Carriacou: June 6-8, 2009
Click on the above thumbnail for a map during this time period
When we arrived at Carriacou in a rainstorm on June 6, I radioed
Receta and announced that my fishing accomplishments on the trip down had
been "foul and fowl". That is, I had gotten skunked, and the number caught
was a big goose egg. But Steve had had better luck; he had caught a
blackfin tuna! We immediately made plans to meet again that evening on
Tusen Takk II for a second round of sushi. Receta made a call
to Customs, and received permission to leave the rolly anchorage and move around
to Tyrrel Bay, with the proviso that we take a bus first thing in the morning
and come back to check in. When we came back the next day, Immigration was
in, but Customs was nowhere to be found. Word was that they wouldn't be
in. So we came back the next morning, and finally completed our
check-in process on June 8.
But I digress. Sushi! We each pretty much resumed our roles from the
previous sushi session, with two major exceptions. One, Steve brought along his
camera, and became the official recorder of the event. Two, instead of
eating as we produced, we stockpiled the fruits of our labors. So when the
preparations were complete, we had platters of sushi to photograph, and platters
of sushi into which to dive. Absolutely divine!
(Sushi photos by Steve
Manly and Ann Vanderhoof (Receta))
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Steve and his blackfin tuna
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Sushi construction requires intense concentration
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Everyone has an assumed task
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Some of the finished product
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We had purchased a bocci set while in Martinique. (The
French call it "boules".) So one day we and Receta walked over to Paradise
Beach and played a couple of games. The locals had never seen the game,
and appeared to be fascinated. Steve turned out to be as good at bocci as
he is at fishing.
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The master
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Body English didn't help
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Whose bocci is the closest?
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I couldn't imagine being at Tyrrel Bay and not going on a hike up to the top of
the overlooking peak: Chapeau Carre, 954'. So one morning Barb and I
set out to revisit the heights. We also had reservations for three for
lunch at the Cowfoot Restaurant, another favorite haunt. "Three", because
Ann had to stay back at the boat with editing chores, and Steve planned to
interrupt his boat chores for long enough to catch a bus to the restaurant.
He arrived about 45 minutes late, because the bus -- which normally runs back
and forth between Tyrrel Bay and Hillsborough via another route -- had, not
withstanding its agreement to take Steve past the restaurant, had repeatedly
turned around and retraced its path; this in an effort to get enough passengers
to make the trip to Hillsborough more profitable. (On many of the islands,
"buses", which are really large vans, are run privately on no set schedule; they
have somewhat loosely defined routes but absolutely no schedule, and they like
to be full. "Packed", in many cases. On one recent trip I was in a
bus that had four seats behind the driver's seat. When the bus finally
departed it had 18 passengers, not counting the driver or the "conductor", the
young man who collects the fares and helps pack the passengers in. When
some/all of the passengers have packages, this degree of density can be, um,
interesting.)
Anyway, the lunch commitment meant that Barb and I had to move right along if
we were to reach the top in time to get back down the other side of the mount in
time to meet our reservation. Despite the extra effort, we both were
amazed at how easy (and short) the ascent was -- it was much more difficult in
our memories, forged before our ascents up Mt. Pelee of Martinique, Mt. Royal on
Canouan, and the pinnacle on Union.
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At the top of Chapeau Carre
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Tyrrel Bay as seen from the peak
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The mangrove-lined hurricane hole at the north end of Tyrrel Bay
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Return of the rains brings out the blossoms on the flamboyant trees
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No -- they don't sell cleaning products. S-hop O-f A-uto P-arts
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