Time in the boatyard, St Kitts

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It has been nearly six weeks since we arrived in St. Kitts. As I write, the temperature has cooled and steady rain falls, the outer edge of Hurricane Erin passing far to the north. Forecasts suggest winds here will peak at 40 mph—manageable, though the first rumbles of thunder remind me that our mast is essentially a giant lightning conductor. Fortunately, larger boats surround us, which eases my nerves a little.

Working to repair and refit a 40-year-old boat in the Caribbean has been both frustrating and educational. Finding the right parts, confirming compatibility, reordering when things don’t fit, and waiting up to three weeks for shipping have all slowed us down. Yet, the delays have had unexpected benefits. I’ve been forced to take an active role in the hands-on maintenance—something I was hesitant about at first, leaving most of it to Michelle with her experience. But with the guidance of a new friend, Larry, who has 40 years in boatbuilding, I’ve gained confidence. Michelle and I now switch roles when fatigue sets in, or we take on separate projects.

We’ve removed and replaced the old prop shaft, cutless bearing, and stern seal. I’ve learned how to align the engine, adjust the mounts, and prepare for the refit. Larry has been patient throughout, often joking that he just wants us gone. One discovery, however, was sobering: the stern tube—the barrier separating the sea from the engine room—was rotten and might have lasted only another month. At sea, a failure like that would have caused rapid flooding. While grateful we found it in time, the experience has made us wary of the boat, leading to deeper inspections. I’m realizing how limited surveys can be, and that ultimately, we must be our vessel’s custodians. That means investing time in knowledge and skills—something that has taken weeks to fully grasp. Experienced sailors may find this obvious, but for me, it has been a steep, eye-opening lesson.

I knew this wouldn’t be a quick process, but I didn’t expect to still be here. Yet, amidst the frustrations are silver linings: getting to know a place beyond a fleeting anchorage, and forming connections that might otherwise never happen.

As a foreign family living in a St. Kitts boatyard, we stand out. At first, the workers looked at us with curiosity and some reserve. Across the islands, we’ve noticed that warmth toward outsiders isn’t immediate. What helps is adopting the local custom of greeting everyone formally. A simple “Good morning” when stepping into a minivan earns a chorus of replies—sometimes amused, but almost always kind. Tourists often keep to hotels or pre-arranged tours, so our approach is unusual. Yet, those small gestures spark conversations and unexpected friendships.

A week ago, eager for a break from boat work, we rode a local bus to Sandy Point. The “bus” is really a Toyota minivan with a green front plate, blasting reggae, no seatbelts in sight. On Michelle’s first ride with the kids, she wondered whether to double-check our insurance policy. For me, it felt like stepping into someone’s family car, though no one seemed to mind our presence. Five weeks in, I can now settle into the ride with ease.

In Sandy Point, we wandered the streets until a middle-aged man asked what we were looking for. When we said food and maybe a beach, he guided us to his cousin’s beach bar, where we enjoyed the local ‘cook up’ a dish of rice and chicken and a cold bottle of Ting—our favourite grapefruit soda. Later, we ate spicy kebabs and ribs from a street vendor, sipping beer as we watched the town go about its day. Smiles and casual chats came easily; we even bought crisps from teenage girls fundraising for their dance recital.

The same sense of connection extends to the boatyard. A mechanic once struck up a conversation while I was working, introducing himself as “Vibration.” With his dreadlocks, calm energy, and easy smile, he seemed the embodiment of the Rasta spirit. He works alongside a man who goes by “Prince,” and together they spend afternoons talking, laughing, and watching us go about our tasks.

Of course, there are days when we all feel worn down and just want to leave. Owen, though, seems content simply observing the bustle around him. The boatyard is alive with activity—sailing vessels in hurricane storage, keels braced on old tires in dug-out pits, the constant beeping of the travel lift as it hauls boats out of the water. In just the past week, nearly 50 boats have come ashore. For Owen, that’s daily entertainment. For the rest of us, it’s a reminder that, even in delays, there is always something moving, something happening, something to learn.