As long-time charterers in the Caribbean, we like to combine sails in tried-and-true locations (e.g. BVI, Abacos) with journeys to more off-the-beaten path locales (e.g. Belize). We’d sailed from, and to, Grenada before, in connection with Grenadines charters. This time, the quest for a different experience, together with a real desire to spend more time on land in Grenada, but limited by available vacation time, led us to decide on a 4-day charter along the south coast of Grenada. While 4 days would have given us enough time to make the crossing to Carriacou and beyond, we’d have ended up spending more time sailing (and that’s pretty rough sailing, as anyone who has made that passage can attest), and less time exploring. Instead, this would be – in Chesapeake vernacular – “gunkholing” along a coast few charterers ever get to explore.
With Moorings having left the market, our only choice was Horizon Yacht Charters, based at True Blue. This was no hardship, as Horizon has an excellent reputation, which our experience bore out. From initial communication to check-out, things went smoothly.
Our boat was a Beneteau 413 named “Dancing Bare.” It was about 5 years old and had the markings of a one-time Moorings boat. The boat was in good shape cosmetically, and all systems functioned in a manner that demonstrated good, timely maintenance (though the waterline scum, endemic in this part of the world, didn’t bear much scrutiny). With 3 cabins and 2 heads, the 3 of us had plenty of room to spread out, and we used one of the cabins as our “garage.” I’m especially fond of the in-line galley arrangement, which allows two galley wenches to work together.
The forward cabin – with its settee and larger head – is clearly intended to be the “owner’s cabin.” However, Rick (the captain) and I ceded it to Emily since there was no way that two tall people could fit comfortably in the bunk. Although the aft head was quite small, we never used it for showering, preferring instead to use the well-tested and effective saltwater-and-dish-soap method off the stern, followed a freshwater rinse on the swim step. With our parsimonious use of water, we never even switched over to our second 25-gallon tank.
We were given our boat briefing at the dock and onboard by Kurt. This was followed by a chart briefing by Bernadette at True Blue’s restaurant. Rick and I had already studied Chris Doyle’s indispensable cruising guide to the Windward Islands, which was supplemented by the Imray-Iolaire chart of Grenada. At last, one of the guys from the base helped us out of the slip (the water is very shallow, and the tides had been especially low in recent days), hopped on the getaway boat, and we were on our way.
Given the hour (i.e., lunchtime and we’re HUNGRY) and the relatively brief hop to our destination, we motored. These are NOT waters for smooth sailing. Once out of the relative protection of the various bays that make up Grenada’s south coast, you are in open ocean. Under settled conditions, this means 3-6 foot seas coming from a mostly southerly direction, while the wind is a firm 10-25 knots coming from the east. As well, the seas are mined with unmarked (though well-charted) hazards, including small rock outcroppings that are obscured by heavy seas (but can be identified by the constantly breaking seas in their vicinity), so navigational vigilance is required.
An easy way to picture Grenada’s south coast is to imagine a very large left foot pointing south. The big toe is the southwesternmost point of Grenada, Point Salines, where the airport is located. The other toes – albeit fairly deformed ones (and a few too many of them!) – are the various peninsulas, while the spaces between those toes are the various bays. In addition to being bounded by land and many islets, the bays are hemmed in by shoals and coral reefs. Fortunately, the 3 bays we would anchor in have a few navigational markers, though many are missing and the remaining ones – especially the green ones – can be difficult to spot in heavy seas until you are fairly close to them.
At left, our flight leaving Grenada shows the many bays and islets that from the southern coast we sailed. To the right, another glorious sunset at our first night's anchorage, Clarke's Court Bay.
Our first destination was Clarke’s Court Bay, which is bounded by Hog and Calivigny Islands. Although there is a large marina at the head of the bay, and a resort development that looks like a green-roofed version of Virgin Gorda’s Bitter End Yacht Club is under construction on Calivigny Island (which is consequently considered off-limits), this area is lightly developed and very quiet. We tucked into a small cove in the lee of the east side of the bay, in about 25 feet of water (our depth sounder, like the Imray-Iolaire chart, was marked in meters), where we would be without company all night.
After a quick lunch (Emily and I proved to be efficient galley mates) and time to let the anchor and lunch and a few Caribs settle, we took off in the dinghy to Hog Island, which is uninhabited. The small windward beach we landed on was not as pretty in person as it appeared from a distance and was – as windward beaches tend to be – littered with flotsam and jetsam. Nevertheless, we spent a good time exploring it, splashing around in the water, and enjoying the sun. By late afternoon we were back on board, settling into our routine of saltwater baths, cocktails and nibbles, watching the spectacular sunset, and dinner (grilled pork loin, potatoes and those extra-long green beans). Frighteningly enough, more than an entire bottle of Westerhall rum disappeared that evening.
Unfortunately, sleep was a non-starter, as it would be every night. Despite the relative protection of the bays, the swell sneaks in and results in a steady, but not rhythmic, roll. The wind, too, doesn’t settle completely at night. The rolling, and the concomitant splashing of waves, smacking of dinghies, thumping of decks, and clanging of halyards and sheets, does not invite a nice long night of rest. But I’d rather be not sleeping on a boat in a beautiful anchorage that not sleeping somewhere else!
We were up early to catch the Cruiser’s Net on VHF channel 68. In addition to news and weather, this morning’s broadcast reported that the dome of Montserrat’s Soufriere Hills volcano had grown alarmingly and that perhaps another eruption was in the offing. Rick and I exchanged knowing glances. We’d been in the BVI a few years ago during a major eruption of the volcano, and a couple hundred miles away, it deposited a layer of ash on our decks, disrupted flights, and in a chain reaction, caused yet another Typhoon Tonya Event that had us missing connections and spending an unplanned night in Puerto Rico. Would we have a repeat? Thankfully, no.
