So after a wonderful night mixing with the rich and famous, I bet they didn't really know who we were, had a leisurely breakfast before dinghying over to another racing catamaran called Cool Cat. Now isn't that just a brilliant name for a boat! And there we discussed the future plans. It seems that when you sail, and are always at the mercy of the winds and seas
and everything is, now how can I put it without seeming to make a pun out of it? And I think the correct word is fluid . The stars, just like the three little ducks have to be aligned correctly to have even a sporting chance of getting to where you want to go in a yacht without any mishap. So, it's going to be Saba, one of the other Dutch islands.


Now this is an island we can see on the horizon from St Maarten, rising steeply out of the ocean. We've never been there (Oy Vey!), but everyone who has, says it's really nice. With differing types of climates the higher you climb up to the top of what once used to be a volcano. In fact, the top is usually shrouded in clouds scurrying across the rim of the crater. And within this crater it has its own eco system with a tropical rain forest. Just imagine that! So anyway, it took about four hours sailing to get there. And fortunately, this time, the seas were coming not from the front, but nearly from the side and back of the catamaran so at times we seemed to be surfing down little mountains of moving water . Oh! what joy! and no more 'mal de mare' for me. Unfortunately, Dyana still had this four hour white knuckle ride all the way over.

Now Saba is totally different to many of the other islands we've visited by boat. Firstly there are very few mooring buoys where you can tie your boat to! And secondly, the harbour is quite tiny. In fact, one small ferry, and that is nearly it, no more room at all! The result is that you have to tie up as best as you can to either a mooring ball, (if you can find a spare one), or drop your anchor. So amid reasonably high seas and quite big winds we found a mooring ball, (oh joy), and successfully tied on.
All night though, swirling and rocking as all the elements were desperately trying to make our lives a misery. Another bad night of wind and waves is all I can say. And there you were thinking that sailing was all sweetness and light, gently bobbing away in a warm gentle breeze. Well, think again! I think we were all pleased to be off the boat after breakfast . A taxi driver was booked for the day and the eight of us from both boats shared his little taxi van.

So, our first stop was "The Ladder." Now Saba is a volcanic island rising vertically straight up out of the sea. At its peak there is this tropical crater. This particular island is very different from any others we've been to. No beaches to speak of; and in the olden days (now that takes me back a bit), the tall three masted wooden sailing ships had to anchor off shore. And all the islands supplies, and I mean everything had to be lowered over the vessels side into little
waiting boats. Then rowed in to the shore. Once there, they must have been manhandled through the surf and finally across a stoney 'beach'. All the while the porters were hoping not to drop anything into the surf. Finally the goods would be on the stoney beach. Now that was
the easy part!
A gang of porters (and they had to be exceptionally fit) then had to carry the goods up a set of stone steps which had been rudimentally hacked into the steep hillside, and now for the good part ...... just listen to this... there were nine hundred steps in total. Yes nine hundred steps to the top. It would be OK if they were all uniform in size and width, but because of the geography and steepness of the hill, no not hill, but akin to a cliff at times, nearly every step was different. So here's the scenario. Can you just imagine this happening!

"I'd like to order a grand piano please. Oh, and I want it delivered to my home in Saba."
“Certainly Sir.”
Can you imagine slinging one of these over the side of the sailing ship? Lowering it into a waiting longboat? Delicately balancing over each side so the boat doesn't overturn! Manhandling it through the surf to the beach? Starting the enormously long trek up the steps....... and then........ at about four hundred and fifty steps up...... you come to the customs house!
Yes! Its true! A real customs house making sure that all goods arriving had their official duty paid before continuing. Well, can you imagine the consternation there must have been when the duty officer saw this! I bet there was nothing his manual about a grand piano! And once this fiasco of what tax to pay was sorted out, motivating the sweaty men to carry it up the next four hundred and fifty tortuous and winding steps . Well, legend has it that it really
happened! I can just hear the cursing of the gang of men now.

So we did " the ladder " all nine hundred down...... to the lousy beach! And then guess what..... you're way ahead of me..... yes..... nine hundred back up. Aahhh.. we could all feel lunch coming on with a good sit down and lots of beer. So the taxi driver dropped us at the restaurant called the Eco Lodge. And as its name implies, right in the middle of the forest.
Just excellent. No electricity, and everything eco. Loved it! Hope you like the pictures. Well, another walk down a rain foresty trail to meet the taxi driver and then a driving tour of the beautiful island. There is in fact only one road traversing the island, winding tortuously around the hills. And being totally in keeping with everything else, they named it 'The Road.' Now don't you think that's original. At times we all had our heart in our mouths. But it was just so beautiful.

The high seas had not really abated;and our next port of call was going to be the British Virgin Islands . Probably a fourteen hour sail. I think that by this time, we'd had enough of big big seas and decided to fly back. So it was with a very heavy heart we told our hosts. But, a quick phone call booked the flight from Saba Airport which has probably the shortest runway in
the world. Twelve hundred feet, or less than four hundred meters. So as you can imagine, the planes are all tiny. Probably eight or ten passengers. The airport is like a small bus terminus. The same person who sells you your ticket doubles as the customs guy and then the
baggage handler as well. I'm sure you get the idea. So having seen the official in one guise and smiled and greeted him a few times it became quite chummy when he led us through to the departure lounge. It turned out to be a verandah at the end of the runway. Really quaint ..... it must have been like this sixty years ago. Ahhh!
I hear a noise...... and the little plane drops out of the azure blue sky almost skidding to a halt. The ticket seller/customs guy....... oh just let me call him the general factotum leaps up and pushes what looks like a flat bed supermarket trolley to the plane. Oh wow! There
are dignitaries getting off because the local press are here. Also, they're dressed in suits. Yes, proper suits... and ties. I was sorely tempted to go and stand in the background, but didn't.
All luggage loaded and on we got taking our un-allocated seats. Much like Ryanair, but without the stampede.
Watching through the cockpit opening , (no door), door as the pilots went through the pre-flight checks. One then turned round calling "safety instructions are in the seat pocket in front of you," and with that he turned to face the front as both engines revved up. None of the usual .... this is how you fasten your seat belt etc etc etc. In fact if you're that stupid you don't know how a seat belt works you shouldn't be flying at all! The little plane gingerly made its way to the end of the runway at the cliff edge. Big waves crashing into the rocks four hundred feet down. Brakes applied hard on. Engine to maximum revs. The internal noise becoming
deafening........... brakes off! And like an astronaut sitting on top of one of those rockets heading for the moon or the space station we thundered away. Rocking and rolling from side to side down this miniscule runway who's end was coming up much....much too quickly!
Then what seemed the last second we were off the end...... dropping slightly before rising and soaring into the blue yonder. Well, it took all of twelve minutes to get back to St Maarten. And when I compare this to the four hour crossing by boat, it was money well spent. We were only sorry to be leaving such dear friends Marc & Tamara. Wherever you are in the world, God speed and safe sailing.

Please click on some of the pictures because they turn into short videos