Lordship, my Westerly Sealord, had been stranded in the Dominican Republic for two months. I had been sailing from Martinique towards Cuba with two friends. We were having trouble with our batteries, so we stopped along the south coast of Hispaniola. In the evening I went up the mast to retrieve a halyard when I spotted damage to the shrouds.

A few strands of the cable were broken at the tang. The Dominican Republic didn’t have facilities to swage new shrouds, so I ended up staying for much longer than I wanted. My crew left disappointed and I spent the time waiting for replacements, planning my next steps.

I started looking at sailing to Haïti, and contemplating why I sail. For me, a large part of that decision is the desire to take the road less travelled. Cuba was a start, but sailing to Haïti is possibly the paragon of that sentiment.

I returned to the UK and Europe to regroup, and decided that Lordship would be bound for Haïti. I raised a small sum of money from friends and family for medical and school supplies, and returned with a used mainsail that was donated by Crusader Sails.

A volatile history

Haïti was the first slave colony to successfully revolt. Led by a former slave and the first black general of the French Army, Toussaint L’Ouverture, the war of independence lasted 13 years until they defeated Napoleon’s forces and declared sovereignty on 1 January 1804. Haïti was the first independent nation of the Caribbean and Latin America, the first country to abolish slavery and the only state in history established by a successful slave revolt.

The following century of independence was beset with political instability and ostracisation from the international community. They had to repay crippling debt to France, levied in exchange for their sovereignty.

The unending instability in Haïti has led some to wonder if being the first nation to shake off the shackles of slavery did not lead to a concerted effort by the western world to ‘punish’ a nation of former slaves that dared to want freedom. A critical analysis of international aid could lead one to question whether much has changed in modern times.

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Sailing to Haiti – Iridium bites the brine

Early one morning, with very little wind and dire warnings about my life expectancy from other cruisers echoing in my ears, I departed Ocean World Marina in Puerto Plata. I cruised along the north coast of the Dominican Republic stopping at the island of Tororu in the Cayos Hermanos.

In Tororu either I decided to sacrifice my Iridium on the altar of Neptune, or I was being clumsy, let’s say the former. It tumbled overboard and I immediately jumped in after it, fully clothed, expelling expletives mid air. When I hit the surface, I immediately inhaled some saltwater.

Blinded by my own stupidity, the device eluded me as I grasped for it in vain. By the time I’d returned to the boat to dig out my mask, it was comfortably ensconced amongst the weeds and no search pattern I initiated revealed its location. There was a definite crisis of confidence at this point. After a day of contemplation, I concluded that the Iridium was an overpriced comfort blanket.

I still had my mobile phone, for 35p I could message my location to someone each day, and in emergencies I could pay a totally reasonable £32.99 per megabyte, and send a live location. In any case they wouldn’t be much help on the ground, should anything go wrong.

I woke up at 0400 and set off to cover the 55 miles from Tororu to Basse Terre on Île de la Tortue, an infamous hideout of pirates throughout history. Although the Iridium had bitten the brine, I had a downloaded wind forecast that was only 36 hours old. It held true, and I ghosted along with my asymmetrical spinnaker, making 3 knots from the 8 knots of wind I was offered. Clearly Neptune was not impressed by my electronic sacrifice.

Towards the end of the afternoon I passed into the Canal de la Tortue. At this point even the wind feared to go any further, so Lordship was under iron sails. I kept to the middle of the channel, but as I passed along the coast of Île de la Tortue to starboard I started seeing the fine lines of sailing yachts and masts. I edged closer to see the wooden sailboats produced on the island – an impressive sight.

Before the sun set I was comfortably anchored outside the reef at Basse-Terre. I watched the sailing boats plying their trade. No one came out to greet me and I didn’t have the energy to launch my auxiliary, so I headed for an early night, clutching the largest frying pan I could muster to my chest for comfort.

After a very peaceful night I headed into shore on my dinghy. A large crowd of children gathered at the shore and excitedly hailed me. When I tied up to an old rowing boat and waded over to them they were all smiling and laughing.

When I pulled out the football from my bag, the crowd went wild. They proceeded to drag me around the village and show me the ruins of an old fort, the park, and we eventually ended up on the football field for some five-a-side football.

The following day I met a man called Necksonne. He had lived in Miami for over a decade and returned to the island to try and build up a hotel and bar. He spoke good English and French and was extremely helpful. On his advice I moved inside the reef where there was a lot less swell. Necksonne told me that on the island: ‘We don’t have no government, no gangs, and no problems, we want to keep it that way.’

On Sunday I walked up the hillside to the local settlement for the church service. It was an invigorating 45-minute hike. In the settlement I was met with curious and friendly greetings. After the service I met the Haïtian pastor and missionary nuns from Kenya and passed on some of my donations.

Midway anchorage

I spent three relaxing days in Basse Terre before departing with the intention of anchoring on the western tip of Île de la Tortue. The wind was funneling through the Canal from the west, it would either be motoring or beating. In the end, as is often the way, I opted for a bit of both, with the benefit of neither.

