Guest Blogger Mark Chisnell - Telling Stories

Telling Stories

One of the ways that we distinguish ourselves as sailors is by the stories we tell. It’s the lore, the mythology that connects us; down the centuries as much as across the oceans. We should never underestimate the enduring power or presence of myth in this, as in so many other places. Urban legends of the… I heard this story about the friend of a friend… variety are laced through our lives and address many of the fears and concerns of modern societies.

Myths also have a more deliberate, structured presence in the twenty first century. Christopher Vogler came up with a template for the Hollywood movie that presses all the right emotional buttons, programmed by generations of storytelling round camp fires. Vogler had read the work of Carl Jung and Joseph Campbell, and realized that there are some stories that appear and reappear across cultures, that seem almost hard-wired into our DNA. He broke these down into some common structural elements for storytelling, and called it the Hero’s Journey.

The next time you watch a mainstream adventure movie (http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0372784/) see how the plot unfolds against this template. The hero will first appear in their everyday world, before being called to partake in some quest, challenge or adventure – a call which they will usually refuse, at least at first. When they (inevitably) change their mind, they will then meet an older, wiser person who will mentor them in the skills required to succeed. Suitably equipped, they will take their first step across a threshold, into a new world. Once there they will meet many tests, have to differentiate allies from enemies and defeat all challenges, before success is won and they can return home to a new, improved reality. Sound familiar? Myths are as much a part of our lives now that we’re hunting and gathering in supermarkets, as when we were trotting light-footed through forests carrying a stick with a sharpened stone strapped to the end.

The Hero’s Journey is also largely the archetype for sailing stories, especially in the environment that I’ve done most of my sailing; racing. The hero is on a voyage or quest (http://markchisnell.blogspot.com/2009_03_01_archive.html) - to win a race or break a record - meets a challenge and overcomes it. To do so, they may well have to make some tough decisions – it’s the hero’s choices, fallibility and mortality that give the story resonance.

There are other types of myth – foundation myths like Romulus and Remus, and the story of the establishment of Rome. Perhaps I’m going a little too far in claiming that sailing’s equivalent is the tale of the race around the Isle of Wight for the Hundred Guineas Cup; but the story has been told and retold so many times that it’s no longer clear what’s true and what’s not. We do know it gave rise to an event called the America’s Cup, bitterly fought over for 160 years, with neither the fighting nor the bitterness showing any sign of abating. But did Queen Victoria really ask who was second home, to be told - Ah, your majesty, there is no second?

The America’s Cup has the perfect foundation myth, but I worry that we’re losing this storytelling art in the Cup. I somehow doubt that anyone has heard any great yarns from the recent AC45 event in Cascais. So who are the modern heroes, and where are the grand myths? Ocean racing seems to supply most of them - the recent capsize of Rambler in the Fastnet Race (http://www.sailingscuttlebutt.com/news/11/0816/) has already thrown up some good stories, and doubtless more will filter their way into the sailing community through bars and taverns; and their modern counterparts, Facebook and forums.

Sport needs grand narratives like fish need water – without stories and characters the contest has no context, no meaning to anyone but those intimately involved. We need to keep alive the art of narrative if we’re to capture the imagination of landlubbers and convert them into passionate new sailors. We need heroes, and we need to tell epic stories about them. I write suspense thrillers (http://www.sailingscuttlebutt.com/news/11/0816/), but I also write sailing books and I’ve collected a few good tales in a little eBook called ‘Pressure Falling – Short Stories of Stormy Seas’ – and I’m always looking for more. So if you’ve got any good yarns, drop me a line… http://www.markchisnell.com/email.htm.

Mark Chisnell’s books on Amazon.com:

http://www.amazon.com/Mark-Chisnell/e/B001HOL4HG/ref=ntt_athr_dp_pel_1

And on Amazon.co.uk

http://www.amazon.co.uk/s?_encoding=UTF8&search-alias=digital-text&field-author=Mark%20Chisnell

Mark Chisnell is the author of the Kindle chart-topping thrillers The Defector and The Wrecking Crew, as well as award-winning works of non-fiction. He's a sometime professional racing sailor and also works as a broadcaster and journalist, writing for some of the world's leading magazines and newspapers, including Esquire and the Guardian.

