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Puerto Ensenada, Local #7,8 y9 PB, Tells, :58-281-267,82.32 + 58-281-267.81.75 Cal: 58-414-834.27.72, Estado Anzodtegui Venezuela / E-mail: ventas@vemasca.com h : Av, Rall Leoni, Telfs.: 58-205-264.16.46 (Master), Fax: 58-295-264.25.29 Cel: 58-414-788.21.47, Porlamar Venezuela E-mail: salesfvemasca.com / www.vemasca.com Proximamente en Marina (Soon at Carmelo’s Marina at the beach) Pengrr DIERTA IAC @ PUERTO LAU A Seabird Survey by Yacht in the Lesser Antilles by Katharine Lowrie David and Katharine, bound for wherever the seabirds are aboard their 75-year-old ketch, Lista Light What is your experience of seabirds? Attempting to ward off the pair of beady eyes staring down at you from the mast, before the inevitable fishy deposit is glued to your brightwork? Or a tiny Storm Petrel fluttering over frothy waves, your sparrow- sized companion hundreds of miles from land? For my husband, David, and me these monarchs of the waves were the reason for leaving our patch of the southwest peninsula of the UK and teaming up with the St. Maarten-based charity Environmental Protection In the Caribbean (EPIC). In February 2009, we sailed from St. Maarten on the first part of our odyssey to survey the remaining seabird breeding sites in the Lesser Antilles. After patching up Lista Light, our 75-year-old wooden gaff ketch (a former Norwegian fishing boat, still resplendent with her jury rig from her Atlantic dismast- ing) and safely stowing Megan, our American intern, aboard, we lurched off from St. Maarten for Saba, Statia and all the English-speaking islands (the French islands having already surveyed their breeding seabirds) between there and Grenada. Of course, the most sought-after seabird residences generally are as far away from man as possible. Thus, our work in creating the first Seabird Breeding Atlas of the Lesser Antilles turned into, as one of our friends termed it, “a survey of the worst anchorages in the Caribbean”! The dubious anchorage at Redonda, with a three-metre swell, allowed us only two nights of sleep in the five nights we stayed. A dinghy landing was “splash-and-drag” and swimming ashore the next day resulted in some bruises. The Grenadines rushed by in a whirl of seabirds, rocks and sea currents. Our typical day would involve sailing/motoring around a chain of islets with binoculars strained. Once breeding was verified, Megan and I (and David, if Lista could be anchored) would jump into the water with dry-bags full of survey kit and swim to the island. Before being pounded against the cliffs by waves or speared by sea urchins, we would heave ourselves up onto land and don jeans and long-sleeved shirts to ward off biting insects and skewering plants. Then we would scour the entire island for nesting seabirds and record evidence thereof. Once completed, we would head back to Lista, swimming the gauntlet of crashing waves. Most cruisers travel down the leeward sides of the islands and find cozy anchor- ages where there is little swell. We, on the other hand, blast down the windward sides of islands, seek out the most treacherous rocks and go where others will not! Incident-wise, we lost rather too many of our ‘nine lives’ in the Grenadines this year. Dave and Megan were nearly swept out to sea in strong currents when swimming back to the boat from Petit Cay. While Megan and I were surveying on Battowia, Dave and Lista had to deal with the tumultuous sea. First it caused the anchor rode to snap, dislodging the anchor winch from Lista’s deck. Then, a dinghy paddle flew into the sea and Dave stupidly jumped in to grab it, but soon realized that Lista was receding as the currents were pulling him away. Gradually, he clawed his way back to her, chucking the paddle in front of him and madly swimming forward a few strokes. Then when we finally yanked the anchor up we found it was twisted! Megan and I paddled the kayak to a fearsome-looking extinct volcano rising from the sea, Diamond Rock. We took ages to paddle there, as strong currents belted through between Diamond and Isle de Ronde. We couldn’t see anywhere to land, as waves continuously blasted the sides of the island. We kept powering forward, desperately trying not to lose our way. Finally we decided upon an inlet and we surfed the kayak into it, skewering her bow against the rocks. We grabbed our dry-bags and pulled the kayak up. Once we had completed the surveys, we found that the waves were worse and were whipping into the inlet at a fearsome pace. We worried we would get stuck, corkscrewed into the narrow entrance, so we tried pulling the kayak around and pull- ing ourselves into the kayak from the water, but the waves battered us against the rocks and Megan fell out of the kayak with a foot trapped in it. She managed to extract it, but it was a shock. We had no choice but to leap into the kayak in the cauldron of waves and paddle like crazy to stop ourselves being bashed back into the inlet. At Bonaparte Rocks, southeast of Carriacou, it was difficult to determine who was nesting as Lista bashed in the waves, and there was no way we could swim or kayak ashore to get a closer look. —Continued on next page