Holed up in Deep Bay
Irie
Sat 23 Feb 2008 19:22
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Position 17 07.59N 61 53.22W Deep Bay
Antigua
Friday 22nd February
We left Jolly Harbour on Tuesday to run the
four miles round the coast to Deep Bay, but an initial 20 knots of
breeze rapidly increased to 30 knots and backed round to the nose. The boat
heeled sharply to the accompaniament of crashing from below and imprecations
from above, so the sails were smartly furled and the iron sail shunted Irie
upwind along the coast. Deep Bay is very familiar, as it was home to Kate, Tom
Millie and our Tom for a couple of weeks in the spring, and had happy memories
of sand castles, sand turtles and sand boats. It has a wonderful stretch of
beach inside the bay, that is then closed and protected by steep rocky
headlands to the south, and a fort topped promontory and small islet to the
north. We anchored in four metres on sand, and settled in for a couple of days.
St Johns isn't far, so mid morning Wednesday, John
and Marion set off for a bit of touristing, shopping and lunch. Meanwhile the
anchor windlass was starting to play up again - it was on it's last legs in the
spring, but had a temporary reprieve with refurbished brushes, so the chart
table turned workshop as the old motor was removed and substituted with
a bright shiny new model.. The job was aproached with some trepidation
- salt water's not kind to mechanical things, the windlass is ten years old, and
its gearbox is an intricate puzzle of springs, circlips, washers and
bearings; tasks like this often need skills ranging from patient
dexterity to extreme and violent persuasion. Today fortune favours,
and after four grease smeared hours and some time spent upside
down in the anchor locker, there's a reassuring whirr and clanking as it
bursts into life. The touring party return as it's done complete and replete
with new frock (external) ,and large lunch (internal). The taxi driver mentioned
an eclipse of the moon, but with no indication of time. After supper and a
couple of rounds of fiercely competitive 'Hearts' (the least hearts wins) the
moon was inspected, provoking a brief but intense debate about its shape. Soon
though, there was no mistake - the great silver goddess was being eroded
steadily away and by eleven or so she had all but disappeared,
leaving a faint circular outline of her previous glory imprinted on the
night sky.
Thursday it's rather greyer, leading to a walk up
to the little fort that guards the bay. It's a microcosm of the huge works at
Brimstone on St Kitts,but unmistakably from the same overall design. It's a
beautiful spot, though the ruined guardhouse must have a rather more
sombre view, as over fifty percent of the soldiers on the West Indian station
died from disease, and in the seventeen hundreds it was regarded as a death
sentence. On the return scramble the rain set in, but it was cooling and fresh,
and it all blew through by the time the little beach bar hove into view round
the edge of the salt pond, just in time for pina coladas and beer. In the
afternoon, we snorkelled on the wreck of the Andes, a sailing ship that was
wrecked here at the begining of the last century. She was on her way from
Chile to Europe with a cargo of pitch that self ignited, and as the hatches were
rempoved to pour on water she burst into flame, so was beached in the bay. The
iron shape is very clear, though now the cargo is shoals of fish, waving sea
fans and sponges.
Friday started with some excitement on the beach as
a crowd of fishing folk arrived. There were a dozen or so, both men and women of
a wide range of ages, and after their small boat had laid a semi circular net
far out in the bay, they split into two teams, slowly and rhythmically drawing
the net back to the beach. The catch was remarkable - six turtles of sizes
from large to very tiny, a couple of rays, another angry and swollen puffer, a
long remora and then a variety of coloured and silver fish. The turtles and rays
were returned to the water, though the large turtle was treated
with caution until one large guy caught him behind the head and under the
tail, before propelling him back down the beach. It was fascinating to us, but
seemed very little reward for so many people and so much
effort such a long time. Back on the boat, the gear was stowed, the
windlass performed as required, and we set off back to Falmouth, this time
with a steady breeze on the beam and the sun beating down.
Hauling the nets; return of the old man to the
sea
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