Le Chemin de Rivière Deshaies

After a good rain, the Rivière Deshaies has many small spillways. 

      This being our second trip to Guadeloupe, we aimed to do some sight seeing we had missed on our first visit and the hike up the nearby Deshaies River was at the top of my list.  You may recall from a 2012 post that we couldn’t find anyone here who would speak English to us.  Now three years later, this is still true and, unfortunately, so is the fact that our command of the French language has not markedly improved. 
  


Some rock were slippery and took great balance!

 

       Nevertheless, we reviewed the hike’s description in our cruiser’s guide that read ”Continue for 1-2 hours and you come to a road on the left hand side that will bring you back to town in about 15 minutes.” That certainly sounded doable for this 60-something couple, so we packed our hiking bags and set out.



No trail markers, but sometimes we sort of saw a path.



 

 

 

      The beginning of the trail was clearly marked with a sign and we made our way along the gently running river, taking in the soothing sights and sounds, stepping from stone to stone until it became unmanageable.  Then we looked to the left and to the right banks to locate a somewhat clear path to follow through the dense woods. Sometimes, but not often, there was a blue painted dot on a tree or stone in the woods or a red and white surveyor tape hung randomly. That trail was followed until it dwindled and forced us back to climbing along the boulders in the river. When passage on the rocks became impossible again, we repeated the process… over and over and over.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


We noticed unset traps like these twice along the way. 



The farther we trekked the more the boulders grew.

         As we hiked, Dan took the lead more often than I did.  He doesn’t know it, but I prefer it that way for two reasons: 1. He is an impatient man. 2. Judging from the terrain we were hiking, I thought we might encounter something icky since a worn trail was nonexistent.  Something “icky” like a FER DE LANCE!  You may wonder what a fer de lance* is- well, it is a poisonous snake that TOM of sv TIGER LILLY warned me about while hiking a trail on a French island- probably Martinique- a few years ago. (Tom is my elder and speaks with conviction and authority, so I believed him. ) The leaf strewn forest with its nooks and crannies seemed the perfect habitat for snakes and they totally freak me out, so I happily let Dan lead our way, just incase…

Fer de Lance (Google image)

      After an hour and a half, fording the river became more challenging as the stones in the river became insurmountable boulders, the forest grew more dense, and the banks steeper. We began looking up the rive gauche for signs of a clearing where there might be a road.  I crawled up a couple of times and walked through a spider web on my second descent.  (Spiders freak me out, too!) But I found only rocky pasture land. We pushed on through the tropical woods along the riverside for a bit more.  Finally a brighter clearing was revealed at the top of the bank about one-hundred feet above us. We grabbed on to young trees, thick vines, and strong roots to pull ourselves up the steep incline.  At the summit, there was no road, but a sparsely wooded field. At last, Dan led us through the field to where a barbed wire fence stood at the edge of the ROAD!



    There was an open water spout along the pasture, so we paused there to douse ourselves and cool off a bit before commencing on the downhill trek to town.

    

[*When preparing this entry, I learned through Wikipedia that the poisonous fer de lance is the “ultimate pit viper…found only in Central American countries.” It is NOT in any island of the Caribbean. So TOM-  I’m NOT going to let you mess with my head anymore!  ] 

What a DRAG!

The captain and crew of the sv Exit Strategy were finally on the initial leg of their passage down island for the hurricane season. The vessel was forgivably motoring eastward to allow an easier sail once the captain turned southward toward Guadeloupe, their first stop. Thirty miles out from St. Thomas-USVI the engine grew progressively louder and unusual vibrations could be felt through the cockpit floor. The captain went below and opened all three access panels that surround the engine to inspect.  Nothing looked amiss.  The engine growled with more intensity and the rumbling noise made the first mate feel that it was imminently close to blowing. The captain remained calm.
 

Soon afterward, the crew discussed the engine while dining on cold rotisserie chicken and crudités under the soft glow of solar lights in the cockpit.   The first mate respectfully suggested that they had two choices: 1. continue on and hope it settles down or 2. head for St. Martin (approximately 70 miles away) where a capable mechanic could be found to fix the engine quickly.  The captain listened to the mate, but remained undaunted.  Suddenly, the mate thought of a third choice and said, “OR maybe we should turn around and head back the 30 miles to St. Thomas and get it fixed.”  The captain tossed his last chicken bone into the sea and sighed heavily as he knew his first (& LAST) mate wouldn’t let him rest until the engine quieted down.
 

