I may not allways be right, but Im never wrong.
Captain Two Reef Pete
Were all in this alone.
Lily Tomlin
There are strange things going on in the ocean. Things that defy mortal explanation, things seen but not belived, things that go bump in the night.
One does not have to spend much time at sea before experiancing something that just dosent make sence. Joshua Slocum in his book Sailing Alone around the World, tells of being up for 6 days battleing a storm when suddenly appeared a salty old captain. Taking the wheel this old-timer told Slocum to get some sleep, he'd handle the boat. Slocum woke 24 hours later,the storm over, the mysterious captain gone, the boat right on course. The strange thing? The same apparition, the same salty old captain to a tee, has appeared on numerous other boats. He has been appearing on troubled vessels for hundreds of years.
Tristan Jones in his book The Incredable Voyage descibes being off the coast of Panama , sailing at night, when the entire ocean lit up, from below. It was bright enough to read a book for miles every direction. There were no bubbles or steam from an undersea volcanic eruption.
Crested Buttes own Steven Skelton was in the middle of the Indian Ocean, when appeared ahead of the freighter he was on , a 60 foot cliff of water. The ocean litterly dropped abruptly straight down & was flat again. This phenomena occured every 45 minutes for days.
We were on a down wind run to Martinique, myself ,Two Reef Pete, & Tiki Tass. Pete was below getting his hourly British fix of tea, I was on the helm.
It was a spooky rather surly day, heavy sky the color of lead hung over an unrully , oily sea.. A 'confused' sea, the waves came from every where, appearing & disappearing like mirages. The boat was being tossed in irregular havoc not quite understanding her own loss of grace.
My eyes were playing tricks , was that a leaping Manta Ray or a disolving wave,...was that a...a ROCK!! ...no we're in 2000 feet of water.
Suddenly, the sea right along Tiki Tass' side rose four feet.. Wait a minute...
this wasnt the sea... this was some CREATURE!! It was the back of some beast!! Some forty feet long & 10 feet across ,the skin almost purple with 4 inch round white spots, & it was 3feet from Tiki Tass' fiberglass hull...
" SSHHPPLLLEE!! I Screamed SHHCCOOLL, PETE<>
Captains are usually a quick lot when their helsman turns hysterical, & Pete was no exception. He bounded up the ladder & landed in the cockpit.
"WHAT?"
"THERE!!" I screamed & pointed...it was gone...nothing but water.
The captain stared hard at me, & said nothing...
"IT WAS THERE!! Look Pete ,I was just looking at some 40 foot purple beast with white spots... I think..." I wasnt even sure anymore...
"Mabey a whale shark, largest fish in the world, they get to 40 feet, and they got spots...but lookie here son, you gotta get a grip on yourself, its only a fish.
"Somehow, Pete I feel out of place around 40 foot fish, what say we pull into Antigua, kinda cummune with our own for a few days?
"Capital idea." Said captain Pete.
Antigua, 108 square miles, 90,000 people, rolling hills of grazing cattle, & sugar cane. 4000 years ago Antigua was inhabited by a group of people known as the Siboney. At some point the Siboney simply disappeared. No one set foot on the island for another 1000 years.
The Carib indians, those fun loving canibals from South America, ran amuck
till the British put em in their place about 1632. The British in turn imported African slaves to actually do all the work, so what we have now is a Black British crowd of fairly freindly folk. The problem is , Antigua used to be a heck of a lot freindlier...then came the international airport. Direct flights from London & a dozen other cities have deluged the island with white flabby loud nikon drapped drunken belegerant tourists. The local beach sales men are held back by ropes on the more popular beaches...till 10;00 in the morn. The ropes are dropped ,the grinning black pack of tee shirt ,jewelry selling locals descendes on the huge school of beached-white-whale crowd
of tourists. There are other, quieter beaches on Antigua however...366 of them. If your a party animal you really should experiance Antiguas Race Week... one of the more rowdy sailing regattas in the Caribbean.
