Passage to Grenada

Well… at least one of our major fears/life stresses has been relieved (for now).

Grenada finally released a statement that while they weren’t officially opening their borders to the world, they would be setting up a process for allowing cruisers like us into the country before hurricane season. That obviously is no small decision for a country who has to (as first priority) protect its people from a pandemic, but also requires a ton of work/logistics in terms of scheduling/processing/overseeing 100s of boats looking to sail south in a very short timeline.

That decision and announcement couldn’t have come at a better time for us as we were actively discussing whether we should be pointing the boat north to the US both to get out of the hurricane belt and to possibly list the boat for sale in an attempt to right our financial ship.

Is turning south the right answer for our finances? Probably not. But the timing made it seem like an easy choice and somehow gives us the confidence to “punt” the financial issues for more pressing safety issues like dodging named storms and hurricanes.

We were able to schedule our arrival to Grenada and while several “windows” of time were offered over the next few months we knew instantly that our choice was easy. The first window available please. This may be subliminally tied to the decision mentioned above, in an attempt to get so far south that we no longer have the option of retreating and selling the boat (even if it might be the right answer), but also just seems wise in terms of timing and worst-case-scenarios.

Our fear is that over time there will highly likely be a second wave of the virus to hit the island.
If/when that happens, what will the reaction be to locals and officials? Will they blame the cruisers for bringing the virus back to the island and will they then lockdown borders again? What if other cruisers collect in Grenada but don’t follow the rules/protocol of the 14 day quarantine (as has been proven to be an issue other islands/places)? What if we selected a later window and then find things change and our invitation to Grenada rescinded? What if storms decide to come early or weather for a long crossing becomes difficult or unsafe as the weeks roll by?

For us the answer was easy. First window available please!
The first window offered was May 27-29 and we scheduled accordingly. We made a list of the much needed/neglected projects that seem to be accruing while we sat in lockdown/quarantine in Antigua and started checking them off. We watched weather, making sure that it was not only an “allowed” window, but also a safe one. This one is tricky as normally we would make a timing choice based entirely on weather and have very set rules in place about not allowing schedules of friends, events or anything else to force/sway us in choosing our dates for crossings - that it is a decision based upon weather alone (but this time not entirely).

This was also not going to be any "normal” crossing. We’ve become adapted to day sails from one island to the next, or worst case scenario waking up before daybreak to ensure we can arrive at the next island in the chain safely before sunset and anchor before darkness. This crossing however also comes with rules from Grenada that we not make ANY stops along the journey. No raising a Q flag and dropping anchor off some other island for a bit of rest, no stopping into the french islands for cases of wine and duck confit as our original plans would have included. (Not that they are currently open to receive us anyway).

Do not pass go, do not collect $200. Go directly to Grenada.
That meant easily our longest sail to date. 2-3days and nights offshore without land in sight and without communication other than our satellite (which seems difficult but we are thrilled to have the option).

Fine by us. Whatever it takes to get us and the boat safely into the waters south of the hurricane zone.
Luckily the weather forecasts held true in the weeks and days leading up to our crossing and while winds appeared like they might be light and maybe a less-than-perfect angle, they certainly were safe enough for the crossing and while they might require some motoring still looked great. In fact, light winds mean flat seas, which sounded lovely even if burning some fuel might be part of the game.

We made our plans, did our prep, said our goodbyes (really more see-you-later and/or see you along the way to the neighbors we’ve been quarantined with the last few months) and moved to the south end of Antigua to prepare, check out of the country and eventually to set off.

We lifted the anchor and raised the sail well before sunup and pointed south with one reef in the main for safety. Light winds were certainly the order of the day and we felt as though we were barely drifting away from the island we’ve come to know so well. A few other boats left around the same time and blew past us under motor. We were tempted to do the same, but planned and left early enough that we had plenty of time to make it to Grenada well within our window. In fact, if we motorsailed the whole way we would likely end up arriving before our 3day window, so why not take it easy and sail our way there?

We eventually shook out the reef in order to harness as much wind as we could and kept floating along. Sadly the lack of boat speed had us very far off course and at one point thought we were going to have to motor simply to avoid entering the waters of Montserrat (well off where we should be pointing due south).

Overall the day was bipolar. Ample time spent barely moving followed by occasional squalls that had us frantically taking reefs and trying to draw that delicate line of avoiding a direct hit but also trying to use whatever spinoff winds we could catch to pickup speed and make some good way (and better angle) toward our final destination.

The winds finally started to pick up a bit and we changed course minute by minute to eek out whatever angle we could. By mid-afternoon as we approached the northern end of Guadeloupe winds picked up dramatically and we were cruising.
It felt great and we were able to point further upwind, giving up some boat speed in order to gain ground to the east as winds allowed.

As the sun lowered toward the horizon we realized we were well behind our anticipated point at this stage of the day. The other boats that left with us were long out of sight and now out of range of our AIS and radio as well. No worries… we were having a lovely sail and had plenty of time to get there. A visit by a small pod of dolphins proved all was good in the world and we continued on, but at some point behind the “shadow” of Guadeloupe we lost our wind. All wind (even though we were several miles offshore). The boat was sitting almost still and we couldn’t see any reason that would change as long as we were within the shadow of a very tall land mass so we fired up one engine to make our own wind to help fill the sail. It only took a couple hours before winds started to pickup again but only a few knots, which meant we had to fall off a good deal in order to sail. But we were sailing.