TOURISM AND DEAD TURTLES!

TOURISM AND DEAD TURTLES!

Negative … who, me?

St. Maarten - Today was a day of confusion and it started with not one but two phone calls, calls that are connected yet seem worlds apart.

I have lived in the Caribbean a good part of my life. Living in paradise should be wonderful and in many ways it is. I love to sail, I edit a popular sailing magazine, and I host a radio show, so why am I becoming more and more disillusioned by what is happening around me. Take the first phone call of the day, which was from the CaribbeanTourism Organization inviting me to attend the inaugural State of the Industry Conference being held in French St. Martin this week. The conference has brought together some heavy hitters from around the region – politicians and industry bigwigs – who will pass opinions on Caribbean tourism and, according to the website, discuss issues, identify solutions and generally develop courses of action that will benefit the tourism industry in the Caribbean. All good stuff! Why, then, did they find it so difficult to get representatives from the Dutch side of the island to attend, after all isn’t it for their benefit, too. As a journalist, I suppose I should attend (yawn) but first they would have to convince me that it will be different to all the other Caribbean conferences I have attended in the past, where clever people spout big words and bigger ideas, spend time living it up in some nice hotel, and then fly away with a rosy glow. And what gets done … nothing, ever.

When I tried to tell this to the organizer, she said I was burned out and should get off the rock. In one respect she is right, but she is also dead wrong. What I really need to do is stop caring. 

St. Maarten - The second phone call beggars belief. In front of witnesses, two people, allegedly working for a well-known ‘eco’ tour company, on Tuesday speared a turtle in the Simpson Bay Lagoon and dragged it behind their boat in order to kill it. They were seen and stopped, although it’s thought the turtle did not survive.  This act of eco vandalism is now being investigated by the St. Maarten Nature Foundation and their colleagues at Environmental Protection in the Caribbean (EPIC). Both organizations say they will pursue this case and, if proven, will go after those involved and prosecute them to the full extent of the law. This latest attack on an endangered species comes after four Green Turtles were speared in the Simpson Bay area last month.

On a positive note: If anyone knows of a job on a mountain top in Outer Mongolia, please get in touch.

  

The boy who cried “Hurricane!”

Hurricane Irene did her worst and finally expired over Quebec. Like an ex girlfriend of mine with the same name, Irene liked to share it around a bit. Quebec, for goodness sake!

Here in the Caribbean we expect to be hit by hurricanes. Those who have lived here a while know what to expect, we are aware of what could happen and how destructive a storm can be. There was a time in the Caribbean when most people, especially those living on boats, were rather blasé about hurricanes because they were such a rare occurrence, in fact business owners who also owned yachts enjoyed the low season and went sailing. In St. Maarten that all changed on September 5 1995 with the arrival of Hurricane Luis. A category 5 monster storm that devastated the island and changed the way those who experienced it think about hurricanes. Once you have been through a destructive hurricane, you will never react in the same way again.

An island like St. Maarten is a pinprick in the ocean, and the chances that it will take a direct hit from a tropical storm or hurricane are low. Tropical storms vary in size and move at different speeds. Some storms are tiny in diameter and if they miss the island by 30 miles, we may get nothing more that a clap of thunder, a squall and a rain shower. Other storms are hundreds of miles across and can cause serious damage even if the eye wall never comes within 70 miles of land.

The problems begin when a storm doesn’t arrive as predicted, and that brings us to the boy who cried “hurricane!”

Ignorance is bliss.

Shortly after Irene swept north along the east coast of the USA, many said that it was a waste of time preparing for a storm that hardly affected them. Others were left crying amongst the remains of their possessions.

Forecasters do a wonderful job in predicting the paths of hurricanes but even with all their technology they don’t always get it right. It is not an exact science.

The next few times the forecasters get it wrong and you decide they are crying wolf, keep your weapons handy. The next wolf could be wearing sheep’s clothing.

Diana Nyad ... more than just a swim

I write this having just received news that Diana Nyad has given up her attempt to swim from Havana, Cuba, to Key West in Florida. Diana was 29 hours into the 103 mile swim and according to reports was forced to retire after she started to vomit.

