Carriacou to (almost) Antigua

 

Wednesday 3^rd February. St. John's Harbour, Antigua. In Quarantine!

Yes indeedy, quarantined again. I think I'm a quarantine magnet, Karl probably shouldn't travel with me. This time around it was bad luck (unlike my trip to Australia when I was asking for it). We'd been trying to plan our tour of the islands to minimise PCR testing and quarantine time so we decided to make best use of being in a clean island to visit other clean islands before heading to the germy (French) islands and then accept quarantine to come back into the clean islands. So we decided to start in Antigua which would require a PCR but no quarantine coming from nice clean Grenada. Until we arrived to discover the regulations had changed due to a cluster in Antigua causing them to increase the strictness of their entry protocols. So, negative PCR or not, we're in quarantine. They were nice enough to count all our time from checking out of Grenada as contributing to quarantine so we started on day 4 yesterday – sure, we're practically through it already. A nice opportunity to get some of that spring cleaning we've been putting off done. And on the radio (just like at St. Helena) we have BBC World.

Briefly ashore before being sent back to the boat to quarantine.

Anyway, what have we been up to since leaving mainland Grenada? Carriacou, that's what. Excitement, a whole new island to explore, well – new to me, not to Karl. Now, the sail up from Grenada won't be making the top ten list. It was exactly long enough to mean we were chasing sunset and involved quite a bit of wind, no wind, wind, no wind, reef, unreef, reef, unreef and even engine on, engine off, engine on, engine off. But the first couple of hours back under sail and trotting along at a nice pace were lovely.

Tyrell Bay, Carriacou.

The first thing I saw when I stepped ashore in Carriacou was a man on a donkey. Then goats in the supermarket carpark. In fairness, I haven't seen another donkey since but there are alot of goats. Carriacou must mean “Place of Goats” in some language [fact check, it means place of coral in the Carib language]. It's a beautiful little island, part of Grenada but partly self-governing along with its even smaller neighbour Petite Martinique. Population around 7000 I think and the pace of life has definitely dropped down a notch or two from Grenada (which wasn't exactly hectic). That being said on my first day ashore (Saturday night party night!) I managed to end up in the closest thing to a niteclub I've been in for many a year – live music, disco lights, dancing, rum punch, the whole shebang. Of course it was outdoors, tiny and with only about forty people, but still, me....out on the tear! Still home by the 10pm curfew though.

So we just spent a couple of weeks gently exploring the island and hanging out with the crews of Segue and Aurora whom Karl knew from his season of debauchery in Grenada. We even managed to entice those cat-dwellers onto our monohull for a rolly Australia Day sausage sizzle. When we first dropped anchor we had a chance to say goodbye to Karl's friend on Be Free (and to admire his garage!) before he set sail for the civilisation of Martinique. Our old friend from Africa and St. Helena, Tao 8, was also anchored nearby. Her owners are unfortunately back in a cold Canadian winter after having to evacuate from St. Helena for medical reasons but she's being looked after by a South African skipper who was also stranded in St. Helena with us so we got to catch up with him and the gossip over a few rum punches. Also anchored nearby was one of Gráinne's sisters (she has about 60 who were all born in the same Taiwanese boatyard back in the 80s), Neva, whose owner had a habit of turning up at the same bar as us around sunset each day.

A bay full of boats.

It was a delightful reintroduction to the cruising life for me. We anchored in Tyrrel Bay where there are a few low key bars/restaurants for the all important sunset rum punch. About half an hour's walk away was L'Esterre Bay and Paradise Beach which is one of the few beaches in the world to pass the Kara beach test – soft sand, gentle warm water, hardly any development, beautiful views and barely another person in sight.

Inspecting Paradise Beach before giving it the Kara tick of approval.

