Our position is 18:43.229N 64:23.133W

Unlike the mountainous, volcanic islands that make up the rest of the Virgins, Anegada is a coral atoll, 28’ high at the highest point. It has a total population of somewhere between 150 and 250 (information varied) and is about 11 miles long. We had a splendid sail, close fetching in the prevailing Easterly. The forecast had been for a North Easterly, but fortunately that did not materialise.  Some way out from the Virgin Gorda coast we were approached by a professional photographer in a small rib. He was harnessed in and had a very impressive enclosure for his camera.  The pictures he took are on www.yachtshotsbvi.com  you search by date (16^th Jan) and boat name. Copies are not cheap but we rarely see shots of us sailing so might be nice to have.

On arrival at Anegada the channel through the reef was uneventful as the water was relatively calm, there are a few well placed buoys (in itself a bit of a rarity and come nightfall these proved to be lit and working) and I was on the foredeck looking out for coral heads (there weren’t any – or if there were I didn’t see them), so in no time we were safely inside and picking up a mooring off the Anegada Reef Hotel. We had barely come to rest when we were approached by Barry, who was lying in wait for incoming yachts so he could entice them to come to the Whistling Pine Bar & Restaurant. He was singing that “Whistling Pine is the place to dine, where the lobster’s fresh and the fish is fine”, most entertainingly. We went ashore to pay for the mooring and could see that all the beach restaurants kept their lobsters in cages, just off their jetties. You have to make dinner reservations by 4pm so they all only kill and cook what they need. We identified a laundrette (only the second since Martinique) and got plenty of change so we could have a big wash the next day. We had a quick walk to see if we could identify the salt ponds where apparently there are flamingos living, which had been introduced from the Bahamas and were establishing themselves. We found a pond  - one of an extensive complex – but saw no flamingos.

As we had come with food that needed eating up we didn’t try out the Whistling Pine that evening and were up early the next day with a big load of washing for the laundrette. While we were waiting for the washing we made sure to reserve an evening meal with Barry for that night. The lady who owned the laundrette also had a food shop, a bar and some extremely dilapidated hire cars, one of which we decided to take on a trip round the island in preference to the small scooters that other people mainly used. By now it was blowing hard from the North East but we had heard good reports of snorkelling on the North Coast so set off with our gear. There is only one main settlement – called The Settlement – and only one road (although that’s a bit of an optimistic description in most places). First stop, - after some difficulty locating it – was an iguana sanctuary, or more correctly a “headstart” facility for iguanas. Apparently the Anegada iguana (a distinct species) population is endangered by loss of habitat (caused by the fact that animals such as cows, goats and sheep appear to be communally owned and roam completely freely over the island) and by feral cats eating the young. The project finds the eggs and hatches them in captivity, raising the young iguanas until they are large enough to stand a better chance with the cats and then releasing them back into the wild. It seemed a slow process as this only seemed to have amounted to around an average of 20 or 30 a year and we saw very little activity at the compound , which was locked and not accessible to the public. However it was conveniently situated next to the Post Office, where I was able to buy stamps for postcards and we had a most interesting conversation with the Post Mistress, who seemed to operate just like post mistresses of old in English rural areas, helping the elderly, and the stamps cost less than it would to send a letter in the UK (although it remains to be seen if they ever get delivered!)

Then we were free to head to Loblolly Beach.  The car, which made some horrendous noises and had a glove box that didn’t close, struggled over the rough roads, but disappointingly, when we got there it was much too windy and rough for snorkelling, even behind the reef. The sand was whipping up off the beach, grit blasting our legs. Instead we got talking to Gary and Laura from Atlanta, Georgia and had lunch with them at the Flash of Beauty restaurant – delicious goat roti made by Monica from Trinidad – and tried not to get too heated when politics came up! Eventually it was time to move on and see more of the North coast and try to track down the elusive flamingos. We never did find the flamingos but at the West end of the island the map showed a ruin. We assumed it was something historic, but when we got there it turned out to be a holiday complex of bungalows that had collapsed into the sea. A poor investment for someone!

It was time to go back and get ready for lobster at the Whistling Pine. The weather had not improved and by the time we needed to go ashore it was raining heavily as well as blowing, but a reservation is a reservation so we braved the dinghy and splashed ashore, fearing we might be the only ones there. However Barry’s persuasive powers had obviously been at work on more than us as when we arrived the place was almost humming in spite of the terrible weather.  The dinner was good and enlivened by a father and son duo from Montana, who had also come from a boat but they had brought their guitars with them and they treated everyone to some live music. Barry joined in when the son gave a very creditable performance of Bob Marley’s Redemption Song (but not as wholeheartedly as the waitress!) After that the father sang a song the chorus of which went something like “I’m too white to sing reggae, I’m too white to play the blues, and I’m so white I play Barry Manilow tunes. The verses seemed amusing at the time, after a few beers, but now forgotten, apart from the bit about smoking ganga which Barry seemed to enjoy. On the whole an evening worth the dinghy ride in the rain.

We planned to leave the next morning and sail to Trellis Bay, on Beef Island at the North end of Tortola.

Sailing away from Virgin Gorda. George at the helm again                              The very enthusiastic photographer

Barry's welcome to Anagarda                                                            Barry prepares our lobster

The Settlement                                                                                Goats everywhere. Here on the steps of the Police Station / Post Office

More Goats. How do they tell who owns which.                                  No snorkelling on this reef today

Houses built on sand                                                                          Anchored inside the big horse shoe reef Anagarda.