This is the first newsletter being produced using the
skipper's laptop on board the yacht Mollymawk. The writer is galley slave Coxy and both Alistair (the
skipper) and fellow galley slave Dave the Yank intend to use this report as an e-mail attachment so I, Coxy,
will be a bit limited in what I am able to write about them. They have threatened to add their own ps's when
they feel the need. It should also be noted that my own audience is my drinking friends (they may argue
with that description?) at the Fox and Hounds, Shenstone, England.
It is 8 am, and we are resting peacefully at anchor in Tyrrel Bay, Carriacou. Already I know it is going to
be a good day as I've already been to the loo (that's washroom for Dave's mates) without it blocking. That's
different to yesterday when the loo blocked and I had to undo the hose and at the skipper's instruction
stick my finger up the hole and try to scrape the blockage from around the flap valve'. Coxy in the shit
for real this time. The same thing happened to Dave a couple of days ago. The good news is that after such a
digusting start to the day, it's an early morning dive off the back of the boat to simply purge oneself of
the muck. The other good news is that after a thorough analysis of cause and effect, we have devised a
foolproof method of avoiding recurrences, including after use ripping the paper into confetti before
dropping it into the bowl and .. but I'm sure you've all had enough of this subject by now. We'll let you
know if we have repeat problems.
So what's been happening on this luxury yacht? Starting with our voyage from Trinidad to Prickly Bay,
Grenada: that was some 80 miles and took from 4 pm on Tuesday last to 10 am Wednesday, on a 2 hour watch
system. The autohelm is not working so we had to hand steer all the way in big seas and up to 25 knots of
wind - pretty rough stuff. Dave and I amazed each other and the skipper by our apparent ability to helm
pretty well, so that was a comfort all round.
Having escaped the sultry heat of the boatyard in
Trinidad and having completed our only long sail (at
least for the next few weeks), we soon got down to the
grinding routine of cool drinks and lazy swims in this
(arguably) best of all sailing areas in the world. I
have a personal slant on the trip from Prickly Bay up
to St Vincent (which we will do in the next several
days). This is where my mates and I (as skipper)
chartered a boat for two weeks last February. It was
in Prickly Bay where my whole crew got wrecked on
spicey rum at Mark's bar and we had to have a team
talk - that's a euphemism - the next morning - ask
Stan or Geoff about it.
Our next two days were spent in bays adjoining Prickly
Bay on the south coast of Grenada. The proccupation of
Dave and I soon became how to make sure we did not run
out of ice, tonic, rum, gin, white and red wine,
whatever isolation the skipper imposed on us. But what
lovely isolation. For instance, we were the only yacht
in Port Ermont, a bay as beautiful as you will find
anywhere.
We have had a few meals on board so far - we take
turns in their preparation. That will give Peg (my
wife) a good belly laugh as my repetoire extends to
omelettes and opening tins. So my two so far have
looked a bit like meat stews from a tin - which is
exactly what they were. Dave did us a very nice fish
stew (I can't spell boullibaise) and the skipper has
regailed us with hot dogs only so far (but infairness
we have to say that this was when we were heeling over
at an angle of some 30 degrees in 20 knots of wind).
As a result of this very liimited experience of
on-board eating, we seem to have silently agreed that
it is best to eat ashore whenever we can, despite the
hardships of finding anything which even aproximates
to a restaurant. Thus it was at our next stop, in
Halifax Harbour some 15 miles up the west coast of
Grenada.
After having had a good snorkel around the
coral reefs, I swam up to the beach, played a bit of
cricket with the local moms and their kids (with their
men-folk busy themselves with looking for fish
schoals) and asked them where we could eat. Easy they
said: walk through the forest up to the main road,
turn left and you'll find a road-side barbie in
progress tonight.
It was dusk when we set off and we
got hopelessly lost in the jungle. Our intrepid
skipper navigated us back through a shark-infested
river to the beach with the only tiny touch we had
brought with us. Dave then to the rescue - he found
another access point to the road and we duly found the
barbie (the 'chef' was using a domestic size version)
and had some great chicken - just as well we liked
chicken because that's all there was.
The highlight
was that this barbie was parked in front of Pappy's
Wine Bar. This Pappy (a really nice 70 year old guy)
turns out to be a bit of an international celebrity -
he makes a whole range of liquors and of course they
were all on show and he insisted we had to taste them
all. The one he is most proud of is Boisbande which he
makes from the bark of a tree and which is an
aphrodisiac. (I made sure that Dave didn't have too
much of this one, being as we sleep in the main cabin
together with only a table in between.) For further
information: go to the web page
http://www.travelgrenada.com/pappys
Needless to say,
we all took the opportunity to stock up on booze, to
the point that we have currently bought more than we
have drunk and we've got bottles of hooch all over the
boat. (And for my old shipmates Stan etc: we were told
that the barbie we went to was inferior to the best
restaurant in the area just two miles up the road,
none other than Kelly's Hot Spot, Gouyave!! We sailed
past there yesterday and I could swear I saw a dead
dog floating in the harbour.)
So it was that yesterday we left Halifax Harbour in
the morning with a great night out with some fabulous
local guys at Pappy's behind us and arrived in Tyrrel
Bay. Last night we had a lovely time as well, enjoying
grilled baracuda with our host Troy at his Twilight
Bar on the beach. After having had a nightcap beer on
the way back to the dinghy, the three of us proceded
to carry it back into the water and came to a full
stop as we hadn't unhiched it from the tree that our
ever vigilant skipper had tied it to. What plonkers!
The word plonker reminds me that I'm having to teach
Dave to speak proper English. For instance, he
pronounces buoy as boo-ee; and that a queue is several
people waiting to for instance to be served, not to be
confused with 'standing in line'. (And Dave: plonker is
an idiot, you plonker.)
Well it's already turned 9 am. The sun is getting up,
and we know if we don't go for a swim within the next
couple of hours we shall all be uncomfortably hot and
sweaty again. And of course after the swim we shall
all need the odd rum punch to wash the salt away. Our
plan is to go to a tiny island called Sandy Island
just a couple of miles away for lunch and which is
billed as having some of the best snorkelling in the
area. (I hope we don't get bored of doing the same
thing day in and day out - I for one simply need to
remind myself of wet and cold England to banish such a
thought.) Then it's to Hillsborough the capital of
Carriacou this afternoon where we will stay the night,
clear customs in the morning and then be off to Petite
Martinique. But more of all of that in the next
newsletter.
On a personal note: thanks Doreen for your lovely
update - happy birthday - and it's nice to know you
can write proper as opposed to Ken who writes instead.
Let me know if you have coped with this being an
attachment in notepad format.
Must be off now - Dave's just finished making a St
Vincent flag and the skipper's just finished doing
something clever which galley slaves don't quite
comprehend.
Coxy
