Soon after we were securely anchored to the bottom of Admiralty Bay, Capt'n Chris went home to Trubador for several hours and then returned in time to show us some of the night life available ashore in Bequia.
My elbow was not working as well as my shipmates so they both had managed to down one more Rum Ti than I while the Capt'n was away. Naturally the task of driving the dinghy ashore fell to me. The extra Rum they carried in their bellies could have contributed to a wet tour of the town. No way would it have led to a disaster; the water was only four to seven feet deep. It would take serious effort to drown.
Mostly, the challenge involved missing the rich boy toys scattered all around the place. The boats can get ridiculously huge. I mean, really, does anyone need a hundred and twenty foot schooner or a hundred and eighty foot yacht to have fun in the Caribbean?
You bet they do! If I could afford it, I'd have one of these monsters so I could haul around a couple dozen buddies to help celebrate the new oil well turning out to be a gusher.
Actually, once again I've overstated the danger. The biggest challenge was pulling the rope to start the outboard engine on the dinghy without falling into the water. There was no way we were going to run into other boats if we couldn't start the engine.
Capt'n Chris, still grading our performance, sat in the bow and watched as I, being the most sober sailor in the harbor, held on to Joe while he pulled the rope. He was successful the first time he pulled but managed to fall on top of Doc, who was in the lowest point he could find. I quickly fought my way to the top of the pile and held the tiller hard over so we would go in circles until everything got calmed down. After a short while all three of us were still dry and at our stations for the trip ashore.
Capt'n Chris was taking notes much faster than his crew was getting underway.
Soon after the dinghy was brought under control and everyone had secured their seats, we turned towards land and brought the power up. The controls work much like a motorcycle - the throttle, located at the end of the tiller, is turned much like the one on the handlebar of the bike. Of course, there are no brakes..............
We managed to find a pier without incident and clambered onto it. The first order of business was to lock the engine to both the boat and the pier using a quarter inch stainless steel cable, and then we locked the boat with a second cable. Only then could we wander away and have a look around.
It seems the main business of the entire town involved the selling of Rum drinks to tourists. A second source of income looked to be that of feeding drunken sailors. There were a ton of places, some really unique, where we could drink and eat. This one, The Whaleboner, had bar stools made from the whales vertebrae and used rib bones to trim the bar! Originality counts for a lot here, and the natives are creative as the devil.
We wandered around, exploring the sights, until the sun started to go down. Then we used the stone paved path that runs the entire length of the curving harbor to a restaurant the Capt'n recommended. This picture of that path as the sun was setting is one of my favorites from the entire trip. I have no words to describe the beauty of the islands and sea. The best way, I guess, is to say I need to return to see it again.
It was completely dark by the time we finished our meal, and time to return to the boat. Yeah, that's a heck of a bunch of empty glasses on the table. And, finding the right hull in an ocean of sailboats was the most difficult task we faced that day, even counting the squall that earlier blew out our jib. I'm happy to report we made it back aboard completely dry and without help from any official Navy or Coast Guard personnel.
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