West Indies Island News

The big news is Alastair and I were in the dingy coming back to the boat at Vieux Fort after dark and a fishing boat ran into the dingy. No one was hurt, but the boat was doing about 25 knots when it hit the dingy solid and sent me right into the water. The guy gave us 2 tuna's since he was sorry and we made a stew out of it the next night.... Runover Dingy Tuna Stew is the name we've given it.... lol

Here's Coxy's newsletter following....

Mollymawk Caribbean Newsletter 4

Valentines Day February 14th 2002

2 pm I spoke to my lovely Peg this morning. It's the first time I've felt homesick. This is after all, apart from being Valentines Day, the exact midpoint of my time away. And would you believe it is exactly 1 year since I was here last - Young's island, St Vincent; well, actually, just a couple of miles away at Blue Lagoon. That's where my crew left me for home (I was going on up to the Virgin Isles to join another yacht) and Geoff took home a Valentine's rose and card for Peg. Peg and I reminisced about it this morning, boo hoo - I love you, babe (oh buggar I'm starting to sound like my Yank mate).

Despite all this pain, I'm not likely to return sooner than I've planned especially because of all the fun we continue to have (sorry Fox goers you'll have to soldier on a bit longer without me).

For instance: the dinghy. Our dinghy is the smallest I've ever seen tied up to a dinghy dock anywhere in the Caribbean. It is supposed to be a four man dinghy - and indeed it is, four of us can get into it, but the designers didn't allow for our avoirdupois challenged (that's PC for fat) American. The dinghy audibly sighes and physically sinks when he gets in. Even with only three of you in, if it includes Dave you can gaurantee a wet bum. Well, our illustrious skipper produced a surprise two nights ago when we were getting ready to go out for dinner: another little red, plump baby dinghy appeared, big enough for two ordinary sized people or one of Dave's size. So with the three of us in the master dinghy and Dave being towed behind, off we went to dinner and none of us got wet. You should have seen him being towed! He looked like a serine little Buddha, complete with crossed legs. If we had let him go (as I voted so to do but was overruled), he would have disappeared down the bay as if floating down the Ganges (and yes I know I've mixed religions).

Now at this point I think it is fitting that I recognise my growing band of American fans (despite everything, Dave is sending these Newsletters to his e-mail list). Thanks you for the positive feedback I am getting. Two points arise. Firstly, please note that I retain copyright over all Newsletter material - I have already written three books and this stuff is at least as good as anything I've written before: the Newsletters may be compiled into a major travelogue, with possibilities for others which I may choose to write on my future nautical sojourns. Don't mock - the new York Times started with the same sort of circulation I am currently enjoying, I'm sure. Secondly, just in case any of you think he may be editing out some of the really juicy stuff about him, or if you wish to give me any information that may be useful to me to help my character assasination of him, please contact me direct on coxyd@compuserve.com and I will respond accordingly.

So what have we been up to? More of the same, I'm afraid. We stayed the whole day in Bequia yesterday. Dave and I walked some 5 miles round to Friendship harbour (from Admiralty Bay), a bay where I and my shipmates anchored last year - with two anchors off the bow because of a howling gale blowing straight at us, and in the morning found that we had done two full circles and we had to untangle the two anchors. It was also here that we had a few drinks at the bar on the beach sitting in hammock chairs - and that was where Dave and I yesterday had lunch. Indeed, Dennis and the skipper independently found it - they arrived a few minutes after us. A delightful spot. On the evening we had a meal on board, followed by a game of cards (well, you've got to keep the old folk happy), then Dave and I went off to the night life. Given that we are all already sick of Reggae and steel bands, it was great to find a bar with a couple of old English swingers playing 60's and 70's Western music, with people actually dancing (rather than jiggling about) to it. I managed to have a jive with a lady called Jennifer, who was staying on the island with her husband for six weeks (the sixth year they had done this!), but oh! I wish one or all of my jiving partners (Peg, Rose and Di) had been here for a proper session.

