St. Kitts and Nevis

Itinerary:
Day 8: Sail to St. Kitts, dive River Taw wreck
Day 9-10: Sail to Ballast Bay, St. Kitts, continue PADI advanced open water training
Day 11: Sail to Basseterre, St. Kitts, explore the city
Day 12: Sail to Sandy Point, St. Kitts, explore Brimstone Hill Fortress, finish PADI advanced open water certification

The night before we sailed to St. Kitts, we were instructed in our nightly briefing that we would be allowed to sleep: a foreign concept to us at this point. But, of course, there was a catch. The sail would begin at about 5:00, which meant that all our hatches had to be closed, and all airflow to the cabins would cease. The boat would turn into an oven, and it was only a matter of time till we were forced above decks by suffocating heat. Paranoid from the last few sails, I was determined to face this one head on, but also prepared for the worst. I had both my water bottles filled, motion sickness medication out and ready, and I was totally expecting to feel light headed for the entire eight-hour sail. I woke up as soon as we left the mooring ball—somewhere around 5:10, and bolted above deck to try and evade motion sickness. Compared to the other sails, it was a success, but I had still worked myself into a frenzy, and was avoiding eating anything substantial for fear it would only make things worse. I kept myself squarely planted in the center of the boat, eyes fixed on the horizon, using all my brainpower to will the time away. Then, about an hour and a half into the sail, someone spotted to first school of flying fish. Figuring this was a once in a lifetime opportunity, I forced myself to the helm of the boat, where our skipper had made the sighting, and all of a sudden everything fell into place.
As an aside, flying fish are really cool. I tried to think of a more eloquent way to express that, but “cool” is the only appropriate term I can think of. For about half an hour, I stared into the open ocean searching for these fish, expecting a large fish to pop out of the water, flail, and then fall back in. As far as I could tell, there were none. But I did see these tiny “birds,” which were skimming the surface and then just disappearing. I was baffled by these “birds,” unable to contemplate how they could possibly fly that close to the water without being consumed by the waves. It took me almost an hour of watching these “birds,” utterly befuddled, until I realized they were in fact flying fish. With that instant realization, I was infinitely more impressed with the flying fish. They actually fly. How on Earth could that be true? Fish don’t fly—and yet somehow here I was, on planet Earth, watching these fish fly. I couldn’t give you exact statistics, but it looked as if these fish were flying for tens of meters across the surface.
In that moment of wonder, watching the flying fish skim the sea, I discovered the secret to sailing. Similar to how you don’t get carsick driving a car, it’s near impossible to get seasick sitting at the helm of a ship. The next few hours flew by, as we took turns steering the boat, and keeping a lookout for suspended fishing nets. Finally, the comfort and ease of sailing I had always imagined materialized before me, and the freedom of the ocean I steadfastly believed in manifested.
The sail to St. Kitts was an excellent introduction for the rest of the trip. En route to St. Kitts, we passed Saba, and Statia, the other two islands on our itinerary. At one point, it was clear enough to see every island we’d visit on the trip from the helm of Saphir. As soon as we hit St. Kitts, we had to re-furl the sails and use our motor, because the island blocked all of our wind. Though it made the last two hours of our voyage painfully slow, it meant we could sit on the bow of the ship—tanning on the tramp, or marveling at the lush greenery of St. Kitts. With about an hour left, we were informed there had been a sudden change of plans. We were going diving, and had to assemble our gear instantaneously. What had only seconds before been a sluggish and relaxing day changed in a second to our usual busy and frantic rush to accomplish a thousand things in an impossibly short amount of time. Somehow, we managed it, and before we knew it we were descending down the mooring line towards the River Taw wreck outside of Basseterre, St. Kitts. River Tawwas a large wreck, split into two pieces, that had sunk in a storm in the late twentieth century. Typically viewed as a nice introduction to wreck diving, it was perfect for us, and still allowed us to feel rebellious. It was our first dive outside of the safety of a bay, and took us down as deep as we had gone up to that point. Despite any trepidation we’d had before we descended, the wreck was by far the most unusual dive we had done yet. Two mini-poodle sized lobsters and a massive barracuda were the cherry on top to feeling like the Little Mermaid exploring a sunken vessel.
When we ascended, we quickly left the mooring site, packed up our gear, and motored to our anchoring site in Ballast Bay. Though the cruising guide described Ballast Bay as “rapidly developing” there was no sign of civilization in any direction. We were the only boat as far as the eye could see, and steep cliffs coated in a rich shade of forest green rose up around us. The water was a deep blue, a severe contrast to the light turquoise waters we had seen thus far. The shade resembled the fresh water I was accustomed to in the Finger Lakes—in fact the entire scene reminded me of Skaneateles, a late two over from my home town where my Grandparents had a quaint summer cottage, which had been my favorite place in the world as a child. This, and the calm waters and distinct silence of Ballast Bay was comforting, and made me feel at home.
The next day it rained. When we woke up in the morning, it was gray and drizzling, a refreshing break from the ruthless Sun we had accepted as routine. As the day progressed, the rain never faltered, unlike the other days where bright Sun was occasionally interrupted by short violent outbreaks in a torrential downpour. We assembled our gear in the rain, did two bounce dives for a buoyancy specialization in the rain, and when we came up for a quiet afternoon of cooking and studying, it was all in the rain. The change in weather was a much-needed break in scenery, and though our day was as full as any other, the freshwater refreshed us all.
