Week 61: Trinidad to Grenada (88nm)

The sun shone warmly in a brilliant blue sky, clear but for a few fluffy clouds, and an easy breeze blew. It was the perfect weather for a sail as we left Chaguaramas, Trinidad on our way to Grenada. Spirits and confidence were high that this post-refit shake-down sail would be easy and stress-free. Ah but you should never let your guard down – Neptune always has something up his sleeve. In this case, quite a lot actually. Not only did we find ourselves much closer to sinking than we’d ever have expected (thanks to what we later discovered was a serious design flaw in our port hole windows) but our chart plotter died and, oh yes, there was a pirate scare.

The Lead Up: new friends

A few days before we were due to relaunch Serenity at the yard in Trinidad, Alec was under the boat touching up a few spots on the antifouling when a couple approached. The man exclaimed, “nice boat, I have the same one!” It turned out Jason and Roberta had bought their Elan 434, Dobro Dani, in Croatia just three months after we’d bought Serenity. Later investigation revealed that Alec had even looked at the boat they eventually bought! They’d followed a very similar route to ours through the Med, crossing the Atlantic just a couple of months after we did, spending 2019 in the Caribbean and somehow ending up at the neighbouring yard in Trinidad. The world is very, very small sometimes! Jason and Roberta were planning on making the crossing up the Grenada on the following Sunday, and, as that was pretty much perfect timing for us, we decided to go together for added security on the passage (see our June 2019 post on the Grenada to Trinidad journey for more detail on this!)

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The only downside of planning to leave on a Sunday in Trinidad is it means paying overtime charges to customs and immigration. We’d need to get cash out to cover these fees, so we started asking around to try to work out what they might be. After a lot of confusion we finally learned that, well, you never quite know what they’re going to be. It appears that it depends entirely on what officer happens to be there on the day. Go figure! We did eventually manage to check out though and were ready to finally get back in the open water.

The passage: things goes wrong

We planned to cast lines around 4pm so that we could exit out the tricky channel in daylight but still do most of the sail under the cover of darkness. Going overnight not only is safer (pirates are less likely to be out in the dark) but also removes any stress on speed, as there is no rushing to get to Grenada before dark. We had an easy morning doing final checks, cooking up some food for the passage and downloading books to read on the way. The winds were light as we left the dock, so our departure could scarcely have been simpler. Perhaps too easy…

We motored west from Chaguaramas to get to the Bocas, which are a set of narrow channels that lead to the open sea. Most cruisers use the easternmost one (furthest from Venezuela!), Boca del Mono, though it can be tricky to pass if you’ve timed the tide wrong as the current can be strong and the sea at the entrance is very confused. Luckily my trusty skipper had organised for us to arrive at slack tide, so, after rendezvousing with Dobro Dani and one other boat, we easily motored out. Finally, the open ocean!

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#1: The Plotter

But, shortly after exiting the Boca, our chart plotter (think “Google Maps for boats”) went on the fritz. The screen went weird and kept beeping. This was annoying, but not a complete disaster as both Alec’s and my iPads function as backups. Alec spent a few minutes trying to resucitate it before we decided it would have to wait till Grenada. No biggie, we could easily do the passage by iPad. We were so happy to be back on the water that this little setback hardly fazed us. Soon we were all smiles again, enjoying a beautiful sunset.

We motored East (to put some more space between us and Venezuela) for a couple more hours until the wind started to fill in, and then hoisted the sails. We were about to make the turn N to head for Grenada when we heard the bilge alarm go off…

#2: The Porthole

Serenity is thoughtfully designed so that any water that finds its way into the boat collects in a central low point in the middle of the boat. There is a sensor here that is tripped if the water level in the bilge reaches a certain height, which automatically turns on a pump that expels the water out the side of the boat. An alarm sounds any time the pump is running to alert us, in case this indicates a leak.

Our various plumbing projects during the refit saw us pour many, many litres of water into various parts of the bilge, so on hearing the alarm our initial thought was that the action of sailing had helped flush leftover water from around the boat through to this central point. We remained unconcerned.

Two minutes later, the bilge alarm went off again. Odd, but hey we’d put a lot of water in the bilges in the refit, so, not entirely unexpected. But, when the alarm went off a third and shortly a fourth time, we realised something wasn’t right. I left Alec at the helm and went downstairs to investigate. Night had fallen so I was using my headlamp to search around for clues. As I scanned the saloon, something caught my eye in our bedroom at the front of the boat. I ran forward and discovered the bed was completely sodden. Um, that’s weird. I quickly checked the hatch above the bed, but it was dry and securely closed.