As the day was drawing to a close I found myself still two hours away from my intended destination. With the sun dropping rapidly towards the horizon like stone, I decided to anchor between two settlements on the south coast of the island. Not a proper anchorage, but an acceptable depth with sand and rock bottom that held my anchor.

I had my first negative encounter that evening with a rowing boat containing three men. Two men in their prime and one older gentleman. The older man, clearly in charge, started shaking a spear gun over his head and shouting at me. An auspicious beginning to any interaction. He was shouting ‘Give me one! Give me a new one!’ I told him that unfortunately I didn’t have one.

Unperturbed, he pointed to the elastic, ‘Give me one rubber,’ this request I also politely declined. I was then treated to a few choice curse words in Creole. At this point I was feeling slightly tense and was regretting my choice of secluded anchorage. Thankfully the men rowed away.

That night I did not sleep easy, spending the first half of the night in the cockpit until around 0100, at which time I woke from a nightmare about being boarded. Realising I was letting fear and prejudice rule me, and that it was unlikely anyone would come to the boat, I retired down below to sleep peacefully.

It might be worth mentioning here that other than the challenges from environmental disasters and political instability, one of the greatest challenges Haïti faces as a nation is prejudice. I experienced it from sailors and non-sailors, I even exhibited it myself at times.

Every Dominican I met, upon hearing I was sailing to Haïti, was shocked and told me that I would be either robbed, murdered or worse! The belief that Haïtians are ‘bad’ is common among people who’ve never met Haïtians or visited Haïti, and yet, I can assure you that Haïtians are no more immoral or nefarious than any other social group. They are just people dealing with adversity and scarcity as best they can.

I personally encountered overwhelming kindness, generosity, and hope from the Haïtians I met.

Delivering precious cargo

The next morning I decided to forgo visiting the beach at Point Ouest. I wanted to deliver the medicines to Mole Saint Nicholas and be ready to depart for the security of communist Cuba in the forthcoming weather window. There was little wind so I motored for six hours into the Baie du Mole, a beautiful wide bay. I dropped the anchor at the settlement of Carenage.

In Carenage four men came to the boat wanting to help me in some way in return for food, water or money. I felt slightly on edge as I spoke to them, crowded on my swim platform. Eventually I closed proceedings with ‘Au revoir, mes amis’ and they left amicably. I rowed over to shore and was again met by excited children who took me by the hand, pulling me through the village. I was introduced to the Pasteur, and once I had spoken with him, my mind was at ease that Carenage was a safe place for me.

Beauty and deprivation

Mole Saint Nicholas is a beauty spot that was often visited by people from Haïti, before Port au Prince became riven with gang violence and travel by roads became too dangerous for most. On the south-west corner of the bay there was a beautiful beach, with a few hotels and some bars and restaurants, but it was completely empty while I was there.

Mole Saint Nicholas was a large town. I walked into it to deliver the medicines to the mayor. The town had wide streets that seemed in good condition, but there were not many vehicles or people around. The Pasteur told me there were very few jobs, and most were getting by on food they could grow or fish.

Herein lies the problem for mainland Haïti; throughout the 20th century they deforested the land to produce charcoal, but this has left it infertile. In contrast, Île de la Tortue was lush and verdant with mango trees growing all over the place. The readily available food supply was much more scarce in Mole Saint Nicholas, even the bay seemed to have less sea life. I was acutely aware of the hunger and desperation in this place.

There were constant cries of mon blanc (white man) and mwa gangou (I am hungry) from the children, and after the third day of refusing to give out food, I felt animosity from some villagers.

On the fourth morning I lifted the anchor, waved goodbye to the children and the Pasteur and headed west for Cuba. Visiting Haïti was one of the most unique and rewarding experiences of my life. I hope that sailors start shrugging off society’s prejudices and add Haïti to their itinerary.

Cruising Resources

Safe anchorage

Basse-Terre on Île de la Tortue is a safe anchorage. The people are friendly and the troubles on the mainland don’t impact them too much. The US coast guard passes through the channel most days.

Be prepared for poverty

There is a lot more deprivation and desperation on the mainland, so be aware of what you’re getting yourself into and be prepared.

Customs should be a breeze

At the locations I visited there was no government presence, so customs & immigration wasn’t possible.

Stock up in advance

Provision all you could need before arriving in Haïti: food, fuel, and water.

Easy access to internet

Internet access is easy and cheap, around $1/gigabyte. I bought a Navcom SIM, there is also Digicel. You can top up data at small stores.

Don’t arrive empty handed

I would recommend taking things to donate. Second-hand clothing will be very much appreciated. Fishing gear, hooks, line and lures are very sought after by the fishermen. For the kids, take footballs and don’t forget a pump!

Useful resources

Check resources like Navionics and Navily for the latest info from other sailors that have visited.

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