On January 10th, we left English Harbour to go to Barbuda (pronounced
"Barb-you-da") . We made the trip in two legs, stopping overnight
at Green Island, on the eastern side of Antigua. From there, it was
an easy close reach, with some motoring at the end as the wind died,
and we were off Palaster Reef, which guards the south end of Barbuda.
Some fishermen appeared around Cocoa Point, and we followed them through
the reefs, until they pointed energetically toward the shore, where
we found a beautiful anchorage between the Cocoa Club and some coral
heads, just 150 feet off of the 5-mile long pink beach. We swam ashore
and walked to the exclusive K Club, which is owned by a famous Italian
designer (Klacci?) and is best known as Princess Di's hideaway. Back
on the boat, we called "Garden of Eden" on the VHF and arranged to
go see the Frigate birds ("de birds") the next morning.
the ground swell came up and the sound of breaking surf, amplified
through the open hatches into our bunk, had us rising every few
hours; but all was fine, in fact quite spectacular in the almost
full moonlight, and the surf really wasn't crashing 20 feet away,
as it sounded.
we dinghied into the beach. We surfed in on a 2-foot wave and Andi
jumped, lost her footing and tumbled into the backwash. Rob jumped
next, and though he managed to keep his feet he also soaked himself
thoroughly as we pulled the dinghy up clear of the waves. There
was a sand cliff, 18 inches or so high, and we pulled Nils up to
it, figuring that this is as high as the water ever gets, and set
the anchor into the sand.
We had arranged
to meet a cab near the guarded gate to Cocoa Point Club, to drive
us the 10 miles to Codrington, the only town on this island of 1,000
souls. The roads definitely need work. On the way, the cabbie pointed
out abandoned farms, a sand shipping terminal (they supply sand
to islands as far away as St. Thomas), a horse track ("races every
other Sunday") and a coconut plantation. He noted that Barbuda has
"one of everything": one school, one gas station, one race track,
one cricket field. But, it has seven churches! In contrast to the
other Leeward Islands, which are volcanic and have hills or even
mountains, Barbuda is low-lying, like the Bahamas. It reminded us
of Anegada, as compared to the other Virgin Islands. Where Anegada
had wild cows, Barbuda features wild horses and donkeys. At the
town dock, we met George, otherwise known as "Garden of Eden." He
started up his 40-horse Evinrude, and we took off in his plain but
well-built skiff -- we sat on throwable seat cushions on 2X8 plank
thwarts while George stood and steered the outboard.
It's quite a
distance -- about 5 miles -- across the shallow lagoon to the world's
largest frigate bird sanctuary. Frigate birds are unusual in that,
despite their diet of fish, they cannot swim. They fly on incredibly
long, narrow wings (about 6' wingspan) out to sea, where they fish
by skimming the water. Their favorite snack is, of course, flying
fish. George explained that they dive at a school, causing the fish
to jump out of the water. "Big mistake!" Even though the birds can't
swim, they don't build nests on dry ground, but above the water
on mangrove bushes. They roost so close together that they sometimes
hit each other as they spread their long wings to take flight, or
merely to balance themselves, because they have very short legs.
They're in mating
season now, and the males sport large, bright red bladders on the
front of their necks, which they inflate to attract females. When
we were approaching the mangroves where they roost, these bladders
appeared for all the world like bright red
fishing buoys caught up in the branches. As we got closer, we
could hear the clicking noise the males make as they snap their
bills at each other, and to attract females. Listen closer, George
told us, and you'll hear them drumming their bladders. It makes
a low, almost humming bass line for the high clicks.
The birds seem
totally fearless, and we easily approached nests to within a few
feet, George wading and pulling the skiff along. We saw a few fluffy
all-white chicks, in
addition to the hundreds of white-throated females and, most spectacularly,
the red-pouched males,
sitting on branches or wheeling
just above us. A fantastic sight.
When the taxi
returned us to the beach, the Cocoa Beach security guard met us
to tell us that our dinghy had washed off the shore, capsized, and
had been rescued and re-beached by the folks from the catamaran
sharing our anchorage. They'd put the oars by the gas tank, about
50 yards away. The engine was in the dinghy, not attached to the
stern. There was no sign of the gas line, other than the broken-off
end still attached to the tank. We gathered all the pieces and,
somewhat stunned, started rowing back to Akka. The guys from the
catamaran dinghied over and towed us back, explaining that they
had found the dinghy upside-down, "out to sea" with the motor suspended
a meter or so under water, tethered by its safety cord. In response
to our profuse thanks, Giles, the captain said, "Not a problem;
it was our pleasure and our duty. But you can buy us a drink." We
invited them over for 5 o'clock sundowners.
