Yearning for warm breezes and sunny skies, but wary of Caribbean ports cluttered with shops full of upscale junk and pushy tourists? Take to the high seas instead on a chartered yacht adventure in the Grenadines, a winsome chain of islands at the southern end of the West Indies, well out of the way of those behemoth cruise ships and far from busy airports and city lights.

Some travelers may prefer the pampering and luxury of a cruise ship with its comfy deck chairs, meals on demand, ballrooms and cabarets, and cadres of personnel always “at your service, Madam,” but not our bunch. We happily went to sea for 10 days snuggled into 40- or 50-foot sailboats, knowing that we would be hauling halyards and hefting anchors, chopping onions and making spicy stewed chicken, adding to our provisions in open-air markets, checking the engine oil, washing our own dishes, and at the mercy of wind and waves to get from here to there.

We all flew into the island of St. Vincent, our point of departure, from home ports ranging from Maine to Washington State, and caused some puzzlement as we gathered at the Beachcombers Hotel on Villa Beach for our first meal together. Instead of the usual crew of macho mariners and honeymoon couples, we were a group of seasoned women who have sailed all over the world, some as captains, some as race crew, some with spouses or partners, and, as for our captain, Tania Aebi, all alone around the world at an early age. For a number of years, Tania has organized sailing adventures for women, and those of us who had joined her in the islands of Greece, the Mediterranean, the Bahamas, the Seychelles or Thailand in the past wanted in on this latest adventure in the far-away, fabled Grenadines.

Our chartered sailboats awaited us, with the exception of the one that had been hit by a whale a few days earlier and had to be sidelined with a bent shaft. The efficient folks at the charter company quickly found a replacement for us, but the whale report promised to be a topic of interest for the rest of the voyage. We later learned when we visited the beautiful island of  Bequia, that the men of the island are allowed to harvest two whales each year, and do so annually, going to sea to harpoon them in boats rather smaller than our heavy-duty, fiberglass yachts.

After loading up our galley shelves and storage bins with food and drink at the big supermarket near the airport, we set sail from the little town of Calliaqua on the southeast corner of the big island of St. Vincent, a flotilla of five boats crewed by 27 women – a blend of young professionals, retired executives, adventurous matriarchs, and a good many sailing school graduates and postgraduates.

Our five lady captains had charted a course that would take us south for five days of island hopping and back up the chain of the Grenadines for an additional five days, stopping at the islands and anchorages we missed on the way down, all in the interest of taking advantage of the  winds that blow steadily and kindly much of the year.

A sailor’s life for us

Although we stopped at islands like Mustique, Mayreau, and Petite St. Vincent with alluring resorts, we were not tempted to give up the life of the sailor to be waited on in plushy digs. Nothing could replace the thrill of sailing into a new harbor at the end of each day, then diving off the deck to swim to shore or snorkeling over a reef aglow with tropical fish and corals. Or shopping for mangoes and exotic fruit in the local market stalls and walking along the streets of a new town, making friends with the women who braid hair or bake bread, or the men who run little cafes and want to flirt or talk politics.  

Sitting out on deck in the evening as the boat rocked at anchorage, watching the moon grow fuller and fuller each night, picking out the Southern Cross and sharing life stories alternated with raucous dinner parties on shore when we all gathered around the tables in some little restaurant sampling the local cuisine and the local rum.

The best part of each day was when we pulled up the anchor and hauled up the sails for the next leg of our passage. Each of our chartered yachts had roller furling jibs, monstrous stretches of fabric that furled like more-or-less obedient window shades around the front stay, and then rolled out with a good deal of huffing, and puffing and winching, a performance somewhat like hanging out laundry while grinding coffee. We each had long tricks at the wheel, keeping a more or less steady course as we romped over the deep blue water and argued about how high the waves really were that day. We were never out of sight of land, one of the loveliest attributes of the Grenadines, which with St. Vincent, form their own sovereign country.

After our 10-day voyage had ended and we were once more ashore, there was time to take a quick tour of some of St. Vincent, an English-speaking island populated with congenial and industrious people. We strolled the streets of the capitol of Kingstown and its historic Botanical Garden, and drove through the fertile Mesopotamia Valley and a rugged mountain landscape softened by plantings of nutmeg and breadfruit trees, banana plantations, frilly palms and spectacularly flowering frangipani and poinciana trees.

We all winged home with terrific tans, a luxurious sense of having been cradled in a tropical paradise, and the satisfaction of having met Mother Ocean on her own terms.

Murray Laurie blends her three passions--travel, architecture, and history--in her books and articles. When she is not roaming the globe, she makes her home in Gainesville, Florida.