Dear readers,
I know you have been pining for more photos. After much difficulty, frustration, cursing and being made to feel better by Alicia, we have been able to get some photos up on the posts back to "To Martinique". She took most of 'em, but not the racing pics; some are pretty good.
Friday, January 30, 2009
In Martinique
Friday, 30 January, 2009
We (those of us up and about) have begun listening to Chris Parker at 8:30 am instead of 7:00. This morning we have heavy overcast and rain, another tropical wave. This caps a week of strong winds; Chris says it will moderate by tomorrow, and next week will be fairly mild.
We are in Anse Mitan, just inside Pointe du Bout, across the bay from Fort de France, Martinique's biggish city, by caribbean standards. This small town is described in one of our many guides as a place where wealthy French tourists with too much money to spend hang out. We came in hopes of lots of free internet extending out into the harbour. Not the case. The shore is lined with ratty looking bars and small hotels. We haven't been ashore, and will probably move over to Fort de France this morning. There is a very good anchorage right in by the old town.
Yesterday was beautiful and quite windy for our sail here from Ste. Anne. Almost dead down wind for the first ten miles, we sailed under main alone at a comfortable 5-6 knots. As we rounded Pte. du Diamont, taking the passage inside Diamond Rock, the wind became unstable and variable, sometimes fairly light astern and othertimes hard on the beam at 25 knots, williwaws banging in from the nearby hills. We sailed on up past Les Anse Arlets, a lovely looking little town, and Grand Anse, where the customs people have recently set up a new "clearances" station for yachts. Turning the corner at Cap Salomon, we faced the full brunt of the wind steady and hard on the nose for five miles into Pte. du Bout. Alicia spent most of the trip painting the remains of her previous day's breakfast. It is a before and after series. She surfaced as we approached Diamond Rock, jutting high into the azure sky, and was shocked by its might and beauty. She took a photo or ten. I enjoyed the sail, exciting and needful of full attention. The final push upwind under power gave us a good test for the starboard engine cooling system. It seems to be ok.
We (those of us up and about) have begun listening to Chris Parker at 8:30 am instead of 7:00. This morning we have heavy overcast and rain, another tropical wave. This caps a week of strong winds; Chris says it will moderate by tomorrow, and next week will be fairly mild.
We are in Anse Mitan, just inside Pointe du Bout, across the bay from Fort de France, Martinique's biggish city, by caribbean standards. This small town is described in one of our many guides as a place where wealthy French tourists with too much money to spend hang out. We came in hopes of lots of free internet extending out into the harbour. Not the case. The shore is lined with ratty looking bars and small hotels. We haven't been ashore, and will probably move over to Fort de France this morning. There is a very good anchorage right in by the old town.
Yesterday was beautiful and quite windy for our sail here from Ste. Anne. Almost dead down wind for the first ten miles, we sailed under main alone at a comfortable 5-6 knots. As we rounded Pte. du Diamont, taking the passage inside Diamond Rock, the wind became unstable and variable, sometimes fairly light astern and othertimes hard on the beam at 25 knots, williwaws banging in from the nearby hills. We sailed on up past Les Anse Arlets, a lovely looking little town, and Grand Anse, where the customs people have recently set up a new "clearances" station for yachts. Turning the corner at Cap Salomon, we faced the full brunt of the wind steady and hard on the nose for five miles into Pte. du Bout. Alicia spent most of the trip painting the remains of her previous day's breakfast. It is a before and after series. She surfaced as we approached Diamond Rock, jutting high into the azure sky, and was shocked by its might and beauty. She took a photo or ten. I enjoyed the sail, exciting and needful of full attention. The final push upwind under power gave us a good test for the starboard engine cooling system. It seems to be ok.
Wednesday, January 28, 2009
More Maintenance
First thing Monday morning, I am into the Diginav workshop with bits of Rae Marine under my arm. She came apart gently in his knowing hands, and he pushed and prodded her drive mechanism. New belt needed, but none in stock. No charge for the consult. I have seen something like this belt in my periodic sifting through the new and old spare parts distributed in small hidy holes in and around my workshop on Django. With new understanding and hope, I am back aboard rummaging through the detritus. At the last possible place, there it is, a brand new drive belt. Rae Marine is restored and back in place behind the wheel in a trice.
We have a pile of laundry to do and some shopping before heading West toward Fort de France, or better, Pointe de Bout on the South side of the bay, a short ferry ride from the city. Both are a good 20 miles from here, so Tuesday is our preferred departure.
The day dawns wild and squally. I do like the anchorage here, solid and unyielding despite the heavy winds. We plan to drive into the fuel dock to top up with fuel and water. After preparing for sea and hauling anchor, our starboard engine beeps that she is too warm for comfort. This has been worrying me all season, she seems to run hot and I know what needs to be done. No way am I taking Django into the dock in 24 knots of wind and an engine we may have to shut down, so back we circle and drop anchor again.
