Further adventures...new website

Ananda's enjoying a well earned rest right now. 

As the English winter approaches, she is safely berthed and enjoying a clean and 'brush-up' before embarking on her next adventure.  But where to?

To find out, please visit our new website (here!) at 

http://anandaofhamble.blogspot.co.uk

Hope you will join us here and keep us company on our travels - please bookmark this link!

Our best wishes

Keith and Stella

Ananda at anchor on the Sasafras River in Chesapeake, USA.

Homecoming

Location: 50 47.21 N 00 19.41 E

The wind howls overhead but we are relieved to be out of harm's reach and safely anchored behind a headland.  In case the anchor fails to find a good grip on the weedy bottom we stay onboard for the first 24 hours.  But it holds well and soon we are able to go ashore to sample the Spanish cuisine – or cocina I suppose – in a nearby cafe.  But later on another depression passes through, giving us another wet and windy night.

At anchor in Camarinas

The next day there appears to be a weather 'window' with a chance to make home before the next system is upon us.  So Stella dives into the murky water in her 'shortie' wet suit – the warm Caribbean waters seem far way now - to check the stern gear.  Soon the anchor is up and we are on our way.   With good winds we sail up the Ria along the leading line of Punta de Lago light and head out once again into the North Atlantic.

Spectacular Galicean coastline near Muxia

We pole out the genoa to catch the southwesterly breeze but as night falls the winds increase in strength and so we reef both sails.  'Lieke', a cargo ship bound for Havana, passes ahead and we slip 1 mile behind her stern.  There are fishing boats to avoid too in these inshore waters.  In the rain and drizzle visibility is poor and one boat passes far too close for comfort.

Where there are fish there are dolphins too, and later a school of small dolphins swims playfully past, their wakes illuminated by the moonlight.

Progress is fast and the next day we sail off the edge of continental shelf and into deep water.  The wind veers so we take down the pole to sail on a broad reach with full canvas and even a little sunshine.  Time for ice-cream and chocolate brownies as the passenger ship Azura passes to port.  There's a naval exercise going on and a warship nearby calls Autopride to warn her to keep an eye open for a submarine.  As Bob Dylan sings to us in the cockpit a low-flying aircraft, only a few feet above the sea, 'buzzes' us  – the pilot gives us a wave.

Visiblity is now much improved and after only 48 hours at sea Ushant comes into view.  It's a rather bleak and low-lying island, a rocky lee shore with a forlorn history of shipwrecks right through to modern times.  An old Breton proverb says:

Qui voit Ouessant voit son sang, Qui voit Sein voit sa fin.

"He who sees Ushant sees his blood, He who sees Sein sees his end".

We opt for an easy time and keep outside Ushant and its rocky inshore passages with their strongly running tides, then turn to the northeast to head up the English Channel.  Headed by the wind we opt to motor for a while to keep our speed up.  Too slow and our 'window' will run out, leaving us with strong headwinds.  Onwards we sail, past Roche D'Ouvres,  then Guernsey, Alderney and Cap de la Hague, all visible in the clear air.

During the night we cross the shipping lanes, thankful for the AIS system that identifies most of the shipping and gives us each ship's course, speed, closest proximity and time to closest proximity.  The lanes are extraordinarily busy and one wonders how we ever managed without such superb equipment on our previous boats.

Sunrise over the Severn Sisters

The sky lightens and treats us to a spectacular sunrise over the white chalk cliffs that border the mouth of the Cuckmere valley, all only a short distance from our own home.

Morning twilight at sea

Then it's time to turn home, past the familiar lighthouse at Beach head and the fishermen on Eastbourne pier to arrive in time for an early morning lock-in at Sovereign Harbour.

Beachy Head lighthouse with Belle Toute tower visible beyond

*     *     *     *     *

Home again.

And it feels like we have never left.  20,000 miles or so of sailing behind us, and yet....

...perhaps without travelling we never really understand and appreciate our own lives?

According to Chris Geiger: "All journeys eventually end in the same place, home." 

Until the next trip - wherever, whenever - this is Keith and Stella signing off for now.

Thanks for reading, and thanks for being onboard with us!