This morning we sailed over to St Vincent - a bit of a challenging sail, 12 miles of tacking, with 2 reefs in the main most of the way - and here we are after lunch and a bit of a swim. There is a line of bars starring at us from the shore just 100 yards away, so we're all ready for tonight.

From here on north right up to Antigua it is new territory for me (and for the rest of us) - St Lucia, Martinique, Dominica, Guadaloupe. Must stop now for yet another smoke and drink.

Saturday 16th February

8 am Another day in Paradise. We are still in the bay next to Young's Island, St Vincent (and plan to sail in a little while up the west coast of St Vincent). This is yet another beautiful spot. There is a posh hotel on Young's Island to one side, and all the shore side bars on the other. We've eaten for the last two evenings in one of them, the Lime 'n Pub. We all thought this was a funny name until Dave established that 'lime' means 'to date, to go out with' in Caribbeanese, so from now on I'll be liming down the Fox and Hounds with Peg every Friday night. Our meal last night was a first for the Yank - steak and kidney pie, chips and peas, which he says he's never had before. God, he's led a sheltered life on his American planet (where, I would hazard a wild guess, hamburgers have figured significantly).

Now at this point in order to demonstrate that there is no editorial bias in these newsletters, I have to tell you that I made an error when we were sailing over from Bequia. I tied the dinghy onto the foredeck and stupidly fastened its rope (which we sailors call a painter) over the foresail rope (which we sailors call a sheet), with the result that when we hoisted the foresail the ropes (i.e. painter and sheet - you are following this, aren't you?) became entangled. Dave had to save the situation by bravely volunteering to go forward with full safety harness on of course in a huge sea and correct my error' - his exact words.

Conversely, last night when going over to the pub, fully clothed and totally unaided and unassisted, he fell out of the dinghy - he had to go back and get changed. What a plonker (see previous issue of Newsletter for the meaning of this apt description).

All of this is trivia compared to the intense Mollymawk International Chase the Lady Competition now in progress on board, and which has reached such a pitch of competitive excitement that none of us can sleep properly at night any more. The four competitors are (of course) Dave the Yank (for the US of A), Al the Kiwi (New Zealand), Den the Canuk (Canada), and Coxy the Brit (Motherland). Before all of my superpower fans start drooling and becoming sexually aroused, I should explain that 'chase the lady' is a card game which I believe is called 'hearts' over the pond (or from here 'up north'). The score so far: Yanks - 1; Kiwis - 0; Canuks - 0; Motherland - 2. Yes, the old colonial power is well in control and on track to avenge all that tea being thrown into Boston Harbour - you must have known that retribution would descend sooner or later.

Oh! and how many fish have 'we' caught so far? None, actually, and to make matters worse, for the last two days we have had to suffer the ignominy of watching a Booby (one of the many species of sea bird out here), using a neighbour's mast as a perch, swooping down to make his (or her?) catch every so often. He/she never seems to miss. Oh, what would we give for just a little of his/her skill on board.

And whilst I remember: Geoff, I have to apologise about the shirt: it has been receiving admiring glances; and the silk one you gave me has now also seen the light of day so I'm about the best dressed sailor around here at the moment. However: the skipper did buy a pair of new swimming shorts yesterday for 10 EC Dollars (2.5 pounds or 4 US Dollars) and he looks really fetching in them. I can't say any more or else I'll be sanding down and varnishing, both of which I've managed to avoid so far.

At this point I thought it might be useful to give a blow-by-blow account of a typical day aboard the Mollymawk, so here goes for today, Saturday 16th Feb:

9.15 am. Everyone has finished breakfast (Dave - grapefruit and black coffee; skipper - bran and a marmalade sandwich plus black coffee; Den - ditto, with tea with milk and sugar; me - puffed wheat and white coffe, no sugar, plus two smokes). Skipper issues the instruction: let's go! and two coiled springs (me and Dave) spring into action, releasing the boat from the mooring buoy (or boo-ee if you're a Yank). Skipper puts me on the wheel, he and Dave hoist the main, Dennis looks on in admiration (his normal pose), and off we set with a wind of 10 knots behind us.

