Here
we are again, swanning around a sunny Caribbean whilst most of you
are dealing with the rigours of a northern winter. Still it won’t
be long before we are suffering with you. Or perhaps not…..
After
the trauma of dealing with the abandoned anchor (see the last missive
for gory details) we had moved over to the other side of the bay and
persuaded Annie Hill to give us a lesson in oven-less bread making. It
is so easy we now regularly make bread (this being the royal we
you’ll understand) and it has the same impact as understanding how
the self-steering works
Lilly
B was now back in the water and we thought we might at least spend a
couple of days with them so began hauling the anchor soon after they
left. It stuck. No matter what we tried and we had some very good
advice we remained rooted to the seabed. Luckily a Spanish boat
moored nearby had a PADI logo on its hull (something to do with
diving) and after speaking with them they came over the following
morning. The woman was the instructor and down she went 11 metres to
check on what we had this time. No anchor but a massive ships chain,
which we had somehow wrapped our piddling 3/8” around. It took her
several attempts and only by undoing the anchor from our chain was
she finally able to unravel the mess. So we reckon the 3 fouled
anchors, in as many weeks, must mean we are now clear of that
particular disaster area. So finally we left Chagoramas and headed
around the corner to Scotland Bay. If you ever get the chance to come
here it is absolutely wonderful. Well-sheltered and quiet with howler
monkeys, parrots and dolphins in attendance, secure holding sheltered
from the prevailing winds it is al most idyllic. Unfortunately it
also attracts partygoers at the weekend with seriously loud music so
we knew we had to leave before they arrived. At the last moment we
decided to head to Los Testigo an island off the Venezuelan mainland
and so the two Ferro gaffers, hulls built by the same man- Mick the
Brick left on the overnight trip on Feb 20.
Toots on night watch, listening out for invading flying fish |
And
we’re still together a month later! We had intended to leave for
Cuba from Testigo but each time it seems logical to go a little
further. From Testigo we went onto Margarita where we cleared in,
shopped and found diesel for 70 Bolivar’s a litre. Now as there are roughly 5000 B’s to a £ that made the diesel about 7p a gallon. So
we bought 90 litres. It was less than a £. We were overjoyed. Until
a few days later we began to notice a familiar smell coming from the
jerry cans. A quick check revealed the diesel was in fact petrol. We
had watched the stuff being poured in, we bought it a large garage
and it came from a thin black hose. And I had asked for “Gasoil”
but whatever, we certainly didn’t want it on board and solved the
issue by donating it to a local fisherman. Luckily I hadn’t made
the same error with the beers as they had cost a princely 6p a
bottle. The fisherman was quite happy to accept the gratis fuel and
promptly offered us several fish, which we declined apart from one
for Toots who turned her nose up.
We
sailed on, gradually moving west along a succession of islands that
lie off the north Venezuelan coast. At Tortuga we anchored in picture
perfect conditions. Dazzling white beaches, a sea so blue it could
only have been dyed and only local fishing people as inhabitants.
Come the weekend it changed as the affluent mainlanders flew in using
small aircraft. Some passengers couldn’t be bothered to wait for
landing and parachuted in. It all seemed out of step with the life on
the island yet is possibly an apt metaphor for Venezuelan life.
Lilly B crew arriving as pirates.. |
Pelicans
abound in these waters, skimming low over the water in a feathered
fly past; often at the same time of day and despite seeing almost
daily we never tire of watching. In the town here we passed a pair of
herons rooting amongst the grass for food, commonplace and ignored by
locals but so unreal to us. And on the subject of unreal, whilst at
anchor recently a brown boobie, a sea bird about the size of a gull
flew about the boat and collided with a forestay causing it to
plummet to the deck. Luckily for the bird though a little dazed it
was unhurt and landed close to the capping rail (side of the boat)
‘cos Toots was on it in a flash. I say lucky for the bird but also
for Toots as the beaks on these things are probably 5” long and
would have done a lot of damage. But Toots regained her territory and
boobie scuttled off across the water to safety.
So
we left Venezuelan waters and arrived at Bonaire, one of the ABC
islands that form part of the Dutch Antilles. 11000 people,
substantial housing, European shops (and prices) and an economy
dependent on tourism. Colour is the order of the day as houses are
all pastel shades making everything seem cheerful and the only
drawbacks are a vicious strain of mozzy and the proximity of the
local nightspot. Anchoring is not allowed here as the island is
taking serious steps to protect the coral around the island. Instead
they supply buoys to tie onto. The buoys are anchored to 6 ton cement
blocks so as long as their, and our, ropes hold we are very secure.
Interestingly the 40 or so blocks, laid down by whomever, sit not on
coral but on sand……. But it’s relatively cheap and boats are
unlikely to collide from being to close. But as the buoys furthest
fro m the music are all taken the latecomers end up with ringside
seats. Having said that the music is very melodic although 2 am is
way past our bedtime and the real culprit for sleeplessness lie with
the damned mozzies. Last night we resorted to sleeping under a lace
curtain but were still bitten, despite mozzie coils and vigilance
And
just when you thought we had managed an update without drama, here it
is. As we approached an anchorage we found ourselves unable to drop
the main as a lazy jack had jammed behind the gaff saddle. Despite
all efforts it refused to budge and the only option was to go up the
mast and free it. A couple of immediate problems presented
themselves. The 8 foot seas meant leaving the tiller to use the
bosun’s chair was not possible and anyone in the chair would be
thrown from side to side as the mast arced across the sky. The option
was to climb the ratlines except we don’t, yet, have any, leaving
Bee with a climb to the mast shoulders using the hoops that secure the
sail to the mast. Unfortunately they are set about 3 foot apart
necessitating a stretch to get to the next one, hard enough when tied
to a jetty but infinitely more difficult when clinging on for life.
But as ever the job was done, Bee returned to deck and a decision
made to equip Hannah with a set of ratlines for such jobs. Soon after
landing here we saw a slogan that summed up the 15 minutes or so it
took. “FEEL THE FEAR, DO IT ANYWAY”
And
so we sit here in sunny, dive orientated Bonaire with the big
decision to make… do we go North to Cuba and on as we planned or
follow Lilly B into the Pacific…….. We’ll let you know when we
send the next update. Panama or Cuba
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