Anchor Chaos

We like to be on the hook by noon so that we can get settled in, check the anchor, and pour a serious Rummer before the crowds arrive.  This trip to the Tobago Cays was no different, as we dropped the hook off Baradal in about 7 feet of water, releasing about 100 feet of chain.  That way, nobody could anchor upwind of us.  Or so we thought.

Upon returning from snorkeling, we were horrified to find two French charter boats anchored about 25 feet upwind, with everybody on the water, splashing about, laughing wildly.  All seemed fine, except that they were dragging, and I predicted they would become our rafting partners very quickly.  Nobody seemed concerned as I pointed out the problem.  The skipper casually pulled himself aboard, rinsed himself off, lit a cigarette, and put the boat in gear just as I was putting fenders on the bow of my boat.

I winced at the thought of him fouling his prop on the 15 feet of dinghy painter that lay in the water to his stern.  With swimmers in the water, he edged forward until there was a whole lot of yelling, all in French.  It took ten more minutes for the ruckus to stop and this band of clowns to move away.  It was only later, when I re-checked my anchor, did I discover why – they had snagged my anchor chain and relocated it 20 feet to starboard.

The second French boat was a few feet upwind of a Sunsail charter boat anchored on my port beam.  The Sunsail guests were uncomfortable with the close proximity of their new neighbors and wanted to leave, except that the French boat was over their anchor and everybody was in the water.  After some time, they worked up enough nerve to try to pull their anchor by threading their way alongside the French boat, given that they were receiving no cooperation from them.  As I expected, the French had crossed anchor chains, so now that the Sunsail boat could not pull theirs.  Since they were past the point of no return, they could not get their anchor up, nor could they let out chain without a major collision.  They ended up colliding anyway, and rafting for about ten minutes until the French sent somebody down to sort out the chain problem.  Once out of trouble, the Sunsail boat high-tailed it out of there.  Thank heavens for big bumpers.  The French contingent continued frolicking about in the water, oblivious to the chaos they caused.

This was only the beginning.

Over the next three hours, we watched both French boats pull their anchors (which were NOT dragging by the way), only to re-anchor a few feet from where they had been, putting the fear of God into everybody downwind of them.  Of course every time they moved, everybody nearby would place bumpers on deck just in case.

Just as the last rays of sunlight were receding, both boats pulled anchor!  No kidding.  Everybody nearby watched in horror, hoping that these boats would not re-anchor upwind of them.  Strangely enough, one boat motored out of the Tobago Cays area, the other anchored behind Baradal, thankfully away from us.  I was certain that we had not seen the last of them.

An hour later, we could see the green running lights of the boat that left the Cays earlier.  It was back.  Remember, it was now dark!  I nervously watched as they anchored in pitch black right alongside their friends.  Great, I thought, they’re tucked in for the night.

As I was just finishing my 9:30 PM Rummer, I could see an anchor light through the cabin window from down below, and it was moving.  Not these clowns again.

Sure enough, they were indeed moving.  And this time, they were headed to the spot just upwind of us.  I was horrified as they dropped anchor and settled back.  I could imagine them dragging anchor, crossing anchor chains, taking out my anchor.  Try uncrossing them in total darkness and 25 knots of wind. I was not happy.  I wanted to be settling in with another Rummer instead of dealing with this potential nightmare.

At this point, I simply lost it.  I jumped in my dinghy and high-tailed it over to their boat.  Shouting at the top of my lungs, I clearly expressed my displeasure with their behavior and advised them that that if they dragged and snagged my anchor, they would face some VERY serious consequences.  I strongly suggested that they pull anchor leave the planet.

I could not believe how indignant they were.  They could not understand why I was concerned.   Given the troubles they caused others throughout the day, I was not prepared to deal with another after dark.  I can only conclude that these people are quite used to crowded anchorages and boats colliding as a result of poorly set anchors.  Not me.  From now on, I intend to anchor on the windward side of Baradal, away from the blue white and red.

Kick ’em Jenny Awakes

The “protective cone of ignorance” that follows The Usual Suspects performed a valued service once again.  While Rummers were poured in the galley, danger lurked close by.  Unknown to us, the underwater volcano Kick ’em Jenny located between Grenada and Carriacou had become active during our visit.

Given that we generally tune out all activities in the world, we were totally oblivious to the news that the Royal Geological Society had upgraded the volcano alert status to ORANGE.  What this means is that the volcano, located only 20 miles away, was in a “highly elevated level of seismic and/or fumarolic activity or other unusual activity. Eruption may begin with less than twenty-four hours notice.”  That was very sporting of the Brits, giving us 24 hours notice of being blown to Kingdom Come.  All this was being published online at the University of West Indies Seismic Research Unit website, which of course we knew nothing about.

This wonderful news was actually brought to our attention while enjoying dinner on a balcony overlooking the water in Union Island, directly in the line of sight of the area of the volcano.  Our guest had mentioned that she hoped we were at a sufficient elevation to weather the 15 meter tidal wave that would hit us less than a minute after the eruption.  While she concluded we were probably OK, my thoughts turned to my boat, anchored just around the corner in Clifton Harbor.  Did my insurance cover “Acts of God?”  I was concerned.  At that point I decided I could always argue that I was an Atheist, and as such, an “Act of God” would have no meaning, and not count.

Space Junk

While touring Bequia, we stopped in the village of Industry to visit the Turtle Sanctuary.  As we were leaving, we noticed an unusual piece of metal that had obviously washed up on shore and was now wedged into the trees.  About 15 feet long and 8 feet wide, it seemed to be made of some super high-tech composite supported by a metal honeycomb.  A logo was painted on the side – “Nilesat”, with the company name Matra Marconi in block letters.  I snapped a photo with the intention of researching it when I returned home.

As it turns out, this is space junk from an Egyptian satellite launch.  Nilesat 101 (See their website) was manufactured by the European company Matra Marconi Space (now Astrium), and it was launched on 28th of April 1998 by Ariane Space using the launcher Ariane 4, from the French Guyana (Kourou) site.

This was probably a shroud from one of the solid rocket boosters, or possibly the shroud for the satellite vehicle itself, although that is unlikely – the vehicle is exposed only once it is in space, meaning that the shroud would have re-entered the atmosphere and it showed no signs of being charred.  The shroud fell back into the sea before being washed up on shore in Bequia.

I plan to continue my research in hopes of finding a photo of the launch vehicle.  I want to see the original location of the shroud, with the logo clearly identified.  I also plan to send the photos electronically to the Nilesat people – it is sort of interesting! 

* NOTE * - See the February 2002 Update to the Nilesat 101 story.  Photos found on the Internet show the exact source of the space junk.