9.30 am Idyllic sail, smooth and gentle. As a crew that is always willing to learn, Dennis instructs everyone from his reference book on Tsunami (i.e. tidal waves) just in case we encounter one this morning, then retires with Dave to the foredeck for a well earned rest. I strip off with the sun right up my bum (it needs to catch up with my tan at the front), with the skipper making the somewhat unkindly remark that this was an unusual event as he thought the sun shone out of that part of my anatomy normally.

10.30 With consumate skill after 6 gruelling miles, I steer the boat into our next destination bay, Petit Byahaut - well, it is only 400 yards across with one restaurant, 4 yacht capacity max (there are 2 in when we arrive) and 'good snorkelling either side' (the book says) - and we anchor (under the instructions of the skipper who as ever is in total control of these tricky situations).

10.31 am Have my first rum punch of the day.

10.45 We are swinging about on the anchor. Dave and I dive in to investigate how it is lying on the sea bed. The skipper takes a bit of slack out of the anchor. Dave and I swim off for a snorkel.

11.00 am I look up to see that the skipper and Den are busy getting up the anchor. We obviously have a crisis on board. I swim back as fast as I can, to find that the skipper has decided to go onto a mooring buoy (boo-ee) instead - well, that's another massive 40 EC dollars ( 10 pounds or 15 US dollars) spent out of the kitty. Den has a fast track learning experience in the bow involving how to tie up to a buoy with me issuing instrustions from in the water and the skipper giving him different ones from the cockpit.

11.15 am Second rum punch of the day, after a delightful snorkel and mooring hastle.

11.30 Den and the skipper go off for their snorkel, Dave still out on his, me preparing lunch.

Noon: lunch: a delightful sardine salad, with tomatoes, red and green peppers, lettuce, pickled gerkins, olives, cucumber and thousand island dressing, with yam or grapefruit, cheese and biscuits to follow. Oh - and rum punch.

1 pm Dave goes off for another snorkel, I prepare to dive off to the shore to investigate the restaurant, the skipper decides that he and Dennis are going on an inland expedition.

1.30 pm My quiet drink at the bar is interupted, inevitably by the Yank, who has seen me swimming to the bar and decided to join me. As we both sup our beers, we ignore the fact that the skipper has arrived on the shore in the dinghy some 50 feet away on his own. (Dennis is obviously acting his age - he's gone to sleep on the boat - as apposed to the skipper who is intent on his imitation of Dr Livingstone.) He is dragging it up the beach (it is hard work - that's why we are trying to pretend he is not there). He drags it so far up and ties it so firmly to a tree that it is by now safe enough to withstand a pounding from a 10 foot Tsunami (as apposed to the 6 inch swell that is rushing into the bay) without being washed away.

1.45 pm. Bad news - the restaurant is closed tonight, so I've got to cook supper - it's my turn.

2.0 pm Dave finds one of the hammocks adorning the beach and goes comatose in it.

3.0 pm Den wakes up, the skipper and Dave return. We all go our separate ways for yet another snorkel. I spot an octopus. Rush back to the boat for the only offensive weapon we have on board - the gaff hook. (For those of you who don't know about these things, a gaff hook is used for hooking fish aboard the boat after it has been brought alongside by successfully catching it on the line.) Up to this point it has been a redundant piece of equipment. The intrepid Brit is about to change all of that.

3.30 pm I swim back to where I saw the octopus, dive down deep - a lung-busting 6 feet of water - and with one elegant sweep of the gaff, the prey is caught.

3.40 pm Such excitement as I take my catch aboard.

Score so far: USA fish 0, Motherland octopi 1.

4.15 pm Celebration rum punch, octopus in the pot. Everyone relaxes. Skipper ponders over voyage plan for tomorrow

5.00 pm Start preparing tonght's sumptuous banquet: cheese and onion omelette, with a side dish of margerine and bread.

