Just Limin'
Irie
Tue 12 Feb 2008 13:32
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Sunday 10th
After our arrival Wednesday evening, Tom and
Colette joined us for a very welcome drink, and then the shattered crew retired
early around 8.00 - it had been a long day. Thursday morning dawned bright, and
around nine we made our way ashore and walked to English Harbour for
another ritual paperfest with customs and immigration. It's particularly
irksome here, with multiple visits to numbers of windows, and
forms with six sheets that only copy through four,
however resolutely the pen is applied.. Both harbours are full of superyachts,
whose skippers seem to overcome bureaucratic trifles with a mixture of flattery
and small gifts. It pays to be vigilant though; one boat arrived from
Tortola and then let two crew fly home without removing them from the crew
list, so was refused entry due to incorrect paperwork, and sent back
whence they came - rather tough.
English Harbour's a very lovely and iconic place.
Most of the buildings date back to Nelson's time, hence the eponymous
Dockyard, and a plethora of large and attractive sailing yachts are
moored stern to, fanning out from the semi circular dock. While exploring this
we we came upon a number of the Woodvale Trans-Atlantic rowing race boats moored
along the slip. Two of these had arrived in the early hours, and another was
expected in the evening, with a scattering to come in over the next couple of
weeks. One of the morning's arrivals was rowed by a paraplegic lady with leg
problems, and her partner who posessed only one leg - amazing. The other was
rowed by two brothers, and we engaged with their father, who was still very
excited, very proud and brimming with liquid good cheer. After a round of
swiming and beach, we returned in the evening to see the next boat in. It was an
hour or so later than forecast and fully dark, so the first sighting was
signalled by flares and hooters from the fort at the entrance. Slowly the
little light crept in and towards the slip, initially hardly distinguishable,
and then startlingly illuminated by orange flares beside us. A line thrown
ashore, clapping and cheers, and then they were unsteadily standing before
a welcome of hugs and greetings, tears and champagne. It was very low key and
remarkably emotional. Two people battling for sixty-eight days in a twentyfoot
cockleshell, the only reward an amazing sense of personal achievment - a
very good momentfor all.
Friday and Saturday have ebbed away with bursts of
beach and sea, interspersed with music, bars very good food,and occasional heavy
showers.
Girls celebrating arrival
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