GRENADA - Caribbean Compass

JULY 2010 CARIBBEAN COMPASS PAGE 20
MERIDIAN PASSAGE
OF THE MOON
Crossing the channels between Caribbean islands with a favorable tide will
make your passage faster and more comfortable. The table below, courtesy Don
Street, author of Street’s Guides and compiler of Imray-Iolaire charts, which
shows the time of the meridian passage (or zenith) of the moon for this AND next
month, will help you calculate the tides.
Water, Don explains, generally tries to run toward the moon. The tide starts
running to the east soon after moonrise, continues to run east until about an
hour after the moon reaches its zenith (see TIME below) and then runs westward.
From just after the moon’s setting to just after its nadir, the tide runs eastward;
and from just after its nadir to soon after its rising, the tide runs westward; i.e.
tide the floods from west to east. Times given are local.
Note: the maximum tide is 3 or 4 days after the new and full moons.
For more information, see “Tides and Currents” on the back of all Imray Iolaire
charts. Fair tides!
July
DATE TIME
1 0331
2 0441
3 0451
4 0532
5 0615
6 0701
7 0751
8 0845
9 0944
10 1045
11 1146 (new)
12 1246
13 1343
14 1436
15 1528
16 1618
17 1708
18 1759
19 1851
JULY & AUGUST 2010
20 1945
21 2039
22 2132
23 2225
24 2315
25 0000 (full)
26 0002
27 0046
28 0128
29 0209
30 0330
August
1 0411
2 0455
3 0542
4 0633
5 0728
6 0827
7 0927
8 1027
9 1126
10 1222 (new)
11 1316
12 1419
13 1501
14 1553
15 1646
16 1740
17 1835
18 1929
19 2021
20 2112
21 2159
22 2244
23 2327
24 0000 (full)
25 0008
26 0049
27 0129
28 0210
29 0253
30 0338
31 0427
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JUST A SAIL
by Larissa Stendie
Sailing is pure magic; at once the most thrilling and relaxing activity I have ever
enjoyed, and I fear I’m hopelessly hooked.
We left Bequia early in the morning of January 21st on what became a 35-hour
offshore and coastal sail. I loved taking my watches on the rough open stretches
between islands where the current made the sail choppy and rollercoaster-like. We
were generally heeled over at a steep angle, sailing hard on the wind, and so in using
the head I’d brace myself against the door, and when trying to sleep between watches,
I’d wedge on an edge and hope body parts didn’t fall completely asleep while the
stressed dog leaned into me and panted 200 times a minute. We ate holding onto
our plates, and tried to occupy our minds and bellies against seasickness (of which
I’ve miraculously and mercifully had NONE… thus far), which made watches above
deck preferable in rougher seas.
During the day we passed close enough to St. Vincent to see into the little bay of
Wallilabou where the first “Pirates of the Caribbean” film was shot. We couldn’t see much
of the remaining set except for several storefronts, but the steep cliffs and lush vegetation
brought memories back. A few minutes after passing the island, we sailed past a pod of
pilot whales (which look like small black dolphins) cartwheeling and fishing.
Shortly thereafter we set several heavy lines with gigantic hot-pink and shimmering
blue squid-like lures to troll and test our luck. Apparently, and sadly, much of
Dozens of shooting stars fell
and the bright hammock of moon
shed almost enough light to read…
the Caribbean has been overfished to the point where large game fish are far offshore,
and medium (edible) sized fish are tough to find near the islands. Later, as
I was sleeping up front on the bow in a comfy, rolling depression lined with sailbags,
Chris drew my attention to a large flock of seabirds that were diving for fish
driven to the surface by schools of hunting tuna. In a synchronistic dance, the
small fish were attacked from above and below, though all we could see were the
dips and dives of the brown, black and white birds. As we sailed through the fray,
we felt tugs on the lines, and though one escaped, I hand-reeled a two-foot blackfin
tuna aboard. I was surprised by how little he fought, but he was partially drowned
by being pulled behind the boat going six knots. Such a beautiful, delicate fish,
with a black back, wide taxi-yellow stripe and spiky-looking tail fins, iridescent
white belly, and these huge, liquid, expressive anime eyes. Chris filleted it almost
immediately and I ate the freshest, sweetest sashimi ever, warm from the sun. It
was the perfect size to feed the three of us for dinner with fresh avocados and limes
from Bequia.
With wetter weather systems passing, the sun set in shades of neon orange from
behind violent-looking swaths of black cloud crossing the skies. We shot past a
distantly visible St. Lucia in the afternoon, Martinique during the night, and after
the scare on the 8:00PM watch — my first in the dark, when I lost my bearings and
swung the boat which caused the boom to fly wildly across the deck (hopefully you
only do that once) — when I came back on at midnight, I loved night sailing. Once
comfortable with wind speed (about 20 knots that night), bearings (look to the stars,
distant lights of land) and weather (dressed in foul-weather gear to foil the wind and
spray), there were dozens of things to see. Both sky and sea were alive with stars as
phosphorescence glowed on each cresting wave and scattered out from our wake in
sparkling points. Dozens of shooting stars fell and the bright hammock of moon
shed almost enough light to read, only occasionally obscured by fast-moving clouds,
as Martinique glowed faintly orange in the east. Singing myself awake, I ran through
repertoire I hadn’t thought of for years, struggling to remember all the words. I kept
our heading almost due north while watching satellites whiz across, and tossing
back little flying fish that landed on deck. On my own boat, I will hang pan-pipes off
the cockpit, for from the small holes in railings for attaching wind-generators or
radar, the wind plays flute on sailboats, and though tuneless, Aeolian, soulless, the
sounds are otherworldly, ethereal, and haunting.
Even when wet and chilled, I marveled that the best part of that fantastic day was that
not a single unusual event occurred, and that all this is simply the norm cruising.
The author sailed with Chris Morejohn and daughter Kalessin on their S/Y Hogfish
Maximus. Larissa Stendie is a Canadian artist, activist and adventurer, in the
Caribbean for the winter learning to sail. Visit her blog at www.lstendie.blogspot.com.