6.30 pm Eat aforemntioned banquet

8.00 pm Settle down to the next round of the International Chase the Lady Competition. After being nip and tuck for an hour, Dennis is coming in last, the skipper and me are neck and neck - when Dave comes from behind and wins with a stunning victory. At last I see a glimpse of what it is truly like to be the representative of the last global power on earth: the competitive determination was irrestible. Score now reads: USA 2, New Zealand 0, Canada 0 and Motherland 2. Wow! Can't wait to see the results of the next round, uh?

9.30 pm Dress octopus: we plan to eat it in a salad tomorrow.

10.00 pm Settle down for last drinks of the day and a read of our books. Dennis finds the textbook on card games and announces that what we are playing is Black Maria, not hearts or chase the lady, and we have been following the wrong rules. Inevitably, the skipper joins Dennis with a chorus of 'we'll have to abandon the International match'. Yank and Brit join forces, for the first time in nearly 5 weeks, against them - we shall see if they will play with us again after this.

10.45 pm Lights out, settle down once again on my 15 inch wide seat I call my bed, on a sheet that has not been washed for at least 3 weeks, all part of the joys of life aboard the Mollymawk. Drop off once more to the not-so-gentle snoring of Dave.

2.0 am Wake up and hear the same bloody snoring.

(End of minute by minute account of a typical day.)

Tuesday 19th February

8.30 am In the last two days our journey has been: sailed from Petit Bayhaut am Sunday, 6 miles up the St Vincent coast to Wallilabou; then yesterday 36 miles from Wallilabou to Vieux Fort (mostly a great sail, journey time 7 hours), St Lucia. We have thus had the rigmarole of ports of exit/entry for customs and immigration to go through (or rather the skipper has - it is he who has to formally vouch for himself and his mottley crew) as St Lucia is a new country.

Points of interest for the last 48 hours: Wallilabou is a delightful anchorage (stern and bow lines obligatory), with a good restaurant, and after dinner Dave and I stayed for a drink and finished up enjoying 170 proof rum slammers with mine host, Stevie, who turns out to be a pot-smoking, very well-read man (including Milton, Chaucer, degree in archiology), plus a few more revellers; the coastline of St Vincent as we sailed past - to the north of the island is the 3000 foot extinct volcano Soufriere which rises straight from the sea; anchoring in Vieux Fort - we managed to drop the anchor over a rock (guess who was on the anchor?), the chain wrapping itself neatly around this rock and it took some pretty nifty teamwork involving all of us to unscramble it, including Dave using the anchored dinghy for pulling the chain clear, Dennis on the anchor control, the skipper manouvering the boat and me snorkelling around to guide the chain away from the rock; and the shore visit last evening to Vieux Fort which is as the guidebook says 'off the beaten track and quaint' - a definite understatement.

We decided after this visit to eat on board, so off went the skipper and Dave to take the groceries back, the skipper to start the meal leaving Dave to return to pick up Dennis and I. Whilst Dennis and I waited, we had a few minutes education into the native language here, Creole. It is a sort of pigeon French mixed up with English, and whilst everyone seems to be able to speak perfect English, it is Creole that they use amongst themselves. However: high drama was unfolding as we had ou Creole lesson - on the way back to the boat, a fishing vessel rammed the skipper and Dave, with Dave finishing up, with most of the groceries, in the water fully clothed (he's making a habit of that). Thankfully neither of them were hurt, nor the dighy. One irony is that the skipper had decided he would cook Tuna for dinner, and so had brought two fish on his way to the dinghy, and the fisherman in payment for the hastle they had caused, gave us a further (and quite large) tuna. Result: we are going to be living on tuna for the next few days.

11.0 am So here we are running slowly before the wind just a few miles from our next destination, the town of Soufriere, St Lucia (not to be confused with the St Vincent Volcano) just 10 miles up the coast from Vieux Fort. It promises good facilities - like phones that work, and internet cafe etc.

Hope you have liked reading Issue 4 of the Mollymawk Caribbean Newsletter. All suggestions from our readers for improvements to it, what you'd like to hear more/less of, will be gratefully received. In issue 5 you will of course be able to read the result of the International Chase the Lady Competition, as Dennis leaves us on Friday to go home to Vancouver and we would then be down to three participating counties - too few for a proper competition.

Editor in Chief