Date: 29 July, 2000
Port of Call: Chaguaramas, Trinidad
Subject: Trinidad the "Hard" Way
On Monday, July 17 we cleared customs at Mt. Hartman Bay, Grenada, bound for Trinidad. We had been waiting to sail to Trinidad for about a week as a series of tropical waves passed through the islands, each bringing squally weather followed by a spell of unfavorable wind. With a reasonably favorable forecast, we left just before sunset in order to arrive in Trinidad the following day.
Sovereign under sail off Grenada
We only had the
anchor up for a few minutes when a loud squealing noise--like that of a
slipping fan belt on a car--came from below. In less than a second
the squeal had changed to a horrible thumping noise, and we knew our problem
with the cutlass bearing was back. We were in the middle of the reef-strewn
passage out of Hog Island. Our dinghy and outboard engine were on
deck, so using them for auxiliary power as we did the last time we had
this problem was not possible. We could go back into Grenada where
there are few repair facilities, or continue on to Trinidad's good selection
of boatyards. With the wind on the beam, we decided it was just as
easy (or perhaps just as hard) to sail on to Trinidad as it was to go back
into Hog Island, so we kept going. Trinidad passport stamps
Twenty hours and
94 miles later, we tied up at the customs dock in Chaguaramas. Fortunately,
the cutlass bearing decided to work long enough to allow us to maneuver
to the customs dock and then out to anchor. We were encouraged enough
to consider delaying hauling-out for repairs until we reached Venezuela.
Ashore, we noticed immediately how Trinidad differs from other islands in the Caribbean. It is a much larger island than any island in the Lesser Antilles. It is nearly 2000 square miles, with over a million people. It has an economy based on petroleum, manufacturing, and agriculture rather than tourism. We noticed immediately that the people here are much friendlier than anywhere we have been (with the possible exception of Bermuda). We suspect this is because Trinidad is not overrun with millions of American and European tourists, but whatever the reason, we are glad to see lots of lovely smiling faces.
Unfortunately, the harbor in Chaguaramas is less than ideal. The huge island blocks the trade winds, depriving us of the cooling effect of those constant breezes. Proximity to the shipyards of Chaguaramas and the commercial harbor of Port of Spain means that the water is fouled with oil, trash, and debris. There are no cooling afternoon swims here. In a word, it is HOT.
Trinidad Trash
The other shortcoming
of the harbor is that strange tide rips sweep through the anchorage, turning
boats anchored next to each other in completely opposite directions.
It was one of these tide rips that indirectly caused us to wind up where
we are now: hauled out at a boatyard in Chaguaramas. We were
in the process of resetting the anchor when the squeeeeeeal-thump-thump-thump-thump
of the cutlass bearing insisted that we look for a place to have repair
work done. After a quick survey of the available facilities, we decided
on a yard and scheduled to be hauled the following Monday.
Baby leatherback turtle
While we were waiting
to be hauled, we thought that a tour might be a good way to take our minds
off our troubles, so we agreed to go on a turtle-watching trip with Glyn
and Jenny from "Wandering Star". We met our driver at 6:30 PM and
drove for about an hour and a half across to the eastern coast of Trinidad.
It was dark by the time we arrived at a little dirt parking lot next to
a thatched hut. After a brief orientation, we were led out onto the
beach. We walked along the beach under the light of the stars.
(Electric lights are restricted as they drive away the turtles.)
Aiding the dim stars, the distant horizon was lit with the eerie orange
glow of oil platforms burning off excess natural gas.
Mommy leatherback turtle
After strolling
and waiting for a few hours, one of the guides signaled that a turtle had
climbed onto the beach. We gathered silently around, and watched
as a huge endangered leatherback turtle, whose shell was perhaps six to
seven feet long, laboriously excavated a pit in the sand with her flippers.
Then she started laying eggs into the pit. They dropped one or two
at a time, and looked like golf-balls in the dim light. The guides
told us that a turtle lays between 80 and 120 eggs at a time. For
a short time while the turtle was laying eggs, the guides allowed everyone
to touch the turtles' head and shell, and even allowed flash photography,
since the turtles don't react to stimuli when they are laying. Then,
with darkness restored, the turtle started filling in the egg pit with
sand. After camouflaging the pit to her satisfaction by scattering
sand in random patterns, the turtle began her slow crawl back into the
churning surf. I felt like applauding as she disappeared into the
darkness, but my silent awe at the event overrode the desire for outburst.
While "our" turtle was laying her eggs, two more climbed onto the beach. We had to maneuver around them on our way back to the parking area. The guide told us that in the height of the turtle season 50 to 60 turtles might nest on that beach in one night. The ride back seemed especially long, and we climbed into bed at the exceptionally late hour of 2:30 AM, glad for the sleep, but also glad to have been witness to such a rare event.
The boat was hauled Monday morning without a hitch, and by Monday afternoon the mechanics were banging and swearing at the propeller shaft, coupling, and any other odd bits of machinery that got in the way. On the outside of the hull, some of the paint that protects the steel from the ravages of salt water had failed, and by Tuesday we had people looking at that as well.
Unlike boatyards in the U.S., here we need to stay close by to supervise the work. Mechanics often don't have the tools necessary to do the jobs, so to avoid the pattern of three minutes of work followed by an absence of a half hour while they "look for tools", we stand by with our tool locker open, handing them what they need. The painters need watching too: Friday they were ready to put copper-based bottom paint directly on top of an etching primer, without the benefit of any epoxy paint in between. Those of you who are metal boat aficionados will already be cringing in horror. For the rest of you, I'll just say that that is a very, very bad thing to do.
The incredible "aluminum forest" of Trinidad
In the cruising
vernacular, being hauled out is known as being "on the hard". While
this refers literally to the hard land underneath, it also figuratively
describes the difficulty of life aboard. A boat is designed with
the assumption that it is always afloat. "On the hard", nothing works.
No engine, no refrigeration, no hot water, and no head ("toilet" for landlubbers).
All of the water outlets are blocked so they don't damage the hull painting,
which means the sinks and shower don't work. Most of the lockers
are open and their contents are spread out all over the boat. There
is no place to sit, stand, walk, or eat, and barely room to breathe.
We are lucky to have enough clear space to sleep, though that is a bit
dicey sometimes, too.
While getting to Trinidad with the cutlass bearing problems was hard enough, staying here is proving to be even more difficult. We still think Trinidad is a wonderful place for a visit. We recommend the easy way: fly here and stay in a hotel. Only someone crazy enough to consider living on a boat to be a pleasurable experience should consider seeing Trinidad "the hard way".
Smooth sailing,
Jim and Cathy