We set off from St Eustatius at first light to sail the three hours to its neighbouring island, Saba. Both islands are part of the Dutch Antilles, along with Aruba, Bonaire and Curaçao downnby Venezuela and Sint Maarten 25!miles to the north.
The wind was brisk and the SE swell had built up. As we left the shelter of Statia a cross swell appeared round the northern side making a confused and lumpy sea.
Saba rises sheer from the ocean as a great volcanic plug. Its eastern end looks as though a great slab broke off and fell into the sea. As we got closer, the tiny white dots along the thousand foot high steep triangular cliff top resolved into houses perched on the edge.
The tiny harbour at Fort Bay was being lashed by the breaking swell. Outside the harbour were moored fishing boats crashing up and down in the steep waves. I radioed the Saba Port to ask if they had any mooring for visiting yachts and they directed me to two yellow buoys which were almost in the surf under the cliffs. I declined the offer and we motored a mile and a half round to Ladder Bay where it was very sheltered and we picked up a mooring.
The Ladder is an ancient twisting 800 step ascent up the cliff to a little stone Customs House. This used to be the only way up to the little settlement called The Bottom, high up in a little patch of flatter land. It took twelve men to get the Island's first piano up that near vertical path and into the church.
In order to clear in and see the island we needed to visit Customs in Fort Bay. The pilot book suggests taking the dinghy round, and this we did. We donned waterproofs and life jackets, and I put the VHF radio in my pocket. I also put an extra tank of fuel in case our other one ran out. We made good progress in the lee of the cliffs until we came out of the shelter and started hitting the big waves. When the engine faltered and then died it was quite a concern. However the wind wasn't pushing us ashore andvwebcouldveasily row back into the shelter. We rowed over to a dive buoy and held on there while I swapped petrol tanks. Despite repeated attempts when it almost started, I couldn't get the motor going again. It must have sucked up some debris from the bottom of the tank when churned up in rough water. So we were greatly relieved when the Marine Conservancy boat came past and towed up the half mile into port.
The young skipper, Yelland, had been doing the job for six years, and was accompanied by three attractive young Dutch interns.
Ashore we found a far from welcoming Customs lady, who eventually gave us our clearance.Then with the help of the ferry captain we got a taxi to give us a tour of the island.
Our taxi driver and tour guide, Garvis Hassell, is a lean man of Scottish Irish ancestry, and a seventh generation islander. With a roaring engine he drove his 18 year old minibus up the amazingly steep and twisting island roads, constructed by his ancestor. Josephus Lambert "Lambie" Hassell proved the Dutch engineers wrong by building the first road. Before that the villages were connected by stone step roads along which all goods had to be carried by man or mule.
The islanders houses look very neat and charming uniformly painted in white, with window frames and doors picked out in dark green. The rooves are all a red corrugated sheet, kept very clean as they provide the main way of collecting water.
After crossing the island to see the airport Garvis took
Us high up the mountain and dropped us for a wonderful walk down to the village of Windwardside. The old stone steps provide a 90 minute ascent of the volcanic peak called Scenery Mountain. However we took the 300 step descent meeting goats and a cow grazing in grassland at the top and then diving down through lush rainforest.
In the village we enjoyed a sandwich and then I sketched the view while Anne explored. Then our taxi returned and once back in port Yelland kindly towed us back to Tin Tin. A bottle o Bordeaux changed hands in thanks for our rescue.
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