Spanish diversion

Location: 43 07.59 N 09 10.60 W

Flaming June?  Certainly not in this part of the Atlantic, as we headed out to the northeast of the Azores.  Nor, it would seem, for the Jubilee celebrations back home.  We set off from Horta with fair winds and good sailing conditions and set a course for England and home.  But the weather gremlins had not finished with us yet.

NW tip of Sao Jorge, Azores.  The lighthouse on the top of this sheer island gives some idea of the scale of the cliffs.

We sailed past Sao Jorge, enjoying the skilful soaring and wheeling of the skuas and storm petrels, then on past Graciosa as night fell.  We continued on towards England for another 2 days with perfect winds, but the grib weather charts told another story.  A major depression was heading our way on its course towards Ireland, where it was predicted to produce storm force 10 winds.  We were directly in its path.

A change of plan was called for, and so we turned Ananda 20 degrees to starboard to head towards northern Spain.  This would not only keep us out of the strongest winds but presented a possibility of reaching shelter before the bad weather arrived.  So the race was on – Ananda versus the depression (ex Bertha) – and we set more canvas for extra speed.

Conditions held and on we went , sliding down the waves at up to 10 knots, though with conditions gentle enough to watch films.  Only the anxiety of our race with Bertha marred what would otherwise have been sailing at its best.

And the result?  We won!  Ananda crossed the busy shipping lanes off Finisterre and sailed into Camarinas, N Spain just as the wind was starting to rise.  We had sailed almost 1000 miles in 6 days, not bad considering we didn't use our spinnaker.

As we lay at anchor the wind and rain howled over us and we nervously kept an anchor watch.  But all held securely.  Time now for a couple of days rest whilst the next depression passes, then hopefully on towards home...

*     *     *     *     *

Azores high

Location: 38 31.85 N 28 37.54 W

For most transatlantic sailors it's the passage back to Europe that holds the greatest challenge.

When crossing over to the Caribbean there's a good chance of enjoying constant trade winds to roll you over thousands of miles of empty ocean.  But try and sail in the other direction and the weather you get is complete pot-luck.

Leaving Bermuda on the back of a depression with rather lumpy seas

So after a quick dive under the boat to change an anode on the propeller shaft, we took on fresh water and diesel and motored out through St Georges cut into the Atlantic.  It was hard to leave Bermuda, almost a second abode for us now, but we were excited to be heading for our real home.  And we had company – at least for a while.  The 65' yacht Windrose, a beautiful Hoek design combining traditional looks with a modern underwater profile for speed and performance, left Bermuda at the same time.  On board were 4 friendly crew, all from the Azores, delivering the yacht for her Portuguese owner.  Surprisingly we sailed close enough together for regular chats on VHF for almost a week.

The journey was not an easy one.  Despite many challenges, not least of which was the weather, our passage was no more difficult than that experienced by most of the other sailors who crossed at the same time.  Rather than take the more direct northerly route to the Azores, we were pushed further and further south to avoid strong head winds as one depression after another tracked eastward across the Atlantic.  Fortunately we could just about maintain radio contact with weather guru Herb in Canada – thanks Herb for your generous help!

Our sails were rather a headache.  The 'phantom slasher' was back at work and we found yet more new tears in our genoa.  During a calmer spell we dropped the sail to the deck and made temporary repairs with sticky-backed sailcloth, but what was it that kept damaging our lovely new genoa?  We had already virtually smothered the mast and spreaders with plastic tape to protect the sail from harm, but to no avail.

It was Stella who finally provided the answer - it was the staysail!  Fitted with metal battens when new, the staysail's batten pockets had worn away, exposing razor sharp metal edges that slashed away at the genoa whenever it brushed past.  So we dropped the staysail too and removed the offending battens – hopefully now the end of this particular saga.

More seriously, we developed a 2 metre tear along the foot of the mainsail.  We sailed under jib alone for a few days until conditions allowed us to drop and stow this heavy sail.  But when we did, we found another problem.  A large bolt had dropped out of the in-mast furling mechanism and disappeared overboard, rendering it unusable.  So even though we had a spare mainsail, we would not be able to set it.

Time for some improvisation…

With the help of an angle grinder, a temporary 10mm locating grub screw is fashioned...

