The first light of morning glimmered on polished brass and varnished wood, surfaces the crew, people like Kent from the Philippines and Ines from Portugal, tend without pause. This Caribbean dawn, promised smooth sailing, the kind of day that makes you believe nothing can go wrong. Yet as we navigated northwest from Barbados toward Dominica, with the wind steady from the east, there was something in the air, a quiet feeling, as if the sea itself was holding something back, waiting.
Still, it was a perfect morning for a square-rigged vessel like ours to set sail. Sailing on a four-masted barque, manually operated, was a step back in time, to an era when the forces of nature, wind and water, dictated every human action. In the days of calm, ships simply did not move. It was never man over nature, but always nature over man.
Every maneuver aboard the ship was carefully choreographed, every movement deliberate. Eighteen crew members, from all over the world, danced a silent ballet on deck and aloft, managing sails above the same Caribbean waters sailors have crossed for centuries, and which we could now plot with ease thanks to Aqua Map’s detailed vector charts and depth contours.
“Brace the yards!” came Captain Pavel’s first command. Before a hand even touched a line, the wind had been read like an ancient text. Yards were braced to gather wind from the starboard quarter as we sailed a broad reach, a course of roughly 315 to 320 degrees.
“Hit the rig!” said the captain, and the crew climbed aloft. Six sailors per mast, men and women alike, clipped into harnesses, unfurled the heavy canvas. From yardarm to mast, they worked as if born to this life, setting sail over the brilliant turquoise waters of the Windward Islands.
Back on deck, the familiar calls echoed:
“Let go the buntlines!”
“Ease the clew lines!”
“Haul on the sheets!”
First, lower topsails were set, then upper topsails hoisted. Though Sea Cloud was built in 1931 with some of the first electric winches ever made, much of her is still powered by human hands and the wind, much like in the age of exploration, a contrast to the satellite-guided plotting that now helps mariners navigate these same seas.
With all sails set and drawing, Sea Cloud heeled gently, gliding through the Caribbean Sea under the steady trades. The sounds shifted, ropes straining, canvas snapping, timbers creaking, and the movement of the ship changed too. Now, it was nothing but the endless conversation between the wind and the barque.
And so we went island-hopping, from Dominica to Îles des Saintes, then south to Bequia and on to Grenada. This voyage wasn’t just about beaches and cocktails. It was a journey through time, exploring the sugar trade and the greatest demographic shift in human history. We experienced the richness of a melting pot of cultures, from different continents, with different gods, and music.
In Dominica, our local guides (Brenda, Ann, Glenn, and Cynthia) introduced us to the island’s lush flora, deeply woven into the traditions of their homes. With Dr. Lennox Honychurch, who grew up near the ruins of Fort Shirley, we learned about the island’s colonial past and its resilience. Looking across Prince Rupert Bay, we could imagine the ships of old waiting at anchor.
Next, we visited a piece of France in the Caribbean: Terre-de-Haut, Guadeloupe, with its colorful pedestrian streets, a tiny church built of lava stone, and its famed pastry, Torment d’amour, a small sweet filled with coconut, pineapple, or guava. Here, where the Battle of the Saintes (1782) raged, the largest naval battle ever fought in the Western Hemisphere, we sailed the same waters now plotted on Aqua Map’s historical layers.
In Bequia, artisans like the Sargeant brothers craft model boats, and Rastas sell jewelry made from local seedpods. Sailors from the yachts anchoring in Elizabeth’s Bay gather at Jack’s bar to share their adventures. The “Island in the clouds” cocktail, inspired by the island’s Arawak name, Becoya, was a must-try. Just a few meters from Jack’s, located at Princess Margaret Beach, we snorkeled along the cliffs spotting colorful parrotfish, trumpetfish, blue tangs, yellow snappers and even a few lobsters. A perfect snorkeling site, teaming with marine life, with no swells nor currents.
Thanks to the charts we found several hidden gems, not the crowded beaches of mass tourism, but the wild beauty of the real Lesser Antilles. Volcanic island peaks and uplifted coral reefs, their beaches reflecting their geologic roots.
Grenada, known as the “Spice Isle”, contributes over 20% of the world’s nutmeg supply. One of my favorite stops here was the Tri-chocolate factory, where we tasted handmade chocolates from the finest local cacao. At Annandale Falls, we swam in its refreshing cool waters surrounded by abundant vegetation and the sounds of calypso music, cliffs jumpers and the tantalizing smell of spices.
Grenada’s capital, St. George’s, is still recovering from Hurricane Beryl, which struck in July 2024, Beryl caused widespread devastation, particularly on the islands of Carriacou and Petit Martinique, which are part of this nation.
The windward islands are often the first Caribbean islands to feel the impact as storms move westward from the Atlantic. At least one major storm passes through every 2-3 years, from June 1 to November 30. With the increasing threat of climate change, the risk of more intense and frequent hurricanes is, unfortunately, likely to rise.
Our voyage was set to end in St. Lucia, with its famous Sulphur Springs and Diamond Falls, but by the end of week, the sea began to whisper a new message. In late January 2025, a rare swell rolled through the Caribbean, a cold front sweeping the region. By the time we left Grenada, the swells had risen to 2.3 meters and were still growing.
As forecasts warned of 3-meter seas, the captain altered our course. There’s an old saying: “Wind and weather are always on the side of the alert navigator.” We were reminded of its truth; St. Lucia would remain, for now, beyond reach.
Yet the guests understood. After nearly a week on board, visiting five countries on five islands, aboard a yacht-museum beautifully sailed by an extraordinary crew, we had learned that we are only human. Not masters of the universe. While tools like satellite charts, depth data, tide and current predictions make journeys safer, the sea remains a wild and unpredictable force.
So we turned toward Bridgetown, sailing into headwinds and waves now towering over three meters, small yet joyful in the face of the nature’s power.
In the end, this was a voyage shaped by wind, water, and will, sailing in harmony with nature, reading the sea as much as the charts. Respect for the sea is the first lesson of any sailor, whether aboard a square-rigger under sail or a modern yacht with all the electronic aids.
Article and Photos by Paula Tagle Saad
Paula is a Naturalist and Expedition Leader, working in the Galapagos Islands, Baja California, the Mediterranean, the Upper Amazon, Cuba, Colombia, Central America, and the Caribbean on board the Lindblad-National Geographic Expeditions. Paula holds a US sailing certification from Annapolis Sailing School, qualifying her to skipper center boats and keelboats up to 40 feet.
