Caribbean Outseason: Sailing South to Trinidad

Outseason in the Caribbean has its own rhythm.

The bays are quieter, the mooring balls are suddenly available, and the big charter movement fades into the background. What remains is another kind of sailing life: slower, more practical, more honest — the world of cruisers, weather windows, provisioning runs, maintenance lists and boats preparing for hurricane season.

Aboard Aurelia Blue, this is not a pause. It is the work behind the next season.

We start in Martinique with coffee, cheese and full lockers, sail south without guests or a fixed schedule, stop where the weather and the mood allow, spend time among friends in Grenada, and eventually continue overnight to Trinidad for haul-out and refit.

This is what happens when the guests are not on board.

Caribbean Outseason: Sailing South to Trinidad

When people think of the Caribbean sailing season, they often picture full anchorages, busy beach bars, charter boats everywhere and one island after another glowing in perfect trade-wind light.

Outseason is different.

Outseason is quieter. The bays are emptier. Mooring balls are suddenly available. Anchorages that feel crowded in winter become peaceful again. The charter fleets mostly disappear, many boats are tucked away for hurricane season, and the sailors who remain are often the long-term cruisers: people who know where to find parts, where the good vegetables are, who is hauling out next week, and which beach bar has live music on Thursday.

For us aboard Aurelia Blue, outseason does not mean doing nothing.

It means sailing south, preparing the yacht, choosing weather windows carefully, stocking up on things we will not easily find later, and slowly moving toward Trinidad for the annual refit.

This is the first part of that story: the trip down from Martinique.

Provisioning in Martinique: coffee, cheese and common sense

We start in Martinique.

Not because Trinidad is impossible for provisioning — far from it. Trinidad is actually excellent for many things. Fresh fish is affordable, vegetables are easy to find, the markets are lively, and you can eat very well and very healthily there.

But Trinidad is not Europe, and it is not Martinique.

Some things we are used to in a European galley become rare, limited or simply expensive. Coffee is the best example. In Trinidad, good coffee can cost around 70 to 80 US dollars per kilo. In Martinique, we can still buy it at European-style prices. That makes a real difference when you are not provisioning for a weekend, but for months.

Cheese is another story. Trinidad has cheese, yes — but the choice is mostly cheddar, aged cheddar and maybe some cream cheese. Camembert, soft cheeses, French varieties and the little comforts we can easily find in Martinique are another matter.

So we stock up.

Coffee for the outseason. Cheese that can be frozen. Enough drinks. Enough basics. Enough of the small things that make life aboard comfortable when you know the next weeks will include sailing, anchoring, repairs, waiting for weather and preparing for haul-out.

The plan is not to rush. The distance from Martinique to Trinidad can be done with two overnight passages if needed. But that is not our plan.

We give ourselves around four weeks.

Not because the route is so far. Because we want to sail when the weather is right.

No guests, no schedule, no reason to force it

With guests on board, even a relaxed itinerary still has a frame. Arrival dates matter. Flights matter. People have holidays, jobs and families waiting.

Outseason is different.

Friends may visit occasionally, or not at all. There is no full calendar, no crowded charter route, no pressure to be in a specific bay because everyone else is going there too. We can watch the wind, wait if it is wrong, move when it feels right and skip what we already know by heart.

That is a quiet luxury.

So we leave Martinique and make the first stop in Rodney Bay, St. Lucia.

Just us two. No guests. No explaining the plan. No schedule briefing. No “we should probably leave at 06:00.”

We enjoy a Friday night party, sleep in, stay a few days, then clear out and continue south.

St. Lucia to Bequia: sailing because it feels good

The weather is kind to us.

St. Vincent we skip. Not because it is not worth visiting, but because we know this route well, and the sailing is simply too good to interrupt. With almost 7 knots average speed, Aurelia Blue stretches her legs and runs south toward Bequia.

Sailing sounds romantic from the outside. It is romantic — sometimes.

It is also work.

Especially with just two people aboard. Every sail change, every line, every meal, every watch, every little decision belongs to us. No guest to take over the helm for a while, no extra hands for the easy jobs. Just the two of us, the boat and the weather.

We arrive in Bequia in the evening and stop to rest.

The next morning, we clear in — and already arrange to clear out again for the following day.

That may sound strange, but we know the Grenadines well. We have been to the Tobago Cays at least twenty times, often just to snorkel and enjoy the reef. For a guest trip, this area is magic. For this delivery south, we let it pass.

The goal is Grenada.

Grenada: the last proper stop before Trinidad

Our first Grenada stop is St. George’s.

As so often: arrive in the evening, go to Customs the next morning, do the paperwork, breathe out.

Grenada is where we plan to stay longer. It is the last major shopping and preparation stop before Trinidad, and it is also useful for boats in transit. We can buy things duty-free for the yacht — for example antifouling. This time, that means around 20 litres to repaint the underwater hull.

Grenada is also where we can still find many repair materials, tools and supplies for the things we have noticed while sailing.

Not big disasters. That is not how we like to run Aurelia Blue.

We maintain the boat constantly. We notice the small things: a part that starts to wobble, a pump that should be serviced, a fitting that deserves attention, a job that belongs on the annual list. We keep a maintenance plan and work through it step by step.

Some things are replaced before they fail. Impellers, for example — the small rubber parts that keep seawater flowing through the engine cooling system. They are not changed because they are broken. They are changed because they are important.

That is what refit season is really about: not drama, but discipline.

Why Grenada matters in hurricane season

Grenada is also the first island on our southbound route that counts for us as hurricane-season-safe under our insurance area.

That matters.

It changes the mood. Once we are there, we are still careful, still watching weather, still making decisions — but we are inside the area where we are supposed to be for this time of year.