…and then we hoist our spare laminated mainsail…

... but oh dear!  Left in a locker, the laminated sail has come unstuck and imaginatively reformed itself into a sack of potatoes.

Having worked so far south, we were now left with a 500 mile beat to windward to reach the Azores and a sack-of-potatoes mainsail that was not a great help in these conditions.  We pushed on, until there was only 200 miles to go.  Then came news of yet another approaching depression.  But at this stage the possibility of being safely snuggled up in a comfortable harbour rather than receiving another lashing from wind and waves, proved far too tempting.  So we resorted to the 'iron genoa'.  The engine performed flawlessly, pushing Ananda steadily into the 4m swell.

The VHF sprang to life with a call from another yacht, and there close behind us was Deep Blue, a Swan 57.   The Norwegian owner 'Captain Flash' told us he had sailed directly from the Caribbean though, it would seem, not without problems.  We looked forward to meeting up in Horta.

.

Captain Flash on Deep Blue, beating into the ocean swell.

As the sky lightened in the early dawn we could see the towering summit of Pico close ahead.  Then the lights of the harbour of Horta on the neighbouring island of Faial came into view and, after 15 days at sea, we were relieved to reach the lights of civilisation.  And we would have the opportunity to settle our sleep debt too.

Approaching Horta at dawn - time to set mooring ropes and fenders.

Horta, Faial, somewhat rebuilt after being burnt to the ground by the Earl of Cumberland in 1589 and again by Sir Walter Raleigh in September 1597.  In those days the island was under Spanish rule.

Ashore in Horta, there was a welcoming closeness and camaraderie amongst the yachtsmen in the harbour that was quite unusual.  Amongst the first arrivals of the season, we sailors had been through quite a lot in order to just be there.  And having experienced such unseasonably bad weather for May it seemed that everyone had a tale to tell.  And we had got off fairly lightly.

There was a steady influx of yachts with foresails in tatters, remnants streaming out from forestays like ribbons.  Roller furling mechanisms were dismantled and laid along the quaysides, crews busy with saws and drills.  Captain flash had nursed an extremely sick crew member in a curtained-off area of the yacht's saloon for 3 weeks.  Diagnosed over the radio by emergency services as having Denghe Fever, the crew lost much body weight and medical evacuation was considered on 3 occasions.  And on top of this, the yacht's rudder was becoming detached, making the vessel's motion awkward and its safety uncertain.  Fortunately the crew member made a good recovery, sufficient to remain onboard for the voyage back to Norway.

Praca do Infante, Faial

Worse still, when one American yacht arrived in harbour during a particularly bad blow, it became disabled and was blown onto the rocks in full view of all.  The yacht was holed and completely awash, but fortunately the terrified crew were rescued unharmed.  A salvage boat hauled it off the rocks once and then a second time after the tow-line parted, then the yacht was very quickly slipped at the boatyard.  But the damage appeared irretrievable – half of the rudder missing and multiple holes over one side of the hull.  A sad end to what was probably a trip of a lifetime.

The harbour and marina at Horta.  On the left of the picture, a new breakwater under construction can be seen.

The harbour had changed considerably since our original visit here in 1989 on Coot, our 30 foot sloop.  In those days there was no marina and visiting yachts tied up on the inside of the original 1876 breakwater.  Now there are 2 yacht basins, a fishing harbour, container port and slipway.

Still the warmth and friendliness of the locals still shines through.  That favourite yachtsman's haunt Café Sport, Peter's wonderful bar, is still there, though nowadays it is run by Peter's son, Jose.  But sadly the main problem for the islanders also remains much the same – a lack of employment opportunities that leads to a high emigration rate.

At over 1000m high, the caldeira in the centre of Faial has a diameter of 2km and is 400m deep.  There was a permanent lake at the bottom, but this drained in the 1950s through fissures formed by the Capelinhos eruption (see later).

A pretty spectacular ridge walk.

In September 1957, the first major volcanic eruption for nearly 3 centuries occurred on the island.  It started 1km out at sea off Ponta dos Capelinhos on the western tip of the island, and soon the lighthouse on the point was half buried by ash and pumice.  A new island nearly 100m high formed close by, and then further eruptions joined the island to the mainland and increased its height to 144m.  15,000 people, nearly half of the island's population took the decision to emigrate, many to the USA.

