain,” he would intone. The boat had a permanent list to port, and the spare length didn’t see daylight in a decade.
    Nowadays, I’m fettling a similar-shaped boat, but 55% of the weight of the Rival. It came with 10mm chain. That’s now adorning a pallet, and I have >50m/160′ of Grade 8 high-test galv chain – in 6mm.
    That’s less than 40% of the weight, and bulk, of the hefty stuff, and is as strong.
    Sure, there’s a trade-off. On the balance of advantage, I’ll live with that.

  • Catenary only exists when you don’t need it. High rode force means an almost straight chain, from bow to anchor. No shock absorbing in that. Snubbers however (10m of stretchy nylon rope) do absorb shock loading on anchors.

  • Did you consider a mix of 2/3 chain and 1/3 rope to reduce the weight. It would probably still provide the catenary effect. Anyhow, brave on you to row all that weight back in your dinghy.

    • Rope is too liable to chafe.

      • I sailed along time with 8 mm chain and CQR on an Ohlson 38 and it pretty much always ripped when I needed it most regardless of healthy scope.What’s on he bottom is also a massive concern.Sold the Ohlson (a pig of a boat to hand steer in a breeze) and am now happily throwing in the Rocna and 10mm .
        Incidentally bought your books for my island hopping in the Med. this summer. Now 68 ex marine reading your stuff is very inspiring.Keep it coming John.

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Rowing

 

I’m still rowing.

Apparently, I’m the only one.

In the vast anchorages of the Caribbean, this is so unusual as to be considered truly eccentric.

Currently, I am in Le Marin in Martinique. I pulled in here on the way to Antigua because the Starlink only connects one time in five and if it’s the inverter that’s the trouble, I’ll have to take it back to Trinidad. Also, I’ve been trying everywhere to get an 8mm gipsy for the anchor windless. Sometimes I think cruising is nothing more than an exotic shopping expedition.

But it meant that yesterday, I made four trips between the anchorage and the dinghy dock – a total, according to my track on Navionics of more than three miles.

On my second trip – with only 50 yards to go, someone in a RIB with 15 horsepower on the back offered me a tow. I really must check my schoolboy French for: “It’s all right. If I don’t do this, I have to go to the gym.”

And it’s true. My son the doctor informs me that over the age of 60, you don’t make any more muscle – so, at 75, it’s really important to hang onto what you’ve got left.

Which, as I say, is why I am not buying an outboard after all.

I came very close to it.

Here was my problem: When I found Samsara seven years ago, it was as if the clock had spun backwards. I owned a Rival 32 in the 1980s – that was Largo. Suddenly, I could go back to the way things were. I could be 35 again!

Nobody had RIBS and davits in the 80s, so I looked up the smallest, lightest two-man dinghy – and came up with the 3D Twin-Air at just 2.3m and 13.8kg.

I knew which outboard I would put on it: The Suzuki 2hp. I could pick that up in one hand and swing myself over the guardrails and into the dinghy.

Well, that’s what I could do 40 years ago. Strange how the new one had to be laid on the side deck and then sort of shuffled into place. Also, it wasn’t really “new” at all and had acquired many of the cantankerous habits which come to us all in middle age. When it failed to start on the way home for Christmas and had I to wait for the tide the next day, I decided to give myself a present of an electric one.

Just think of it: No carburettor, no choke – no petrol. Not even any maintenance…

The little Haswing Osapian 40 weighed just 7kg (and only cost £150). Admittedly I had to add a 60ah battery which weighed as much as the Suzuki – but at least it was smaller to manhandle.

For a season, I glided silently about the anchorages of the south coast and the Channel Islands and, eventually, The Canaries.

Silently and slowly. If I wanted the battery to last any time at all, I had to limit myself to 2kts.

Well, I can row at 2kts.

Moreover, if I was rowing, I was getting some exercise. Also, I didn’t have to faff about putting it all in the dinghy and taking it all out again.