Diana is 61-years old and no matter what the sport, her age alone makes this news worthy, and is one of the reasons why the story was picked up by press agencies around the world. CNN even had a producer on board one of the support boats who was using the micro blogging site Twitter to keep everyone updated with Diana’s progress.

What Diana set out to do is a stand-alone story in itself, but for me it isn’t so much the swim I find fascination but the way one woman, trying to fulfill a dream, made her way into the fabric of our consciousness.

Early this morning I swam 26 lengths of the pool in my apartment block and retired, gasping, for cups of tea and breakfast. For the last week, while taking my morning swim, I thought about Diana. On the two occasions I swam while Diana was in the Florida Straits, I became so focused, I believed I was swimming with her.

When Diane was in pain her followers were asked to help through Therapeutic Touch (TT). I’ve heard of this and have a friend who believes in it, so much so that when I told her, she immediately began sending gentle healing thoughts Diana’s way. The power of Diana was again touching people way beyond the swim.

That America still has an embargo against Cuba in 2011 is plain stupid. Against all odds, Diana actually influenced two ‘warring’ governments, at each other’s throats since the Cold War, and brought them closer together.

Having followed Diana’s exploits on Facebook, one woman wrote that at 41-years old, the swim had inspired her to take on the Iron Man Challenge. Stories like this are popping up all over the place.

Another woman, commenting on social media, said she was disappointed that Diana didn’t complete the swim.

She won’t be anywhere near as disappointed as Diana.

Not achieving a personal sporting goal, no matter how easy, or tough, is hard to come to terms with. I know because I’ve been there. However, my sporting accomplishments, or lack of them, never affected anyone but me.

That Diana didn’t make the swim is a personal defeat, although you never know, this woman might be back. Did she fail? Not in my eyes or in the eyes of the thousands of people who were moved by the power and love generated by this remarkable woman.

Every breath; every stroke, every mile, yard, inch, of that magnificent swim, made Diana Nyad a winner.

Emily, don't be a bitch ...

As I write, Mother Nature is giving birth to what could be the first hurricane of the season, hurricane Emily. No abortions, no way of stopping it, nothing anyone can do but watch and wait to see if Emily will pay them a visit and leave them homeless, destitute or dead.
Having spent a good part of my life in the tropics in what is know as the hurricane belt, I have been through my share of tropical storms and hurricanes both ashore and afloat. The worst was hurricane Luis, a category 5 monster that devastated the island of St. Maarten, sinking or throwing ashore almost 1200 boats in the process. The two photos were taken during and after hurricane Luis. I rode out the storm at anchor … well, actually, seven anchors and a massive mooring.

At the end of the storm, which lasted two days, our boat was about the only one left in the war zone of Simpson Bay Lagoon that wasn’t damaged, and to this day I don’t know why. I had boats sink under and around me. Astern, a dozen yachts, some upside down, littered the shore and many were beyond the beach and amongst the trees.
I spent a good part of the next couple of weeks diving in the toxic brew of the lagoon, blindly feeling my way through the wrecks, salvaging what I could for friends whose homes and dreams were lost, some without trace. That exercise left me with a serious respiratory infection that has bothered me on and off to this day.
I remember friends hugging and sobbing on the beach, some not only lost their boats and everything they owned but eventually saw their marriages and relationships end in ruin. Looting was rampant until the Dutch military arrived with their helicopter gunships. Armed soldiers enforced a curfew. There was no water or electricity. People found God, others kicked him into touch.

Throughout the worst 48-hours of the storm, when the wind reached 155pmh, I was monitoring the VHF radio and heard some remarkable things. I heard someone on a ship, aground and battered by giant waves, ask the police for assistance. A police woman replied: “We are all too frightened to leave the station. God be with you.” Then the radio went dead or she turned it off. There was incredible humor, too. One skipper spoke calmly as his boat was driven onto the concrete dock outside a local bar and receive this from another yacht: “Order us a packet of fags and a bottle of rum, we’re right behind you.”
One thing I will never forget is the power unleashed by the storm and thinking, even then, how wonderful, nay beautiful, it all was.
Before air and water mixed and made it impossible to breathe, I would crawl along the deck to the bow wearing my mask and snorkel, check the warps and then shuffle back to the cockpit again. Eventually, the return journey was made backwards because it was two dangerous to turn around. On my final jaunt, I was blown out like a flag and that put paid to that.
If you are reading this and you live in the hurricane belt, then stay safe. If you live elsewhere, please wait a few days before naming your daughter, Emily.