Capelinhos lighthouse.  It is actually a 2 storey building but the first floor is now covered with ash.

The landscape here is stark and barren, rather like the surface of the moon.  Now there is a fine underground museum there, complete with history of the event, movies of the eruption and much scientific background material.

The new volcanic peninsula at Capelinhos.

Lofty heights: the rarely seen summit of Pico at 2351m and the bow of superyacht Parsifal 3.

Who he?  Mr Big receives deferential treatment from the crew of Parsifal.

No visit to Horta is complete without a yachtsman leaving a painting of his yacht's name on the quayside or breakwater wall.  Indeed it is considered bad luck to leave the island without having done so;  it would appear that we yachtsmen are a superstitious lot.  The locals not only condone but encourage it, viewing such defacement as an art form rather than vandalism.

Leaving in style.  The breakwater with yachtsmen's paintings can be seen behind the schooner's stern.

The wharfs around the harbour were a hive of activity, a kind of nautical renaissance.  Artists were camped out at intervals, industriously designing their masterpieces under the scrutiny of passers-by offering advice and encouragement.  Paint pots were passed on from boat to boat.

Some artists really managed to capture the philosophy of cruising …

Others displayed the more traditional saucier side of a sailor's life…

The parlous nature of most cruising yachtsmen's finances shone through…

…as well as the sailor's longing for his shore side gal.

The inherent dangers of a cruising life and the power of the sea were common themes.

Amazingly, after 33 years, the original painting that Stella made on our last visit is still there – at least traces of it!  The pipes were not present in 1979 but have probably contributed to the painting's longevity.

Finally, after braving the wind and showers, Stellie made the finishing touches to our new painting.

Just about sums us up, don't you think?

A few minutes later we cast off our lines to head once again towards home.

*     *     *     *     *

Rovers return

Location: 38 31.84 N 28 37.53 W

We're off again, after a welcome rest here in Horta, a fine refuge for seafarers over the centuries. Tanks are full, larder is stocked - just the small matter of about 1400 miles of ocean to cross towards Blighty and home.
Will update the blog in due course and with an update of our crossing from Bermuda too...

Bermuda triangle

Location: 32 22.79 N 64 40.34 W

Squall!  Changes all…

The wind is howling through the rigging at 40 knots and spray is now blowing in horizontal streaks from the wave tops.  Mind you, it's hard to see much of anything in such torrential rain but we are pleased to have reduced sail in time for the blast.  Ananda is as steady as a rock under engine and a scrap of mainsail and fortunately there's little shipping to be worried about out here in the Atlantic and no rocks either – we're 400 miles from land.

We're on passage for Bermuda having left St Thomas 4 days ago.  Until half an hour ago we were enjoying sparkling sailing with full main and genoa, the boat speeding along at 7kts, 8kts, and then over 10kts.  It felt good to free Ananda at last from the shackles holding her back; we had been effectively hove-to for 24 hrs.  This was because we wished to keep south of 26 degrees to keep clear of a storm brewing up near Bermuda with 40-50kt winds.

But the cloud was thickening and sky was becoming darker and darker.  Communication with weather guru Herb on SSB was unreliable with poor radio propagation, although Tim, back in Lakenheath, England kindly analysed weather conditions for us on the satellite phone.

Now the front is upon us and it feels like night in the middle of the afternoon.  Thunder and lightning crash all about us.  We fear a direct hit that could wipe out the boat's electrical system or even worse cause a fire or sinking.  But the nearest strike is one mile away – 4 seconds.

After half an hour, the wind drops for a while, then returns once again with the same ferocity - but now in the opposite direction.  We hand-steer and run downwind, not caring about making any particular course in these conditions.  Both soaked to the skin, we are wearing harnesses and lifejackets; our 'soft door', a canvas and plastic screen, is keeping the weather out of the cabin.

*    *    *

Our stay in the American Virgin Islands had been an interesting one.  Few English visit the islands; the yachts here are almost entirely American as strict visa regulations keep other vessels out.  We were fortunate enough to have valid American visas and so were allowed entry, albeit after being photographed and finger-printed!  Process or paranoia?  Who knows, but the Americans could certainly learn a thing or two about risk assessment.

