On May 12 we motored the 23 nm from Les Saintes, Guadeloupe, to Portsmouth, Dominica, arriving on a Sunday afternoon when the customs office was closed.  Not to worry; we were directed to a residence near the customs dock where we found a pleasant young woman who provided the appropriate forms for checking in.  Contrary to what we had recently read, we had no problem checking in and out simultaneously, being careful to make the checkout date no more than two weeks out, and lying through our teeth about our intentions to visit any of the southern ports of the island.  (The published discussion concerned whether or not one could do both at the same time if one admitted to planning to visit southern ports as well; the upshot of the discussion was that it should be perfectly permissible according to the Dominican regulations, but that some customs agents were erroneously not permitting it.)  We were disappointed to see that Dominica is back to using umpteen carbon copy forms instead of the newly resurrected computerized eSeaClear forms that were formerly available in the EC countries, and that were in the process of being reintroduced in Antigua when we were there.

We attended the Portsmouth Association of Yacht Security (PAYS) BBQ Sunday evening and learned that the event had been cancelled the previous week for lack of cruisers.  No problem on our night, the anchorage was plenty full of boats heading south.

We had lots of rain while in Portsmouth, but managed to go for a walk with friends to Fort Shirley in Cabrit National Park during a lull one morning.   The fica-entangled stone ruins at the north end of the park never cease to fascinate, and there are marvelous overlooks from both the west and east ridges.  Early one morning, during one of the many squalls that struck our anchorage, I looked out of our port window and discovered a catamaran was dragging down upon us.  I quickly ran to the pilothouse and gave a series of short blasts on our horn.  Fortunately, the cat was occupied and after a bit several young men came boiling out and soon enough got their engine started and the boat moved well forward.   Many of our friends have been struck or had near misses; after eight years we have still not been hit by a dragging boat, although we were once struck by a sailboat attempting to enter a slip adjacent to ours at a Trinidad marina.

On one rainy morning Hunter and Devi (Arctic Tern), Steve and Ann (Receta) and Barb and I were taken by Martin (Providence), one of the founders of PAYS, to snorkel in the reef and rock formations south of Rollo Head.  Fascinating submerged terrain and well worth the long trip across Prince Rupert Bay.

On Wednesday, May 15 the Terns and TT2s travelled 11 nm down the coast to anchor at Mero, off the now-closed Castaway Resort.  We took the Tern’s dinghy ashore and walked north on the coastal highway up to the Macoucherie rummery, hoping to find the ancient factory in operation.   Alas, we were there at the wrong time of year.   The office was open, however, and we were granted tastes of their products laid out in a very minimal tableau.  Not surprisingly, the entire yearly production is consumed locally.  The factory has existed since slave days, and in fact was constructed by slave labor.  When in operation, the squeezing press is powered by a water wheel turned by flow down a diversion channel.  While we were looking around, we noticed coconut shells were being flung from behind a small building.  Barb took her camera around the corner and discovered the source, which can be seen in one of the photos below.

Next day we motored down to Roseau, where the Terns and we were secured to moorings owned by Aldive, south of Roseau proper and Sea Cat’s dock.  As we were completing our mooring chores, a RIB approached and we were introduced to Roscoe, the security man for the Roseau anchorage.   Roscoe stopped by a number of times while we were in the mooring field.

We did a one-tank dive in Scotts Head Marine Park aboard Aldive’s boat that afternoon, and a two-tank dive the next day.  I took my housed Nikon down with me on the three dives; I have included just a few of the pics I was happy with.  During our surface interval between the two dives on the second day, we had some excitement.   A small green boat with a new 70 hp outboard came past our boat and landed on the rocky shore.  The two occupants jumped out and soon disappeared behind the large boulders at the bottom of the steep cliff ashore.  Immediately a large Coast Guard RIB with powerful motors zoomed by us and landed next to the green boat.  Several officers bearing machine guns jumped ashore and also disappeared behind the boulders.  Another officer boarded the small green boat.   So far as we could see no one was apprehended.  The green boat was confiscated.  Later we heard that “contraband” had been found on the green boat.  Roscoe said that “weed” had been found.

The Terns and Takks also hiked up to a factory in Roseau that employs vision-handicapped individuals to weave baskets and other items.  It was a return visit for us both; TT2 has a large basket in the cockpit that is used to store shoes and sandals.  On our return from the factory we each purchased pieces of barbecued chicken at a roadside grill.  In all of our travels up and down the eastern Caribbean, we have never had a problem with eating local foods prepared at such stands, and we have had some mighty tasty experiences.

On May 18 we left Roseau and Dominica and motored down the 36 nm to St. Pierre, Martinique.  But before we could leave, we had one further complication.   When we had arrived, we had been asked to use extra-long painters to attach to the oversized mooring float.   During our stay, the shifting winds had sent us circling the float so many times that our painters were hopelessly entangled around the float and could not be retrieved.   Arctic Tern, of course, had long since departed.   Barb called Aldive on the VHF, and Billy, the owner and son of Al, came out and after a long struggle managed to free us.  (Billy named the dive operation after “Al” to honor his father, who had taught him how to dive.  Passing it on, Billy teaches local youths how to dive, and after they have become dive masters, hires them.  Our young dive master was Ruddy, a buoyant, mischievous and impertinent young man who enjoyed taunting one of the black Coast Guard officers.  Shouting across to shore: “Hey fat man, how come you not climbing up the hill?  You let the white (said in creole) officer climb the hill, but you are too fat?”  When the officer had had enough, and demanded Ruddy’s name, Ruddy gave him his father’s name: the father who had abandoned his family when Ruddy was a boy, the father who had trafficked in drugs, and the father who no longer lived on the island.  When we asked Ruddy if it was wise to taunt a Coast Guard officer, Ruddy just smiled and shrugged:  “We have free speech here in Dominica.”

But I have digressed.   To learn about our experiences in Martinique, you will have to tune in to the next exciting episode of … um … you know what.