English Harbor OMG

OK, so I might have been too harsh on the harbor at Deshaise. The incessant wind would make you grumpy too. But the town was very charming. When I went ashore in the morning to clear out through customs, the street cleaners were sweeping up the smallest debris, raking even the inside of the culverts. They clearly take pride in their waterfront. This is a huge contrast with the trashy waterfront streets in Portsmouth Dominica. Many Portsmouth houses had rusty corrugated steel roofs and the streets and culverts were trash collectors. In Deshaise they were mostly immaculately maintained European style homes with nice European cars parked on the street. People of all colors and styles were walking down the street on their way to work, fresh baguette under their arm. Just wanting to fit in, I stopped at the bakery and did the same. Baguette in hand, I people-watched while waiting for customs to open. Customs in Portsmouth was forms and carbon paper in multiple windows of a tiny garage-like structure in a run-down section of town that was hard to get to, surrounded by industrial shops –wonderfully raw. In Deshaise customs was one computer terminal in an internet café slash local art shop You type in the info, print the form, and pay the cashier a few bucks to stamp the paper. No government official or carbon paper within sight. 40-odd miles; worlds apart. I much like each of them for their unique character.

Our sail on Monday February 5 from Guadeloupe to English Harbor Antigua was 42 nm (4-5 hours) in 090 TWA, 20-25 TWS, pulling it forward to 045-50 AWA. The highest AWS we saw was around 33 knots, with an average around 26 knots apparent. We hand-steered across the same ol’ 7-11’ seas, some with rounded shape and regular spacing, some jumbled and confused. Jim R. drove for at least three hours with a smile on his face. We reached with double-reefed main and changed gears with the roller-furled #4 jib, trying to keep the speed down to around 9 knots in the large seas. As demanded by the captain, we reeled in the few boats that left before us –two prizes that carried neither gold or silver. We let them go. We dropped sails within cannon shot of Antigua, and med-moored with our transom in the 18th century at the Nelson’s Dockyard Marina.

Nelson’s Dockyard. Wow. Kirt M. had spoken passionately about this place and boy oh boy did he get it right. The marina (more reverentially called “the dockyard”) is a-maz-ing. THANK YOU KIRT!!! It is a national park, a restored bit of history with magnificent stone architecture everywhere. I’ve never seen anywhere with more cannons and anchors lying about. But this is the real thing. The plaque a few yards from our stern records the location where one officer lost his life to another in a duel over seniority. The capstans use to careen the naval vessels and the hurricane chains on the harbor bottom are as authentic as the bollards that our dock line is tied to. (I hope we didn’t snag one of those chains with our anchor as we backed into the dock –as often happens.)

Heron was the smallest and only production boat on this end of the dockyard. Huge classic yachts were on both sides of us. Our neighbor “Marie Rose”, an original 1920s Herreshoff out of Newport, was an especially gorgeous sight. Captain (and wooden boat carpenter) Jason knew most of the wooden boat clan from the Mattapoisett and Marion area. Over the next few days we shared several fascinating conversations over dinner and varnish brushes. Varnish crews from the island worked like bees on many of the boats. At one time I counted five of them hanging far up in the tall rigs, sanding and varnishing the already flawless spars. (BTW Jason said that varnish work is more expensive here than in Newport.) The perfect German classic yacht to our port mentioned that they do varnish work for seven months out of the year, taking a five month break in the Med. They completely stripped a second teak and mahogany doghouse (that looked brand new to my eyes) because it was darker than the newly re-done first doghouse. Whereas Deshaise smells like wood fires, ashes landing on our deck, English Harbor smells like varnish and buzzed with the constant sound of small vacuums removing sanded varnish dust.

This place has rows of custom mega-yachts, with masts so tall they hosted red aviation lights. Falmouth harbor is also visible, just to the north, with two more marinas loaded with so many red-light masts that it looks like a freakin bridge. Peter Townsend’s yacht is a few boats from Heron. This is the place that fellow mega-yacht owners want to see and be seen. It goes bonkers in April for Antigua Race Week. But unlike other gee whiz glitteratty hot spots around the world, this place has amazing historic character.

