Adventures on Beannacht

The BVIs have not impressed us in terms of how they cater to any boats that aren’t attached to the extensive charter industry located throughout the islands. Charter boats are boats that anyone can hire for a holiday, normally a week or two, and can be either bareboat (i.e. you just get the boat and take care of yourself) or skippered. The BVIs are literally full of charters probably because the entire island chain is very close together and doesn’t demand long passages between anchorages.

Kel and I are both reading Naomi Klein at the minute, we’ve just swapped at the halfway point and I’m now on No Logo, Kel’s on The Shock Doctrine. I think No Logo has heightened my awareness a little. Klein’s now 12-year-old book is a study in how companies hungry to perpetuate their brand gobble up spaces that used to be public (schools, parks, town centres) and turn them into branded corporate spaces. The BVIs have sold their soul to the charter companies.

We’re in Virgin Gorda Sound, surrounded by gormless holidaymakers on their 40 and 50 foot sailboats and catamarans carving up the anchorage. The seabed has been capitalised by mooring balls, 100 feet apart in every direction throughout the sound, and yours for a mere $25-35 per night – did I spend a grand on a anchor and chain for nothing? And beyond that every inch of beachfront in the sound is owned by a resort that sells you beers and bar food for half a week’s wage.

We’ve been laughing about how acute our charter radar is at the minute, and how deep our desire to distinguish ourselves from the crowd. I’m thinking of getting a nice big flag with We do own this boat you know written on it. Are we boat snobs? If so we can handle it.

So in an ode to charter boats, here are our top four pet peeves:

1. Herd mentality.

We spend our sailing life attempting to travel from one isolated protected anchorage to another, meeting other cruisers as we choose, but often just keeping ourselves to ourselves. In Cane Garden Bay, by far our least favourite anchorage in the BVIs, we picked a spot admittedly in the mooring field but well away from any other boats and leaving lots of free balls for late arrivals to pick up. Gin and tonics poured; cheese, crackers and guava paste on the table; we were set for the evening. Of course after 30 minutes our pleasant little spot is rudely interrupted by the first charter boat to arrive. Target fixation, the reassurance that another boat is anchored in the vicinity, this mooring field really must be safe. They (predictably) select the closest mooring ball to us despite a bay full of options. Retards. Such a pain in the arse, and it happened to us again today, as I write I’m sitting 30 feet from a catamaran that had 15 other options, but chose this one.

2. Fear of the dark

A curious quirk of the charter kids, half of the boats that we’re anchored beside tonight are lit up like Blackpool. Anchor light, navigation lights, steaming light, spreader lights, all putting out max lumens. Kel and I are pulling our hair out about our fridge using 5 amps virtually all the time and these guys are consuming three times that while they sleep in their pits. Of course when you’re not cruising long term you don’t necessarily need to worry as much about fuel bills, but these dudes remind me of Mo’s neighbour’s Christmas display. Belfast class.

3. Full throttle

I’m not one to criticise people for speeding generally, I’d have a Gixer 750 in my shed in a heartbeat, but the charter kids seem to have only two speed settings as they manoeuvre in the anchorage looking for a mooring ball: full steam ahead or full steam in reverse. And whilst bikes are built to be ridden fast, it’s very difficult to get a boat to manoeuvre precisely in tight spaces. Caution doesn’t appear to be high on the charter kids skill set. Ironically the specific boat that caused us the most anxiety was the same catamaran that moored beside us in Cane Garden. Motoring into Trellis Bay on Tuesday they nearly drove straight into us at 6 knots. They were so concerned with hooking the mooring that they almost didn’t notice us and Kel had to take evasive action to avoid. Boats don’t stop like cars, we weigh 15 tons and have no brakes, water resistance is all we’ve got. All of a sudden I’m starting to miss all those hyper-organising wankers from Georgetown.

4. Pilot required

Finally, on our way into Roadtown last week we found ourselves on a collision course with a charter boat moving at speed towards us out of the harbour. Naturally as skilled sailors we have an in-depth knowledge of the international collision avoidance regulations – or at least we know enough of to get out of the way of super tankers. The boat promptly did a u-turn and then slowed down, crawling down the channel ahead of us. Make up your mind. You wouldn’t know it round here but it’s polite to allow the vessel ahead to enter the port or anchorage and do what they need to do before you come in behind them to avoid pressuring them, so Kel stood off to give them room. To our amazement a dinghy arrived with a staff member of the charter company, boarded the boat and then took over the helm to motor the boat back to the dock. They must have amazing insurance policies round here if people can’t even motor the boat up to a dock.

So a little rant. These things wouldn’t annoy more saintly types, but we’re clearly not that. Our first six months of cruising was spent in ignorance of the charter side of the business, and we’d both be happy if the last three weeks were our lot in socialising, or rather avoiding, the would-be Butlins vacationers. Although we are scheming a Mullan-extended-family charter in the Med in the future, once Neil and Claire make Joe and Paddy honest. Or at least legal.