The extensive cruise ship dock at St Thomas berths 3 liners end to end, though it's a long walk for the passengers on the outside ship.

Caneel Bay in St John is a pretty place.  Ashore is an exclusive resort, once owned by Rockefeller, built on an old plantation.   There is good snorkelling on the coral reefs that fringe the shoreline.  And with good internet access, we are able to sort out our IT problems and install new programmes.  It's sociable too, with Captain Steve, Dan and Alan on Blue Pearl moored nearby.  The wind picks up but Blue Pearl leave anyway – they have to return to America via the Bahamas before Dan flies Steve and his wife Linda up to Boston in his private plane for their daughter's graduation.

Another way home!  This Dutch ship picks up any size of yacht or power boat and will deliver anywhere in the world.  At a price, of course.  But take into account wear and tear, breakages, fuel costs, crew flights and expenses and it might be economical for some.

Eventually we're ready for the passage to Bermuda.  There's 850 miles of Atlantic Ocean to cross and the passage involves sailing through the 'Bermuda Triangle' (if you really believe in that sort of thing  (hmmm…?).  The forecast seems ok, for the next few days, anyway, so we weigh anchor and slip off around the SE of St Thomas to head due north for Bermuda.

Last view of the Virgin Islands - Dutchcap Cay

And all is well – until we get news of the storm.  But it's well to the north of us, and we should only get the tail end of the system with perhaps a few squalls.

*    *    *

By late afternoon the wind has moderated and returned to the SE and the skies are lightening to the east.  We're sailing again, and feeling much relieved to have passed through the maelstrom.  But there's more to come…

It's 9.30pm and Stellie is on watch while I sleep.  The wind has caught all the sails aback and something is obviously amiss.  I don safety gear and try to steer the boat back on course but the wheel won't budge – it's locked solid.  And none of the instruments are working, including the navigational plotter.  I switch everything off and mercifully we can steer the boat once again, albeit by hand.  But it's a long dark moonless night as we take it in turns to hand steer by compass and stars, managing 2 hour watches each throughout the next 12 hours.

The next morning I remove the compass from the binnacle and disconnect the autopilot control head – my hunch is that this is the instrument that is causing the trouble.  Incredibly, the instruments all splutter into life and with our spare remote pilot control added we once again have use of the autopilot.

What a difference a day makes!

The rest of the voyage is pleasant with gentle sailing conditions and it feels wonderful to arrive back in Bermuda – almost home from home to us now.

Ordnance Island St Georges, Bermuda.  The square-rigger is a replica of the Deliverence, the vessel built from the wreck of the Sea Venture in 1609 that went on to rescue the ailing American colony Jamestown.  The loss of the Sea Venture in a hurricane off bermuda inspired Shakespeare's The Tempest.

After a much needed rest, I take the offending instrument to bits, and it's full of water.  No wonder it dragged down the instrument network!  Without much expectation, I scrub its circuit board with soap and fresh water and dry it.  Then the print gets a careful scrape and clean-up to remove any corrosion before a spray-up with motorcycle lacquer.  Finally I reinforce the case is with epoxy before reassembly.  And surprise - it actually works!!

But the instrument case's poor design means it can never be truly waterproof.  So Stellie sets to with the sewing machine…

The result – a new binnacle spray cover!

Keep your hat on - Stellie's new binnacle spray cover.

As a break from jobs, we take a trip to Hamilton to visit an arts and music festival in Par-La-Ville Park, then it's back to the Swizzle Inn for our favourite meal.

Next stop, the Azores.  1800 miles or so of Atlantic Ocean.  This could take some time.

Ananda in St Georges Harbour - photo from the Hamilton ferry.

*    *    *    *    *

What's in a name?

Location: 18 20.64 N 64 47.35 W

Columbus had run out of saints by the time he discovered Marie Galante so he named the island after one of his boats instead.  Here, English visitors are rare.  It's a quiet unspoilt haven where life goes on much the same as when we visited the Caribbean over 30 years ago.                                                                                                                    

Ox-drawn carts are standard transport for sugar cane on rural Marie Galante.  We bought some of his delicious bananas in return for this photo.