I have not been looking forward to the job of replacing the impeller in the water pump. Its another of those things on my list to try sometime in this life, but not on the top. It involves sight unseen removal of the pump cover, view the impeller with a mirror, then, presuming it is the fault, removal and replacement of same and replacement of the cover by feel alone. I manage the first steps without two much pain, the impeller is damaged. Replacement goes well, then its get the pump cover lined up, with its gasket in place, and fit the screws on place. These are small, fine threaded screws. They refuse to be inserted. They will not thread into their holes.
I try a different tack. Managing to contort my aging frame to a head down position, wedged between engine and hull, I can see the #%@$% pump. But I can’t get back up to pick up screws or screwdriver. Alicia comes at my beck, and together we achieve the near impossible. I top up the oil while the engine covers are off.
We are ready to move into the dock and top up fuel and water, after which we motor out of the bay to anchor in the Mouillage de St. Anne, opposite the picturesque, internet free little town of the same name, wind howling in the rigging. Alicia wants to go ashore and explore; I am sticky and want a swim, besides which its nearly RP o’clock (not that we see much in the way of rum punch aboard Django these days). I am also nervous about the anchorage, not having tested the set for very long. So we will go in on the morrow. I swim.
A very strong squall screams down on us, white out of rain and shriek of wind. This is a good test and Django does not budge, nor do any of our neighbours. The night is loud and windy, my hatch closed from midnight on after getting very bored with opening and shutting it at each successive squall.
Alicia is carefully drawing her breakfast, then coloring it in with watercolor. Breakfast may take a while. No rush, we are cruising.
We have a pile of laundry to do and some shopping before heading West toward Fort de France, or better, Pointe de Bout on the South side of the bay, a short ferry ride from the city. Both are a good 20 miles from here, so Tuesday is our preferred departure.
The day dawns wild and squally. I do like the anchorage here, solid and unyielding despite the heavy winds. We plan to drive into the fuel dock to top up with fuel and water. After preparing for sea and hauling anchor, our starboard engine beeps that she is too warm for comfort. This has been worrying me all season, she seems to run hot and I know what needs to be done. No way am I taking Django into the dock in 24 knots of wind and an engine we may have to shut down, so back we circle and drop anchor again.
I have not been looking forward to the job of replacing the impeller in the water pump. Its another of those things on my list to try sometime in this life, but not on the top. It involves sight unseen removal of the pump cover, view the impeller with a mirror, then, presuming it is the fault, removal and replacement of same and replacement of the cover by feel alone. I manage the first steps without two much pain, the impeller is damaged. Replacement goes well, then its get the pump cover lined up, with its gasket in place, and fit the screws on place. These are small, fine threaded screws. They refuse to be inserted. They will not thread into their holes.
I try a different tack. Managing to contort my aging frame to a head down position, wedged between engine and hull, I can see the #%@$% pump. But I can’t get back up to pick up screws or screwdriver. Alicia comes at my beck, and together we achieve the near impossible. I top up the oil while the engine covers are off.
We are ready to move into the dock and top up fuel and water, after which we motor out of the bay to anchor in the Mouillage de St. Anne, opposite the picturesque, internet free little town of the same name, wind howling in the rigging. Alicia wants to go ashore and explore; I am sticky and want a swim, besides which its nearly RP o’clock (not that we see much in the way of rum punch aboard Django these days). I am also nervous about the anchorage, not having tested the set for very long. So we will go in on the morrow. I swim.
A very strong squall screams down on us, white out of rain and shriek of wind. This is a good test and Django does not budge, nor do any of our neighbours. The night is loud and windy, my hatch closed from midnight on after getting very bored with opening and shutting it at each successive squall.
Alicia is carefully drawing her breakfast, then coloring it in with watercolor. Breakfast may take a while. No rush, we are cruising.
Le Marin, Martinique
Le Marin is situated on the north side of a broad shallow bay with a narrow entrance close to the southern tip of Martinique. The east end of the bay is a forest of masts, culminating in the marina complex. Mecca for boats in the eastern Caribbean, not so much because of its beauty or clarity of water, but for the shelter offered. The marina has shops for all that a cruising sailor could need. Diesel engines off the rack, ready to install. Every conceivable bit of hardware, neatly arranged with samples only on display, the real goods stored behind the counter. There seems even to be a replacement motor for my Lofrans windlass. I store this tidbit away in my mind. No rush here but nice to know. There is a small shop dedicated to the sale and repair of autopilots and such like. Rae Marine will be removed from the wheel and taken in for reburshment on Monday.
The town is old French colonial. The early buildings here have remained, unburnt, unsacked and not demolished to make way for new Chinese financed football stadia. This impression is not diminished by the large hospital set up at the port, nor by the many modern condo complexes in the outskirts.
