5/29/01 | Still in St. Martin

cruisin'

We've been getting seriously annoyed with our leaky dinghy. Not leaky in the sense that it lets water in, but that it lets air out; no matter how much we pump up the tubes, the next day they are soft and squishy. We'd seen a product in the marine store catalogs that can be poured inside inflatable dinghies to seal small leaks from the inside (kind of like Fix-A-Flat), but the local chandleries don't keep it around due to a short shelf life, so we had to order it to be sent in. Since it wouldn't arrive for several days, we were stuck in the area a little while longer. We were gettting a little bored with hanging around Marigot Bay, so we decided to cruise a little and see a bit more of the island from the water.

Our first destination was Tintamarre, a flat and scrubby islet off the northeast coast of St. Martin. Since this was supposed to be a leisure sail, we sailed the whole way, but it was a lot of work. The mountainous coast channeled the wind in weird ways; one moment we'd have 12 knots at 090, the next, 4 knots at 040. Eventually we got out around the corner of the island and away from its effects, but we still had to make easterly headway against the trades, so we ended up making a long northeast tack practically to Anguilla before tacking south toward Tintamarre. (We could have gone to Anguilla for our outing, but we'd have had to check out of St. Martin on a weekend, when they charge more. Oddly, there's no fee to check into St. Martin, but you have to pay to leave.)

Tintamarre (Windom's the white spot at left), with St. Martin in background

A half dozen or so boats were anchored off the white beach, but we headed instead for the next cove east, against a crumbly cliff colored like the American southwest desert, and we had it to ourselves. As warned in the guidebook, the tradewind-generated easterly swell wrapped around the small island to come in from the northeast, making it rolly. So for the first time, Britt set up a "swell bridle", and it worked...swell! The idea behind a bridle is to point the boat bow-to or stern-to the swell, rather than allowing it to ride bow-to the wind as normal. We used a line hitched on to the anchor chain and cleated off on a stern cleat such that we rode at the correct angle. This cut down on the motion quite a bit, leaving us with a gentle fore-and-aft rock which was no problem at all.

We swam off the boat to the shore, snorkeling among rocks worn away to mushroom shape. Not much to look at, and only a few fish, but we were hot and sweaty and it was nice to get wet. After returning to the boat we had drinks in the cockpit and watched goats -- the island's only inhabitants -- wander down and across the apparently vertical cliffs. The following morning we hiked up a far less vertical route but found nothing but scrub brush and goat droppings.

Our guidebook described a sunken tugboat not far from our anchorage as a "photogenic" dive; there's a buoy marking the spot, and the day before we'd seen several small boats and dinghies tie up there, including one fishing boat at sunset. (Tintamarre is a marine preserve, and fishing is not allowed, but there's no enforcement.) We got out our SCUBA gear for the first time in three months and discovered that one of our tanks had a mysterious rattle -- worse yet, it was down to 600 psi. The other one was still full with 3000 psi. Since the dive site was not very deep (35-50 feet) and not extensive, we decided that Britt would wear the defective tank, but only as a backup, and he'd breathe off my octopus (second regulator). This meant we'd have to stay really really close together during the dive, but heck, we live on a boat, so we're used to togetherness!

The dive turned out to be great fun. We held hands the whole time, and had no problem communicating and staying "in synch", and we had plenty of air for the two of us in the single tank. The tugboat is upright (it might have been deliberately sunk) and is totally encrusted with colorful corals. The fish love it. We peered in through the open doors and portholes, and saw schools of mahogany snappers, sergeant-majors, and Spanish hogfish peering back at us. Bar jacks and yellowtail snappers swam above and around the wreck, and three large grunts hovered just under the fantail, while a small nurse shark slept in the sand next to the rudder.

When we circled to the far side of the wreck, we saw an anchor caught on the side of the tug, its rope tangled in the coral. Britt freed it and dug it into the sand next to the wreck, and we then untangled the rope. We surmised it had been left by the fishing boat the previous night, cut free when it became clear that it was too fouled to retrieve without diving. After we surfaced, Britt stayed with the rope end while I got the dinghy, and we pulled it up. This is the second anchor we've salvaged in as many weeks! This one's a Danforth-style hook called a "Britany", on the small side for our boat but too big for a dinghy anchor. Maybe you can have too many anchors.

Sunset over Anse Marcel

After lunch we sailed back west along the north coast of St. Martin to Anse Marcel, where we had visited by car during the previous week. It was nice to sail downwind for a change, with the waves gently lifting the stern instead of crashing against our bow. We anchored off the resort beach and dinked in to the dive shop to get our defective tank checked out and fixed, and both of them refilled with compressed air.

