Rain had fallen constantly for weeks, the wettest January since records began. Winter ticked on interminadably… deadlines, school, hospital shifts; My wife Georgie and I craved a break. Then up popped a last minute opportunity for a week’s sailing in Caribbean sunshine with Sunsail.

Frantic searching online followed. Just how realistic would navigating airports, long haul flights, and a week afloat be with three children aged five and under be? Ah stuff it. It’s St Lucia. We’re going. 

The children had finished their first film and all of their snacks before a pilot could be find to fly us and our embarrassingly over-packed 17 items of luggage. Miraculously, 11 hours on the plane passed with no major meltdowns, before the children finally fell asleep for the first time in 20 hours on the taxi ride to Rodney Bay marina.

Stepping out of the sultry night into the cool air aboard our palatial Sunsail Dufour 44 that awaited us, we finally relaxed. Maybe this might just work out after all. 

A word to the wise. When bribing a child not to create complete havoc in a supermarket, choc ices are a bad choice in the tropics, melting quickly to create a bigger mess than the one they solve. Nevertheless, we were soon stocked up, Aldo had briefed us on how everything worked on the boat, base manager Lene had talked us through a plan of where to go for the week, and before the crew get could get any more fractious or impatient, we cast off.

Instantly, the Caribbean Sea spread before us. With just one week and a small crew, short hops and plenty of beach time were the order of the day. St Lucia is often a springboard to the rest of the Caribbean, but its leeward sides offers numerous bays and anchorages, beaches and waterfalls worthy of exploration. 

Trouble-free tradewinds

With NE trades astern of us, an unfurled genoa wafted us along on an even keel to Marigot Bay in little more than a couple of hours. There, a deep inlet leads to a palm-fringed lagoon at the far end. Jean Jacques greeted us and guided us to a mooring.

We didn’t have to ask twice for Reuben (5), Lily (3) and Faith (1) to get into swimming things before we bundled them into the dinghy and headed for the beach. Oh, that first dive under the warm, clear water was heavenly! The lifejacketed children ran in and out of the water, squealing with delight. Above us the tall palms swayed, reggae played at a beach bar, and the children chased crabs on the rocks and raced coconut husks as boats. 

By mid-afternoon, yawns were spreading among the crew. This wasn’t going to be the night for a long, slow meal in waterside restaurant. Scrub that; that wouldn’t be happening at all with children. A very un-Caribbean spaghetti bolognese later, and the crew were dead to the world, helped by the whirring of the air conditioning and generator. Judge if you will, but a hour of two of noise for the sake of a quiet evening and topped-up water tanks seemed more than worth it. 

With breakfast erupting in the cockpit, Georgie and I hurriedly piled the children into lifejackets and onto the two paddleboards, thus beginning the week-long argument of who was going with Mummy and who with Daddy and which board was better. 

Sailing south again, Lily sat on my lap and helmed, while Faith napped below and Reuben amused himself watching the sea go by through the windows below. Anse Cochon opened up, a wide bay with reasonable shelter from the swell, and only modest gusts coming off the land. 

Relaxing in paradise

Amid honeymooning couples enjoying the chic Ti Kaye hotel sunloungers, we set up a very British beach camp, with buckets and spades, suncream and hats, snacks and sandcastles. Later, daytripper catamarans began disgorging sun-roasted guests to be tumbled ashore by the waves, but sated with rum punch and local souvenirs, they were gone by mid afternoon, leaving us in peace to try fresh coconut, and for Reuben to enjoy a long and very chatty sit on the hotel’s toilet. 

Back aboard, not having to worry about water meant we could rinse of three small sand monsters on deck before bundling them up in dry towels. Pyjamas before dinner were a mistake though, as Faith used the sausage casserole to turn herself in a human tomato. 

Enjoying life and with nowhere to be, we resolved to stay put the next day. The children, gaining confidence in the water, were keen to explore and we made off on paddleboards for the nearby rocks, where Reuben and Lily took it turns to swim over the coral with Mummy, Lily with her goggles and Reuben in his new full-face snorkelling mask, trumpeting in wonder at the ‘Nemo’ fish and ‘game’ fish he’d spotted. Their new lifejackets made the world of difference; they could swim easily with heads above water, but the moment they stopped swimming they rolled onto their back, bobbing like surprised turtles. For us, we discovered that manhandling, directing and propelling bobbing children in deep water is much easier if you’re wearing fins yourself.