Last evening, Alicia and I went in to dine at a small barbecue restaurant by the port. Delicious spare ribs and crudités. Before dinner we walked about a bit and found a co-op gallery, artist in residence with his self published books of works. Alicia fascinated, of course. We have not checked in at customs. The office closed at 12:30 and we missed yesterday, so this morning we go in again to settle the formalities. The office is packed with people, speaking Polish and other indecipherable eastern European languages, all helping each other to peck through the computerized customs entry form. There are four computers and twenty people in the room. I am hoping that they all come from the same ship. Not the case. Eventually we get a seat at one of the machines and Alicia calls out the entries as I struggle with the non qwerty keyboard. French!
Once through the system, we are out on the streets of Malin again on a Sunday morning, not expecting much in the way of activity. In St Lucia, everyone would be in church. We were happily surprised.
Our stroll takes us to a large roofed in area, set up for a dance band. Its noon, but tables are set up, lunch is being served and bottles of whiskey and rum are arrayed on the reserved tables. Over a plate of crudités, including boudin and fish croquettes, the artist and designer otherwise known as Alicia and I enjoy the music of the band, jazzy and Caribbean at the same time.
Strolling on along the shore we came upon a happy and excited crowd. Today is race day for the traditional 30 ft. sailing canoes. These carry doubled masts lashed together for extra stiffness and bamboo sprits. Fifteen crew each manhandle a stout pole out onto which they climb to hold the boat down in the wind. Steering is with a long oar, much like the whale boat steering oars we saw in Bequia. The boats are all sponsored by local companies. Digicell is big, the local beer and bank interests all have boats in the fleet. The fleet sails off the beach, starting 50 yds off and sailing to leeward out to the entrance of the bay several miles out. Then they tack back to the rounding mark off the beach, great for the spectators, eating and drinking and dancing to the drum and chorus band under tents. Twice down and a final leg to windward, finishing off the beach gives us all a wonderful thrill. I am reminded of the Bermuda fitted dinghy fleet I sailed in for some years. Fourteen ft. dinghies with a keel bolted on taking on a crew of seven. These Martiniquais craft are far bigger, faster and more tender than were our dinghies. Tremendous athleticism in their sailing. Three men on the helming oar. But the spirit and traditions are the same. I am pleased to see the blending of commercial sponsorship with the traditional construction and rig of the boats. The sponsorship money has not changed this sport at all, only allowed it to flourish. The boats from elsewhere on the island are carried away on large flat bed trucks.
After plenty of fun for one day, we returned to Django determined to get a bit work done. The afternoon sun is just too much, we enjoy a quiet nap instead, rocked gently by the waves.
The town is old French colonial. The early buildings here have remained, unburnt, unsacked and not demolished to make way for new Chinese financed football stadia. This impression is not diminished by the large hospital set up at the port, nor by the many modern condo complexes in the outskirts.
Last evening, Alicia and I went in to dine at a small barbecue restaurant by the port. Delicious spare ribs and crudités. Before dinner we walked about a bit and found a co-op gallery, artist in residence with his self published books of works. Alicia fascinated, of course. We have not checked in at customs. The office closed at 12:30 and we missed yesterday, so this morning we go in again to settle the formalities. The office is packed with people, speaking Polish and other indecipherable eastern European languages, all helping each other to peck through the computerized customs entry form. There are four computers and twenty people in the room. I am hoping that they all come from the same ship. Not the case. Eventually we get a seat at one of the machines and Alicia calls out the entries as I struggle with the non qwerty keyboard. French!
Once through the system, we are out on the streets of Malin again on a Sunday morning, not expecting much in the way of activity. In St Lucia, everyone would be in church. We were happily surprised.
Our stroll takes us to a large roofed in area, set up for a dance band. Its noon, but tables are set up, lunch is being served and bottles of whiskey and rum are arrayed on the reserved tables. Over a plate of crudités, including boudin and fish croquettes, the artist and designer otherwise known as Alicia and I enjoy the music of the band, jazzy and Caribbean at the same time.
Strolling on along the shore we came upon a happy and excited crowd. Today is race day for the traditional 30 ft. sailing canoes. These carry doubled masts lashed together for extra stiffness and bamboo sprits. Fifteen crew each manhandle a stout pole out onto which they climb to hold the boat down in the wind. Steering is with a long oar, much like the whale boat steering oars we saw in Bequia. The boats are all sponsored by local companies. Digicell is big, the local beer and bank interests all have boats in the fleet. The fleet sails off the beach, starting 50 yds off and sailing to leeward out to the entrance of the bay several miles out. Then they tack back to the rounding mark off the beach, great for the spectators, eating and drinking and dancing to the drum and chorus band under tents. Twice down and a final leg to windward, finishing off the beach gives us all a wonderful thrill. I am reminded of the Bermuda fitted dinghy fleet I sailed in for some years. Fourteen ft. dinghies with a keel bolted on taking on a crew of seven. These Martiniquais craft are far bigger, faster and more tender than were our dinghies. Tremendous athleticism in their sailing. Three men on the helming oar. But the spirit and traditions are the same. I am pleased to see the blending of commercial sponsorship with the traditional construction and rig of the boats. The sponsorship money has not changed this sport at all, only allowed it to flourish. The boats from elsewhere on the island are carried away on large flat bed trucks.
