Wednesday
and Thursday were spent at sea. Julia advised me to sail with the
boys' and Omari to Salt Island as it has one of the best dive sites in
the Caribbean, the wreck of the Rhone, the royal Mail ship which ran
ashore in 1867 taking 125 persons with her. Quite a tragic story about
how the Rhone sank in a storm after taking on board passengers from
another ship, The RMS Conway, as she was a much larger sturdier ship and
the Captains agreed it would be safer for the passengers to make the
journey from Great Harbour (Peter Island) to Road Harbour (Tortola) as
the weather was worsening, however they decided it was too late in the
season for Hurricanes (it being October). The aftermath of the
hurricane which turned out to be one of the worst in the history of the
West Indies, resulted in only three houses in the entire BVI standing
and the death of an additional 36 people.
http://www.saildivebvi.com/rhone.php Turned out we took an IC23 to
Norman Island on Wednesday so I had to brave another sea voyage on
Thursday. (I have had a bit too much slat and sea I think and really
felt I needed a rest from being salty hot and wet, but succumbed to
promises of the best snorkeling in the BVI). Salt Island and the wreck
of the Rhone were well worth more Salt and Sea. The island itself is
not very big, but has an incredible salt pan spanning a large portion of
it and fascinating deserted houses. No one lives on the island any
longer, but it seems to be a quick stop for tourists to come and "see
what they can sea", most people while we were there docked up, strolled
the 200m took a picture and left.
The intrepid (why do I always want to call explorers intrepid) explorers set off to "sea what they could see" or visa versa. Found the salt pan, without having to ask for directions (like some of the tourists!) and went galavanting to the top of one of the hills on the island, not that there was much more to see! A good view of where the Rhone wreck occured and some nice pictures sports and opportunity for George to exercise his diagonal flare at photo taking, us trapsing around goat paths and exercising our skill at stomping in hot black slaty mud and burning our toes!
All of this while the less intrepid explorers decided to get horiZontal...
And More Horizontal...
Master of Horizontal... (and speed boat antics, Caribbean style dancing and Madagascar immitations.)
Now Hayley told me that I do not qualify as a true islander until I have picked my own coconut (I am guessing that picking one UP does not count as picking one, but I plead handi cap as I battle to climb a horizontal tree as is!)
After a long walk on the beach (read intrepid explorers glopping through sallt pans) I did come across someone who struck me as wantom of making a good coconuty companion (admitedly I would have resorted to canibalism had Omari not told me said coconutty companion would not taste very nice), so was "BOB" born.
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| "BOB" |
BOB and I we bonded, there is quite a lack of decent single men on the island, not sure if those stories aree blog worthy though! Some might take offence, but the onslaught of somewhat rather forward locals has been interesting. Maybe it was my fault after all, apparently if you make eye contact it means that your are game or in love or something, not a good quality I guess considering the thing I do best is make eye contact - oops!
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| BOB Bondage |
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| Not BOB |
Okay Pictures and sound effects, "gaduf gaduf gaduf vvvvrrrrr (car slows down, we check it out, can't see what source of Gaduff is, we take off again noise gets worse, stop at garage, phone dad tell him not sure what is happening but back wheel making noise, go check it our again all of a sudden it explodes! in George's eye! Thank goodness not too bad.)
Let it be noted the other one blew three days later. Coincidence? Apparently I am a terrible driver. Maybe why I would rather be on a bike.
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| Awaiting our rescue crew |
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