That evening, we reached maximum cruising relaxation, or as close as we’d get. Ti Kaye’s waterfront bar offers very reasonable ($7) and exceptionally tasty mango Daiquiris, drunk while overlooking the idyllic bay and only marred by our sandy, soggy offspring, fuelled by fresh fruit juice, dancing around to reggae music and laughing raucously at toilet jokes. 

Independence day

St Lucia’s Pitons, the national emblem of two volcanic-plug mountains, had been the gravity that pulled us southward on our short cruise, and now we finally turned our bows toward them. Under a searing sun, I trolled for fish in vain, while the children played down below, colouring in, scattering pen lids and pilfering pistachios before colouring in the shells and scattering them liberally around the boat too.

We were becoming fractious in the heat but a quick lunch stop at Anse Chastanet for some snorkelling and beach time cooled our blood. 

By mid-afternoon, we had made it. Petit and Gros Piton towered either side of us as we picked up a mooring. When I first sailed here 25 years ago, it was known as Jalousie. Since then, vast luxury apartments have spread along what is now dubbed Sugar Beach, with black volcanic sand replaced with imported white coral sand. Nevertheless, the scenery was stupendous, and the hotel kindly gave us a bag of ice for our lime daiquiris on board that night.

While the children played ashore and Georgie foiled their regular attempts at inadvertently drowning themselves, I sipped a Piton beer between the Pitons and barbecued our dinner on the stern grill, occasionally diving in to cool off. 

Chaos soon returned to the boat with behaviour reaching a nadir. Parental cajoling turned into threats until in despair we resorted to chores. As if by magic, a chain gang formed, excitedly passing plates, cups and cutlery up onto deck, and after dinner, back down again for washing up. Huh. It was almost as if we were an actual, functioning team. Responsibility really works, even for three year olds!

As day faded into night we tidied the children into bed, while, with serendipitous timing, a St Lucian Independence day party got underway ashore. I lay in the black water, looking up at the stars circling the peaks above us, phophoresence fizzling in the waves below.

The music wafting across the water grew louder and louder until a sudden gunshot rang out, shattering our reverie, followed seconds later by a burst of light overhead; it dawned us that we had front row (and downwind) seats for a spectacular firework display.

Gusts of 30 knots barrelled down between the Pitons that night, with the morning bringing  torrential rain. In the UK this might have been unpleasant. Here, the rain was warm, the water flat, and a double rainbow erupted within touching distance of our boat.

Searching for waterfalls

We wanted to find a waterfall, and spotting something on Google maps, we resolved to explore the northern side of Petit Piton. 

Across the bay from Soufriere, Malgretout nestles just inside the patrolled marine park, where the tiny Paradise Hotel watches over an utterly unspoilt beach. Tying off to the little floating dock, the children hunted for sea glass and chased pelicans along the beach, while fishermen, tall in their narrow pirogues, buzzed back and forth and spread nets to dry on the shore. 

Strapping Faith into a carrier and sandals on the children’s feet, we started climbing up a steep track under trees heavy mangoes, papayas, coconuts and bananas. The leg stretch seemed to do everyone good, and a miraculously whinge-free half hour took us to the Piton Falls.

$20EC (£5) got us all in to a tropical garden, at the heart of which three manmade pools collected the volcano-warm water sparkling off the rocks above. Trepidation turned to squeals of delight as the gang tried one pool and then another, and stood under their first real, glittering waterfall. We played until we were all shrivelled as prunes. 

On the walk back down, we stopped at Martha’s Tables, a little family-run, award winning restaurant serving Creole cooking – spice Mahi Mahi, Creole chicken, fried plantain, ‘provision’ and rice. 

The penultimate day of our charter arrived. A heron patrolled the cricket stumps at the water’s edge, and sunshine refracted off the rain-washed palm trees. We spent an hour or two playing at being pushed off the dinghy dock by the children, before slipping lines and heading north, having saved a single, longer return leg till now. 

This would in fact be the first time we’d hoisted the mainsail, but an easy fetch into light NE trades beckoned us onward. As the sun climbed higher and gusts tumbled down the steep hills, I tucked in a reef. Before long all three children were up in the cockpit, lifejacketed and clipped on, nestling into a corners and nodding off. 