Spray hoods … Oh, the shame!

Photo: 1932 classic Driac II showing spray hood with greenhouse removed.

There’s a lot to be said for an inside steering position on a cruising yacht and although I would never admit it there were times in the past when I would have given my last case of rum for some shelter. When I started sailing, British yachtsmen were expected to sit in an exposed cockpit and suck up whatever the weather threw at them. Yacht designers were complicit in this by failing to include any form of shelter in their plans. Real yachtsmen sat at the helm in all weathers, donned their leaky oilskins, and did the right thing by keeping a good watch at all times. Behave like a man they said and look into the wind and spray, and we did, be manly that is, even my wife.
Our first boat, on which we crossed oceans, was just 23 feet long, with a large open cockpit and no protection from the elements at all. Wind, sun, salt—we took it all on the nose and that is one of the reason’s I now have problems with ‘weird’ things on my skin. Back in our early days, we wouldn’t have been seen dead sporting a spray hood, no sir, they were for wimps. Our yacht would always remain sleek and uncluttered by unsightly canvas and stainless steel frames. The only exception was a French Plexiglas ‘bubble’. Wow, I wanted one of those real bad because they smacked of Bernard Moitessier, Cape Horn and voyages through the Southern Ocean. Whereas a canvas spray hood made you a wimp, a bubble made you a hero!
With maturity came common sense, well, at least some, and on our next boat we fitted a spray hood and in so doing all my morals went out the porthole. Why? Because we fit a spray hood to a classic yacht! There, I’ve confessed and feel better for it. Not only did we fit a spray hood, we also fit a frame at the back of the cockpit. This allowed us to attach a canvas top with a removable back and sides, in fact we turned the cockpit into a greenhouse and it was wonderful. I did the steel work and my wife sewed. I must say, when the whole thing was rigged, the boat looked like shit, but boy were we happy. At the first sign of bad weather, we would roll down the sides and sit in comfort.
On my final voyage with this boat, I left St. Maarten with her looking like a classic yacht but by the time I was north of Anguilla, I was watching the world go by from the comfort of the greenhouse. I took the thing down before docking in the Azores, so that people would know how tough I was and did the same before entering Falmouth in England.
The boat we have now was designed to the old British character building code of ‘real yachtsmen sit out and suck it up’ and I am currently seeking ways to protect us from the weather. It looks like another greenhouse is on the cards, my wife likes the idea so much she is reading up on Hydroponics.

