Don’t come this way!!

       EONS ago, we were skiing in Michigan’s Upper Peninsula with two other couples.  Near dusk one day, Charlie blazed a trail for us skiing through the woods as we returned to our chalet on the outskirts of the resort. We were all in need of some warm fireside chatting and wine sipping as we flew through the woods, deep with new snow.  I was a few seconds behind Charlie and watched as he went air born over a small ridge. A nanosecond later he yelled, “Don’t come this way!”  I stopped and crept up to the top of the ridge as the others joined me.  Below us Charlie lay spread eagle, laughing whole-heartedly, and waving his poles in warning. His jump had landed him in a pile of thick brush and rough branches. (Later, when he took off his ski pants, he discovered that his calf had been impaled by a stick!)
                                 


    

Le Chameau

        Last week on a hike, Charlie’s warning rang over and over in my head.  The one thing I wanted to do more than anything else in Iles Des Saintes was to climb Le Chameau, the highest point of Terre De Haut at 309 meters.  We had a tourist map indicating that there were two ways of getting there.  One was a road on which no vehicles were allowed and the other was a trail that started off the Crawen Plage (beach).  I preferred the trail from the beach and was prepared to climb it alone since Dan said he had no interest in going prior to our hike.  But he had a change of heart, and began leading the way… the way that I didn’t think was the way.  There was a bench there and a single marked stone, but nothing else that looked like a clear path. We hadn’t even reached the beach yet where the map showed the beginning of the hike. How could THIS be the path? 



White square is summit of Le Chameau.
White solid path is road to top.
White dotted path from Crawen is beach trail.
Red dotted path is Dan's trail.
Black dotted path is where the trail really ended.
Black triangle is ES at anchor. 

       Dan, the Cub Scout reasoned, “We just have to go UP.”  And up we went on a incline so steep that my thigh muscles still stung days afterward. Through the bottom third of the ascent, the bush was thick and some of the branches I used for handholds were dead, breaking in my hand.  Other shrubs were thorny, so I began studying branches more before grabbing. 





This was taken after we crawled through the bush. 

       I asked, “Do you even see any signs of goat traffic?  (I hadn’t.)  Dan admitted that he saw only a single turd. Onward I followed.
      “Don’t come this way!” Charlie whispered again.
      “Surely,” I insisted,”we’d see some sign of others who had gone this way before.”  Minutes later we saw part of a green bottle, perhaps from a celebration at reaching the summit. That’s encouraging!  How much longer could it be?  There appeared to be a clearing ahead- yes, we’re almost there.  No, just the top of a ridge from where we could see that the peak of Le Chameau loomed still upward.
      The terrain looked clearer and easier to the left of us, but I urged Dan to go right in hopes of intersecting the REAL trail.  Another piece of discarded wine bottle surfaced and then- and THEN lo and behold….. a stone marked with yellow paint!  A few steps more to the right brought us in full view of more yellow spots and the REAL PATH!!!



Note the yellow spots to mark path.

   



Exit Strategy is in center anchored at Pan De Sucre.

Another view from the peak

        
      The views from Le Chameau left me speechless, or perhaps I was overcome with finally reaching my personal goal!  I was so glad to have Dan share this adventure with me, even though his trail added to the challenge.


This is NOT the only shirt Dan has although he's often wearing it in blog shots.

   
PS:  We did see a nanny and her kid on the way down.  And guess what?!  The yellow path led us back to the BENCH.

Guadeloupe’s RIGHT WING

Newly cultivated field with cane crop beyond.

     Day two of our land tour took us through Grande Terre which is flatter region that is more suitable for agriculture.  Dan drove us past countless fields of sugar cane and through villages, large and small.  At the center of the island (the “body of the butterfly”) the highway widened and then branched off in different directions to feed travelers northward, southward, or due east toward Le Moule, our first destination.

A few of the many Carib Indian artifacts found on Guadeloupe

A similar tool like this one was found on our family farm decades ago. 

    
     Le Moule was the first capital of Guadeloupe situated on the far eastern shore of the right wing.  Today, Pointe-à-Pitre, which is situated near the island’s center (“butterfly body”) is the bustling capital city.  From what we saw of Le Moule, it remains a pleasant coastal town.  We stopped there to visit Musée Edgar Clerc which had recently undergone an extreme renovation. The museum artfully displayed the ancient tribal artifacts found on the island and also described some of the fascinating cultural practices. Now I believe I know why the early explorers thought that the Carib Tribes were cannibals.  From what I learned at the museum, there is evidence that they weren’t.

Cane stalks being elevated into the crusher.

The witch's brew of which we saw about eight vats. 

   
     Not far away was the Distillerie de Rhum Damoiseau where visitors are welcome to do a self-guided tour.  We have been to so many rum distilleries that this was easy for us. We watched huge wagon loads of cane being dumped onto an elevator for processing.  We wandered through the facility at will and noticed that they age their rhum vieux in used Kentucky bourbon barrels.

A good old tractor for my brothers

 
     The fishing village of St. François was our lunchtime stop. Many simple restaurants and grills lined the dock area with their catch of the day menu prominently displayed on a sandwich chalkboard on the sidewalk. It was hard to chose a place to eat, but we finally moseyed into one with traditional Guadeloupian plaid table cloths and ordered our 3 course fresh fish meals for 10 Euros each. We were welcomed and well fed.