Upon checking the chart plotter data, the captain discovered that whatever was wrong with the engine was causing a loss of power moving forward and THAT was a problem. The boat was throttled down to idle and stopped to only be moved a bit by the waves and current. It bobbed about turning almost 180’. The captain got his snorkel and a flashlight, as it was nearly dark by now, and climbed down the swim ladder to see what he could see.  Nothing was on the propeller or the rudder or what he was able to see of the keel.
 

Back on board, the captain powered the boat up to 1000 rpms.  The engine responded smoothly.  He slide the throttle forward to 1500 rpms and she purred like a kitten.  Finally, he eased it up to 2000 rpms and there was no vibration or excessive noise! 
 

It was finally figured out that a probable build up of Sargassum Weed had built up on the keel and impeded the smooth flow of sea water back to the propeller.  When Exit Strategy was stopped and turned 180’ the grass slipped free and took the stress off the prop.  It was a DRAG, but a lesson was learned and the crew found it necessary to slow and turn the boat several more times a long the way to free the grass.

We generally like to fish mahi mahi when we see these mats of grass, but our freezer was full. (Google Image)

[Rosie’s Note: Thank GOODNESS we figured this one out!   I was envisioning another repair like the one we had done last summer in Spanish Waters, Curacao by a recommended boat mechanic.  Yeah- I’m guessing he was recommended because he was the ONLY mobile mechanic in the bay.  I won’t ID him out right, but the chain-smoking Dutchman’s business name rhymes with “No Boat Jerks.”

IF you are a cruiser reading this blog, for a really skilled and dependable marine mechanic in Curacao, have the folks at Curacao Marine fix it in Wilhemsted.]

Orient Beach, St. Martin

Orient Beach is way across the bay from Green Cay where we picnicked one day.

 

         St. Martin has two sides: the Dutch side is largely in the south and the French side takes up the north. In the island’s European homelands it is common for women to sunbathe topless. So it is common to see European women who venture here topless on the beach. 

 

         In addition to topless sunbathing, Orient Bay also offers a clothing optional resort called Le Club Oriental to appease vacationers who want to sunbathe totally au naturel. And from what we’ve seen and heard nestled among the yellow umbrellas along this stretch of sand, it appears to mainly draw tourists from English speaking countries, such as the good old USA. 

Kon Tiki is one of the restaurants along the expansive beach.

Local vendors dress for maximum protection from the sun. 

              

    One cannot help but see every imaginable shape and size of physique slung over chaise loungers or strolling along the waters edge.  You’d have to close your eyes or constantly avert them and then you’d most likely tumble right into a nude stranger. (EW! Sacre Bleu!)  Some bodies were pleasant to behold, but many were not.  Picture, if you will, dimples that have dimples… acned backs and worse yet- butts… lots of sagging things like cheeks, breasts, biceps, tummies, abdomens, sacks… freckles that give the illusion of a faint tan… stretch marks on guys and gals…celluloid here, there, and everywhere…red blotches where SPF was missed… white stripes under flabby folds of skin… piercings in unmentionable places brazenly adorned with glitzy bling…creative tattoos or Mother Nature’s placement of spider veins… bear-like hairy bodies…or absolutely no body hair on both ladies and gents making them look like prepubescent boys and girls.

 

        

         Multiple signs are posted along this stretch of beach that warn:  NO PHOTOS !

     

         My sister often chides me for offering excuses for the strange things people do… Maybe these folks came here because they couldn’t find a bathing suit big enough to wear. We spied one senior-type wearing a floppy hat and a hernia truss who had propped himself up on a NO PHOTOS sign to rest.  It must be torture for these people to apply sunblock or maybe not, if they have some helping hands.  And perhaps they get some relief from their arthritic joints if they don’t have to fumble with buttons and zippers while dressing daily. (What do you think, Lee?)

This one's for my sister, Lee.

Adam & Eve Swim Suit Shop on the beach.

           

       One old guy looked a bit confused as he shuffled by.  He wore a wide-brimmed hat, wrap-around sunglasses, a long-sleeved shirt, and no pants.  I hope- no, I PRAY that by the time we are his age in his condition that we don’t remember where there is a beach like this to go to.

WAHOO ! ! !

Google Image

       We like to fish.  More to the point- we love to harvest FREE SEAFOOD anytime possible.  So we often troll when the conditions are right during a sail.  We fish off the boat at anchor, too, when the bay is clean looking and edible types are spotted below while we check the anchor.  We fish a lot and every now and then we actually get lucky.  I say “lucky” because that is really what it takes.

