The second and third races of the season for the Class A, 28-footers were scheduled for Easter Sunday and Monday. Beggar was counting on Bruce as crew for rigging and racing and we were looking forward to seeing his boat under sail.

The day before Easter we anxiously awaited the arrival of the new
and improved Blue Bird, but she didn’t appear until 11:30 ... on Sunday. She was proudly towed to Sandy Ground for her grand re-launching. Tropical flowers were taped to the bow and topsides, accenting the shiny new paint and graphics. With crew lounging in the truck bed, some in the boat, Beggar backed her down the driveway toward the sea. And then the waiting began …

The fellows limed around, drinking beers, drifting up and down the beach. Some slept on the bar, others rested under trees. A truck backed in with the lead ballast bars and men got busy offloading them onto the beach. The Boatmen’s Lunch arrived and the crew spent another hour eating and liming some more. In between it all were spirited discussions, arguments and betting, all about the boats.

Beggar was waiting for the minister to come bless the boat, and when she appeared at 3 p.m., his crew quickly gathered around Blue Bird, placing their hands on her with bowed heads. The minister spoke about the glory of the fine vessel, her able builder and the men who would take her to sea. She blessed them all and asked God to bring them back safe. The minister tossed a
glass of sanctioned water onto the bow, her “Amen” was echoed by the crew, followed by whistles and shouts. Beggar hopped into the truck, fired it up, shoved it into reverse and when he slammed on the brakes, Blue Bird slipped in, alive and afloat once again.

The jobs began with hauling and loading ballast, carrying and stepping the mast, toting and attaching boom and rudder and sails, all of which filled more hours. Throughout the day the 16 crewmembers came and went. At 5:30 everything was ready, but several of the crew were missing. Beggar, like a cat herder, ran down the beach to collect them. A crowd had gathered to watch the setting sun and as it was about to disappear, Blue Bird’s guys climbed aboard and she was finally released from the mooring, sailing toward the orange orb in the sky. The Easter Sunday race never materialized because of the winds again, which had been abnormally strong for most of the day.

Banners around the island had been flapping for a month heralding the second biggest race of the year; “EASTER MONDAY BOAT RACE 2008, In Honor of Mr. Egbert Connor.” That morning we headed in at 10 a.m., certain the action would start early, but found the beach empty, save for the sleeping dogs. Beggar and the boys rolled in around noon and the liming commenced. Winds in excess of 20 knots and a mean ground sea were attempting to scuttle yet another race. Phone calls were made (to whom, I wondered, as there is no race committee), hours passed, guys came and went.

Sometime during all this Blue Bird was rigged to sail and at 5 p.m. the crew began to board. If they weren’t going to race,
at least they could practice. They returned in the dark, unlit, tacking carefully through the crowded anchorage. As Bruce was helping pull sails from the boat, Beggar told him, “De race next Sunday. You come wid us. You me pardner.” With so much hype and work put into an event that had yet to happen, we decided to stay, despite our need to push on.

Time in the Caribbean has issues. If something doesn’t happen when it’s scheduled, it’s “no problem, it come soon, comin’ tomorrah.” So on the following Sunday we were skeptically hopeful that the race would finally come to pass. The all-night Moonsplash event was the evening before and it seemed unlikely anyone would be showing up bright and early. Around 11 a.m., Beggar’s crew filtered in and slowly got to work getting their girl ready. The wind was still up, but two other boats were being rigged so it looked like Blue Bird would finally have her chance to shine.

Anguilla race boats work off a different set of rules. There is no “starboard” right-away decree; the winner must physically touch the finish pin. Sometimes a gun marks the start, sometimes not. I had been making my way up and down the beach taking photos of the pre-race action when Blue Bird headed to the far end of the bay. Light and Peace shot off joining them. I could see De Tree was already there and realized I’d better get a move on. I turned my stroll into a fast walk, a trot and finally a run when I knew I might miss the shot I’d been waiting for all month.

And sure enough, they started the race silently, without fanfare, without me. With 57-foot masts bearing 40-foot booms on 28-foot boats, the sails, spread wide, looked like the wings of three gigantic butterflies, headed west. That was the last I saw of them until they returned four hours later, wet and exhausted. Blue Bird came in a disappointing second. De Tree was the victor that day.

Those four hours were supposed to be the main event. But they weren’t. They were merely the end to a story, a wonderful set of memories of boat builders, sailors and people who love life. Lucky us to have been along for the ride.

Jan