I was able to continue the swimming lessons I'd started at the marina in Grenada – New Year's Resolution: stop looking like an eejit and learn the bloody crawl/freestyle. Karl has me practising with a “pool buoy” (our smallest fender) between my legs to reduce the chances of drowning, it's just about working. As a teacher Karl has proved excellent at doing impressions of my dodgy technique but less proficient at providing useful pointers as to how to improve. Paradise beach is also where we invented (we may not be the first) the beach pub crawl. There are just enough little bars right on the beach to be able to stop for a drink, then walk up the beach to the next one etc. etc. etc..

Hardwood Bar. I won't show you their logo.

Off D Hook bar.

One day we walked to the capital, Hillsborough, for the Karl pilgrimage to where he anchored last time he visited. Such a lovely, quiet, rural island. A series of little villages. Goats, goats, stray dogs (of the quiet, dog friend variety), goats, chickens, goats. 

Some goats are particularly cute.

Primary school kids are apparently prepared for any eventuality (Floods, Earthquakes, Volcanoes, Landslides, Tsunamis, Wildfires, Hurricanes).

Fancy blocks for sale.

Genius service at Snaggs': they just left us an esky of ice and beer and let us get on with it

Snaggs also makes fabulous model boats that actually sail and whose sails are controlled from land by lines. Growing up he and his friends would make toy boats using coconut shells for hulls and grapefruit leaves for sails. Then he stuck a lead keel on the hull and has kept modifying the design since.

Another day I was on the receiving end of the Karl Island Tour, this time on bicycles. For some reason he thought I might enjoy some off road mountain biking trails on our little folding bikes. I didn't. The views were great though. 

View to Petite Martinique from the north of Carriacou.

Locals jus' limin' at a shop/bar in Windward.

And we've even managed to get a few runs in despite the extra motivation required to dinghy ashore first thing in the morning rather than just falling out your front door for a run. I think I've also discovered the secret to a successful business in Carriacou. I've noticed “Minimarket & Bar”, the very plentiful “Barber & Bar” and my personal favourite “Automotive Services & Bar”.

Cut & Fix Barber Shop

And then it was time to leave. Passage planning has suddenly become much more complicated when you're trying to coordinate getting your PCR (which are only done Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays), getting your result (48 hours later but maybe not on a weekend), a good weather window and arriving at your destination within 7 days of the PCR. That wasn't covered in the Yachtmaster syllabus. So we committed to a departure day and went to the local health clinic. A very friendly little spot but one which didn't accept credit card payments so Karl was dispatched to the ATM while I sat in a completely empty waiting room reading the posters with advice on earthquakes, tsunamis, Ebola and how to manually express breast milk (ah, the devices we take for granted). I had my PCR after the doctor spent an outrageous amount of time laboriously filling out all the paperwork by hand. Karl returned with the news that the ATM was out of order and so he would have to cycle into Hillsborough to get money. He got PCRed and then just as we were leaving the clinic a nurse yelled at us through the window – she had called the man at the bank, the ATM had been broken but was now in action again! What a delightfully comprehensive medical service. And we even got our results by e-mail as promised 48 hours later.

I have no idea what this is.

Dangers do lurk here.

And then, seven months after arriving, we sailed away from Grenada and took down a very worn and battered courtesy flag. The sail started well, no rush to be anywhere, just enjoying the sail. Then we remembered how little fun it is bashing into 30 knot headwinds. The trouble with sailing up and down these islands is that it seems easy – a north/south chain of islands with prevailing easterly winds should mean that no matter where you're going it's a pleasant beam reach (wind on the side, brilliant sailing). But because there's a strong westerly current (pushing you west) every sail is more like a close haul (into the wind, much less fun). But Gráinne seemed to enjoy herself and is now thoroughly salt-encrusted. The highlight was spending an afternoon hove to (parked at sea) in the lee of Guadeloupe. We were going to arrive at Antigua in the dark and needed to slow down so we just spent a few hours having a relaxing lunch, admiring the scenery and enjoying a sunset before setting off again to arrive just after sunrise.

Hove to off Guadeloupe.

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