Once around Jamaica
Out of season and off the beaten track, David Peters gets beneath the surface of the Caribbean’s third largest island
It was late summer when a group of us decided to circumnavigate the island of Jamaica, the home of reggae and rastafarians, small fishermen’s bays and large coastal ports. My school friend Giovanni was skipper and owner of Seaquest, a 1980 Gulfstar 50, with Lucas from Holland, Eva, my girlfriend Frances and me as crew.
Having already spent a few months aboard Seaquest visiting the Bahamas and Cuba, we needed some repairs to the mainsail and one of the jib blocks in Montego Bay. With the work done, we cast off and headed east to Discovery Bay – Christopher Columbus’s first stop in Jamaica. It’s a secluded place, but centred on an ugly Bauxite plant. We dined on a meaty grouper that was caught just outside the reef.
Two days later we beat into the wind further along the north coast to Ocho Rios, where we spent the night surrounded by all-inclusive resorts and boxed in by a mammoth cruise ship. We were glad to motor-sail onwards the next morning.
Oracabessa, which is the local spelling of the Spanish meaning ‘Golden Head’, named after the incredible sunsets in the bay. Ian Fleming owned a house here called Goldeneye, and a nearby beach was the backdrop for Ursula Andress to strut her stuff in the James Bond film Dr No.
We anchored in the small manmade bay alongside the local fishing boats and got a glimpse of a truly refreshing side of Jamaica. We were invited to go scuba diving with the Oracabessa Bay Fish Sanctuary team and we were on hand as 135 baby Hawksbill sea turtles took their first steps into the Caribbean Sea.
The next leg was a 32-mile motorsail to Port Antonio on a clear, starry night. Actor Errol Flynn fell in love with the town after his yacht washed ashore nearby in 1942. The streets are lined with colonial architecture and the town is surrounded by bays, beaches and riverways.
One quirk of cruising in Jamaica is that you have to check in with the marine police, coastguard, customs and immigration in each port of call. Officially it’s for your own safety but questions about drugs and stowaways from the various officials suggested otherwise. Marinas and anchorages are littered with seized boats – the owners imprisoned for botched smuggling operations. The Jamaican Defence Force in particular looked menacing as they came aboard with massive machine guns and stern faces.
After five days we set off along the east coast, cancelling an overnight stop in Bowden Harbour as the charted channel markers were either defunct or missing. Sailing on through the night along the south coast, we arrived in the capital, Kingston after 24 hours.
Kingston is the seventh largest natural harbour in the world and home to the Royal Jamaica Yacht Club marina. It was unnerving that as we bedded down for our first night, we could see a 14-foot crocodile on the edge of the mangroves opposite the boat.
Kingston is a historic port town; a former pirate enclave that became a British naval base, it is now the main supply port for the island. Huge tankers and container ships line the harbour and downtown is a bustling mayhem where traders buy their wares in the capital to sell back in the tourist centres.