The idea of Greg joining me came about spontaneously. We were catching up on the phone, and when I mentioned another season on JACE, I threw it out on a whim: “How about you join me in December for a week?” True to form, Greg jumped on it and made it happen.
Greg and I worked together for over a decade in San Francisco. What began as a professional relationship built on deep mutual respect slowly became a strong friendship. The trust and admiration between us remained unchanged even after our careers diverged ten years ago. If anything, the bond grew stronger.
So I’m rather excited this Monday morning as I wait at the ferry dock in Carriacou. He was supposed to fly in yesterday, but a delayed flight from Miami caused him to miss the little turboprop hop; instead, he had to overnight on Grenada and take the ferry. No matter — he’s here.
After a heartfelt hello and a tour of JACE, we get right to it. I check us out of Grenada, Greg makes a quick lunch, and we weigh anchor. Sails up, we enjoy a relaxed afternoon in light wind and make it across to Union Island, where we anchor behind the reef in Clifton, go for a swim, and later enjoy a delicious chicken curry aboard.
The days that follow are as varied as they are fun. After clearing into St. Vincent and the Grenadines, we set out for what looks like a brisk upwind sail to the Tobago Cays. But barely after we raise the sails, a black wall rolls in and blasts us with 25–28 knots of wind and heavy rain. We reef and regroup and eventually — almost dry again — motor into the marvelous anchorage protected by the giant horseshoe reef.
We drop the hook in a superb spot right in the cut between the islands, sheltered from the swell. The afternoon is all swimming and snorkeling, taking underwater videos of turtles and stingrays around JACE. Incredible.
And to top it off, Greg treats us to grilled lobster at the beach BBQ shack just a stone’s throw away. What a way to start this cruise.
That night the weather remains unsettled, and the wind pipes up again. The anchorage is tight, boats all around, and we swing back and forth all night. I’m grateful for the anchor-alarm app on my phone that tracks our exact position and promises to wake me if we drag. I actually sleep; no alarm ever comes. Poor Greg, though — the motion, the unfamiliar noises, and the looming catamaran two lengths behind us keep him wide awake.
I wake early. The wind is howling and the eastern sky is dark. My rain radar suggests we have maybe an hour. I cancel a 7 a.m. work call, wake Greg, and within twenty minutes we’re ready. We haul anchor and storm out of the anchorage. Just a few miles north lies Canouan and its new, very protected marina — that’s our target. It becomes a race against the rain, but we make it. Fenders out, lines ready, and we dock alongside in this enormous and nearly empty basin just as the downpour hits.
It’s a strange day in a strange place. The marina is only a few years old, a massive investment project by some Irish billionaire — very swanky, clearly aimed at superyachts. We’re still pre-season, but the crew admits they’ve never seen it remotely full. We don’t mind. We enjoy long hot showers, run laundry, refill water, charge batteries, and lay low while rain and grey skies wash any hint of Caribbean vibe from the world outside. Evening is cocktails at the marina bar and talking about life until late. Good times.
Greg flies out of St. Lucia on Sunday, so it’s high time we move north. And move we do. Thursday morning, after a couple of early work calls and breakfast, we put-put out of the marina and set sail around 10:30. Perfect 20–25 knots of wind — and unlike the northeasterlies of the past days, it’s now due east, ideal for our route. With a reefed main, staysail, and half a genoa, JACE powers across the swell, rolling in diagonally on the starboard bow. At seven to eight knots we roller-coaster over the seas and make it to Bequia in just four hours. Greg spends most of the time on the helm and is loving JACE’s good manners and minimal weather helm.
Bequia is magical — a huge bay lined with little shops, bars, and restaurants. We go ashore early, buy veggies and fruit, and take a long walk with multiple pit stops, sampling cocktails along the way. Our favorite ends up being a local twist on a G&T with fresh ginger and grapefruit — killer. A fun night, almost perfect, save for the karaoke bar blaring cheesy music and mostly poor vocalists until 2 a.m. Ouch.
Today, Friday, the sun is finally back. The wind is stronger still, 25–30 knots, and due east. We set sail early and point the bow toward St. Vincent. The eight-mile channel funnels wind and swell; soon we’re heeled over on a beam reach, flying at eight and nine knots, even touching ten. A thrilling ride. We hit a few breaking swells that send green water over the cockpit and drench us both — but it’s warm and glorious and we love it. Too soon, the ride ends; in the lee of St. Vincent the wind dies and we motor the rest of the way.
We’re now anchored in Cumberland Bay, a lush green circular bay. Earlier we bought a small yellowfin tuna, so dinner should be a winner. The sun is setting. After some swimming and relaxing, we’re getting into evening mode. Hard to believe it’s already our second-to-last night aboard together. It’s been such a fun week.
The rest — including the big sail up to St. Lucia tomorrow — will be in the next post.
À bientôt.