It was then that I saw a steady gush of water flowing down the port side wall, streaming off the shelf that’s halfway up the wall. It was as if someone had left a hose on, there was so much water! I was still completely perplexed at this point, but started throwing things off the shelf to try to a) save whatever I could from water damage and b) figure out where the heck the water was coming in. There is a porthole (a window that doesn’t open) in the wall along this shelf, but the blind was down over it, so I initially didn’t think of it. After quickly ruling out other options, I finally thought to pull up the blind. I first thought maybe the window had come loose, so I went to press on it, to see how bad it was, only to discover that my hand went right through the side of the boat. The window was completely gone. About this time, we hit a wave, and the equivalent of three big buckets full of water hit me right in the face. Well, I found the issue!

I took this opportunity to panic, which was particularly unhelpful. Luckily Alec is very good at keeping a level head in moments of crisis, and he came running as soon as he heard me shouting. I am especially thankful for his quick thinking to disconnect the electrical circuits for the bedside light and fan, which were continuing to be soaked, before one shorted and started an electrical fire.

Alec rushed to clear the shelf and get the mattresses out while I held the blind over the window to temporarily reduce the amount of water pouring through. Once the room was clear, Alec took over at the window while I tore around the boat looking for things we could use to cover it. Alec worked out that if we could stuff the shelf full, it might hold tight enough over the hole to be manageable until we got to Grenada. We wrapped a towel over a board to act as plug, and then wedged as many bilge boards / cutting boards / bits of wood that we could find against it. This held the bottom nice and tight, but its only a low shelf so the top was loose and too much water was still coming in. We scratched our heads for a few minutes until inspiration struck – a paddle! Alec grabbed our extendable paddleboard paddle, made it slightly too long, and then bent the paddle end to wedge it across the room and hold the top part of the plug against the window. Success!! Now only a little dribble was coming in when a wave hit – entirely manageable for the rest of the journey.

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#3: The (Maybe) Pirate Scare

We were pretty well spent after the window ordeal, but thankfully the weather remained agreeable and we quickly got Serenity sailing happily along towards Grenada. Our friends on Dobro Dani had waited up for us, so we still had our convoy and could continue as planned. Our window patch was holding well enough that we could sail at normal cruising speed, so we were soon back on schedule.

Once we’d calmed down a bit, we went into our usual nighttime routine. Nowadays, we find splitting the night into just two watches works best for us; I hold down the fort from 8pm until around 2am, and Alec takes over for the following six hours. I was sitting on deck, enjoying the stars and mulling over the events of the passage so far, when I started to notice an odd noise – a sort of whirring. It didn’t sound like it was coming from the boat, but I couldn’t place what it might be. I’d just about convinced myself that it was the wind when our VHF crackled. Jason from Dobro Dani was calling to ask – “do you also hear that weird noise?”

L: “Yeah, but I can’t place what it could be.”

J: “It sounds like outboard engines to me.”

The penny dropped – yep, that’s exactly what it sounded like. I started to get nervous. We both scanned the horizon but couldn’t see any sort of lights, suggesting that if we were indeed hearing engines the associated boats were travelling dark. That heightened our worries because its the type of thing you might expect from a boat with ill intentions, and we were still not that far from Venezuela. Jason radioed the Trinidad coast guard while I listened in. But by the time he’d finished relaying our position and concern, the noise had gone. With a big sigh of relief, I decided I didn’t need to wake Alec and went back to my post on deck, just a little shaken.

An hour later, I suddenly noticed the whirring noise again, but this time louder. I listened for a couple of minutes, decided I wasn’t imagining it, and immediately went to wake Alec up. We turned the engine on, reviewed our emergency protocols, and upped our speed to get closer to Dobro Dani (safety in numbers). A tense half hour followed straining our ears and eyes to try to work out if anyone was approaching. Thankfully, nothing appeared from the darkness and eventually we started to relax. With our own engine off again, we listened hard and were grateful to find no further trace of outboard noise.

Save an unexpected squall, the remainder of the passage was mercifully uneventful, and we were flooded with relief as Grenada soon came into view in the brightening sky!

The Repairs: A battle against Entropy

About 9am we finally dropped the hook in Prickly Bay, Grenada and collapsed in a heap. That was one hell of a passage! We’d originally hoped to only stay for 24 hours before making tracks west towards Panama (so we could stop off in Bonaire in time to watch the Rugby World Cup final), but it was clear the window mess and our tiredness were going to force a longer visit.

