“Life is meant to be lived and curiosity must be kept alive.  One must never, for whatever reason, turn his back on life.”  -Eleanor Roosevelt

Once Carnival was over, we hightailed it out of Hillsborough.  The anchorage was certainly convenient to town, but it was rolly and uncomfortable in the swell.  We moved to a storybook spit of land called Sandy Island, a picturesque crescent moon of sand and low trees and bushes.  We moored in the curve of the island and swam ashore to enjoy the pristine beach.  It was a quiet reprieve after the insanity of Carnival but a new adventure awaited us!

When we moved the boat from Hillsborough to Sandy Island, our spare gas jerry jug fell off the back of our boat.  Patronus runs on diesel, but our dinghy engine uses gas.  Without our spare jug, we only had what was in the dinghy tank, which, of course, was not much.  Chris took the dinghy out to try to find it in the giant harbor, but it was gone.  We felt nervous and unsettled about where we might be able to buy a new jug and get it filled.  This is the Caribbean, so you can’t just hop in your SUV and drive six seconds to the nearest Mobil.  Without a dinghy, we lose our connection to the land.  It wasn’t an emergency, because of course we could row, but we wanted to get it dealt with as soon as possible, and that wasn’t going to happen on deserted Sandy Island!

That night, we enjoyed the starry night and looked around as several other boats came to rest in the peaceful cove.  The kids presented their monthly book reports after dinner.  After checking on our position, Chris thought that one of the boats had moved.  We let another half hour go by and we both thought it had moved a little more.  We tried hailing him on the radio, but no one answered.  The waves and the wind had kicked up and we found ourselves in quite a quandary.

 

 

 

Do we lower our dinghy down (it is raised up on halyards at night to keep the bottom clean and deter theft), drive around in the dark, with a few last drops of gas left, and go over to the drifting boat to warn them that they are dragging?  Or was that just too risky to ourselves?  The boating community runs what used to be called “gentleman’s rules” (I don’t think there’s a new name yet, but I can’t abide by such terminology).  There is a bond between boaters that makes us compelled to help one another in trouble and drink together when we’re not.  Well, and also to drink together when the trouble is over.  We had “saved” a few butts already on our journey and we were surprised that we met with rudeness and  ingratitude each time.  I told Chris that the boat owners we had helped were probably embarrassed and it just came across as iciness.  But now we found ourselves wondering if it was worth sticking our necks out yet again.

We decided the risk to ourselves was too great and went down below to try hailing the boat again on the VHF.  No answer.  Thirty minutes later, we gave in and launched the dinghy.  Sandy Island is surrounded by jagged coral reefs and we didn’t want to know that we had an opportunity to help someone and didn’t, especially if the boat ended up broken up on the reef by morning.  I gave Chris a life jacket, the handheld VHF, two flashlights, and the keys to the dinghy.  I was so nervous watching him disappear in the darkness in heavy winds and rough seas.  He came back 15 minutes later and didn’t look happy.

He had driven out to find the boat and pulled up alongside.  He yelled at the top of his lungs to get the captain’s attention over the howling wind.  When the captain came up top, he looked at Chris with distrust and Chris had to shout to explain to him that his anchor had dragged.  The captain looked around and yelled to Chris, “I’ve been here the whole night.  I haven’t moved.”  Then he turned away.  This boat had been next to us all day and was now far back behind the mooring field.  Chris had to give up and come back.  He wasn’t happy that he had wasted the precious little gas we had left.

But lo and behold, by the time we got the dinghy raised up alongside Patronus and everything put away, we looked out into the darkness and saw the dragging boat.  He had turned on his engines and running lights, pulled up his anchor, and was leaving the harbor.  We had no idea where he thought he was going to go in the middle of the night, but we were happy that he had gotten his bearings and realized he had dragged.  I’m not sure what the lesson was there, but we do know that despite the fact that no one we have “helped” has said “Thank You”, we will continue to help our fellow boaters.  When things go wrong on the sea, they can go really, really wrong.  We see it as our responsibility to help others if we are able and have been the grateful recipients of this kind of help ourselves.

The next morning, we waved farewell to Anything Goes.  They were heading back to Grenada so that Maggie could take her proctored math exams, which had been set up at the college there.  We planned to meet up with them in the Grenadines in a few days.  After snorkeling, kayaking, and enjoying this pretty island, we headed around the corner to the popular Tyrell Bay, which was filled with cruisers and permanent liveaboards.  We got some laundry done and I continued a two day cleaning spree on the boat.  Chris set out to get a new jerry jug and gas and returned three hours later after taking a bus all the way back to Hillsborough.  We laughed thinking about trying to take a jerry jug full of gasoline on a bus in the US!  We had a great dinner out at a local restaurant, and met some great people.

The next day was perfect for a hike of the area, including a trek up to the Chapeau Carre peak.  It ended up being much longer than we had anticipated and crankiness abounded.  I wonder how long it will take us to realize that our kids really don’t like hiking?

