A strong wind blew steadily from the Northeast. As we departed from the charming Jolly Harbor in Antigua, the sun was just beginning to appear on the horizon, its rays only faintly illuminating the sky. It was Barbuda, an island rendered iconic by the late Princess Diana’s fondness for its secluded shores, that we had actually intended to visit on this trip. As the relentless waves crashed against us, we exerted all our power to overcome them, fighting the headwind that pushed directly into us. The four-hour sail, which should have been enjoyable, was agonizingly slow due to the relentless swells and the waves of nausea that overcame us within the first hour, turning what should have been a relaxing journey into a miserable ordeal. Accompanying me were Neil and his companion Bev, both of whom were attempting, with considerable difficulty, to maintain a stoic demeanor despite the challenging and harsh environmental conditions.
The sun shone brilliantly on the churning, restless sea, its light doing little to calm our queasy stomachs. Just an hour after taking the Ondansetron, Neil and Bev’s pale green faces blossomed into a healthy pink, the nausea seemingly banished.
I thought they were enjoying the view. I found out later that Neil put on a brave face while Bev prepared to feed the fish…
After setting the anchor in Cocoa Bay, a sense of serene isolation washed over me; the island’s gentle breezes carried the scent of tropical flowers, creating an atmosphere of a forgotten paradise. Six other boats, their sails furled, were at anchor in the sheltered cove, a peaceful scene. Stretching before us was 10 miles of deserted beach, the sand gleaming white under the bright sun. We launched the dinghy, feeling the cool spray of the water on our faces as we motored toward the sandy shore.
The first human we encountered was Enoch, who ran a small, weathered shack on the beach, the smell of grilling lobster hanging heavy in the air. Friends who had visited Barbuda raved about the legendary lobster dinner, describing succulent meat and rich, buttery sauce, so we had to try it. We made reservations for the following evening, hoping to catch the sunset’s fiery hues painting the sky. Enoch’s memory drifted back 30 years to the exclusive hotel where he worked as a chef. He recalled the hushed luxury, the glint of crystal, and the moment he met Princess Diana.
The lobster was delicious, but our eyes were glued to the sunset; crimson and gold hues painted the sky, a mesmerizing masterpiece.
To reach the secluded beach demanded some advance planning; we had to consider tides, weather and the difficult terrain. With our clothes and shoes secured in a heavy-duty waterproof bag, we jumped into the surprisingly warm water after tying up the small dinghy and swam towards the sandy shore. The return to the little dinghy required us to navigate backward. Flip-flops and shorts were far more practical than the restrictive suits and high heels that Enoch discouraged…… Finding our anchored sailboat required a powerful flashlight….
Barbuda has an amazing frigate bird sanctuary with 20,000 birds. The visit was definitely worthwhile.
Sailing from Barbuda to St. Martin
We set off at 5 a.m., the dark concealing everything but the faintest whisper of wind against our faces. On the open ocean, the wind picked up. The wind direction, a perfect broad reach, whipped through the rigging as the boat sliced through the waves at its fastest point of sail. The sunrise painted the sky in fiery hues of orange and pink as we raised the sails, the salty air filling our lungs. We planned to cover the 93 miles at 8 knots. With the sun beating down and the salty spray on my face, I worried that 12 hours of sailing was too ambitious a goal. As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows across the path, we knew we had to arrive before dark.
With the sun on our faces and little else to keep us occupied, we dragged fishing lines from the back of the boat, a quintessential part of the sailing experience. Days could pass with lines, yet that afternoon off St. Bart’s, we hauled in two beauties.at the same time!
Alain, the dockmaster, greeted us at the bustling Fort Louis Marina, his voice a friendly boom over the sounds of gulls and creaking ropes, directing us to our slip before helping to tie up the boat. Once settled, we had 20 minutes to pick fresh, colorful vegetables from the farmer’s market— plump tomatoes, crisp cucumbers, and vibrant peppers—to accompany our tuna dinner. The owner of the food store gave me a six-pack of Heineken—perfectly chilled—and I knew instantly this would be a great place to be. “I want you to have a wonderful time in St. Martin,” he said, “enjoying the delicious food and the warm, gentle breezes.” I eyed him suspiciously, my hand patting my shorts, a nervous feeling gripping me as I checked for my wallet. Overwhelmed with guilt for my doubts, I accepted his gift, murmuring my profuse thanks; the weight of my earlier suspicions still heavy. A slow smile spread across his face, as if I had done him a great service.
St. Martin has delighted us with its stunning scenery and the delicious aroma of spices from local restaurants. We’re having such a great time; the energy is electric! To tackle the enormous tuna mountain, I called upon Jacki and Brad, my sailor buddies from the Dominican Republic—their laughter echoing with memories of sun-drenched beaches and Caribbean breezes. Jacki asked if she could bring her parents, so I replied with a laugh, “I hope they have big appetites—I’m making a lot of food!”
S/V Ileana will remain in St. Martin for the next two weeks before she heads to the BVIs for more adventure.
John, you captured our sailing experience accurately. What huge tuna — and so perfectly cooked, seared in a very hot frying pain for a minute on each side. What a trip it was!