But we prefer horses to oxen and so hired 110 of them, harnessed into the frame of a Honda scooter, to explore along the deserted roads.  With few road signs we are soon lost and stop to ask directions, but the local can't recognise any features on the map.  No matter – on a round island one will inevitably end up back where one started.

Many of the old sugar mills are now in ruins and overrun by jungle.

Abandoning the scooter we set off on an overland hike, climbing up a bluff to a plateau with paths through fields of cane.

Sweetness all around: Stellie dwarfed by sugar cane.  It's still the most important crop here.

It was a long walk in the heat and so we were relieved to reach 'Les Sources' , a bar run by a French lady originally from a tiny island off Brittany, for a splendid steak frites lunch

Just because you live in a shack doesn't mean you can't keep in touch.

The road to the limestone cliffs in the north of the island took us past local homes ranging from substantial rendered buildings to simple shacks with corrugated iron roofs and only basic furniture.

Guele Grande Gouffre, Marie Galante - a 200 foot deep sink-hole complete with arch.

Time to enjoy some more downwind sailing and so we move on again, to Les Isles des Saintes.  As a quartier of France, this means that we can expect a plentiful supply of decent bread.

Do you want to spend more time at sea or on land?  The ultimate compromise at Terre-de Haut, Isles des Saintes.

Despite being on the cruise ship itinerary, these islands remain quaint and relatively unspoiled.  Unlike most of the surrounding islands, Les Saintes have no history of slavery and any inhabitants of African descent arrived fairly recently and, like us, by choice.

The 5-masted Royal Clipper sails of into the sunset

But unfortunately our watermaker has packed up and spare parts are needed.  We arrange for these to be delivered to Antigua and sail northwards to Falmouth Harbour with its superyacht fraternity and then on to Jolly Harbour to collect our package.

Seeing the yacht Déjà vu anchored nearby (Haven't we seen her somewhere before?) set us thinking about boat names and the thinking behind some of the more curious choices.  Names range freely from the farmyard…

…through the obvious…

…to the explanatory…

…to the downright unfortunate!

Sadly the spare parts shipped from the UK don't help our watermaker to work any better and so we resign ourselves to taking on water from fuel quays – no great hardship as we can hold 1 ton of water in our tanks.   But the laptop's hard drive has packed in too, playing havoc with our communications.  This means I waste many hours trying to format the 'brick' – a heavy ex-military laptop designed to be run over by tanks.  Eventually and with some relief I load enough programmes to regain some degree of functionality.

Rather than revisit the usual popular islands, we decide to step off the beaten track on our journey back to the Virgin Isles.  To the lee of St Barts and St Maarten lie some unusual and very tall volcanic islands.  We decide not to visit Montserrat and its active volcano.  Much of the island now has an exclusion zone and any remaining anchorages are rather exposed with the possibility of ash raining down on our decks.

So our next stop is Nevis.  Although only 6 by 5 miles, the island looks like a sombrero with its cloud-capped peak rising to over 3000 feet.  The British and French fought over it until 1783 when it became British and, with its sugar plantations, prospered.

Approaching Nevis.

With few visitors other than day trippers from St Kitts, the locals are very friendly and seem genuinely pleased to see you.  A walk through the main town of Charlestown reveals some lovely architecture.  There are stone built houses and public buildings, and some with gingerbread woodwork on their eaves and shuttered windows.

Who he?  Charlestown, Nevis.

We walk along the heritage trail to the Nelson museum, but its Good Friday and closed. A pity, because the heritage of this island is fascinating.

Alexander Hamilton was born here, and Nelson married Nevisian widow Fanny Nisbett on the island.  We ambled on, past the oldest hotel in the Caribbean, the Bath Hotel.  A Ball was held here to celebrate Captain Horatio's wedding in 1787.  And a lavish affair it was, too.  There was a sit down meal for 100 guests, including Prince William Henry, the future King William IV of England.

Later, in the mid 19th Century, a 9-hole golf course, one of the first in the western hemisphere, was built here.  But the hotel is no more and the building is now used as the Ministry for the island's Premier.

The next island in the chain, St Christopher (St Kitts) is only a short 2 hour sail from Nevis and we anchor in White House Bay, a beautiful secluded spot at the unspoilt eastern end of the island.  There are wild monkeys on the shoreline in the early morning, descendents of a few originally introduced by the island's early planters.