In the evening, after dinner afloat, we headed back in to the resort for a little bit of drinks and dancing (to a largely talentless reggae band) at their poolside bar. I have to admit to vague feelings of imperialist guilt, reclining in a beach chair, surrounded by other reclining white people, being served drinks by a black man while being entertained by a bunch of black men and women. During the break we wandered hand in hand down the beach. It's fun to enjoy the ambiance of an expensive resort hotel for only the price of a few tropical drinks! But after we got back to Windom, we were wishing we'd opted for the $300 room. The steep hills surrounding the bay irregularly channeled strong gusts of wind into the anchorage, so we turned this way and that, one moment pointing west in a calm and the next moment being rocked by a 25-knot blast from the south. It was far worse during the night than it had been during the afternoon, and we didn't sleep very well.

The next morning we retrieved our SCUBA tanks, inquired at the laundry ($14 a load! We'll pass on that) and then sailed the remaining five downwind miles back to Marigot Bay. Our dinghy fix stuff wasn't in yet, but we did manage to do two loads of laundry (only $7 a load for do-it-yourself at the little laverie on the canal).

musings on Marigot

Since we've been "back", we haven't done much other than a little shopping. I got a few groceries at the "US Supermarche" which has a good selection, reasonable prices, and most importantly is a short walk from a dinghy dock. All the produce is labeled with its country of origin, and I found it interesting that many tropical fruits -- oranges, pineapples, mangoes -- were labeled "USA". Maybe they came from Puerto Rico. Bananas came from the Dominican Republic (called Saint-Domingue in French), and most of the other fruit, such as peaches and apricots, came from Spain. We also bought a new pair of Minolta binoculars, to replace our sadly out-of-alignment Tascos. The Tascos have a lifetime warranty, which we've called in twice, but they seem to slip so easily out of alignment that we decided we needed something better. Britt did a super job of bargaining at the duty-free store and got the binocs for what we figured was approximately the US price, about 25% less than their marked price.

We've noticed that nearly all the electronics, appliance, t-shirt, and souvenir shops seem to be run by (Asian) Indians. In Marigot, most of of the shop employees and waiters and waitresses are white, while on the Dutch side and in the beachside resorts they seemed to be mostly black. We saw a few mixed-race couples, but there seems to be a definite barrier of class and money on the island.

In Marigot French is the official language, but nearly everyone speaks English. But signs and labels, except in the tourist-oriented shops, are all in French, so since neither Britt nor I speak French, figuring out what's what is always a puzzle. Fruits and vegetables were pretty easy -- the sign underneath may have said anana, but I knew it was really a pineapple -- but some of the canned goods were entirely unfamiliar, and the labels gave me no clue. Some French company names just give me the giggles, like "Polybat" (what it actually is, I have no idea). And both a shoe repair shop and a office supplies store advertise "tampons" on their window signs; I assume that's not what I think of as tampons, but I'm afraid to ask!

Crime is apparently a problem, and the boating community is affected as well. In the morning there's a radio net, and there's nearly always one missing dinghy reported each day. Sometimes they're found later, minus the outboard motor. The police, we're told, are no help at all, particularly since the French police don't care about what happens on the Dutch side and vice versa. So if something's stolen on one side and fenced on the other, nobody's got jurisdiction. Supposedly the French side is "worse" for crime. One evening we decided not to leave our dinghy tied up at a particular dinghy dock because a raggedy-looking man hanging out there strongly implied that unless we paid him to watch our dinghy, something would happen to it. But in general we haven't had problems (yet!). We have a fairly elaborate locking system:  the outboard, oars, and gas tank are all locked to the dinghy with one cable (actually a length of lifeline), and we have a second, very substantial cable ("Kryptonite" brand) which we use to lock the dink to whatever we can on shore. At night we hoist the dinghy and lock it to our stern rail. On the big boat, we've been closing the hatches and locking up whenever we leave, although mostly it's just to keep honest people honest; we don't put the washboards in, we just lock up our screen doors, which could be easily broken through by a determined thief.

Unfortunately, things are no better on most of the other islands. We occasionally listen to the Safety and Security Net (popularly known as the Paranoia Net), 8104 USB at 0815 AST. There's minor theft directed at yachties all over the Caribbean, plus a few truly scary incidents of armed boarders here and there. We'll keep our eyes and ears open, and either avoid problematic places or travel with other boats in those areas. And we promise to be careful, Mom!