We however had bigger fish to fillet, it was on to Dominica.
This is the one folks, the most beautiful unspoiled island in the Caribbean.
Dominica actually was called Waitukubuli or 'tall is her body' by the Caribs.
Then Columbus dropped by long enough to change the name. The indians promptly ran him off & none two soon in my opinion. A few Caribs still exist in Dominicas lush forests & fog covered peaks. There are 365 rivers cascading from some of the highest volcanos in the Caribbean. One expects to see Tarzan hanging at one of many jungle bars. Were talking fertile folks, plants growing before your very eyes. Huge fern trees, huge insects endangered parrots, boiling lakes 30 foot ferns, huge insects wild orchids,
200 foot volcanic heated waterfalls, black sand beaches, huge insects.
Dominica is not a wealthy island, kinda third world ,the 82,ooo locals can best be descibed as freindly pirates.
Dominicas fertile soil produces a cornucopia of fresh vegtables, & spices &
chefs here utilize them to great advantage. Youll perhaps start with a coconut sauce over crapaud,[large frog] then on to ginger manicou,[small opossum] followed with broiled agouti,[large rodent]. On to lobster crepes & conch fritters. Crabmeat soup bar-b-que chicken & rabbit might fill you up.
Save room for that homemade key lime pie & coconut ice cream.
There are only 450 hotel rooms on all of Dominica, most can be had for under 100.oo. For happy hour dont miss 'Jing-Ping' playing the 'boom-boom' down at Wykie's La Tropical.
If your an island lover, dont miss this one.
If I had to live my life again, I'd make the same mistakes, only sooner. Tallulah Bankhead
Never keep up with the Joneses, Drag them down to your level.
Quentin Crisp
We were politely & firmly ejected from Club Med Martinique four days later. Seems that between our less than Gucci wardrobe & Petes 'Sailing Lessons For Single Women' , the proverbial cat had escaped the bag. Our escourted departure did not exactly bring tears to any one involved , encluding ourselves. The place was starting to give me the creeps...beautiful people, in a beautiful setting, smiling beautiful smiles & saying beautiful things....I wanted to smack someone...someone like the speedo clad arobics instructor.
We set our sails for St. Lucia, well stuffed on Cub Med food & happy to be moving again. Wandering spirits.
A day later the sea had turned to glass, the sails hung limp as laundry in the still air. We had become becalmed in a magic world. Through a colbalt blue sky, drifted towering colums of pink clouds. Dolpins exploded from the mirrored oceans surface squeaking with joy. Trails of seawater from their leaping bodies glistened in the setting sun. A pod of whales cavorted, blowing gesyers of foul air into an scarlet horizen. Ahead lay St. Lucia a sight so lovely as to bring tears to your eyes. The smoking volcano of La Soufriere puffed into hanging mists of filmy grey, vegitation covered cliffs litterly glowing green in the sunset. But the thing that set St Lucia apart from her neighbors, in fact the thing that sets St. Lucia apart from this world, are the Pitons.
Two perfectly shaped pyramidal cones ,covered with tropical greenery, formed by a 40 million year old volcanic eruption , jut from St. Lucias southern coastline. These 2,6oo foot high spires evoke images of soaring Teradactils, & lurking dinasoars. As mystic a sight as anything on earth.
In the distance we could just make out the island of Mustique, a massive single rock, nearly barren of trees, the home to Princess Ann, David Bowie, Mick Jagger, & other fat cats. One must in fact pass strict social & financial requirments to even buy land on this private of all places. The small store on Mustique stocks imported caviar & Brie, exotic Champagnes & other treats of the rich & famous. A cheeseburger on Mustique is 25.oo
In a sort of tribute to Jagger, Pete had put 'Primative Cool' on the stereo. The Stones music floated over the sea, unconfined it would float about the world...
WHAM!! Tiki Tass shuddered & stopped as if hit by a brick wall. We had been motoring at about 6 knots across the silken water, when suddenly all 8 tons of boat hit 'some thing' so hard it threw us to the deck.
