14/2/2020
The island of Guadeloupe is only a handful of nautical miles north of Iles des Saintes. With a strong wind on our quarter, it didn't take us long to reach the southwest corner and start making our way north along the island's west coast. Our friends Will and Alice who crewed with us across the Atlantic were at the same time making their way south along the island en route to Dominica, so we were monitoring AIS closely for their boat, an Oyster called Ayesha. They had originally meant to get to Iles des Saintes the night prior, and we had been pumped to have a little reunion on the island, trading stories of our respective Caribbean experiences thus far. Alas, they are at the mercy of the boat’s owners, who changed their minds and decided to stay in Guadeloupe another night before skipping Les Saints and going straight to Dominica. Such a shame to so nearly miss them as we head in opposite directions on our respective island crawls. It wasn't long before we spotted Ayesha on AIS, heading south a bit further inshore. We altered course a little so we’d cross as close as we could, bantering with them over the radio to prepare their weapons as we attempted a game of Discovery versus Oyster Chicken to see who’d blink first. We saw them flying by to starboard, and although I’m sure both sides were waving frantically, we could only just make them out as we sailed passed. Quite literally ships crossing. So close, yet so far away!
Once passed, we realised the wind that we'd expected die down once in the lee of the island had if anything increased. We had full sail out and were making 9-10 knots on quite a heel. We decided we were likely overpowered so took in some jib and main to make for a more balanced and comfortable sail.
We were aiming for an area on the coast called Pigeon Island. Guadeloupe we discovered doesn’t really have many proper anchorages, as the island's lee side falls steeply into the sea. The area behind Pigeon Island appeared to be one of the only places with a shelf wide enough to try to hook the anchor before the seabed fell off into the depths. We also learned that much of the lee side of the island acts like a gigantic wind scoop, with the island's topography funnelling the wind down through its valleys and into the bays, turning otherwise mild conditions into gale force winds. As we approached the shore behind Pigeon Island, we kept hoping the wind would calm down, but if anything it only got more intense. This was by far the windiest conditions we’d ever anchored in, with gusts of up to 40 knots. At them helm, it was all I could do to try to force Florence's bow straight into the wind long enough to allow Stephen to let out sufficient chain to hit the bottom, which at 20 meters below the keel was absolutely the shallowest water we could find. I'm not sure I would really call this area an anchorage at all - more like the best of a couple bad options, or the lesser of two weevils, as Captain Jack Aubrey would say :) With the wind gusting that hard, it was impossible to hear anything the other was saying, so between me screaming into the wind and Stephen gesticulating wildly at the bow, we somehow managed to get the anchor down. After being very quickly blown off, Florence soon jerked violently to wind, indicating her anchor had dug. Wow, that was intense. Stephen scrambled back to the cockpit and immediately burst into laughter as my hair was apparently sticking straight up from my head like I'd been sucked into a vacuum cleaner. Not my best look I guess.
We weren’t alone. There were about 8 other boats in this “anchorage” who were also holding on for dear life as the wind continued to howl. We would not be leaving the boat in these conditions! Exploring Guadeloupe would have to wait. So we hunkered down for the afternoon and evening, hoping the wind would die down a bit overnight.
It didn’t. That makes 3 relatively sleepless nights in a row. Excellent! The next morning, two grumpy-ass sailors figured we might as well move up to the only other supposed anchorage this side of the island called Deshaies, about 10 miles north. After carefully upping anchor, we decided to motor up to the next stop given the changeability of the wind. As soon as we left the anchorage, the wind completely shifted direction then died a death. This island has some seriously strange local wind effects. When we got to Deshaies, it did appear to be more of a proper bay than our previous stop, although again quite deep and just as windy. We seemed to find a spot between two boats that was just about shallow enough to drop the hook, though we’d have to let out a lot of chain. After digging and letting out about 70 meters, we realised our swing circle brought us a bit too close for comfort to the boat next to us. OK, no time to waste in these 35+ knot gusts, so let’s get her up and try again! Only when Stephen pressed the button on the windlass to lift the anchor, it didn’t budge. It seemed the electrics had failed. Perfect timing, as ever. Why could this not happen in a calm bay and instead only happen when we are battling 40 knot gusts? Boating law often bleeds into Murphy's law it sometimes seems… As we were dug and wouldn’t hit the boat nearest us even at the widest point of our swing circle, we decided we would stay until the wind calmed down before attempting to move. The cat next to us said the same thing had happened to them yesterday, and trying to up anchor by hand in these winds is nigh impossible and can be dangerous (we had a bit of a go, and it failed miserably). The owner from the boat nearest us came on deck to chat and was very understanding. He offered to put out 20 meters more chain so they would sit further back and be less of a collision risk. It's always helpful to have fellow boaters be understanding when you are in a bind, rather than shaking their fists and thinking you amateurish.
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The wind however never calmed down. Stephen eventually dinghied me to shore so I could quickly run to customs and check us out while he stayed and manned the anchor and our swing circle. Once checked out of France and back aboard, it was clear we would be stuck on the boat for the rest of the day and night, as the wind howled even more furiously into this bay than the previous one. We are coming to think of this island as Guadeloupe the Wind Scoop. That evening as we tried to drown out the scream of the wind, the skipper from the boat next to us who had kindly put out more chain waved to us to invite us over for sundowners. We figured a quick hop over to the neighbours would be doable even in these winds, as we could still monitor Flo and get back quickly if needed. We were both also deep into the throws of cabin fever and just wanted off for a bit!
We dingied over and met our hosts Dirk and Annie, a lovely South African couple. Both lifelong and extremely experienced sailors, they'd spent the last 7 years cruising the oceans together. They poured us some G&Ts, and we spent a wonderful couple of hours getting to know them and trading stories. It was sailing that initially brought them together, and it seems to have worked to keep both them and their relationship healthy and fresh. He was in his early seventies and she in her mix 60s, though I would have had them pegged for their 50s, easily. Although I felt the experiences of the past couple days had aged me, these two were evidence that sailing can keep you young. We said our goodbyes before trading contact details and climbed back aboard Florence for another windy night.
The following morning, we were up at sunrise to take advantage of what seemed like a momentary lull in the wind. We remembered we had redundancy electric power for the windlass at the helm, so rather than Stephen hauling our 70 meters of thick chain and heavy anchor up by hand, he stood at the bow and signalled to me when to begin raising the chain from the button at the helm. We slowly and steadily got the chain up and before long were anchors away and heading back out to sea. What a relief, and thank god for redundancies. It was time to say goodbye to Guadeloupe the Wind Scoop. I can’t really opine much on this island, as we didn’t get the opportunity to spend any time ashore. I would just caution the sailor to be prepared for steeply shelving anchorages and serious wind funnelling effects that can make for an uncomfortable stay...
We have about 70 miles to cover today out in open ocean in a relatively straight shot up to Antigua. Antigua is widely considered the yachting capital of the Caribbean and somewhere we were confident we could get our windlass electrics sorted. Stephen has been to Antigua once before several years ago and I've never been, so we are excited to see what it has in store.
