ST. BARTS TO ANTIGUA

ON THE BEACH
4/14/91 Lat. N 17 54.2' W 62 52.8' Anse Colombier, St. Barts

As I visit beaches on the various islands, I see the strangest sights. Some women go without the tops of their bathing suits; some without the bottoms. Some men have suits so tiny they are almost not there at all. This wouldn't be so bad, and might even put one in a state of lust, if all these people were slim and beautiful or handsome. But they are not. Some are dumpy and fat, some have "romantic" figures -- you know, round. Some are so skinny that you can't tell male from female. And all of them are getting sunburned. I ask myself, "Why this immodesty?'

I found the answer to my question one day while visiting a clothing store. There were racks and racks of bathing suits. Most of them cost more than $l00. Some cost $250. "No wonder," I thought. "These people can only afford a top or a bottom, but not both. And some are so very poor that they can't afford any bathing suit at all.”


TIME TRAVEL
04/16/92 Lat. N 16 59.1'  W 61 46.3 English Harbor, Antigua

I scrutinized the entrance to English Harbor with great awe. Lord Nelson himself spent time here, and also Captain Hornblower. As I approached the harbor I could see the remains of two 18th century British fortresses on the cliff tops and could feel the spyglass of Nelson on me — checking to see if I ran a taunt ship.
I reached down and shut off the engine.

"What are you doing?" Judy asked, with a lot of concern in her voice.

"We're going to sail in."

"But the harbor is crammed with boats at anchor."

"Hornblower could do it. So can I!" I said with bravado.

"But he was a fictitious character!" she shouted.

The harbor was indeed filled with hundreds of sailboats. It was race week and the anchorage was jam packed with yachts and racing sailboats. But all I could see were images of the towering masts of the British Navy frigates and ships of the line anchored there.

"Avast ye, boys," I called. "Let's enter yonder port and show them lubbers what seamanship really is!"

"Maybe you ought to go below for a rest," said my mate, thinking the all night sail had distroyed my mind.

I was elated as the boat, under main alone, was now making six knots on a beam reach. We were headed for a narrow opening between the cliff to port and a reef to starboard.

"Have you gone out of your mind?!"

"Go up forward, me hardy," says I, "and prepare to lower the main on my hand signal."
We fairly flew through the narrows and I rounded her up between two mega racers and headed directly up wind. I made the thumb down hand signal and the main slid to the boom with a rattle. The boat slowed and I looked for a likely anchoring spot.

Steering to starboard around another anchored boat, we drifted into a clear spot and I ran forward and dropped the anchor.

The rest of that day I strutted around the deck.