Sea Books and eBooks

One thing that the eBook revolution has done is open the world of publishing to writers of sea books. For instance, my friend Cap'n Fatty Goodlander now has ten books in his stable and is working on more. His latest Somali Pirates and Cruising Sailors is an in-depth look at how, when, where, who, and why Somali pirates and cruising sailors interact—and the social, economic, and personal cost of Somali piracy to all concerned. Fatty is the perfect man to write this book, having recently cruised through the same pirate infested waters with his wife Carolyn. Fatty chronicled the voyage in Red Sea Run, a fascinating story of how a cruising couple maneuvered through the dangerous sea lanes off Somalia only to fall foul of land-based pirates in Egypt, a country where officials have turned extorting money from yachtsmen transiting the Suez Canal into a fine art. Fatty has heartily embraced new publishing and his popular books are a joy to read.
Earlier this year I was sent the Kindle version of Richard Henry Dana's Two Years Before the Mast with eNotations by Chris Thomerson to review. Thomerson has done an extraordinary job. In this wonderful version of the famous sailing classic, you highlight a word or phrase that you don’t understand and up pops a thorough explanation. This has opened up the world of square rig sailing like never before and turned Two Years Before the Mast into a must read for anyone even slightly interested in maritime history. After reading this eBook you could just about sail a square rigger! I can’t recommend this book enough.
At the opposite end of the spectrum, Frank Virgintino will soon publish a Kindle version of A Thinking Man's Guide to Voyaging South ~ Cruising the Caribbean. The ambition of many sailors living in North America is to sail south to the West Indies. The voyage can be tricky and a lot has been written about the best way to do it, however, the info is now rather dated. Mr Virgintino has come up with the most comprehensive guide to passages south that I have ever read and, believe me, not only have I read them all I’ve also made the voyage south several times.
Two fun reads available as eBooks are Julian Putley’s Sunfun Calypso and Sunfun Gospel. A BVI resident, sailor and writer, Julian’s books come with great reviews. The two ebooks, along with Julian’s famous paperback: A Drinking Man’s Guide to the BVI, are all available from Amazon.
Island Ice and Wet Feet by B.D. Anderson are two more rollicking Caribbean yarns that are available at the touch of a button.
My own book, Caribbean High, an action adventure that takes the reader on a thrilling seagoing chase through the islands, is selling well on Amazon. I didn’t know what to expect when I published, but the book has received some cracking reviews and I am very grateful to my readers. Spurred on by the success of Caribbean High, a second novel is now in the works.
All the writers mentioned (and I am sure there are many more) are experienced sailors with a gift for telling a good story and for sharing their knowledge. They tell it like it is, good and bad, and that is what sets them apart from those who write about the sea yet have never sailed upon it. So, if you are looking for a good nautical read then point your spyglass towards the Amazon website where you will find some terrific eBooks about the sea.
Happy reading.


Caribbean High ... The Movie

Camels, needles and St. Martin’s Simpson Bay Bridge

I drove over the Simpson Bay Bridge today. For those who are not familiar with the island of St. Martin, that’s the lifting bridge that spans the entrance channel to the Simpson Bay Lagoon on the Dutch side of the island.
In the yachting season, which runs from around mid December to the end of April, the bridge is the scene of much action. It opens and closes six times a day as a steady stream of boats enter and depart the lagoon.
A few years ago the bridge span was lengthened, reportedly to allow the super yacht Limitless access to the Isle de Sol marina. I reported on the first transit of the said yacht. The only thing missing that day was a fire boat leading the parade while shooting water high in the air like they do in New York.
One of my lasting memories is the police boats trying to shoo everyone away from the channel ahead of Limitless as she made her stately way into lagoon. The way they carried on you would think Limitless could suddenly leap forward at a hundred knots and scoop up all before it. Still, the police know little about boats and a whole load of politicians were watching so I guess they had to be seen to be doing something.

The bridge has been the scene of many an expensive encounter. Navigating through the bridge can be tricky. A strong current, especially during spring tides, often rips down the channel. Couple that with a strong trade wind and you need some skill to thread a150ft super yacht through the eye of the bridge.
The best viewing point to watch the boat traffic is the deck at the St. Maarten Yacht Club. A noisy, vibrant place during the yachting season, visitors to the club have born witness to much screeching of torn aluminum, the rattle of steel on steel, the cracking and crunching of concrete, and the popping of fenders the size and cost of which would keep a cruising family if funds for a year. At one time skippers, having hit the bridge, could sneak away, carry out repairs, and hope all would be quickly forgotten. Now, everyone has a camera phone, and the super yacht’s owner is likely to see their multi-million dollar vessel performing, dents and all, on YouTube long before they get that woeful “it wasn’t my fault, boss” call from the skipper.
More on the Simpson Bay Bridge in the next blog, until then, I hope you enjoy the picture of Limitless, which always makes sailing through the Simpson Bay Bridge look easy.

Wear your life jacket or go to jail!