It was about
1:30 when we lifted the outboard into Akka's cockpit, opened the
top, and found it full of sand. We scooped, brushed, and blew the
sand out with the pump for the inflatable dinghy. It's this very
fine coral sand, so we spent a good deal of time just moving it
around. Then we washed the motor down with fresh water and dismantled
it, wiping, brushing, blowing and otherwise contriving to get all
the sand out of the air intake, carburetor, bendix, etc. When we
had the carburetor off, we removed every speck of sand we could
find from the intake manifold, flushed the whole thing out with
fresh water, and sprayed tons of W-D 40 into the entrance, meanwhile
turning the engine over. By 4:30, we had the motor re-assembled,
still with sand around the bottom of the engine compartment, but
not, we hoped, in the essential working parts. Without gas, we couldn't
test it, which is a shame as the gas has oil in it for lubrication;
but we did give a pull on the starter rope and, amazingly, the engine
almost caught! We had to wait until we returned to Antigua to find
out whether the motor would ever run again.
The folks on
the catamaran said they're working for NASA, doing oceanography.
They're listening to fish. Seriously. Every night they deploy hydrophones
and listen to grunts, grouper, and the like. The crew of "Le Prince
du Vendee" are three: Giles, Beatrice, and Simon. Giles and Beatrice
are French and Beatrice speaks very little English, while Simon
is a young American delivery skipper who speaks very little French.
Despite the language problem, the conversation over rum punch in
Akka's cockpit that evening was lively and interesting.
Since we were
then at the weekend and knew we couldn't do anything about the outboard,
we spent another day at the beautiful Barbuda anchorage, then sailed
back to Antigua on Sunday. Another glorious sail in 10-15 knot winds
and beautiful sunshine. We had plotted two courses -- one for the
east side of Antigua, one for the west -- depending on the wind
direction. We couldn't make the east side without beating, so headed
for the west and anchored for the night in beautiful Five Islands
Bay, near a shore that had a herd of cows grazing near the beach.
In the morning, we were awakened by cows, in addition to the ubiquitous
roosters. And a donkey.
We motored the
15 miles to Falmouth Harbour on Monday morning, in no wind but fabulous
visibility. This gave us an opportunity to really study Montserrat
and its Soufriere volcano. We could actually see ash flows coming
down the mountainside, steaming as they tumbled down the slopes.
Quite an amazing sight! We hope the digital photos do justice to
We got to Falmouth
Harbour and took the outboard to one of the shops here. Their outboard
guy expressed confidence that it would run again, given what we
had done already to salvage it, and said he had a spare handle for
it, as the handle (which has the throttle control on it) had broken
off in the dunking. He said it would be ready by the following (Tuesday)
evening. We were delighted. Tuesday afternoon, when we called on
the VHF, we were told it would be ready "tomorrow morning." When
questioned, that meant more like 11:30 than 9:00. At 1 p.m Wednesday,
when we arrived after a row in and a trip into St. Johns, they said
the guy was running late, and it would be 2:00 p.m. We waited from
2 until 2:55, and when he arrived, he explained that the motor actually
RAN, but he could not replace the control stick -- the one he had
didn't fit. Evinrude, the mfr., has gone bankrupt, been acquired,
then gone bankrupt again, so no spare parts or used parts are available.
Guess it's time for a new outboard.
could be worse places to have this happen. Here we are in mega-yacht
territory. We know that we think of Akka as good-sized, and so do
most of you. However, here in Falmouth, she's quite small. Rob ran
into a skipper of one of the yachts who said "I'm on one of the
small ones." When Rob asked the size, the guy said, "She's just
67' long." "Hyperion" is here; she was once the largest sailing
sloop in the world, at some 143'. "Rebecca" arrived yesterday; we
think she measures 125'. The "Harvey Gamage" just left, and the
gorgeous "Savannah" is here, getting her brightwork redone. There's
also a motor yacht named "Senses" out of St. John, USVI that has
a helicopter, 2 large rigid inflatables, a cabin cruiser-type launch,
a classic wooden sailboat and a sport boat. All of the boats are
named "T/T Senses." Andi thinks they should be named "Touch" "Feel"
"Smell" etc. All of these are deployed from the stern of Senses;
on her foredeck is a huge tangle of mountain bikes. Amazing. This
weekend, there will be an around Antigua race, so the 2 "W" class
76' Herreschoff designed (but modern keeled) "White Wings" and "Wild
Horses" have shown up to match race each other. Both are owned by
the same guy, and they are too stripped down for racing to live
aboard comfortably, so when he comes to race them, he stays ashore.
It's fun -- and a bit awesome -- to be a part of this.