And here’s another thing: Nobody’s going to steal a dinghy without an outboard: The dinghy thieves of the Caribbean regularly abandon their purloined RIBs on the beach. The outboards, however, are never seen again.

So, I put the electric outboard on eBay and took to rowing. I might take longer to get where I’m going, but I have all the time in the world – and while I may get a bit wet going to windward in a blow, I have never yet failed to arrive.

And this was all fine and dandy – until one of the rowlocks broke.

These, I discovered, were made of plastic in moulded rubber housings glued to the tubes. Never mind, Sunny of Sunny Yacht Services in Gran Canaria made me stainless steel copies.

And all was good for another year – until, one evening in Falmouth, the moulded rubber split.

There was no fixing this – but on the other hand, the dinghy was five years old. Also, I had the wrong oars: I had lost one in Alderney and bought a new pair in Weymouth – longer and with curved blades just like the Oxford and Cambridge boats. It turned out the rowlocks weren’t designed for that kind of power.

In the end, I gave it away to someone who had an outboard and ordered a new one (promising myself that I would use only the oars which came with it.)

And everything was fine for another year – until, last week, the moulded rubber split in exactly the same place.

Was I going to buy a third new dinghy? I had written to the makers and pointed out their design flaw, but it seemed they didn’t understand the concept of rowing. Anyway, they never wrote back.

The solution was to buy yet another (and this time, heavier) dinghy. I could haul it aboard with the staysail halyard.

Or maybe I could repair the old one well enough for emergencies and get a really reliable outboard. Four-strokes are reliable – and the lightest is the Honda 2.3. But that still weighs 13kg – and that’s without the fuel and oil. Also, you mustn’t turn a 4-stroke upside down (which can happen if it weighs 13kg and there’s any chop in the harbour…)

Alternatively, there is the ePropulsion electric outboard which comes in two parts – neither of them weighing more than 11kg.

As if to compensate for this, it costs twice as much as a petrol one. Also, it has to be fed with electricity – a commodity not always available aboard Samsara.

But first, I had to manage a repair of the rowlock.

There wasn’t room to get a bolt through it. But I do have a 1½mm drill bit – and any amount of sailmaker’s thread.

Invisible mending

…and preventative measures on the other side.

I’ve tested it – all that rowing yesterday. There is no sign of the thread pulling through the rubber. In fact, I have a reel of black thread for some reason, so you wouldn’t know it’s been repaired at all. On the first trip to the dinghy dock (when I didn’t know where it was and ended up rowing 0.8 miles) it took me just 25 minutes – that’s 3kts.

And when I found the dinghy dock jam-packed with RIBs, I just pulled mine over the top of them all, upended it onto my head and went and tied it to a tree.

10 Responses to Rowing

  • I’d love to have one of those pram dingys sawn in two with a little rig to sail in the mooring.

  • Having some physical strength is so important. I read so many articles about pulling your self back on board if you fall over the guard rail (with lifeline) No one seems to mention being strong and exercising. I’m 60 and 5′ 10″ 97kg and I can still do a couple of chin-ups. Of course it takes some effort, a bit like rowing does.

  • I bought a little Chinese 2 stroke outboard. It makes an utter din going just over rowing speed. Can’t wait to ditch it!

  • Another great post John. I’m 64 now, and I was wondering why I couldn’t add more muscle ! And there was me thinking it was because I don’t train . Stick with the oars. Fair winds to you.

  • Great! I also row, and love removing complexity.

  • Hi John,
    Glad to see you’re still getting about…yes, exercise + rowing = totally alien concepts to many. However, I’m from teenager of the sixties when outboards were similarly considered.
    It’s great exercise…why else would people buy rowing machines? You’ve got the real thing…bravo…p.s. I don’t think Arnie’s much worried!!

  • Tobago to Martinique… Is this the start of The Voyage II? Fair winds to you!

  • Love reading your posts. Hope you are keeping well
    Keep going sir

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