There’s a movement afoot in the US to make the wearing of life jackets compulsory for recreational boaters. I say stomp this movement out before it goes any further!
I have been sailing a long time. I have seen the changes made by various governments to, as they say; make things better and safer for the recreational boater. All government departments are in on the act - customs, immigration, licensing authorities and coast guard. I firmly believe that 90 percent of what they have introduced, or intend to introduce in the future, is designed not to make boating safer but to raise more revenue and curb personal freedom.
Before the proponents of health and safety start commenting, let’s get this one out of the way: life jackets and kids. Yes, I believe that under certain circumstances children should wear life jackets. I also believe that children should be taught to swim early on in life.
That said, how would these draconian rules work? How far would they go?
My mind is working overtime here, but bear with me.
Fail #1: You are on a mooring, the anchorage is flat calm and you and your family are sitting in the cockpit enjoying supper after a lovely day on the water. The lamps are lit, music is softly playing, and the kids are about to go to bed. Suddenly, out of the dark comes a man or woman in uniform to levy a fine because you are not wearing your life jacket. (Oh, and is that a beer you’re drinking, Sir?”)
The result … shock, shame and boat for sale.
Fail #2: The racing is close. You are in a tacking duel with the other hot favorite to win the Summer Series. Ten guys roll under the boom at every tack and launch themselves onto the windward rail. It’s hot work and the sweating crew are in T-shirts and shorts. A RIB approaches at high speed, you think the press photographers are here. Smile! What a mistake, they are coast guard. Instead of winning the cup, you are fined for not wearing life jackets, and the guy who works the foredeck, who gave them a mouthful, is off to jail in handcuffs.
The result … they have taken the fun out of what you love doing. Worse, they have taken away your freedom of choice.
A responsible skipper should know when to order the crew to wear their life jackets. Educate don’t legislate!
If this law goes through you can say goodbye to one of the last great freedoms left to mankind, the freedom of the seas.

I ATE FLIPPER (and went to Sea World)

St. Maarten – I have been following the discussion over the building of a Dolphinarium. The local paper and Facebook are abuzz with it. Now comes my terrible confession: I have eaten dolphin steak, yes, dolphin … flipper—not mahi-mahi. And to compound my crime, I own up to visiting Sea World.

I once worked as a commercial fisherman, in fact, I owned a fishing boat. We were docked in a small port in Brittany, France, when the deep-sea fleet came in. The fishermen, against all the rules, would harpoon a dolphin while on their way home. It had been a tradition for years. Maybe they still do, I don’t know. I hope not. Anyway, one of the fishermen was a friend and he invited us to dinner where we were served dolphin steaks. The steaks, thick, red and rare, were lovingly cooked by his wife and served in our honor.

Before Dolphin Defenders start baying at my door, I should say that this happened many years ago.

Both experiences left me with a deep feeling of unease.

Since those days, I have sailed thousands of miles. Crossed the Atlantic a few times – alone and with crew – sailed the Mediterranean, cruised the Bahamas, US eastern seaboard and the Caribbean.

On those voyages, I learned about dolphins and what it is to be free.

For dolphins the ocean, in all its moods, is home. They dance in the wild waters of the storm and are at peace in the calms. At night, beneath a million stars, I have seen them cutting through the phosphorescence like torpedoes, leaving a trail of diamonds in their wake. Below, tucked up in my bunk, a thousand miles from land, I have heard their song. Once, while in the cockpit, a mother brought her calf to look at this stranger from another world. I leaned over the gunwale and watched as she swam alongside. Keeping herself between the boat and her calf, she rolled and looked into my eyes. She did this several times and then sped away.

That night, in my loneliness, I cried.

I have come to realize that, like half-cooked broccoli in overpriced restaurants, visits to Sea World and dolphin steaks, we can be coerced into accepting just about anything.

Dolphins must remain free: St. Maarten does not need a dolphin circus. St. Maarten and its people are better than that. Don’t let them force this through. Say no to the dolphinarium.

Bugger 'elf and Safety, let's raft across the Atlantic! The amazing voyage of An-Tiki

The world needs more rafters!

The arrival in St. Maarten of the raft An-Tiki caused quite a stir. I was on the dock at the St. Maarten Yacht Club when the raft and its crew, Anthony Smith (85) David Hildred (57) Andrew Bainbridge (56) and John Russell (61) were towed through the Simpson Bay Bridge and into the lagoon at the end of their 66-day voyage from the Canary Islands. I didn’t Blog about it at the time but it was certainly worth a big mention.

The man behind the voyage, Anthony Smith, is a well know explorer who, amongst many other things, lists flying over the Alps in a balloon on his rather impressive CV. Anthony also presented a science program on British TV. The oldest member of the crew, Smith made headlines when he celebrated his 85 birthday in mid-ocean and his fellow rafters made him a cake. Images of the event went around the world and appeared on most major news networks.

