DIAMOND ROCK TO ST. LUCIA

H.M.S. Diamond Rock
5/20/92 Lat. N 14 35.3' W 61 4.5' Ft. de France, Martinique, France

Martinique is a beautiful island but our experience in Guadalupe had spoiled it for us. Early the next morning we raised our anchor and bid fare well to the French Islands. As we headed south along the coast toward San Lucia, we passed a small island named Diamond Rock, which lay off the coast of Martinique. Roughly pyramid shaped, it gained its place in maritime history in 1802.

The British, who were fighting Napoleon in France, were attempting to blockade Martinique with its excellent harbor at Fort de France. Being short of ships, Vice Admiral Sir Samuel Hood sent a crew with some twenty four and eighteen pound cannons, powder, and provisions to the top of this island and named it "H.M.S. Sloop Diamond Rock." This "ship" was extremely successful in surprising French ships as they sailed through the pass between St. Lucia and Martinique. For 18 months they held the island until a French fleet captured it.

I first read about the rock in a fictional account some years before, but did not realize it was taken from actual history. Passing it, we could still see what looked like pock marks where the French shelling had blasted the island. It must have been quite a feat to get the cannons up to the top, 570 feet above the water.

Shark Bait
5/21/92 Lat. N 14 6.0'  W 60 57.2' Rodney Bay, St. Lucia

The day became wet and breezy. We had to fall off our course each time a squall hit us, which was about once an hour, and the current between the islands pushed us to the west. By the time we were off Rodney Bay, St. Lucia, we were several miles west of the harbor. We tacked about and started dodging fish trap "buoys," clear plastic Pepsi Cola bottles. We were hard on the wind and making good time when the boat suddenly slowed and I heard a knocking on the bottom.

We had caught ourselves a fish trap. Our prop freewheels when we go over three knots and a fish buoy had wrapped around the shaft. The thumping was from the Pepsi Cola bottle.

I put the boat in irons, dropped the sail, and went overboard to cut the fish trap off. I say this as if it was nothing . . .you know, just "jump overboard." The truth of the matter is that I was scared to death. We have snorkeled a lot along the shore and reefs, but here we were two miles offshore with hundreds of feet of water under our keel. Who knows what strange creatures lurk down there?

I have watched National Geographic shark documentaries on TV, and what I have missed my brother-in-law has kindly put on tape and sent me. But in these films the people put on stainless steel mesh so that if a shark bites it won't hurt them too much. I don't have a dive suit made of stainless steel mesh.

The other sea animal I don't like is a jellyfish. I know that if I get stung I can put meat tenderizer on the sting, but I've been stung before, and really don't like the experience, meat tenderizer or not. So you have to know that I was not crazy about jumping in.

I looked 360 around the boat, looking for a telltale sign of the "triangular fin" or jellyfish in the water. I wondered if we could sail into shallow water before I did this…in fact, maybe I could find someone else who would do it for me if I was able to anchor.

"Are you about ready?" asked Judy.

"Yeh, sure," I mumbled, not wanting her to know how chicken I was. "Oh, I can't find my snorkel."

"Here it is," she said, being too helpful. "You were sitting on it." She always accuses me of sitting on things. She is usually right.

"I need some gloves," I said, trying to stall.

"Here they are. You are so brave to do this."

I puffed out my chest and swaggered to the lifeline gate.

"Oh, it's nothing. Part of cruising, you know."

I jumped in and swam around to the stern of the boat. Dipping my head under water, I saw that the fish trap was very tangled in the prop. The drift of the boat and the air in the buoy bottles made it impossible to untangle. I would have to cut it off.

I had grabbed hold of the rudder to steady myself as I checked the situation and when I surfaced for air found that I had cut my hand on barnacles in various places. Blood was streaming into the water.

Now everyone knows that blood attracts sharks, and the last thing I wanted to do was to become bait for them. I decided I would have to hurry, and get the job done before they arrived.

I grabbed my knife and slashed away at the yellow polyurethane cords holding the floats to the traps. I looked around, searching for gray shapes swimming near me–the kind with large teeth. I didn't see any, but when the lines parted I sprinted back on board anyway.

As I stepped on the deck Judy asked me,

"Did you have any trouble, Honey?"

"No, everything went smooth," I said, looking at the bleeding cuts on my hands and arms.

"If you like being shark bait," I thought to myself.



French Are Very Friendly People
5/22/92 Lat. N 14 6.0'  W 60 57.2' Castries, Rodney Bay, St. Lucia

When we finally reached our anchorage it was getting dark and a mile out we could hear the music emanating from the resorts on the beach. Since the bay was huge and well protected, we anchored almost a mile from the general outside anchorage.

(There are two anchorages here: one well protected inside and behind the beach, the other outside off the beach hotels.)

That night the music blasted at us, and we were glad we had not gone closer to shore. Since no one was anchored around us, I slept peacefully.

When I arose the next morning, I made a cup of coffee and went on deck to relieve myself as a proper captain should. When I looked around I saw we were surrounded by French boats. There was one about one foot off our bow (how surprised was I? They were French, after all) and one on either side of us, just a few feet away.

I suppose I should be thankful they were quiet in their anchoring, but I was angry. On either side of us was about a mile of anchoring room. In front of us was another mile of space. Why did these people have to anchor right on top of us? I woke Judy and we hauled anchor, threaded our way around the boats and moved to the close outside anchorage. At least we had a private breakfast.


Companionship
5/23/92 Lat. N 14 6.0'  W 60 57.2' Castries, Rodney Bay, St. Lucia

The management of the Yacht Club at Castries was very kind and welcoming. They let all cruisers, whether anchored outside or tied to one of their slips, use their facilities at no charge. There was a fresh water swimming pool where most of us gathered in the evening to swim, salute the sun going down, or just yarn.

The skippers drank beer, teased one another and passed vital information.

“I heard it’s dangerous to take a taxi to Soufriére by one’s self.” Gary, always clean shaven, wearing creased shorts, had a center cockpit ketch and tended to be conservative when it came to adventuring. “I heard that some of the drivers strand or rob you. If we go, we’ll go with a tour group.”

“That is too expensive for me. I’ll chance a taxi.” This was Bill, a laid back cruiser with a full black beard and mischievous eyes, who was on the first step on a world cruise with his wife, Gina. He sailed a seaworthy double ended, thirty-two foot sloop.


“Anybody know anything about Marigot Bay?” I asked. “We might stop there on the way south.”

“I heard it was crowded, but very smooth water. Well protected though.”

“Jim’s right. But you have to watch that you go in with high tide if you carry much draft.” Gary said and took a long swig on his beer. “God, I love the beer here.”

“How much is ‘much’?” I asked.

“I don’t know. Seven foot, maybe.”

I draw seven and a half foot so I’ll watch the tides.

The women discussed where the best native fabrics, curios and dresses could be
found at the market in town. I think that for them this is the best part of cruising.

We stayed in San Lucia for several weeks, touring, shopping, and just lazing around the pool with our old and new friends. I felt a certain pressure to continue down island, as we had an appointment for a haul out in Grenada in a few weeks. Also, according to my boat insurance policy, if I’m not below the thirteenth latitude North by July 1, I’ll have to pay fifty per cent on all damages.

Still, Judy wanted to stay longer and I procrastinated, because I enjoyed the relaxed companionship.

When I felt I could wait no more I hired two native skin divers to clean my fouled bottom, then hauled anchor and headed to Margot Bay.