But the most amazing thing about our being here was the coincident arrival of “the royals” --the **British** Royal Family of course. As we docked we were handed a notice: “On March 6th, 2012, the Nelsons Dockyard will be hosting members of the Royal Family. As a result, there will be restrictions on all motor vehicles entering the Nelson’s Dockyard on the said day.” We thought that the red carpet and decorations were to celebrate Heron’s arrival. Apparently not. What have we sailed into?! Sure enough, the morning after our arrival, Edward and Sophie arrived behind the blue flashing lights and sirens of police and Coast Guard boats. They were aboard the Gosling-owned M.Y. Leander –246’, 15’ Draft, 43’ Beam, as I look at their data on my AIS. At her truck she flew several flags, one clearly the royal burgee. (Kirt, please help me out here.) On her stern she flew the the burgee of the Royal Navy Tot club of Antigua and Barbuda. The Tot is a very traditional and exclusive club that toasts a tot of rum at 6pm –but I’ve not researched this and I could have been under the influence of excessive regalia when I heard that from a British couple who were next to us. Truthfully, I'm from the colonies and ain't no royal groupie, but... IMHO we Americans need more of this stuff. It was goose-bump exciting.

The details of the formal reception are too intricate for me to recount here. Heron was just a few slips down the dock but we preferred a front(er) row seat at the dockyard’s Hotspot Café. We enjoyed a proper English breakfast with an unobstructed view at the edge of the lawn, finishing with a cappuccino just as things got underway. We were entrenched among tall secret service guys in black suits with ear buds and sunglasses, undercover Antiguan dudes with heavy backpacks, soldiers in camouflage with automatic weapons and full combat gear, marching band and honor guard folks in brightly colored and antiquated Antiguan and British uniform with sabers and batons and spiked helmets, every Antiguan police officer, national park official and politician... The Tot insignia adorned shirts, hats and flags. Relatively few members of public were present; the freshly painted, massive and ancient wooden doors sealed off the only opening in the stone walls. (The old cannonades were still pointing down the narrow stone-lined alley that leads up to the gate.) M.Y. Leander maneuvered back to the specially-built pier and then waited a tasteful period while the white-uniformed honor guard froze, arrayed in perfect rows. The British flag remained folded, attached to flag halyard, held by a most auspicious military official. At exactly (and I do mean exactly) the anointed moment, the band started playing and the royal entourage proceeded along the red carpet. Everyone stood. The flag went up. The national anthems played. The British national anthem played twice --once at the beginning, one at the end of the band performance. When one table of Americans didn’t stand and continued to wolf down their chow, they received a very direct admonishment from an Antiguan officer. Edward (sorry, don’t know the title) wore a blue suit. Surrounded by uniformed folks, he stood at a podium without making a speech, reviewed the honor guard, and disappeared inside a building. 

I played papparazzi, clicking off many shots with my 200 mm f/2.8 long lens. I am willing to sell the best shots to the highest bidder. You can expect to see them on CNN or some sleazy tabloid. Emily went nuts. She disappeared into the scene with her camera and emerged later with a great big sheet-eating-grin on her face. For the next two days, we had to work around their presence at the dockyard, as they came and went in a procession of vehicles and security handlers. We had great meals at Trappa's, Sun Ra (really excellent) and Catherine's.  I have more pics, and will insert them later (after I copyright them and speak with my agent). Wifi access is flaky here.

Tomorrow, Thursday the 8th, we head downwind to Nevis and St. Kitts. We plan to move up to St. Martin on Saturday the 10th to change crews and to meet up with Freestyle. I’m not sure if “the royals” will be following us.   I’m not sure what we will do for an encore.  Jay and Emily's (and Pete's, Jim's and Sharon's) incredible adventure continues.  Cheers.