St Barts

Leaving St Martin we hopped across to the island of St Barts. On the way there we saw a high arid island and decided to stop. The island was called Isle Forche (Fork Is.) and was pretty well denuded by goats. It was deserted. We dropped the anchor in about thirty feet of water.
Over the next few days we dived the surrounding reefs. The bottom was coral encrusted granite, and there were lots of new fish that we had not seen in Florida or the Bahamas. I shot quite a lot of video of our dives. Alison got in the habit of identifying each new fish she saw, and wrote the dive and date in her fish identification book. It never rained there and we had the island largely to ourselves. On occasion one or two boats would show up but they always left the next day.
Our time at Isle Forche was the first time we had found any solitude, and it was incredibly relaxing to just relax, go diving, read, cook, or just hang out. After almost a week, though, the idea of a cold beer loomed ever larger in our consciousness, so it was time to hop over to St Bart.
St Bart is the St Moritz of the Caribbean. We sailed to a bay called Anse de Colombier, a beautiful beach lined bay with dozens of boats in it. On the southern point sat a strangely shaped tower, which used to be part of a Rockefeller family compound. We drove the dinghy in to the main town of Gustavia to check in and go shopping. As we walked through the pretty, French town we saw a sign proclaiming the original home of the ‘Cheeseburger in Paradise’. If you don’t know Jimmy Buffet you haven’t been to Florida, where he is a musical food-group. We went off to buy cheap burgers and fries and sit in the beer garden while sampling the local beers. We also tried the local drink- a ‘ti punch. Bloody strong Rhum Agricole with a splash of something, sugar syrup I think, or coke. We had one each and that was enough.
We did some window shopping and then stocked up on all the best things about the French islands, like pate, baguettes, Laughing Cow cheese, and of course wine and spirits. On a bottom shelf of the liquor store near the dock there was a number of bottles of rum for 2 euros each. I bought a dozen, thinking that at worst I could use it to splash into the gills of fish I caught to stun them (this works, by the way). Perhaps degrease engine parts. We got it home and it was great. On other islands the same stuff was $15 per bottle. That night we had a very French meal with lots of bread, butter, meat, garlic and wine.
Gustavia was very quiet, because it was still the ski season and all the rich people were gone. Alison enjoyed window shopping the $2000 watches and dresses, and we bought some hats, swimsuits and other cheap stuff. It was fun running chores like the post office and trying out our pathetic French. The locals are much more accommodating on the smaller islands, and slowly the signs started to make a little more sense.
We spent about two weeks in St Barts, doing a lot of diving on the Hookah, filming the fish, and generally doing nothing. The anchorage was crowded at times, and the wind blew strong over the swale in the middle of the bay, but it was the most beautiful place. There was a couple of guys on a big power boat next to us who made surf boards and I toyed with the idea of a new board, but they only made single-fins. We made the occasional trip into town and saw our first Smart car there. Très Chic. Over it all hung a pure blue sky. I think if I were to recommend a place for a Caribbean vacation St Barts would definitely be near the top of the list. It was cheaper than a lot of the other French islands despite the upmarket nature of the place, which is a factor when you have a $30 a day budget.
St Barts, St Kitts and Nevis was really one of the last places where we were travelling totally alone. As our trip went on we made more friends among the cruising sailors and started planning to meet up with other boats, sometimes travelling in company between the islands. At this stage, though, we were still more interested in the challenges, rewards and the freedom that of our way alone.

St Kitts

The next passage was to St Kitts, to the south of St Barts. We decided to skip visiting Saba and Statia because the anchorages there were rolly and the weather was not cooperating. It was an exhilarating day sail in 20kn north-easterlies. It felt so good to be sailing with the wind instead of against it! The scenery was amazing. In the distance was Saba. Saba is a cone shaped island where the entire coast drops steeply to the ocean, with no beach. Next to come up to port was St Eustatius (Statia), and in front of us was our destination, St Kitts.
St Kitts was an English country before it, and Nevis to the south, gained independence and joined to become one country. As an ‘English’ island the formalities here were more stringently enforced. We slept overnight in White Bay to the south of the city Basseterre while flying our yellow quarantine flag, then sailed up to check in first thing next morning. The officials were incredibly friendly and soon we were on our way again.
We took the opportunity to check out the town. After St Barts the contrast was obvious. This was a much poorer city with all the attendant problems of crime, drugs and dirt that comes with poverty in the Caribbean. We had been warned to avoid certain areas so we did, and found the centre of the town a much happier place. There was a big public fountain that lots of kids were playing around. It was very hot and humid. We had an English lunch and tried to buy some boat items we needed without much success. As the day wore on the breeze started to come in and it cooled down a bit. We bought some groceries and headed back to the boat. A quick sail south and we were in our bay again.
The area of St Kitts where we were was quite dry. There was a salt pan on the shore, backed by spectacular hills. From there it was only a couple of miles across the island to some wild beaches. Sitting there in the cool of the night another great idea hatched- we will walk all over each island, getting fit, meeting people and experiencing island life. Images from Bruce Chatwin and Paul Thoreau danced at the back of our minds. We would be true travellers!
So the next day we decided to walk to the bottom of the island. It was about 40deg C and there was no wind. At first it was fun, keeping in the shade of the scrubby trees as much as possible and cracking jokes about the cattle on the hills. . We tried to make up as many cow puns as possible. ‘Be careful of cow-valanches’. I think the heat was getting to us because we were in stitches. We made it to the beach that overlooks the channel to Nevis, and had a great lunch and a few beers. We gratefully accepted a ride back.
Again we were alone in the anchorage, living the ideal of a couple alone in a remote tropical backwater. Because we had been shopping we had ice too! The sun dropped over a perfectly calm sea, and while we watched it there was a green flash as the sun’s limb disappeared. It was the perfect day.