 

We changed the general attitude by making a game out of finding a restaurant for lunch.  We had heard about a cool place called Off the Hook, which was on Paradise Beach.  We used our honed navigational skills to find it: walk down hill till you see sand.  Here’s what we found:

1. They didn’t actually have fish (did you notice the name of the place?!)

2. The beach was beautiful.

3. It was the longest lunch in the history of midday meals.

4. The bathroom was an actual outhouse with no running water.

On the way back to Tyrell Bay, we stopped at a bakery for fresh bread and walked down the street to buy produce from the local street vendors.  Avocados are still out of season, but I keep asking anyway.  You never know.

One of the boat boys in the harbor offered to give us a tour of the island, so we set it up for the next morning.  Simon picked us up in his Suzuki Samurai.  It was a tight fit to say the least.  Before we left the parking lot, Simon bought a bag of conch from a fisherman and threw it in the back of the Suzuki for dinner that night.  It stayed there.  ALL.  DAY.  LONG.  I laughed, remembering how I used to literally run into the house with my bag of perishables first when returning from the supermarket, practically throwing the food into the fridge lest it had gone bad in the 1.5 mile drive home from Stop and Shop.

Simon drove us around while telling us a little about the island and a lot about the upcoming elections.  Simon and Assassin (from Grenada) were on opposite sides of the fence, so it was fascinating to hear their different points of view.  Knowing nothing of Grenadian politics, we listened more than talked.  We did ask enough questions to clear up the whole Grenada-Cuba thing.  Apparently, it wasn’t at all the way it was presented to us in the US.  But since I have less than zero interest in talking about politics, I will not go into it here.  Suffice it to say that Grenadians we met say they were very happy to have the United States come and do whatever it is they did, and still hold Ronald Reagan and all US presidents in high esteem.

Simon brought us to the Customs and Immigration Office so we could check out of Grenada (we planned on leaving for St. Vincent and the Grenadines the next day).  I have mentioned before that we have had a surprisingly easy time with checking in and out of countries on our trip.  When doing research for our trip, we had read horror stories about corrupt officers who charge extra fees and pocket it.  We had also heard about officers searching boats and imposing fines if you don’t show them the respect they expected.

We were starting to wonder if this type of experience was found only in the southern and western Caribbean.  Nope.  Alive and kicking in Carriacou.  The officers did not charge bogus fees as far as I could tell, but they were slow and nasty.  They didn’t look up from their papers and took as much time as they possibly could to do every transaction.  I stood there and started to fume inside while waiting my turn.  The officer was making a passport for someone.  From scratch, apparently.  He was cutting out the pictures, gluing them onto various pieces of paper, wiping off the excess glue, blowing on the glue, stapling the papers together, checking off some boxes on the papers, and I have no idea what else.  The kicker was that the man getting the passport had left and said he would come back tomorrow for it.  Argh.

We finally got on our way and stopped in Windward to visit the shipbuilder.  How cool is the name of that town?  I would like to live in a town called Windward someday.  The man we met had been building ships on Carriacou for his whole life.  This one was beautiful and we were invited to climb onboard to check it out.

 

 

I loved seeing the cracks in the wood planks, which were being filled with braided cord and caulked shut.  I find this aspect of making a boat waterproof absolutely enchanting.

 

 

As a bonus, the ship was being built on the first bona fide black sand beach we had encountered all year.  Lots of islands had boasted “black sand beaches” but most were just beaches with sand that seemed dirty.  This beach was breathtaking.  The sand was jet black and super fine with flecks of silver and gold shining in the sunlight.  I searched around for a baggie so I could take home a sample for our sand collection.  I finally found one.  It was stuck into a tree stump and had some dead flowers in it.  “That’s weird,” I thought. (Anyone out there as naïve as I am?)  I picked it up and was about to dump the flowers out when Chris yelled at me to stop.  Apparently, I was about to wreck someone’s afternoon “chill out” time!

We continued on our tour, visiting the airport and the ruins of an old lime factory (the fruit, not the stone).  We stopped again to visit the produce ladies and headed off to the boat to make conch fritters and conch chowder from all the lambi Chris had caught back in Grenada.  I bribed everyone into helping me finish cleaning the boat by promising to make Doughnut Muffins the next morning for breakfast.  It worked.  Thanks to Wendy for her recipe!  Feel free to try it if you have dishes that need washing and some spare kids to do the work…

 

 

Doughnut Muffins

Made on 2/16/13

Reese: “Super Duper Awesome Cool!  I want them for my birthday breakfast!”

 

 

 

For Batter:

¼ C butter

¼ C vegetable oil

½ C sugar

1/3 C brown sugar

2 large eggs

1 ½ t baking powder

¼ t baking soda

1 – 1 ¼ t ground nutmeg, to taste

¾ t salt

1 t vanilla

2 2/3 C flour

1 C milk

For Topping:

3 T melted butter

3 T cinnamon sugar

Preheat oven to 425 degrees.  In a mixing bowl, cream together the butter, oil, and sugars till smooth.  Add eggs, beating to combine.  Stir in baking powder, baking soda, nutmeg, salt, and vanilla.  Stir in the flour, alternating with milk.  Begin and end with the flour.  Spoon batter into greased muffin pan, filling the cups nearly full.  Bake 15-17 minutes.  Cool a few minutes, then dip each muffin in the melted butter and then into the cinnamon sugar.