CruiseNews #23
Date:  30 March, 2000
Port of Call:  Roseau, Dominica
Subject:  Dominican Champagne

After about three weeks in Guadeloupe we began feeling the urge to move on, and so we made preparations to get under way again.  We left Pointe a Pitre on March 27, and despite a favorable forecast of northeast winds, we wound up motorsailing the 40 miles to Dominica against unfavorable southeasterlies.  We dropped the anchor in Prince Rupert Bay just before nightfall and settled down for the night.  Dominica is an island which is about 25 miles north-to-south and 15 miles east-to-west giving the island about 80 miles of coastline.  Unfortunately, as we quickly found out, nowhere in all of those miles of coastline is a single secure anchorage, and the boat rolled so violently that we were unable to sleep all night.
 
The next morning we had the anchor up at first light and hoped to make it to Martinique that day.  As we sailed out from the island's wind shadow we were hit by 25 knot southeasterlies and correspondingly large seas.  We decided to suffer rolling at anchor in the lee of Dominica rather than slog the 25 miles to Martinique, so we turned back and anchored about a mile south of the main city of Roseau.
 
 
Poncho’s house, far right
In this part of the Caribbean there are people called "boat-boys", who are local men whose business is to cater to yachts passing through.  As we motored in toward shore to drop the anchor we were met by Poncho, the boat boy serving this part of the coast.  Poncho came out in his wooden skiff and, after we had dropped the anchor, he took a stern line from us and carried it to shore, tying it around part of the wall around his back yard.
 
We had never tied the stern to shore before, and it was a little scary at first. Sovereign's stern was only 40 feet from the rocky shore, and we could look straight down through the clear water to submerged rocks waiting to smash our boat should the anchor at our bow lose its tenuous hold on the ocean bottom.  Ostensibly, the reason for tying the stern to shore is to keep the bow pointed into the swells coming in from the ocean, thus reducing the rolling motion of the boat.   That night we found that the reality didn't live up to the theory:  the swells came in from all angles and bounced the boat all around.  The motion was worse than many of the nights we have spent at sea, and it was by far the worst night we have ever spent at anchor.  As Cathy lay below trying to sleep, I sat in the cockpit bleary-eyed, looking longingly at a little wooden dock nearby and thinking how comfortable a bed the unmoving planks would make.
 

Finally, someplace that doesn't ROLL all the time!
The next day, desperate to get off of the crazy roller coaster that our home had become, we took the bus into town and sat for hours in the city's park, relishing the stillness.  Luckily, that night the seas calmed a little, and in our exhausted state, we were able to sleep.
 

Cathy at Emerald Pool, Dominica
The following day, we arranged with Poncho for a tour of the island.  Poncho's mother Francis, with help from Poncho's three-year-old nephew Yowan, acted as tour guides and drove us around in their battered white Toyota pickup truck.  We went first to Emerald Pool, a waterfall high up in the mountains.  Our timing was perfect:  as we reached the falls the group in front of us left, and we swam alone in the pool at the base of the falls.  After months of swimming in the warm Caribbean Sea, it was such a treat to be immersed in cool salt-free water, listening to the roar of the waterfall, and being shaded by the lush green rain forest growing all around.  We reluctantly left the pool just as another group of 50 tourists arrived.
 

Dominica's jagged mountains as seen from sea
The ride through the mountains after our swim was astounding.  Dominica's mountains are lush, high, impossibly steep, and numerous.  The road snaked precariously along the mountains, with a sheer green wall on one side and a precipitous drop on the other.  We made our way back down to the coast and headed for the volcanic sulfur springs at the southern end.  Along the way, Frances pointed just offshore and told us that this area of the sea was called Champagne, because of the underwater volcanic vents that mixed with the sea water, making the water look like champagne to those swimming there.
 
We arrived at the sulfur springs shortly before dark.  Cathy and I took a dip in the tepid, muddy water, purported to be good for whatever ails you.  Despite the warmth of the water, we were chilled as we exited--a pleasant feeling after months of always being just a little too warm.  We had to hurry because the caretaker wanted to close the gates to the park, but Frances asked the caretaker to show us another fresh water spring nearby.  As dusk fell, we followed him down a little trail in the woods.  We came to the stream, and he told us that the water was like champagne, and we should drink.  We scooped the water from the little stream and drank.  It had fine bubbles exactly the texture of champagne, though of course without the taste of fermented grapes.  We stayed a few minutes, sipping champagne from cupped hands, listening to the trill of the stream, watching as darkness spread through the trees of the tropical forest, and pondering this second type of Dominican champagne.
 
We rode in silence the few miles back to Francis' house.  When we got out of the truck we paid her and thanked her for her time and the wonderful tour.  Next door to Francis' house is a bar that she owns, and we stopped there for a drink before returning to the boat.  We ordered Kubuli, a beer made on the island, and walked out to the back porch which overlooks the sea.  We sat contemplating the experiences of the day, and watched the clouds as the pinks and fiery reds of sunset were replaced by the grays and blacks of night.  We sipped our Kubuli, as the golden brew's tiny bubbles swam to the surface in endless streams—just one more example of Dominican champagne.

Smooth Sailing,

Jim and Cathy