A little proper sailing

The boat didn’t heel more than 15º, but as it came time for a second reef, we realised that Georgie and I should have been wearing lifejackets, and maybe clipping on too – neither of us wanted to manage three children and a yacht for a solo MOB. In fact, we hadn’t practiced an MOB that week, nor had we talked about safety drills, lulled as we were into a sense of security by the short downwind hops. Duly chastised, we resolved to be more disciplined in future.

On the south side of Rodney Bay, we spotted the deserted Bois d’Orange bay where we dropped the hook one last time. A long, narrow bay, with a shallow beach at its SE end, it offered good holding in 7 metres. Undeterred by lively gusts, I dinghied and the children ashore to a pristine beach, behind which lay a lagoon and abandoned fisherman’s hut.

The children raced up and down, built sandcastles and played in the shallow water. When Geogie paddled in after us, she told us quite how windy it had got further out. 

Sunsail’s base manager Lene thought we were mad for having spent the night there, the bay being known for its uncomfortably strong local wind effects. Nevertheless the anchor held without a murmur, and we set about shoving our copious and largely unused belongings into numerous bags ahead of the morning’s disembarkation. One more early morning stop to play on the beach near Pigeon Island, and we were back alongside. 

In one last, pleasant twist in the story, we weren’t heading home just yet, however, as the St Lucia Tourist Board kindly lined us up with a couple of days of luxury at the Harbor Club hotel next to the marina. 

Finally, as the green hills rolling past the taxi windows faded into night, we reflected on a wealth of ‘firsts’ and shared experiences with our little crew: snorkelling over coral reefs, playing under waterfalls, walking through rainforests, drinking fresh coconuts, and spotting pelicans fishing. Our children had encountered new people and new cultures, and we’d proved that not only could we enjoy being afloat together, but we could be a proper little team. Chartering with children may be less relaxing than chartering without children, but it makes a fantastic family adventure. We even survived two long-haul flights, and returned rejuvenated to the first signs of spring.

With thanks to Sunsail, who provided the boat, to Harbor Club Rodney Bay, for our stay there, and to St Lucia Tourist Board who took us to Pigeon Island and helped with arrangements. 

The Harbor Club Hotel, Rodney Bay

We are enormously grateful to the St Lucia Tourist Authority and the Harbour Club Rodney Bay by Hilton, who kindly put us for a couple of days at the end of our charter while we waited for our flights. It is a five minute walk from the Sunsail base in the marina, and the cool, air conditioned lobby immediately felt like a world apart from the heat outside. Our bags were taken up to our fourth floor room, from the balcony of which we could see the pools, below, the marina beyond and Pigeon Island in the distance.

The children were hugely excited for the multiple pools, which curved and shimmered below the palm trees. We zoomed down in a glass elevator and spent the next two days in and out of the water, watching the children’s swimming progress rapidly. That evening, after the Hilton Honours sundowner cocktails in the roof-top bar certainly we relaxing at a harbour-front table for fresh stonebaked pizzas of mammoth size and cold drinks, feeling altogether more glamorous than we usually do. With children in tow we weren’t going disturb anyone in one of the fine-dining restaurants in the hotel, though everything from sushi to Caribbean fusion fine dining was on offer.

A day out at Pigeon Island made a great excursion nearby with hills and forts to clamber over without being a big mission with children followed by some local food at the beach bars just outside the national park. Our final morning saw us enjoying coffees and pastries at the ‘swiss bakery’ before being whisked back to the airport in the warm evening.

www.theharborclub.com

About the boat

Our Sunsail Dufour 44 gave us the best of both catamaran and monohull. The modern, high volume not only kept heeling to a minimum and meant there was ample space for all of us in three cabins. A generator powered air conditioning units in every cabin, a water maker and smoothie and coffee machines. A water filter provided tasty water that we kept cold in the fridge.

Having all three (large) cabins on the same level meant we could easily keep an eye on who was doing what down below.

Sunsail had kindly secured netting all the way round the boat. In the cockpit, the captive washboard, half raised, was enough to stop Faith toddling and tumbling down the compaionway, while Reuben and Lily could climb over it. At the stern, folding helm seats closed off the transom, while the central table meant something to grab was always close to hand. There was plenty of space but everyone was also safely contained.

www.sunsail.com

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