And Grenada has another advantage: friends.

Many sailors spend the outseason around the south coast, tucked into bays, anchored near each other, visiting the same small places, sharing information, spare parts, rides, dinners and stories. It is a very different Caribbean from the main season.

Less glitter. Less performance. Less “tourism machine.”

More real conversations.

Le Phare Bleu and the lightship

We anchor near Le Phare Bleu Marina, a small and friendly place on Grenada’s south coast. It has something you do not forget easily: a retired Swedish lightship called Västra Banken.

The lightship was built in 1900 and served from 1923 to 1970 on the Västra Banken station in the Baltic Sea off Gävle, Sweden. After being decommissioned, it eventually became a restaurant/houseboat before being bought by the owners of Le Phare Bleu in 2005, restored in Rostock, Germany, and shipped to Grenada, where it arrived in December 2006.

There is also a good story behind why it became the symbol of the marina. The owners first considered building a lighthouse on a floating platform, then found the old lightship instead. The marina and lightship opened in 2007, and the larger resort project followed later.

For sailors, places like this matter. Not because they are polished. Because they have character.

A lightship from the Baltic Sea, sitting in a Caribbean marina, serving drinks under warm Grenadian evening light — it is exactly the kind of strange, wonderful detail that makes long-term cruising feel different from ordinary travel.

Chicken Day, Hog Island and the disappearing weeks

Thursday at Le Phare Bleu means Chicken Day.

Grilled chicken pieces, one EC dollar each. Roughly thirty cents. Ten pieces and you are done.

Not fine dining. Not fancy. Perfect.

Nearby there is also a small brewery around the Prickly Bay area, sometimes with live music. And then there is Hog Island — one of those places where the outseason sailor world feels most like itself.

Simple. Unconventional. No glitter. No door security. No artificial drama.

Just boats, dinghies, sandy feet, cold drinks, food, music, stories and people who understand why waiting for the right wind can be the best decision of the week.

We plan two weeks.

Of course we do.

Then the weather is not quite right. The wind is a little too light, or a little too much from the wrong direction. Nothing dramatic, just not the calm, safe, sensible window we want for the final overnight run to Trinidad.

So two weeks become three.

That is outseason.

The overnight run to Trinidad

The final leg to Trinidad is an overnight passage.

Not because we love arriving tired. Because timing matters.

We want to arrive in daylight. We want the current in our favor. We want to clear in during office hours and avoid overtime fees at Customs. We want to handle the paperwork in one day. And we also need to confirm the exact haul-out time with the yard.

We already have a rough week in mind for coming out of the water. Now it becomes real: day, time, yard logistics.

The passage itself is not a grand adventure story. It is seamanship. Planning. Timing. Staying rested enough. Watching the weather. Choosing the right approach. Entering Trinidad in daylight.

And then suddenly, after all the islands, all the provisioning, all the waiting, all the small jobs and all the cockpit discussions, we are there.

Trinidad: almost arrived, but not quite finished

Before haul-out, we spend a few days at anchor in Trinidad, close to the boatyards but not too close.

Quiet enough to sleep. Close enough to get things done.

The days before haul-out are always a little strange. You are still floating, but mentally the boat is already on land. We prepare lines, check systems, remove or secure loose things, start small jobs and make lists.

There is also time for a trip into town, just to walk around, look at shops, pick up bits and pieces and feel the change of place.

Trinidad runs on Trinidad time.

If the appointment says 09:00, it may become 10:30. And that is fine, as long as everything is done properly.

At Peake Yacht Services, the team is professional and calm. The travel lift comes to the boat, the slings go into the water, and a diver checks underneath to make sure nothing important is in the wrong place: no propeller, no through-hull, no vulnerable fitting under a sling.

Aurelia Blue is more than 20 tons. You want people who take that seriously.

They do.

The boat is lifted, placed on the transport trailer and moved to her stand. The supports are positioned, adjusted and secured.

And then, finally, she is there.

Out of the water.

In Trinidad.

Ready for the next chapter.

What outseason really means

For guests, the sailing season is the visible part.

The anchorages. The meals. The swims. The islands. The sunsets. The stories.

Outseason is what makes that possible.

It is provisioning carefully in Martinique because coffee in Trinidad costs a fortune. It is choosing not to sail when the wind is wrong. It is skipping beautiful islands because you know them well and the boat has another job now. It is replacing parts before they fail. It is carrying antifouling, checking lists, waiting in Grenada, enjoying Chicken Day, talking with other sailors, and arriving in Trinidad at the right time for the tide, the paperwork and the yard.

It is not glamorous every day.

But it is real.

And it is part of why Aurelia Blue is ready when the season begins again.

Soon enough, the guests will come back aboard. The cabins will be made up, the fridge will be full, the route will point north again, and the stories will sound effortless.

But first: refit season.

And maybe one or two very serious cocktail experiments in the floating test kitchen. 🍹⛵

A Smile to Finish

Outseason has a strange way of changing priorities. In the main season, you think about anchorages, guests, routes and whether everyone has found their swimsuit.

On the way south to Trinidad, the big questions become more practical: Do we have enough coffee until November? How much cheese can realistically fit in the freezer? Is twenty litres of antifouling enough? And why does every small boat job require exactly the tool that is currently under three other boxes?

Somewhere between Martinique cheese, Grenada chicken, Trinidad paperwork and the travel lift at Peake, you realise: this is not the glamorous side of Caribbean sailing. But it is the side that makes the glamorous part possible.

And yes — after all that, a cocktail experiment in the floating test kitchen feels not only justified, but medically necessary. 🍹⛵