Bye Bye Grenada x (Grenada - Klein Curacao)

 

In the morning - New Year’s Day - we pop to shore to grab some wifi for the weather forecast. All seems fairly innocuous for the next three or four days, with the wind ramping up towards the end of our first leg (probably Curaçao by that stage).

Day 1:

We up anchor at 9:30am and head back out to somewhere else we’ve come to call home; the wide open sea. Waving goodbye to disappearing Grenada we make good progress, if perhaps a little more rolly than we’d like. I’m writing this at sunset, not much to report, sea stretching out as far as the eye can see. We were visited by one ‘introductory sized’ squall in the early afternoon, which wet us and pushed us around a bit. Other than that - happily plain sailing: lots of sunshine, both sails up, following seas, nudging along between 4 - 7 knots. Over night the wind increased sufficiently to allow us to sail well throughout. We were passed by two large container ships - growing from indistinct possible lights on the horizon to massive, city like superstructures passing within a few miles.

The night shift pattern we’ve agreed on is for me to stay up until 3am, then Chez to take over until I rise again.

During my stint, the winds were fair to strong and we made great progress - mainly in the 7 knot range. Had a few nasty rolling squalls come through - drenching me to the skin and pushing us off our course for a little while. During one such squall, I was joined by a crow sized seabird - possibly a shearwater. He/she stayed precariously perched on the relative safety of the lifelines two meters away from me for the remainder of the night.

On waking, at close to 3am (or more accurately, ‘rising’, as she hadn’t been able to sleep) Chez decided to remain below and make a shift change coffee. The swell, whilst tolerable when laying down or outside in the fresh air, is a confusing, uncomfortable, vomit-inducing roll around when you’re below in the galley. This didn’t kick the shift off overly well for her. The moon-less remainder of her night was marked by further squally conditions and nausea.

Day 2:

It’s a sorry looking Captain by the time I resurface around 6:30am.

Light winds to start day two - picking up to a pleasingly sailable blow by 10am. We make good, rolly progress once again. Chez perked up through the day - this means it’s my turn to feel ill. Not sure if it’s the constant clenching of muscles as the boat rolls in the large waves, or something I ate, but mid-afternoon I’m concerned by a stinging ball of cramp in my lower stomach. Chez provides me with some out of date Greek antispasmodic tablets, and some love. At time of writing it’s faded to a barely noticeable ache.

It’s now just shy of midnight of day 2. All is well, (tummy better) not much to report: no other traffic seen, moon high and bright in the sky. (waxing gibbous at 87% of full).

Woke Chez from a deep revitalising slumber with a coffee at 3am. Handed over in quite benign conditions and headed off to bed, where I too slept well, after being rocked to sleep by the following sea.

Day 3, up at 8ish - sunny, sailing nicely along in following seas. We’re well on our way towards Curaçao. Chez had a good early shift… all is well in the world. Nothing but a few sea birds to see all day. My night shift a slightly brighter affair than last night - clear sky and now 92% full moon. A surprising lack of any traffic around, and really not much else to report.

Day 4. As I come back up on deck at 9ish, there’s an indistinct smudge starting to grow far away on the horizon.

We’re again sailing down wind, with clear gorgeous blue in different hues above and below us. In order to head further South we needed to jibe (swap the side we sail on), which was happily achieved with little fuss mid-morning. By noon, the horizon smudge has become the hilly outline of Bonaire and Curaçao. Our plan as we approach is to pass between the islands and anchor or take a buoy for the night behind a small outlying islet called ‘Klein Curaçao’. There, we should hopefully be protected from any overnight swell as the forecast wind rises.

Chez popped down for a nap, only to be awoken by me not half an hour later:

“Get up: Pod of whales!” - some weeks ago we’d agreed not to be wake each other for dolphins.. but whales are a different story! A small pod of at least 3, about 300m away came slowly gliding towards us, their glistening backs visible and breathing holes loudly belching clouds of vapour as then went along. They look to be similar, if not the same variety as I saw on the Atlantic crossing - as long as the boat, big black and shiny. They’re not quite as playful as dolphins, but very glad to have been graced by their presence for a few minutes.

We’re now passing alongside Bonaire - the island has a low lying flat topped cliff rim around the outer edge, which rises steeply to hills filled with verdant vegetation, interspersed with sandy rock.

At 4:30pm, about 2 hours out from our destination, more whales! A pod of maybe 30 of the magnificent beasts pass us 200m away to starboard. Just as they depart, two minutes later on the other side another couple glide and blow their way past. It’s turning out to be a slightly more interesting day than day 3 was.

Klein Curaçao is really just a rocky sandy spit, now just a mile away, there’s no land visible, just a lighthouse, a rusting hulk and three masts. We arrive into the small beach anchorage at just past sunset, and take a buoy initially. Not being willing to trust it or swim to check on the buoys holding at shark feeding time, we opt instead to anchor.

Great journey to here - favourable wind all the way, amazing wildlife and a nice way restart to our sailing adventures.