"BLOODY HELL!! WE"VE BEEN RAMMED!!" Yelled Pete
"Rammed?" This didnt sound to good..."BY WHAT??"
"OW THE ELL DO I KNOW!!" A WHALE , A LOG, SOMETHING!! We gotta check for damage, get a mask on & get down there!!
I pulled on a mask & fins & waddeled to the stern , stareing down into 2000 feet of blackness...
"Wait A minute, what if whatever it was we hit is still down there?"
"SO?" Yelled the captain
"Well what if it's pissed... I mean we just slammed 8 tons into it & here I come leaping over the side to have a look..."
"YOU BLOODY WANKER, GIMMIE THAT!" Captain Pete grabbed the mask from my face & lept overboard.
It got very quiet , for what seemed like a very long time, while Pete was under the boat. What if he didnt surface again? Would I go after him? ....wrong...would I sail away in my own Tiki Tass?... I decided to give him another 5 seconds....
"BLOODY ELL!!" Pete exploded from the water, snorting profanities & sea water. "The prop shafts bent, we'll have to put in to Gros Islet for repairs."
Gros Islet, a tiny village on the north coast of St. Lucia litterly lives for Friday night. A cruise ship puts into the towns harbour that day & the towns folk throw a party. Reggee Bands, & food stalls line the streets. Tee Shirt & Ganga sailsmen work the crowd, its a huge festival in which the entire village is involved. The ship pulls out saturday morning, the town goes to sleep. Everyone simply crawls into their hammocs & does nothing till the next Friday night.
It was right in the middle of this Friday night bash when a strange thing happened, into the crowd drove three police cars, sirens blareing. Fiveteen uniformed police lept from the cars & chased 50 dread-locked ganga sales men through town... into the sea.
The laughing Rastas stood chest deep in the ocean, holding their wares over their heads & yelling taunts at the cops. The police stood on the shore, seemingly not wanting to get wet, shouting threats at the Pot salesmen, This went on for a half an hour, then the police returned to their cars & drove away. The rastas returned to buisness as usual. Was this just another Friday night ritual in Gros Islet?
One hot & groggy morning in Gros Islet, I found myself in line at the local bakery. Basiclly a tin shack with cement floor, about 10 locals laughed & slapped backs while they waited their turn at the counter.
Suddenly a loud curse exploded from the rotund black woman behind that counter & a split second later a cocker- spaniel sized rat
came tearing out from under it. This was no ordinary rat ,people. This particular rodent had far surpassed in size anything in its species....probably all that Bakery food...this thing was a foot & a half at the shoulder, teeth like a doberman, eyes glowing red in the dimly lit room & it was streaking for the door....which I was standing in.
I'm not good on hot groggy mornings, & by the time my brain regestered the highballing killer rodent , he had closed the gap considerably. I did what any man would do... I screamed like a 9 year old girl at a slumber party, & lept straight into the air.
My hang time is not that of Mike Jordan however & it was now apparent I would return to earth directly on this speeding, vicious,foul beast.
I was barefoot & in shorts. Not dressed for rat combat.
What happened next took place in less than a second but appeared to be in slow motion, seeming lasting long moments.
An ancient withered old black man stood in line ahead of me, when that rat passed him, now doing about 95 mph, the old guy quick as a snakes strike stepped in the middle of its back.
The guy was in shorts & barefoot.
The rat, white teeth flashing, eyes blazing flung its head back to tear away the mans ankle... but the ankle was gone.
Like greased lightning, the white topped old gentleman stooped, grabbed that massive rodent by the tail, swung him in a wide arc above his head & smashed him into the cement floor.
Then he stepped back in line as if nothing had happened. In fact everyone continued as if this kinda thing went on all day in Gros Islet.
The rat lay on its back, twitching with death spasms, blood ozing from its gasping mouth. I turned to go... having lost my appetite.
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