Nevis

We had to return to town to check out of St Kitts and get a permit to go to Nevis. It seemed unnecessary after the casual approach to formalities we had experienced to date. Again I was questioned at length about our Florida State registration. It was becoming clear that we needed more documentation on the vessel, and we decided to start our Australian shipping register documentation as soon as we could. Eventually they stamped our papers and we were free to go.

The sail to Nevis was in the lee of the islands all the way, with flat seas and a good wind. The wind in the Caribbean almost always blows from the east, so you can anchor in any of the bays on the west side of an island and you are pretty much assured of calm water. When you pass between the islands there is a blast of strong wind as it is funnelled through the gap, turning the trip into an exhilarating sleigh-ride. Soon the north end of Nevis was off our bow, shaped like a sombrero hat. We sailed down the west coast to anchor off Charlestown, and checked in. As we did the official said that he was surprised we had bothered. The Nevis people don’t seem to like being part of St Kitts at all. Charleston was also quite poor, but had a much friendlier feel. It is a smaller town and has a big fishing community.
We stopped to ask directions from a Rasta guy, who’s peacefully stoned red eyes hid a very sharp business brain. We left with perfect, detailed directions and a CD he had made in Miami as the band Watusi. It was pretty raw basic reggae but it grew on us. The whole town was alive with the competing sounds of steel drums and reggae. The air was cooler as well and a permanent cloud streamed backwards off the tall volcano. I had not learned my lesson from St Kitts, so I convinced Al we should climb it.
We set off the next morning for the mountain. We got a taxi to the plantation at the base of the extinct volcano and took a walking tour around the sugar plantation. It was much cooler in the foothills. There was also a nature trail that tool about an hour to walk. After that we set off upwards. The first few miles there were scattered houses and fields. Soon the cleared areas gave way to the jungle proper, and we were walking up a firebreak straight up the mountain. A couple of hot hours later we were at a lookout near the summit and were rewarded with a panoramic view of the rest of the island. There was waterfall visible a couple of miles away. Occasionally our view was blocked by the low clouds that surrounded the peak. It had been worth the walk.
The following day we sailed north a couple of miles and anchored off palm lined Pinney's beach. That night we went to a bar on the beach for dinner at a bar called Sunshine's. As we walked up the beach a Rasta selling walking sticks said hi and offered us a hit off his spliff. It was that kind of place. Sunshine himself sat in a chair plum in the middle of the dance floor and surveyed his kingdom while sipping huge glasses of red. Every time the kitchen door opened a thick cloud of pot smoke billowed out. The local drink was a deceptively mild tasting ‘Killer Bee’. We had about five of them, and that’s where it gets hazy. I can vaguely remember eating, but not having enough money to pay. ‘Don’t worry Mon,’ Sunshine said. I also remember playing table tennis and winning, then crushing my thumb against the edge of the table. I had no feeling there for months. I remember Al falling into the water once back to the boat, and both of us taking a swim. We woke the next afternoon and our dinghy was full of water and all of our clothes from the night before were in it. I gathered up the courage to go back and pay our tab. I was worried that we had taken the clothes off before leaving the beach in front of the bar to get through the low surf. It was OK though, we hadn’t. They couldn’t find the tab. It tried to pay them what I thought I owed but The Man just smiled and said it again. ‘No problems, Mon’. I got the impression that they made a lot of money. As the pain in our heads pounded we vowed never to go back. We went back two days later.

Killer Bee recipe (off the net)

Rum = 1/3 overproof (151º or higher) and 2/3 "normal" rum
Passion Fruit juice = we have found Looza from Belgium to be pretty good. Don't use the crap with apple or grape juice!
Mix ahead of time:
1/3 rum (above)
1/3 Passion Fruit juice (above)
1/3 club soda
honey to taste - Sunshine's says he doesn't use honey, the BeeMan says that he supplies the honey - who ya gonna believe?
lime juice
At time of serving, add:
bitters to taste
nutmeg to taste