The Last Boatbuilder
On the island of Carriacou, the largest of the Grenadines, lives a man who has spent five decades keeping a tenuous hold on a boatbuilding tradition that was the lifeblood of the area for centuries. Alwyn Enoe sculpts his wooden vessels with an ancient cutting tool called an adze, knowing that each will be appreciated for not only its simple beauty but also its impressive speed.
Born in 1943, Enoe started his seafaring life aboard island traders until one caught fire. Several of the crew, including his best friend, died that night.
Unwilling to return to sailing but residing where water was ever present, Enoe became a shipwright in 1973, honing a skill that was brought to the islands by Scottish immigrants centuries ago. He is now widely thought to be the last artisan of what are known as Carriacou sloops.
Over the years, Enoe has staunchly refused to give up his craft (even while moonlighting at modern shipyards to earn a living). In the process, he has become something of a Grenadian celebrity, thanks in part to his many champion boats, as well as an award-winning 2015 documentary called Vanishing Sail.
The film’s director, Alexis Andrews, is a superyacht photographer who purchased an Enoe sloop that had sunk off Antigua, rebuilt it and sailed it to the Grenadines, where he commissioned another vessel, Genesis, from Enoe.
Carriacou sloops were cargo workhorses, and because they sometimes hauled rum or other contraband, they had to be fast to outrun patrol boats. It’s no wonder then that Enoe’s designs still perform well in local races, including the Antigua Classic Yacht Regatta and the West Indies and Carriacou regattas.
Enoe embarks upon each project by crafting a unique half-hull scale model. Then come the cutting and hauling of greenheart for the keel and white cedar for the ribs, and the construction, right on the beach. His favourite step is caulking with cotton twine, just as it’s been done since the beginning. “The caulking means the boat will be safe – protected from the sea,” says Enoe. The sound of the caulking hammer, which could once be heard throughout these islands, signals that the end of fabrication is at hand.
The whole village comes together to launch a boat by tilting it on its side and then pushing and pulling it into the waves. Exodus, the 42ft subject of Andrews’ film, took form over three years and is now owned by Nicola Cornwell, who has a home on the nearby island of Bequia. “It made sense to get something totally designed for these waters, and it was important to us to contribute to the community by buying a boat that was part of the sailing heritage here,” she says. “She’s perfect for these waters and a joy to sail.”
Andrews also finds Genesis inextricable from the environment and culture that produced it. “She’s in her element, and she’s one of the elements because she’s born of this place,” he says. “She’s the water, the land, the wind and the pride of the local men.”
At age 79, Enoe is hopeful his venerable skills will outlive him. “I think the trade can continue, but we need a school,” he says. “We depend on the sea for a living, and building boats gives our young people a trade, a feeling of their culture and confidence.”
“Everything was good before he (Pignataro) came in. If I’m being really honest with you, he’s the person that is causing problems.”
At least one lawsuit has been brought against Canouan Estate over this matter; it was unsuccessful. The company declined to disclose sales data, but sources familiar with the island say property sales have been sluggish. Canouan-born Godfred Pompey, a retired permanent secretary in the national government who is now the island’s official representative, confirms that home sales here have not enjoyed much uplift in recent years, even as transactions in luxury properties worldwide have boomed. “There are limited sales, and it’s something the current government and the developers are trying to iron out, work out how to improve on that,” he says, noting that there are no such problems on Mustique.
Pignataro, who has never given an on-therecord interview to the English-language media, declined requests for comment. One person who knows both Pignataro and Saladino well has been disappointed to see the troubles that seem to have unspooled since the former took control of the island’s northern half. “He seems to be a very difficult character,” this source says.
Desmond, on the other hand, retains the respect of most of the moneyed homeowners here. “Dermot has gone beyond anyone’s expectations,” notes the second irked homeowner approvingly. Alisha Ollivierre, whose bar is part of the Desmond-owned marina, is also an admirer; Scruffy’s is a place where everyone, whatever their wealth, mingles – and dares to drink a Canouan Crazy or two, its signature cocktail whose secret recipe Ollivierre refuses to disclose (though she hints it’s heavy on vodka and rum). The bar owner is less complimentary about Pignataro and the government – and in particular, how the authorities coordinate investment across the island. She points to the local village. “Have you seen what it looks like? It’s culture shock between these beautiful resorts,” she says, querying why the money splashed out has failed to fully trickle down to daily life. Ollivierre tells Robb Report she’d participate in public protests to spur action. It’s notable that an earlier community activist, Terrance Bynoe, ended up mired in a lawsuit with developers; reached by Robb Report for comment,
he says that the settlement terms preclude him from speaking.
The sheltered bay where yachts used to moor is now effectively off-limits; the jetty there is part of Pignataro’s domain and is available exclusively to guests of Soho House, which sits next to it. Other yachters must use the marina – throttling traffic to Ollivierre’s bar and other businesses. She says the impact was palpable during the festive season. “(Pignataro) says no, you can’t go there to even let off crew or guests,” she complains. “Everything was good before he came in. If I’m being really honest with you, he’s the person that is causing problems.”
As for Desmond, he tells Robb Report that he sees Canouan as his last project, the ultimate embodiment of his development know-how. “I was in Mustique last week, and to me, personally, Canouan is more beautiful and more accessible – (Mustique) doesn’t have a golf course or a marina or an international airport,” he boasts. He continues to pledge time, effort and money to the project, perhaps with an eye toward replicating the deal he struck for London’s City Airport, which he bought for around US$32 million in 1995 before restoring and flipping the site for about US$1 billion 11 years later. To bolster the island’s fortunes, he touts the much-discussed rumour that Aman will add a resort here, though many locals shrug that the long-planned site will never be developed, and an Aman spokesperson declined to confirm its approval. Desmond also plans sail-in villas at the marina – there are already docks deep within it, behind which homes could be constructed – with beachfront on the other side.
In the immediate future, Desmond says that he and Pignataro are teaming up on their next project: restoring the slightly careworn golf course over the next 18 months or so, which technically forms part of Pignataro’s chunk of the island. “I’m meeting with him this morning,” Desmond says one day while speaking with Robb Report by phone from his Barbados base. “The whole redesign is going to make it something exceptional – we want to capitalise on the God-made beauty. No golf course in the world has views as good as this one.” Desmond dismisses any talk of ill will between the two men. “Despite what others might like to believe, Mr Pignataro and I are both passionate about Canouan and are in discussions regarding a number of projects to be jointly developed,” he insists, adding: “Small island, small talk!”
Desmond hopes that upgrading the golfing facilities will help attract the desired clientele. “I’ve been on islands all around the world, and this is the one that people are going to thank me for,” he says.
At least, that’s the plan.