Marina memories

Living on a boat in a marina in Grenada was always gonna be more interesting to me as a kid than being out at anchor, quite apart from the fact that I could come and go as I pleased.

There was always something going on to watch whilst I was aboard on deck at the dock, like boats coming and going on the pontoons around me. I knew most of the charter boats by name and crew because we’d been around Grenada for so long. I’d notice cruising boats easily, by the rusty bikes, self steering vanes, wind generators, strapped on jerry cans, a dinghy on the coach roof, the yellow ‘Q’ flag flying from the crosstrees, and tanned & weathered families. These were often the most obvious clues. Cruising boats usually anchored though. It was free back then.

Others, I just knew were bareboat charterers, crewing and skippering unfamiliar boats in unfamiliar waters. I could identify all the boats used for bareboat chartering because there were so many of the exact same design and length of boat, and I could tell which Island the boat had come from by the same method. I can’t remember them now though.

These bareboats were sometimes quite entertaining to watch, as the crew hung fenders too high or low, or even dropped them overboard, as they untied the dinghy painter to reposition it for coming alongside, then let go of the painter, casting the dinghy adrift, as they hung lines for mooring and forgot to allow for the pulpit, hawse pipe, or to cleat one end. I watched as ‘astern’ and ‘ahead’ seemed to only mean at full speed, sending them powering into other boats and the dock, as anchors were dropped over the top of those of other boats that were stern-on and caused mayhem as the other boats dragged their anchors and were sent drifting into us or neighbours. There was usually lots of fevered activity and shouting of orders, and crew scurrying around the decks trying to figure out where they should be. Then the crew of the drifting boats would appear from below in their own boats to sort the mess out, and we would all catch or haul in mooring lines to draw the boats back together.

When we were alongside, which was even less often than when we were stern-to because it was so much more expensive, than I would often talk to those that passed along the dock, and always said hello.

There were downsides to being alongside or stern on too. Cockroaches. And I’m talking big ones here, 2” long ones. They loved moving aboard and eating anything left out, or anything that they could chew through to get at food, and they loved multiplying faster than rabbits, and worst of all they came out at night and were easily trodden on whilst on the dock as they scurried around. Yuck. I once had one crawl up my trouser leg and when I realised what it was, it panicked as much as I did. Trousers never came off faster. Rats and mice were frequent one-way residents on board too, but dad would set traps and we would hear a squeak as the traps snapped on a victim during the night.

Another downside to being alongside meant that anyone on the dock could lean over the deck and peer down our hatches and companionway, and the gall of peoples curiosity astounded us sometimes, as a head that we’d never seen before would appear down the hatch as we were eating dinner below, in the privacy of our own home. It’s sort of an unwritten code isn’t it, knock on the door and await a response, in our case, knock on the deck and call Kims’ name out. Some people didn’t seem to think that it was the same as someone crossing their garden to peer in a window of their house into their dining room.

I often struck up conversations with interested tourists staying on the Island, who had wandered along to look at the boats and were fascinated by our lifestyle, and often, our boat ‘KIM’ too. She drew a lot of attention because of her sleek 50s’ American racing lines, 52’ of wooden yawl, (white), (and for those that don’t know, a yawls’ mizzen mast, (small one at the back), is aft of the rudder post and usually there is a larger height variance between the two masts than with a ketch).

Our daily jobs attracted attention too. Preparing, sanding, varnishing and painting woodwork, (my favourite job was varnishing the beautiful wooden (steering) wheel, with its curvaceous spokes), of which there was lots, filling, sanding and painting the topsides, scrubbing the teak decks, filling water tanks, and washing clothes, were some of the jobs I remember having during our time on Kim.

Seeing bronzed blonde kids doing these jobs seemed to fascinate some of the passers-by and tourist kids would stare.

As a kid I used to wonder what it was like, to be a landlubber kid. I used to wonder what it would be like to walk along a dock and not to be going home to a boat. I used to wonder what it would be like to have a holiday in a luxury hotel from which I would return to a house in another country where there was snow in winter and hot baths.

This was the only lifestyle I knew for as long back as I could remember, and it seemed normal to me because everyone around us lived the life too.

So now I’m a landlubber, no snow in winter really, but plenty of hot baths, however I still feel an inbuilt sense of belonging as I walk along marina docks as a ‘tourist’, memories of a past life flit through my mind, but no boat to call home now.