Captains Blog 58 Laaaaaaand hoooooo!

So, there it was, a tiny spec of land off in the distance. Martinique? Nope, St Lucia, but within minutes we could see our destination and before too long, the champagne was open and we were quaffing our first proper drink in weeks, at St Annes, Martinique.

Remarkably, we all had a decent kip despite the broken sleep patterns resulting from the passage night watches. The next morning the dinghy was inflated, popped overboard, engine fitted and we were off to check in to our first Caribbean Island.

The check in process was typically French and exactly why I’m a huge fan of our neighbour’s approach to legal bureaucracy in doing only what’s absolutely necessary. I often wonder if my Dad is part French, though his dislike of garlic and love of potatoes rapidly confirms his Irish roots. Anyway, check in required a trip to the designated café, buy a drink and complete the check-in form online using their computer. No farting about with customs, immigration, and Port Authority. Job done, or nearly done at least.

It was later on when we were back onboard Elice that Customs officials paid us a visit. A rib with 5 officers requested permission to come alongside. We had a chat to confirm who we were and where we’d come from, then a couple of officers came aboard to check for any contraband, stow aways and have a general mooch about. It was more a formality than anything and within minutes we wished thembon voyage and they were off. 

Simon was missing his family and keen to arrange travel back to Loughborough. His initial plan was a ferry to St Lucia, then a flight to Heathrow, in to London, then a train home. Being on a French Island, I suggested a direct flight to Paris, nip across to Gare du Nord, jump on the channel train to St Pancras, pop upstairs and hop straight onto the direct train home. To me this had more flare, more international man of mystery, a certain Je ne sais quois. 

His decision favoured the international man of mystery alternative, so the next day we sailed to Fort du France, the islands capital. Once we’d passed diamond rock and roundedthe peninsula, the wind increased. A French flagged boat passed us heading the opposite way with an older fella helming and healed way over. I didn’t know whether he was overpowered and simply hanging on for dear life or this was all part of his full throttle ahead approach to sailing. Either way he gave nothing away.

The Fort du France anchorage was busy, with constant ferry movements, but ideal to replenish food stocks, source a sim and for Si to get a cab to the airport. We relaxed and ate our first proper Caribbean meal out in a bustling side street of this small and lively Capital.

It was a really sad day when Si left us. He’d been an awesomeaddition to our little crew, the perfect fit into our little ocean-going micro world. Saying goodbye was a really hard. We’d been incredibly fortunate that he’d given up his time leavingLaura without her husband and Theo and Beau without their Dad for a month. We are so grateful to them all. Oh, and if you fancy it Si, we will be heading further West, or indeed, heading back East at some stage??

So, we were on our own again. Just me and the first mate. But look, over there, isn’t that Halcyon, the boat that Geoff and Nicki’s friends are on? Maybe we should nip across later and introduce ourselves? Nah, let’s go and explore Fort du France some more and catch them later.

Our decision perhaps wasn’t the best. By the we got back to Elice, Halcyon had departed and wouldn’t be seen again. Well, not forever, but for a wee while at least.

We sailed across the bay the following day anchoring at Anse Mitan and pretended to be holiday makers pottering about the gift shops, eating ice cream (because it’s good for Sarah’s bones) and drinking beer at a beach bar (because it’s good for me).

Grande Anse was just around the coast and our next destination. A gorgeous bay from where there was some good walking to explore the area. It was a Sunday when we walked round to Anse D’Arlets and it was kicking out time at the local Church. As the congregation milled about outside, two older white fellas appeared with bagpipes and began to play. I couldn’t get my hat on!! We’re in the Caribbean, not Scotland or Ireland. You need a bleak misty vista, obligatory rain and the temperature edging sub-zero for pipes, it was 30°C and sunny! It wasn’t right.

One or two small boat jobs were outstanding, so after a few days relaxing, we returned to Fort du France and got stuck in, once we’d identified where to get the stuff we needed. In the process of searching, we discovered a Carrefour. It shone out,a beacon of grocery joy and we knew the gods were with us. Frenzied food shopping ensued and we returned to the dinghyloaded with delicious French booty.

It was at the dinghy dock that I noted two locals with conch shells. As we left the dock, they held them to their mouths and blew into them, making a sound similar to a fog horn. The seed was sewn, there was a mission afoot.

Time was pressing and we needed to head North to Sainte Pierre, our last port of call on Martinique. We managed to find a spot to anchor, not close, but not too far from the town. Depth is one of our primary concerns, so the spot we’d chosen was sufficient for us to swing on the anchor without grounding. After grounding in Aveiro, Portugal, I wasn’t keen on replicating the unfortunate occurrence on this side of the pond.

We spent a few days exploring this fascinating place, which had been almost completely destroyed by a volcanic eruption in 1902. One of the few survivors of this had been Ludger Sylbaris, who’d been imprisoned in a tiny stand-alone cell,affording him sufficient protection at the time of the eruption, to survive, against the odds. Wandering through the remains was both fascinating and humbling.

A spot of snorkelling in the area near to Elice was also on the cards, a good opportunity the check the hull. It was while snorkelling that I spotted a snake moving in a typical snake like fashion across the seabed. There was no difference in the way it moved in the water to the way they move on land. Odd,I genuinely thought they’d be able swim! In a weird snakey kind of way.

On our last visit to the town of Sainte Pierre we stumbled across some fellow Brits who we spent a few minutes chatting to. Having mentioned that we were off to Dominica the next day, they instantly said Martin, that’s the fella you need to look out for, Martin. I nodded and smiled, as did the first mate though we didn’t comprehend what they were jabbering about.

Early the following morning, we set off for our next Caribbean destination. Dominica had a great press and was somewhere we knew we couldn’t miss and as soon as we left the shadow of Martinique, we were flying along on a close reach, lapping up the miles en route to the Portsmouth.

We’ll cover that next time I remember to pull my finger out and type something.

Au Revoir, Captain Mac