The voyage of An-Tiki raised money for the charity WaterAid and the raft itself was built out of Polyethylene water pipes supplied by GPS PE Pipe Systems in the UK. “WaterAid is a very good cause. We’re very happy to be promoting them. We had a great trip and we can say that WaterAid can benefit,” said Smith shortly after stepping ashore.

Sailing Master David Hildred described how, when the rudders broke shortly after leaving the Canaries, they were able to steer by means of four dagger boards, one at each corner of the raft, and a long sweep attached to the stern. “We managed to get this incredible vessel to track very well, not only dead downwind, but on broad reaches and even on a beam reach,” he said.

An-Tiki’s crew has returned to the real world, leaving the raft at anchor in French St. Martin. I see her every day and still marvel at her amazing voyage and think about the adventurers who brought her across an ocean.

The voyage of An-Tiki may not be over. When the raft left the Canaries, the plan was to head for the Bahamas. According to Hildred, that voyage north might still happen!

Anguilla Regatta. Great sailing but where’s the mix up?

What a fabulous weekend! Acres of grey cloud kept the sun at bay and made the 9th Anguilla regatta even more enjoyable. I know, if you live in a colder, less sunny clime, you think I’m nuts, but sitting on the windward rail in the blazing tropical sun can, at times, be demanding. Of course, there is always cold beer and sometimes champagne to relieve the dehydration, there’s even water for those who like it!

The Anguilla Regatta has roller-coasted through many changes since the first event back in 2002. In the early days, the regatta made much of its logo ‘Go Mix Up’. This was an attempt to bring together the crews of the local racing sloops and the yachtsmen taking part in the regatta. The idea was to ‘mix up’ the crews. It worked for a while and I took the opportunity to race on an Anguillian Sloop, an experience I will never forget and one for which I will always be grateful. Unfortunately, the ‘mix up’ no longer happens. The locals have their race, the yachts their regatta and, instead of coming together, the two have gone their separate ways.

Is there hope of the two groups getting back together? Yes, there is, and it’s thanks to the work of the Anguilla Regatta who channel the funds generated by the event into the Anguilla Youth Sailing Program. Youngsters who go through the program will eventually take their sailing skills into the traditional sloops, thus replacing a generation that think winning a race is down to dogged determination as much as sailing technique.

While the yachtsmen compete for trophies that in Anguilla amount to a bottle of champagne, the local sloops will only race for cash. I refuse to get drawn into this argument, after all, the Budget Marine Match Race, held during the buildup to the St. Maarten Heineken Regatta, put up a purse of $10,000 to be shared between the winners. Try explaining that!

However, the irony of all this is that the Anguilla Sailing Association, supported by the non-profit Anguilla Regatta, and generous donations from certain businesses and individuals, has a sailing school that is teaching numerous local children to sail and producing some of the top young sailors in the Caribbean. And while many in the community give back, when it comes to the country’s national sport, others ask what’s in it for me?

This year’s Anguilla Regatta was superb. Next year the regatta celebrates its tenth year. Let’s hope by then it will be more ‘mixed up’. For details and results, visit: http://anguillaregatta.com

I would like to thank our hosts the Anguilla Regatta, the Pump House and Ripples Restaurants in Sandy Ground and the Straw Hat Restaurant in Meads Bay. Thanks also to CuisinArt Resort & Spa for their superb hospitality, and to Wendell Connor’s Taxi Service & Car Rental, who came to our rescue. Captain Garth Steyn of the St. Maarten Sailing School and Captain Ian Hope-Ross of Kick ‘em Jenny deserve special thanks for inviting me to race on their boats, and thanks go to Alice and Reg who did a great job driving the press boat. As always, our friends Richard and Maryse West of the schooner Charm III looked after us in fine style.