Off the hook, we hoisted a reefed mainsail and slightly shortened jib and headed east for St. David’s Harbour. The seas and winds had increased a bit, but by late morning, after a few long tacks, we were dropping our sails and making our way into the harbour. Yet another pretty bay off the beaten charter boat path. The east side of the bay is the home of the upscale Bel Air Plantation resort. The head of the bay is the Grenada Marine yard. Though the boatyard is a working marina, it’s industrial look was softened by a beautiful wooden boat under repair, a small, dark sand beach, and attractive wooden buildings, including the J’s Flambeau restaurant and bar. The west side of the bay is a rocky point, separating the main part of the bay from a beach, and has heavy vegetation.
St. David's Harbour is home to the Grenada shipyard, as well as the tony Bel Air Plantation resort (above, left). More importantly -- for our purposes anyway -- it was a good point from which to make our way to lovely La Sagesse Bay (left, and above), with is pretty beach and great seafood restaurant.
After letting the anchor settle in about 8 meters of water, we went ashore and arranged for transport to La Sagesse for lunch and beach time (more on La Sagesse later). By late afternoon, we settled in to the bar at J’s Flambeau where first beers, then rum drinks, were poured. The proprietor soon discovered our fondness for rum and poured a few samples of new-to-us libations, including Clarke’s Court lemon, and Clarke’s Court Old Grog. Rick was pleased to find himself a new sipping rum in the Old Grog – and luckily, they have a U.S. distributor so that, with the wangling of a few favors from friends and relatives in Chicago, we’ll be able to get it at home. Although we didn’t plan to stay for dinner (kingfish steaks on board), we hung around long enough to convince the chef to cook up some lobster for us, which we shared as an appetizer before going back to our boat.
Another restless night followed, with worse swell than the night before. But the next morning dawned clear and bright. Rick and I decided to explore the beach on the west side of the outcropping. Somehow, we managed to pick our way through reef and shoal and landed without incident. Our eyes feasted on a scene that barely appeared Caribbean. The sand here was black. The vegetation so luxuriant that I was reminded of the scenery of southeast Asia. A river flowed into the bay. And a dozen men hauled in a giant fishing net, their communal effort yielding a great haul.
Scenes that evoke the Caribbean of many decades past can be found on Grenada's rugged south coast.
Alas, our departure by dinghy was not nearly as graceful as our entry. With the sun now in front of us instead of at our backs, it was much harder to see the hazards. We quickly found ourselves in breaking waves (get outta there fast! – not a good place for a small inflatable dinghy), and didn’t spot a large rock in time to avoid hitting it. Luckily, a rigid bottomed dinghy is a rugged thing and no harm was done, except perhaps to our seamanlike pride. We finally made it out, and soon thereafter hauled anchor.
Our last night’s destination was L’anse Aux Epines (Prickly Bay) – a downwind (west) sail. With plenty of wind, we rolled out only the jib.
In flat seas, this would have been a screaming run; in 4 foot beam seas, we were not so lucky. Rather than taking a more direct course, we pointed a bit further south so as to take the seas more directly and stay in deeper water. Upon arrival, we found a dozen new channel markers to usher us in, like an honor guard at a wedding.
Prickly Bay is Cruiser Central. Many insurance policies covering boats plying the Caribbean require those boats to be south of 12 degrees north latitude during hurricane season (June through November); the 12th parallel runs right through Prickly Bay. With plenty of marine services, a relatively protected anchorage, and a comely locale, Prickly Bay is a magnet for cruisers not only during hurricane season, but throughout the year. Hence, on arrival, we found dozens of cruising boats already anchored here, in a variety of sizes, shapes and conditions, but all bearing the gear that allows a fellow sailor to recognize them as long-range voyagers.
We picked our way through the boats already anchored to find a likely spot. Unfortunately, our first attempt was a bust, as
as instead of catching firm sand, we’d snagged a rusty old anchor instead. I chose another spot and we were set.
Prickly Bay is quintessentially Caribbean. The water here is the turquoise blue of tourist brochures, and the beach has creamy sand lined with palms and sea grapes. On the hills above the bay are perched artfully designed villas, and a handful of tony resorts line the shore. We chose the Calabash resort, on the beach, as our base for the afternoon, spending some time on the sand and some time at the bar (they mix a lethal rum punch here – be warned). Despite the large population of boats, the beach is quiet and laid-back. Later, after baths and boat drinks, we came back ashore for our dinner at the Red Crab.
Our final day on the boat was taken up with a few minimal boat chores and more quality beach time, this time in front of Prickly Bay Cottages, where our dinghy caught the fancy of some young English boys who thought it a “rocket boat” (if they only knew how far 10-15 horsepower via outboard WON’T take you…). But after lunch, it was time to return Dancing Bare back to Horizon.
We tie our dinghy to the sea grape trees at L'anse Aux Epines, enjoying some quality beach time.
As we entered True Blue Bay, we dutifully radio-ed Horizon, tied fenders onto lifelines, and readied docklines. Our docking skipper soon boarded and took over the helm (though perhaps a bit precipitously, as he had a very close – perhaps fatally close – encounter with a mooring ball). As we approached the dock, battling wind and dwindling depth, the boat lost forward motion, and then backward motion, and despite a last ditch effort to drop the anchor, we were soon aground. Without any previous hint of trouble, the transmission had de-coupled from the prop shaft (I’m not sure if I’m getting this technical stuff right). Soon, the cavalry arrived, and a pair of high-powered dinghies pulled us off the bottom and helped push and pull us safely into our slip. Nothing like a little drama to end the sailing portion of our trip!