Fish nets waiting to be cleaned in St. François

These were the largest fish traps we've ever seen!

   
     From there we headed toward the south-easternmost point of the island, to search for La Maison de Noix de Coco.  The online information about this shop made us curious and it turned out to be more than imagined. It housed 4 or 5 small rooms whose walls were lined with shelves full of all sorts of handmade things.  Elite craftsmanship was evident in most articles and many were made out of coco (coconut) shells or trees.    

Point de Châteaux

    Richard drove us on toward Pointe de Châteaux where we walked to the rugged-rocky coast of the Atlantic.  From there we looked out to spy Guadeloupe’s out islands of La Désirade and Marie-Galante. Other than that, this narrow tip of the right wing appeared to be not much more than a tour bus stop, as souvenir shops were plentiful.

Ilet du Gosier

Even the cemetery in Gosier is a tourist delight.

    
     Rowena and Richard were curious about Gosier for a possible future anchorage.  Gosier is colorful and quaint, but probably one of the most touristy destinations in Guadeloupe. We parked and strolled down to the beach of this popular seaside town.  As it was nearly 5pm, some of the evening swimmers were already in the water stroking their way the 1km toward îlet du Gosier, a small island off the shore.  Dan and I anchored here a few years ago and noticed the swimmers every morning and evening.  It was refreshing to see such a huge number of people that dedicated to staying fit and by what better way than swimming.
     Back on the road again, Richard wove our rental back through a bit of rush hour traffic on the outskirts of Pointe-à- Pitre.  Thanks to the well-maintained two-lane highway, it decongested relatively soon. Then we crossed back over to Basse Terre and, finally, to our homes on the water in the bay of Deshaies. It was a grand two day tour!

The LEFT WING of Guadeloupe

Voici la "BUTTERFLY"

   
     The island of Guadeloupe is often described as butterfly shaped.  Recently, we toured it by car with our British friends Rowena and Richard from the good ship sv Galene. They had spoken to the local car rental shop and arranged a car for two days, saying they’d return in the morning to pick it up. When we arrived the next day, the rental agency was closed.  We waited for nearly an hour and then Richard set off to find a phone to call the agent.  No phone was located, but he did learn that the shop was most likely closed because it was a national holiday celebrating the island’s emancipation of slaves. We took it in stride, as such is often our life when cruising the islands.
      The following day, we entered the rental shop bright-eyed and bushy-tailed fueled by espresso and sweet rolls from the local boulangerie. No mention was even made of the previous day.  Richard took the wheel for the first half of the day as we headed south along the coast from Deshaies to the Route de la Traversée that cuts through part of Guadeloupe’s extensive tropical forest just north of the island’s midline. The roadways were smooth and surprisingly well-maintained. We kept the island’s ever cloud-shrouded La Soufrière (volcanic peak) on our right.


Could use these for an umbrella...

Lots of bromeliads and spent orchid blossoms

            
     La Maison de la Florêt was our first stop where we gathered specific information and maps for the many sights in the Parc National de la Guadeloupe. The rain forest region gets an average of 10 meters (yes, METERS) of precipitation each year and is home to many feathered creatures.  While there, we strolled a 20 minute trail that took us twice as long because we were so taken with the natural beauty of our surroundings. (Well, at least Rowena and I were appreciating nature.  The men were discussing golf…)

Dan and Richard pause to wait for us.

      A short drive down the road was the Cascade aux Écrevisses (Crayfish Waterfall).  The walk there was shorter and fully equipped for handicapped individuals, including the blind!  The waterfall and pool were inviting, but none in our party jumped in.  I did step along the river for a bit searching for écrevisses, but didn’t spot any.
       
     Our lunch stop was selected and we drove for miles with anticipation following the signs for Le Grande Café Plantation.  However, when we finally found the café, the clerk at the tourist shop there informed us that those signs were very old and the restaurant was no longer in operation.  She did recommend another place to eat and gifted us with luscious bananas, as Le Grande Café Plantation was still a working banana farm.

        Lunch at Le Dame Jeanne was just right and I finally learned how to order dark rum in the French islands.  You must ask for rhum vieux which means “old or aged” rum instead of trying to use words for “dark or brown”.

This water apple tree was unfortunately on the wrong side of a high fence.

     Back on the main road, with Dan taking a turn at the wheel, we were now rounding the southern tip of the left wing with Le Soufriere’s peak still looming on our right.  We watched for the cut off toward Le Grande Étang, but discovered we’d gone too far.  Dan back tracked to the correct road, but it was closed off, so no Grand Étang this trip.  Onward we continued veering upward toward La Soufrière and away from the coastal villages. As we ascended into the verdant rain forest, the road grew more narrow and we were relieved that there were no oncoming vehicles.

         The road ended at the base of the trails that snaked their way around to the top of La Soufrière.  It began to rain just as we exited the car, so we took shelter under a pavilion. A few moments later, it looked like the shower had stopped, but it still sounded like it was pouring.  Yes, the water was pouring loudly down a stream not far from where we were standing. We elected to walk the shortest trail, the Savane-à-Mulets, because it was already late in the afternoon.


The boys always took the lead.

       At last, Dan skillfully maneuvered the car like a man possessed by the spirit of a grande prix driver back up the easternmost coast of Basse Terre.  He safely snaked us around hairpin curves and steep inclines ascending and descending to our anchorage in Deshaies.  And our first day’s land tour was put to bed.

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 ! ! !