St. Maarten's Yachting Season. The Good the Bad and the downright Ugly

Dutch St. Maarten is still charging exorbitant fees for yachts to enter the Simpson Bay Lagoon. This is reflected in the amount of cruising boats anchored on the Dutch Side. Driving along the edge of the lagoon, the border is clearly marked by the number of yachts anchored north of the line, in French St. Martin. In an effort to win back the smaller boats, Dutch St. Maarten did reduce the bridge/anchoring fees, however, it seems to have done little and the majority of cruising boats still favor the French side where, for now, there is no charge to anchor.
Most of the Caribbean regattas claim to have had successful events although most say their numbers were down. Our own St. Maarten Heineken Regatta dazzled as always and although we had fewer yachts, mainly amongst the bareboat fleet, the quality of boats and crews taking part shone through. More and more big names in ocean racing are making the Heineken a ‘must do’ and the one day Budget Marine Match Race, prior to the main event, is bringing much attention to the island as top match racers chase a purse of $10,000.
One thing for certain, the yachting season is winding down and I can’t recall ever seeing our marinas, which offer temporary home to ever-growing numbers of megayachts, so empty this early in the year. Talk amongst the crews is that fewer of the ‘blessed’ chartered this season and so the big yachts just sat at the dock. And here’s the kicker: more owners are coming to realize that it can be cheaper to sit at a dock in the Mediterranean or North America, so lets get the f**k out of Dodge.
St. Maarten is a success story. It rebuilt after the devastating hurricane of 1995 and went on to become the Yachting Capital of the Caribbean. With success came ever increasing prices. The cost of having boat work done went through the roof. Hourly rates mirror that of a lawyer. With more Caribbean marinas coming on line every year, as everyone fights for a piece of the lucrative yachting pie, I like to think prices will come down.
Then again, I though I would never see myself buying a GPS and look where that got me.

Fire at Sea. A sailor's Nightmare

Recently I heard news of two catastrophic fires, the first on a chartered catamaran in Anguilla, and the second on the famous Rachel Pugh 75 Titan during Antigua Race Week. Investigations into the fires are underway but everything points to faults in the electrical systems.
We almost lost our classic yacht Driac II to an electrical fire while cruising the Caribbean. We were heading for the Virgin Islands on a rare windless day. The engine was rumbling and rattling away when suddenly the cabin filled with smoke. I dashed below and was almost overcome by fumes. Groping around, I managed to turn off the main switch, stop the engine, and rip out a handful of smoldering cable from behind the engine control panel. This was enough and the fire went out. Once the fumes had cleared, I checked the fire extinguishers and, sure enough, like everything else on our old boat, they were way out of date.
Looking back, I remember being shocked by the amount of fumes generated by such a small fire. It made me think just how difficult it would be to put out a fire that really took hold. If you couldn’t extinguish it quickly, then chances are you wouldn’t extinguish it at all.
It’s frightening just how many crews don’t know where the fire extinguishers are located. Even worse, and here I speak from experience during a fire ashore, is grabbing a fire extinguisher only to find that when you hit the trigger it fails to go off.
Perhaps now is a good time to check your emergency equipment and brush up on firefighting techniques.

That Was the Week that Was.

This is my first Blog since December and of that I am not proud. So let's try and catch up. Lots of things have happened on St. Maarten over the last few months, some good, some downright awful. The worst was the abduction and murder of the chef from the megayacht Cheetah Moon. This barbaric act, followed by three unrelated murders within a week, shook the island to the core. As of writing, no progress has been made in apprehending the killers. However, the gravity of the situation at least dragged the reports to the front page of the most widely read of the two local newspapers. In the past, murder has been relegated to the inside pages in order not to upset the tourists or threaten the islands one-pillar economy. A move by the St. Maarten Marine Association to introduce a shuttle bus between the hours of 9pm and 6am to carry yacht crews to and from popular night clubs is welcome. Who will provide a shuttle bus for cruisers at anchor as not been addressed.

On a brighter note, this years St. Maarten Heineken Regatta was a huge success, even though light winds played havoc and resulted in numerous DNFs in some bareboat classes. Naysayers like me, who said the organizers had made a big mistake in their choice of headline act for the final party, had to eat their words or, in my case, swallow much Heineken. Wyclef Jean not only rocked the sailors and half the population of the island island until nigh on 2.30 in the morning, he put on one of the best shows seen at the regatta for years. His warm-up act, Orange Grove, were on fine form, too. This is one regatta I won't forget. I came away with a cracked rib and a great hangover .. it doesn't get better than that!