African green vervet monkey, St Kitts

But this idyll won't last much longer.  The developers are already there, forging roads and selling plots for yet another marina and luxury waterside homes complex.

Kate, at anchor in White House Bay, St Kitts.  She is a replica of a McGruer 12 metre yacht, built localling in wood by Philip Walwyn.  Lead for the keel was salvaged from wrecked yachts around the coastline, melted over a wood fire and cast in a concrete mold.

Kate's owner and builder, Philip rows over and introduces himself, and gives us a wonderful sewn St Kitts courtesy flag to fly from our crosstrees! Over tea, he tells us that his family have lived on the Rawlins Plantation on St Kitts for over 250 years.  His wife Kate is an artist who trained in Italy and we are invited to visit their home and studio on the plantation.

We sail down the coast to the capital of St Kitts, Basseterre, with its interesting mixture of French and British architecture.  It's a rolly old anchorage and we are pleased to go ashore to explore.  Rather incongruously, the town's waterfront has been extended with a new cruise ship dock, Port Zante, that includes a 'tourist town' more in keeping with Universal Studios than a Caribbean island.

The quaint Circus in Basseterre's old quarter on St Kitts was rebuilt after a fire in 1876 and is modelled after London's Piccadilly.

But the edges of the town quickly fade into a ghetto where we feel rather unsafe. A friendly local, Reuben, escorts us back to the centre where we catch a local mini-bus to the north of the island.  A sign on the bus reads 'If de music too loud you too old'.  The villages we pass through are poor, and people sit by their doors gazing out at the traffic.

It's a long hike through the sugar cane fields to Rawlins Plantation.  Now that it's no longer economically feasible to harvest it, the cane grows wild and untended - the industry was killed off with the introduction of sugar beet to Europe.  We reach the plantation hotel and enjoy a welcome drink on the shady patio overlooking the lovely gardens.

Philip and Kate's studio and home at Rawlins Plantation, St Kitts

Nearby is Philip and Kate's wonderful home where we are made most welcome and served fresh ginger and lemon tea with homemade banana bread.  Kate's original art is lovely – if only our budget could run to it!  At least some designer note-cards will remind us of her work.

But behind all of this idyll is another story.  The (English) owner of the plantation hotel next door is in prison for murdering a white employee last year.  The body was found in the cane fields below.  There were many murders on this small island last year, 34 in all, though the same is almost certainly true of most Caribbean islands.

A room with a view - Kate Spencer's studio

After an early start, we sail northwards up the coast and pass Brimstone Hill, an old strategically placed fort built by the British and eventually captured by the French after a long siege. About 1000 British soldiers held out for several months against 8000 French and eventually surrendered with full honour.

Brimstone Hill, St Kitts

It's a fast reach in lovely sunshine as we continue past Statia (St Eustatius) towards the fairytale island of Saba.   From a distance – and close by too – it looks like a giant rock, only 5 square miles and 3000 feet high.

Saba.  The small white dots near the peak are houses.

Until the 1940's, Saba was almost inaccessible with only one unsheltered landing spot, Ladder Bay, leading to 800 steps.  Landing was only possible in calm conditions and everything had to be manhandled up the steps.  Now it has a tiny harbour for dinghies and a sort-of airport that is more like an aircraft carrier, but is still pretty remote.  Curiously there is now an offshore Medical School here, with students that increase the population by 50%.  Not a lot of clinical experience for them on Saba, I would have thought.

The snorkelling in this remote place is superb, and we swim through beautiful coral reefs, caves and tunnels with turtles and the widest variety of fish we have seen so far for company.

But with light winds forecast within 24 hours, we leave as the sun goes down to sail for the Virgin Islands.  The wind is behind us and we sail 100 miles effortlessly through the warm night, 'goose-winged' with full sails poled out either side of the boat.  There is plenty of shipping about, especially cruise ships and we pass Star Flyer and Freedom of the Seas.

It was only later that we learned that the polite yacht that let us pass in front during the night was Blue Pearl with our friends Steve and Dan!

By the following afternoon, after a change of plan, we are in the American Virgin Islands and snugly anchored in pretty Caneel Bay, St John.

*    *    *    *    *