10/27/01 | Los Testigos

Ahhh. That's the sound of cruisers relaxing, kicking back in a place which reminds them, again, of just why they went cruising. After months of crowded anchorages, dirty water, restaurants and bars, minivans and maxi-taxis and way too much civilization[*], we are finally back in paradise. We are hiking across deserted beaches, grilling fish which we caught, and jumping naked off our boats into the clear blue. The only way life would be better would be for us to not be in a protected area where spearfishing is forbidden.

Scads of scads

But we're enjoying looking at the fish again, even if we can't stick them. (We're still eating the tuna we caught on the way over, anyway.) We've seen angelfish and trumpetfish, morays and blennies, several different types of grunt, yellow jacks and cero mackerel and a school of big whomper cubera snappers with teeth the size of kitchen knives. Even in the sandy anchorage, right under the boat, there are scads of fish, fish which, as it happens, are of the species called "scad", six-inch silvery guys who are apparently hiding out from the fish-eating birds by staying in our boat's shadow. When we jump in for a swim, a dozen or so scads detach themselves from the boat's shadow to swim in our shadows. Britt bought a very light casting outfit when we were in the US, a little collapsible rod with 2-lb test line, and while I prepare lunch he amuses himself with a little catch-and-release scad-fishing. When we eat our grilled tuna in the cockpit, we toss the bones and scraps of skin overboard and watch the scads and a few tomtate grunts fight over them.

We've been enjoying the land as well as the sea here. Along with Patrick and Theresa, we hiked to the light on top of the highest hill, 800 feet above the water. The trail was well marked with big white arrows painted on the rocks, and the view from the top was superb, of the whole of Testigo Grande spread out underneath us, the boats in the anchorages, the outlying islands scattered around like baby ducks gathered around their mama.

It's amazing how different these islands are from Trinidad, only 90 miles away, or even the Venezuelan mainland. The rainforest lushness of the southern Antilles is absent here; these islands are as dry as the Bahamas. The hillsides are rocky and covered with grey-green cactus, home mostly to seabirds and a couple of goats. The few people who live on these little islands are fishermen, now gearing up for lobster season which begins on the first of November. Lobster traps made of sticks and chickenwire are piled high on the beaches.

The beaches are incredible, the sand soft as talcum powder. Near the south end of Testigo Grande, blowing sand has piled up into a huge white sand dune. The dune spills from a wide plateau on the windward side, across a notch and down over a steep slope, forming what we immediately recognize to be the absolutely most perfect spot for a sundown cocktail. We kick out ledges to wedge our camp chairs into, sink into the sand, and watch the sun sink into the Caribbean.

(Too bad earthly paradises are apparently not allowed to be absolutely perfect. Fifteen minutes after sunset, we were bothered by waves of small bugs landing on us, which we soon discovered were flying cockroaches. Needless to say, the next night after we watched the sunset we immediately relocated to the windward side!)