Sometime last week, we realized that a storm we had in our periphery seemed to be building into something bigger. When you live on a boat, it is prudent to check the weather often, and to monitor storms as far out as possible (7-10 days). But weather predictions are just that- predictions, and it’s hard to know if something is going to be as big as the experts say, or where a storm will go once it’s on its way.
Around the time that Bret became a named storm, we realized that we had to get out of the path that they were projecting-right at Guadeloupe (then our location). We woke up Sunday, and decided that we would leave Monday at sunset, sail all night, and anchor in Martinique. We felt like Le Marin was a safe place for us to be, and out of the way of the storm.
Unfortunately, Marie Galante customs and clearance has unpredictable office hours and just so happened to be closed on Sunday and Monday, so we were unable to clear out. We spent a fitful night at anchor, watching the storm grow, and increase in strength. We woke up Tuesday morning with the resolve to check out of Guadeloupe (Marie Galante), or just leave if the office was closed again.
Luck was on our side on Tuesday, so we were able to do everything by the books including get fresh bread and our clearance papers. We decided to set sail immediately, and begin our southward sail. But we are a sailboat, and we don’t go fast. We slowly made our way south to Martinique, and we checked the weather as it was updated every 10 hours. Paul and I took four-hour shifts, and around 3am on Wednesday morning, we realized that the current projected path for Bret was now right through Martinique-foiling our plan to get out of the way. Bret had shifted south with us, and seemed content to continue following.
There is a giddiness, an anxiety, and a boredom that comes with running from a storm. We can’t go any faster than our boat can, we can’t actually outrun a hurricane if it were to surprise us, and we can only use the tools and the predictions that exist- and follow the data as best we can, as we lumber in a direction. (I can say that it turns out there is a surprising amount of people we know who become weather experts when we are in the path of a storm- alternately reassuring us and panicking us). It is also true that one’s anxiety can travel exactly as fast the current vessel you’re on, which means that I had to learn to sit with being a bit queasy the whole sail. We had hours (days really) of trying to outrun an unpredictable element, moving at a walking pace, with limited insight and powers.
Luckily, after sailing for 48 continuous hours, we secured a mooring in Grenada, and were safely out of the path of Bret. Even so, we spent two wet and windy days inside our galley, waiting for the edge of the storm to pass us by, before regaining our sunny and humid laced days. It took about as long for Bret to pass as it did for us to check into the island of Grenada. We found that many boats had traveled south on the same safety pilgrimage as us, and the line for clearance was always 6 or 7 vessels deep (averaging about 2 hours per vessel for paperwork). A kind of bureaucratic return to the norm that ignited our delayed sail in the first place.
Safely in Grenada for the hurricane season-Paul & Lindsay on the Bluebelle, @ anchor in Prickly Bay, or Lance Aux Epines
TIBURON MARINO 