We knew we were pointing well away from our destination, but we chose the silence of sailing without engines and hoped that the forecasted winds further south would help us gain back some of the loss as we got further along.

That held somewhat true. Winds did start to pickup, in fact they were eventually sustaining over 20kts… but sadly with them came big and confused seas. Definitely NOT in the weather forecasts! We had enough winds to hold just about whatever line we wanted but bashing into big seas and a strong currents meant we kept falling further and further off our course.

We continued onward, taking reefs and shaking them out again as winds demanded and adjusting our angle again and again to find a comfortable balance as tight to the winds as we could, trying to take the waves as gently as possible (also losing speed as a result). The forecasts called for winds to turn a bit in our favor, which would help us immensely so we kept pushing forward hoping that eventually we could get back on our line. That didn’t happen. We continued on into the big winds and bigger waves overnight, alternating on our typical 2hour shifts at the helm, throughout the next day and most of the following night.

Over 20hours of slogging into it (let’s be clear, this was not easting like we had to do last year directly into the waves, but they were still big and confused and made for a far from peaceful sail)… but by sunrise things were actually starting to look promising as the winds had actually picked up a bit more and were turning a bit in our favor. We ran the math and at this speed if things held and we could hold the line and actually still get into Grenada around sunset. Perfect!!

We shook out a reef to take full advantage of every knot, watched as the boat picked up speed and felt like we had a chance… for all of about 6-9minutes.

Then we watched forlorned as the wind speeds dropped by almost half and we slowed back down to a speed we knew wouldn’t possibly get us to shore before dark. Looking back… at least it happened right away, it allowed us to settle in and know that we wouldn’t be arriving until morning. It took the stress and urgency off and we simply continued on as before. At this point we’re 40miles offshore and 20miles off our course and we knew we would have to tack at some point so we checked everything (or so we thought) and tacked the boat into the wind.

We expected this tack would be even worse… exactly why we’d held out waiting and hoping for a shift as long as we could but at this point the only other option was to sail past Grenada and then tack back NE to reach our port. In fairness, the waves were better than expected (though still bad enough to shift our fridge location, send the door flying open and shattering several glass bottles and shelves onto the floor just in front of the dog.
Know whats worse than sailing into a bad tack while launching off huge waves? Doing so while trying to clean up a mess of epic proportions.

Mess finally under control and now pointed almost directly into those big waves and with both wind and current pushing us, we were heading more north than east. A few of our followers who were watching our course in real time actually thought we “turned around and headed back”, but it was simply as tight as we could hold the boat in current conditions. Luckily it was only 2 hours before we tacked again, now a bit closer to the island and with calmer seas than we’d seen in 2 days. We poured our lone sundowner, enjoyed another epic sunset to celebrate the day and I took the first shift while jen slept for a couple hours to kick off our final night. The night was filled with hope, the skies glowing with stars and the seas glowing with phosphorescence.

In the early morning hours we arrived to the lights and calm waters of Grenada. What a welcome sight. Jen went down for her final nap while I killed time waiting for sunrise for us to enter the bay and begin check-in.
It was lovely.

Calm seas and just enough wind to keep us moving through the water with barely a ripple. Probably would have seemed like a boring sail a day or two ago but now suddenly so peaceful and serene. No hurry, nor stress, nothing but time on our hands and a massive weight lifted off our shoulders. Both the crossing and the question we’ve been asking ourselves and wringing our hands over for months, “what are we going to do about hurricane season?” we’re finally answered. Case closed.

We docked at Port Louis Marina just after daybreak and used the free time to rinse the boat top off our water tanks (our watermaker woes continue and at this point it barely produces…not exactly what you’re looking for when quarantined offshore). We realized for a split second as we scurried around the boat trying to take advantage of a now precious commodity to rinse the boat, fill buckets, do laundry, wash down fishing gear, etc that this… this is truly the snapshot of the cruisers lifestyle (especially those that rarely if ever visit a dock).

We also spent some time chatting with the other cruisers (masks on) on the dock who left in our same window. Most had motorsailed straight through to stay close to the islands. Some cut as much as 12hours of the journey but apparently had the same rough seas. Not what any of us expected and if you listened to the conversations you’d swear we had all just crossed the Atlantic or sailed through a massive tropical storm.
Suffice to say we’re all thrilled to be here and a rare bonding moment of having experienced a similar journey.

The health inspectors arrived and setup tables by 9am. When they appeared ready we again dawned our masks and headed up the dock to their table. For a country who has been scurrying to try to put together a plan to do something nobody has ever done before (open and schedule windows for boats to come into borders that aren’t open yet during a worldwide quarantine) this was remarkably well organized and efficient.

They addressed Jennifer our captain by name when we approached, they knew the details of our boat and where we were coming from, they knew our plans for the season and they gave us a clear and concise description of the process we were about to enter (14 day quarantine in the bay outside the marina followed by a Covid19 test, at which point if/when testing negative we would be officially allowed into Grenada). A laser thermometer was presented, our temps were taken and logged and we were given our provisional health clearance card… no customs or immigration at this point as we’re not yet officially allowed in the country.

We returned to the boat, raised both our Q flag (have to say I never actually thought we would use this flag for its original intended use of showing that we were in fact - in quarantine) as well as the Grenada flag and made our way to the designated “Q anchorage” to drop anchor.
Quarantine number 2 has begun and with it a new chapter.