In hindsight, if it weren’t for the refreshing rain, we may not have survived the next day—possibly the busiest day yet. We woke up early, as usual, to a quick breakfast and then jumping right into our Midterm. Before 9:00, we had completed the test, snorkeled, cleaned the boat, and were sailing towards port in Basseterre. As soon as we docked—a routine stop for water and provisions—we made a split-second decision to break from the itinerary and go on shore. The last minute, unscheduled trip meant that we only had an hour on shore, in which my peers and I made an ambitious schedule to explore all the city’s major sites, some local attractions, and get a sit-down lunch. It was impossible, but we were determined. As soon as Saphirhad been cleated off, we tore through the Cruise Ship Terminal into the old-town square, called the Circus,and off in search of a coffee and sandwich shop our cruising guide had recommended. We couldn’t find it, and with no time to spare, we abandoned the thought of food and set off to our next destination: The Gallery Café.
If you are ever in Basseterre, visit the Gallery Café. A block or two off the Circusadjacent to the city park sits this tiny blue house. We made the assumption that the Café would have food, but as we entered the small empty house, we found it void of food, but packed full of swanky, modern art. As my peers explored, I conversed with the woman that greeted us. She had worked in that Café for 40 years, as a sort of curator and chef (they sold coffee and pastries till they were out). The Café itself was owned by an Irish woman, and primarily housed the art of her daughter, who lived on the Island. The house itself had a rich, but tragic history. It was over 200 years old, and was built to house African slaves who had been sold in the park outside until their owners came to claim them. The Gallery Café was just one of many brutal, but necessary, reminders of the tainted past of the Caribbean Islands as trading posts for sugar and slaves.
The gracious woman at the Café gave us restaurant recommendations for our remaining 27 minutes on shore, and we thanked her and then rushed to her closest suggestion, a Caribbean-Asian fusion restaurant overlooking the marina we were docked in. After a delicious meal, complete with our favorite coveted luxury—cold water—we sprinted back to the marina and made it back to Saphirexactly on time. But just past noon, our day was far from complete.
Again we sailed, this time to the tiny town, Sandy Point. Lacking any real bay, we anchored and had to adjust to 5 foot swells instead of the calm waters we were used to studying, sleeping, and eating in. Time, which is what we needed, was a scarcity, and we quickly had to throw out hopes of an adjustment period in order to complete our next dive—a mentally exhausting navigation focused dive at Moon Shadow reef. When we ascended, we studied, cooked cleaned, and frantically prepared for our next scheduled dive—another night dive, this time in Moon Shadow reef. As the Sun set, our exhaustion became evident, and we made the hard decision to scrap the dive and trade it for a few more, much needed, hours of sleep.
The next morning we woke up, grabbed some quick breakfast, and hopped onto the dinghy. Finally, we were doing a real hike—something that allowed us to stretch our legs for longer than the short walk from bow to stern of Saphir. On a hot and muggy morning, we climbed up Brimstone Hill, just off of Sandy Point, to the oldest, best preserved fortress in the Caribbean.
A UNESCO World Heritage Site, and something straight out of Pirates of the Caribbean, Brimstone Hill Fortress is the reason the British were able to hold St. Kitts for so long. Moreover, it is absolutely stunning, and a photographer’s dream. We explored the fortress for about an hour before hiking back down through town, and to the dinghy. When we got back to the boat, we made a quick lunch before taking our diving to the next level.
Our first deep dive was memorable. We descended back down into Moon Shadow Reef, this time going down to 83 feet. At that depth, red and orange wavelengths are completely absorbed by the water, making them appear a dull brown, and yellows begin to fade. A raw egg, when cracked, is held together, and you can start to feel the pressure on your lungs.
However, the most concerning aspect of the dive wasn’t the depth, but it was the abundance of Lionfish. The Lionfish is a species of predatory fish native to the tropical reefs in Indonesia and the surrounding areas. Until recently, the Atlantic had never seen the Lionfish. But then, they invaded. The invasion of the Lionfish can be traced back to a hurricane, when a population of Lionfish that had been captive in aquariums on the East Coast were released into the Atlantic. With no natural predators, the population grew exponentially and devoured fish at lower trophic levels. Perhaps some species could have behaviorally adapted to hunt Lionfish if it weren’t for the numerous extremely venomous spikes covering the invader; instead the population continued to flourish, and systematically is destroying the biodiversity of Atlantic tropical reefs. In order to preserve the reefs, population control of the Lionfish is mandatory. Luckily, if the spikes are removed, the Lionfish is edible, and may I add, delicious, so there is an economic incentive to fish for Lionfish. However, the only viable fishing mechanism, at the moment, is spearfishing, which requires a great deal of skill and has low yield. Nevertheless, it is making an impact, and the more awareness that can be raised, the greater the impact that can be made. There is still ample work to be done, but the pursuit is not without hope.
That evening, we mustered the energy and effort to complete the night dive we had planned for the night before. Though we had grand plans to explore the reef, a bit of a current and bad visibility made us limit our dive to the area around our anchor, but there was still plenty bioluminescence and stingrays to observe—making the dive every bit as exciting as the reef would have been.
We shut our eyes briefly before a 5:00 wake up and a crepuscular dive, once again in Moon Shadow Reef. The dive focused on improving our Fish Identification skills for our Fish ID specialty, and was a splendid way to start our morning. The highlight of the dive was observing a yellow-headed dogfish poking its head out from its hole in the sand. As soon as we surfaced, we put away our gear, ate a quick breakfast, prepared the boat for the open seas, and set sail for Spectacular Saba—by far my favorite Island of the entire trip.