That didn’t mean we wanted to dally though, so after a bit of a nap we set off in search of an acrylic supplier to cut us a replacement window. The options in Prickly Bay were disappointing, but a friend then helpfully recommended a workshop in a bay a couple of miles East that had done some good work for them. We determined that after a visit to our favourite brewery (West Indies Brewing Company, only 10 mins walk from Prickly!) and a long sleep we’d head that way.

The following day, we made our way around to Clarkes Court Bay and anchored behind Calivigny Island – the first place we’d anchored on arrival to Grenada in June! Its a lovely spot and one of the calmest anchorages around, so it felt like a good place to hole up while we sorted the window (and hopefully also the chart plotter).

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The windows (yes, plural)

Before heading to the nearby boat yard to find the recommended workshop, we thought it might be prudent to test the other 5 port holes – just in case. I got in the dinghy to position myself outside each one in turn, so I could catch any window that popped out when Alec pushed on it from the inside. Surprise, surprise not one but TWO more windows came straight out with minimal pressure from Alec. By this point we were furious – how could the makers of our boat have put such bad windows in??

As we examined the newly popped out windows and frames, we slowly worked out the issue. The frames are aluminium, which is difficult to keep painted at the best of times but especially hard in a marine environment. Despite this, the manufacturers had painted the frames and then sealed the windows to the paint – NOT to the metal of the frame. Through the normal stresses of boat life, the paint on the frames of the windows would have got little nicks and scrapes over time. Sea water gets into these nicks and causes a little bit of corrosion, which destroys the bond between the paint and the metal. We already knew this was happening because the paint had been peeling off the outside frames in big chunks really ever since we had the boat. We just didn’t put two and two together that the window might actually be sealed to this paint! For the three where corrosion had reached the middle of the frame, the window could easily fall out because the paint to which it was sealed was no longer bonded to the frame. Really a terrible design flaw.

We were lucky that the guys at Driftwood Marine managed to cut us a new window plus a spare within a day (we’d managed to salvage the two additional windows that popped out). And we thankfully had some of the right sealant leftover from the refit, so only 24 hours later we had reinstalled the windows (this time sealing directly to the metal, which should make a much stronger connection). It was very nice to no longer have big holes in the side of the hull!

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A Crumbly Plotter

The chart plotter ended up posing the bigger challenge in the end, despite initially seeming the smaller issue. The fault we experienced on the passage, it turns out, was a common problem with this model. Though it involved some delicate work and completely dismantling the screen of the unit, Alec swiftly and adeptly made the required adjustments. A quick test showed the screen was back in action – huzzah! However, it also showed that there was another issue, as we noticed the distinctive smell of overheated electrics.

Our plotter is a bit of an antique, and has definitely been used and abused. The plastic housing was crumbling when we got the boat, and had only continued degrading over the last couple of years. Every time Alec has had to take it out to fix something, more parts of the housing break off. He’s done his best to collect all the pieces and glue them back in place, but it was proving a losing battle. It was impossible to find and fill every tiny crack, and clearly water was finally finding its way in.

Alec’s next investigations revealed part of the main circuit board had shorted where water got on it and completely burned away. Apparently this was not a super crucial part of the board though, because after cleaning this up and drying it out, the plotter seemed to come back to life. Success! Or… so we thought.

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As we tried to re-mount the plotter into its pedestal on deck, the screen died again. After some more work, Alec discovered that it would now only stay on if you held down the power button, which indicated an issue with an internal relay. He just could not catch a break it seems.

The local specialists were unable to help further, either, so we were a bit stumped. And, looking into replacements proved even more daunting. There are so many plotters out there, with so many different requirements for cables, power, mounting, etc. that it is nearly impossible to decipher. Not to mention a new plotter is expensive. We were also getting itchy feet – a change of scenery would surely help us feel at least like we were moving forward despite these issues, plus we were anxious to get a good slot booked in for the Panama Canal. So, we decided to park the project for now. We could use our iPads to navigate on the passage to Colón, and pick this up on the other side.

With that, we resolved to set off that Sunday for Panama. New horizons bring renewed spirits, and we had been looking forward to the challenge of doing such a long passage just the two of us. Little did we realise quite what we were in for! Look out for the story of our passage in Alec’s post next week, where we experience the most difficult sea conditions we’ve had but also hit a MAJOR milestone, plus a ton more – it was not a boring 8 days!