Passage to Statia

Once more, we set off at dawn for Statia to maximise our time there. The pilots warn that both Statia and Saba can be tricky to stop in due to swells, and having been caught out in Montserrat, we wanted to leave plenty of time if we’d need to continue on to St. Martin.

Despite light winds and calm waters along the shore, the seas became choppy and confused between the islands – everyone got at least one soaking from abherrant waves, but we soon rounded the white limestone cliffs and headed into Oranje Baai.

Statia, or Sint Eustatius, was once the busiest sea port in the world at height of trade between Americas and Europe in 18^th Century on account of it being declared duty free. In 1795, the French imposed taxes and the trade rapidly declined. Several hurricanes later and the former city of Oranjestaadt is now just ruins, a couple of bars and two small guesthouse hotels. Even the port immigration and dive centres operate out of converted shipping containers. We were one of only five yachts on the entire island, but watched seven immense tankers hold off the coast waiting to dock at the fuel depot just north of us. The population seems to be mainly ex-pat Europeans and the main language is English, despite Statia being one of the Dutch Antilles.

The pilot suggested that clearance at weekends and holidays was possible as “there is usually someone around”. We arrived at 1130 on Saturday and the harbour security said we’d just missed the customs officer, but” he sometimes comes back in the afternoon.” We waited dutifully aboard in the searing sunshine; James made several sorties ashore and we suggested landing anyway rather than being prisoners on our own yacht for the whole weekend. Eventually, James caught the officer on a fleeting visit back from the airport and we cleared in formally. The other yachties, also flying yellow quarantine flags, were amazed at our success (we saw them all ashore after they too had given up).

Matthew and James at the edge of the crater on The Quill

The most prominent landmark is The Quill – a 600m high volcano that shoots up behind the town. The guide suggests that volcanologists consider it the most perfectly shaped volcano in the world so we had to climb it. The trail was fantastically maintained and we managed to drag the children up through the arid forest, past scurrying lizards, tumbling land hermit crabs and feral goats and chicken to the crater rim. I continued up to the amazing viewpoint over the north of the island, and it is possible to follow a steep path down into the crater itself. The ecosystem within is utterly different as the crater traps moisture from the clouds forming an unspoilt rainforest within.

That evening we invited a couple of struggling lads for drinks aboard. They had put into Statia when their yacht was leaking and had overcome the capacity of the battery-powered bilge pump.