 

      For example, one recent evening in a pristine bay of St. John-USVI (where fishing using traditional methods are allowed) one fish hit hard on my bait and managed to eat it clean off without getting hooked.  So I tied on a bigger hook with bait and dropped it off the side.  Within a minute I felt a strong tug again, then it let go as I pulled up the line.  This time the whole hook was gone! (At this point, the Captain was snickering at me from the galley…) But I was not done fishing yet and I aimed to be CATCHING soon.  So I put a new hook on a steel leader. Ha! Let’s see what this fish does now!   Once again, he hit and I began to pull. “It’s a big one,” I called out to the Captain who came up on deck just as my line when limp. This time the hook was still on the line, but it was bent beyond repair.  I have no idea what kind of fish it was, but I put my handline and tackle box away after that.  No luck that night.  Fun, but no luck.

 

      Now we’re circumnavigating the relatively small island of St. Martin.  We had the poll out between anchorages the other day rigged with an oddly colored lure that we’d never caught anything on before.  And wouldn’t you know it- we got a good hit!  I grabbed the pole and began to tighten down the drag, but whatever was on the line kept pulling it out. I finally got it tight enough, but I couldn’t reel it in even a fraction of an inch. The Captain slowed the boat down, got the gaff, his gloves, and a bottle of rum.  I watched the surface of the water and waited for the fish to jump or something so we might identify it, but it didn’t. After a couple of minutes I was at last able to reel it in at a good steady rate and noticed that the fish was being dragged along the surface of the water. At that point, we could tell it wasn’t a mahi mahi because it was silvery-colored. Dan was ready with the gaff and rum (to subdue it by pouring some into its gills), but it had no fight left by the time we got it on deck, so no rum was spilled.  Its tail was a mangled mess and the last quarter of the body was ripped open by huge teeth marks.  We think a larger fish- probably a barracuda- attacked it and that was why I couldn’t reel it in at the beginning.

 

      This was the very first WAHOO that we ever caught and although we threw away a quarter of its length, we’ll still have seven great meals out of it.   

W A H O O ! ! !

 

Sort of Like Shopping in Kalamazoo

(Google Image)

   
       When I was little and a particularly rainy day occurred on a non-school day, my parents usually loaded us into the car and Dad drove us to Kalamazoo to go shopping.  You see, Dad was a farmer and he couldn’t do much in the field when it was too wet.  We always looked forward to going to Kalamazoo because, to us, it was the BIG CITY.  Not as big as Chicago, where many of our relatives lived, but Kalamazoo had huge department stores like Goldblatts, Woolworths, JC Penney's, and Sears Roebuck where you could buy anything you ever wanted! 
     The drive took about forty-five minutes on the two lanes of Red Arrow Highway, as it wound its way through small towns at crossroads along the route…Lawrence…Paw Paw…Oshtemo.  We knew we were almost there when one of us spotted what we called “the Nut House”, a narrow circular tower that jutted up out of the woods on the south side of the road.  To this day, I don’t know what that tower is, but it remains a landmark for me.
     By now I suppose you’re wondering where this story is going. 


     Well, it doesn’t rain often down here in the Caribbean, but when it does who would guess that the Captain’s favorite pass time is shopping online.  He’s not likely to order his First & Last Mate a new frock or stilettos or expensive baubles to wear with her swim suit “uniforms” as she carries out her daily duties.  No, the Captain is more likely to order the next best electronic marine gizmo, or replacement parts for the water maker, like pumps and filters or for the engine, like O-rings and more filters.  In short- he buys necessary things.  The Captain is a guy after all. (He recently calculated and e-filed our Federal Tax return, so maybe today he’s got a limit in mind.  Maybe.)   
     Now mind you, the First & Last Mate has indeed benefited from some of his shopping sprees.  For example, he sent for a compact washing machine on the occasion of my last birthday that is saving my precious hands from wringing, so that they can busy themselves in other useful ways.  Then for Christmas 2014, he ordered a new stove for the galley with 3 burners, an oven WITH a dial to regulate the temperature, AND a broiler!!  (Woo-hoo!) 


I'm thrilled to have a washing machine!

I never enjoyed cooking on board ES more!

        I washed and hung two loads of laundry this morning, but now it is a wee bit rainy.  And as I write this, the Captain is indeed online ordering a few things that will be shipped to our daughter Becky who coincidentally lives in Kalamazoo.  I’m flying home to Michigan soon to attend two special events:  our youngest granddaughter’s 5th birthday and our niece’s wedding. Guess what I’ll be bringing back with me when I return to Exit Strategy and my Captain in the USVI?
    
