Warm salty air surrounds us. There’s silence, only broken by the crash of tiny waves and sloshing of water against our wooden hull.
I settle down on the boat’s red and white, candy-striped cushions. Danny, the owner of our sloop, hands me an ice-cold bottle of Carib before he takes his place beside the rudder. I prepare myself for an evening on the Caribbean sea.
Sailing is a big deal here in Grenada. It’s an even bigger deal in the smaller, nearby islands of Carriacou and Petit Martinique. Ever since the early 1800s, sloops have been plying the waters between the Grenadine islands, trading spices and rum. The building and launching of the renowned Carriacou sloops has always been a communal activity. The Windward village was home to a small group of boatbuilders who came here from Scotland in the 19th century, blending in with the native Creoles and Africans, with the Islanders using the skills of these new arrivals to evolve their more traditional practices of boat building.
Sadly, it is a tradition that’s fallen by the wayside in recent decades, as craftsmen began to embrace more modern methods of building ships. Although, thanks to people like Danny – the owner of Savvy Sailing – and our captain, Walter, sloop building is making a comeback. Tourists are looking for a more authentic sailing experience in Grenada and the Grenadines and Savvy are happy to provide one.
Slowly we begin to move out of Port Louis Marina, passing the rainbow of pastel-coloured buildings that ring the harbour, and manoeuvring by the boats and yachts of the mega-rich berthed here for the winter. Among them is the $100 million vessel belonging to Steve Jobs that he never saw completed, floating like a spaceship-esque behemoth in white and chrome.
Walter clambers atop the cabin, pulling ropes with both hands as he squats, raising our sails. Once we clear the marina, our sail catches a warm, Caribbean air and we’re jolted out towards the open ocean, cutting smoothly through the salty water and watching as St. George’s disappears into the distance, it’s colourful buildings perched on a palm-covered hillside fading out of view.
It’s the speed of the Carriacou sloops that once made them an essential asset in beating the customs men on their sleek cutters. As we rush out into open water, past Moliniere Point and Dragon Bay, we begin to get a sense of their ability.
In open water, we can relax again. Soca music begins to pump from the speakers. I grab myself a plastic tumbler of rum punch and pick at the plate of typical Grenadian treats that Danny has laid out for us – locally produced chocolate, tamarind and cocoa balls – while he regales us with stories of regattas and sailing expeditions.
The sun gradually falls, bathing our boat in a reddish, orange glow. I take a gulp of my beer and fix my eyes on the horizon, hoping to catch a glimpse of the green flash; that split-second burst of colour that occurs with daylight’s last gasp.
It never comes but I honestly don’t mind. I finish the last few sips of my beer look back out towards the water, watching the skies flit from blue to orange and eventually settling on a deep purple. A sense of calm fills my soul.
As the darkness draws in, St. Georges lights up as if to guide us back to shore. Stars begin to speckle the sky and the city is coming alive. I drain my beer as we pull back into Port Louis and prepare myself to return to land, thinking that, if only I could start every evening in this way, I would be the happiest man on Earth.
My trip to Grenada was facilitated by the Grenada Tourism Authority. However, all views expressed are my own.