     It’s sort of like shopping in Kalamazoo.

Better Than Snow Cruise

Before dinner at Foxy's Tamarind Bar & Grill, JVD-BVI

A few weeks ago, we had the pleasure of having my brother Marty join us for a ten day sail around the US and British Virgin Islands.  While we were together, he kept getting texts from family members in Michigan that consistently reported the temperature and expected snowfall.  In short order, we jokingly dubbed this cruise the  “Better Than Snow Cruise” on day one. 

Marty was always happy to take the helm.  As a matter of fact-
he smiled for 10 days straight no matter what.

       The name seemed appropriate until the smoke alarm started going off every time I began to cook.  The first time it happened I thought nothing of it, but then each and every time I began to cook a meal it sounded loudly- sometimes twice during a meal prep.  After a few days of this, Danny and Marty took a few turns preparing a meal oddly without incident. Nothing was actually burned and they assured me that every thing tasted divine, but it was still irritating to me. By day three, I wondered if we should refer to this cruise as the “Rosie Burned Everything Cruise”.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

       Marty is an avid fisherman and came prepared with tackle to thoroughly enjoy the sport.  Danny and I like to troll and catch whatever we can, so both Marty and Danny got official fishing licenses for the BVI. When signing the register at the Government House in Road Town, Tortola, the desk clerk politely told Marty that they have a dress code and that the lady (ME) would be allowed inside today, but my legs must be covered if I ever come back. (I was wearing shorts that hung to mid-thigh instead of the knee.) With BVI fishing licenses in hand, we were off!

Getting rigged to bonefish on Anegada, BVI

       We trolled while underway at every opportunity.  Marty used his fly rod to entice any bonefish that were hiding in the shallows of Anegada. On the way back from there, we headed to the North Drop to criss-cross it; then we skirted Kingfish Bank before finding our way into the anchorage at Great Harbor, Jost Van Dyke. We had sailed and trolled for about seven hours that day. Every daily effort we made to catch fish was rewarded with one GREAT hit and then the whopper either jumped off the hook or bit clean through the steel leader.  We did have a fantastic time, though and, in retrospect, I think we could have also called this cruise the “One Hit Wonder Cruise”.

[And I expect our dear friend Jim Bush is shaking his head and tsking as he reads this entry- saying "That's why they call it fishing and not catching."

The Caves of Brewers Bay (St. Thomas-USVI)

[Since I “blew” my New Year’s resolution for the month of January, I thought it would be best if I post this entry while the burn in my thigh muscles is still fresh.]


       We have anchored in Brewers Bay many times over the past five years and have never heard any mention of the Caves located on the face of the mountain about two-thirds of the way to the top. (See photo on right.) Recently, while anchored in Honeymoon Bay, Water Island we learned about them from Carl and Lesley of sv FROLIC.  They described the hike in detail and we could see the Caves from Water Island even though Brewers Bay was a twenty minute motoring trip away.  We made plans to go just two days ago.


       Fortunately, Carl was willing to hike with us and guide us up the strenuous path of boulders. It appeared to be a vertical stream bed from a waterfall, but not a drop of water was found. The climb was tough and vertical, making it necessary to grab on to trees to hoist ourselves higher and higher. About one-third of the way, we passed the remains of a shack along the path.  We paused to survey the “Rasta Ruins” and were amazed at what may have motivated him/her to haul every bit of material up to construct a shelter there. (See photo on left.) We even saw an old bike frame in the rubble!

      The only wildlife we encountered along the way were some songbirds, one gungalo, a snail, and two small nests of intensely territorial wasps.  Poor Carl- since he led the way, he got hit twice mainly on his legs.  I got one sting on my butt, and Dan got attacked on his arm. 
       In just under one hour, that included three self-imposed rest periods, we reached the bottom of the caves!  Someone had installed two lines for climbing to access the caves, but they didn’t appear trustworthy and we, after all, are not anywhere near capable of ascending the face of a one hundred foot high boulder even if it is rough enough to have multiple natural hand holds.

      We walked a bit farther up and around the massive rock and were rewarded with a perfect view of Brewers Bay below and St. Thomas’s Airport runway just beyond.     
     Our descent only took about thirty minutes, but it, too, was extremely difficult as gravity drove us downward at a quick pace.  I tumbled a few times jamming my knees and turning an ankle.  Luckily, today as I write this all ailments are gone!




The path to The Caves is landscaped, but unmarked...