After plenty of fun for one day, we returned to Django determined to get a bit work done. The afternoon sun is just too much, we enjoy a quiet nap instead, rocked gently by the waves.
To Martinique
The trades were kind and moved a few points further to the east for our passage NNE to the southern tip of Martinique. We were able to make sail and lay the point as we came out of the lee of St. Lucia. The wind has been blowing hard for weeks and the easterly swell has built up much larger than normal. Ten to twelve foot seas roll down toward us. Salt spray soars from the bows and drenches the boat. Alicia is not sure whether to sail to the wind, or to brace up for the bigger seas, then fall off into the troughs. She has a reasonable understanding of what’s required, but has not honed the focus needed to keep Django steady and fast on her course. I am like an expectant father, pacing the cockpit. My focus stays on the boat, how is she going; I know we will go a bit faster and sail a bit closer to the wind if more attention were paid.
After a bit of this, I offer to take over and she agrees, a bit stressed by my fussing. We fly along, 7 knots and more close on the wind. We don’t sail quite as high as the monohulls we pass on the way, but quite a lot faster, the result being we leave them contemplating the salt spray from our bows and the rooster tail from our sterns, and we arrive first.
It is about 23 miles across, not too far, but in these conditions, hard work all the same. A squall in mid passage brings a downpour of rain and wind blowing up to 25 knots. The rains comes as curtain, driven white against the sea by the squally wind. We are at the northern edge of the squall when it strikes, so not long in the weather. Immediately out of the squall, the wind dies out, leaving us floundering in the high seas. Engine on to drive us ever forward, then off again shortly as the wind picks up after a couple of miles. The sum of the squall wind and the ensuing calm average out to the prevailing gradient flow. We fetch Martinique in the afternoon and after a short motor to windward in the lee of the island, we arrive in Le Marin, both of us quite knackered and salty.
A good sail. Now we need some rain to wash down the boat.
After a bit of this, I offer to take over and she agrees, a bit stressed by my fussing. We fly along, 7 knots and more close on the wind. We don’t sail quite as high as the monohulls we pass on the way, but quite a lot faster, the result being we leave them contemplating the salt spray from our bows and the rooster tail from our sterns, and we arrive first.
It is about 23 miles across, not too far, but in these conditions, hard work all the same. A squall in mid passage brings a downpour of rain and wind blowing up to 25 knots. The rains comes as curtain, driven white against the sea by the squally wind. We are at the northern edge of the squall when it strikes, so not long in the weather. Immediately out of the squall, the wind dies out, leaving us floundering in the high seas. Engine on to drive us ever forward, then off again shortly as the wind picks up after a couple of miles. The sum of the squall wind and the ensuing calm average out to the prevailing gradient flow. We fetch Martinique in the afternoon and after a short motor to windward in the lee of the island, we arrive in Le Marin, both of us quite knackered and salty.
A good sail. Now we need some rain to wash down the boat.
Friday, January 23, 2009
Fish Dinner for days.
On Wednesday afternoon Alicia and I happened past the fisherman’s quay in Gros Islet, along the channel into Rodney Bay Marina. We were coming out as one of the narrow seagoing 25’ open boats with a high bow came into the dock. As we putted past, we noted large dorado (mahi mahi or dolphin fish) being offloaded by the three yellow slickered fishermen. We circled large and came back into the dock with fish dinner on our minds.
“Could we have a cut off the tail please?
“No way, whole fish only, come back tomorrow at two.”
Two the next afternoon found me alongside the dock, oil containers cast willy nilly next to nets thrown up on the quay. Lots of teeth sucking going on and no fish to be seen. One fine fellow deigned to talk with me.
“Four o’clock“ he suggested.
Back at four and more of the same. The fellow I had befriended earlier said
“You again?”
No fish to be had. A Rasta in a long boat painted in the Rasta way came alongside. We recognized each other from an encounter earlier in the day, he offering taxi rides and other services. He thought the dorado guys would be in at five. So on I waited, determined not the disappoint by returning to Django empty handed again. At the advertised hour, in came the seagoing long open boat, 75 HP Enduro on the stern, yesterday’s three yellow slickered fishermen aboard. I pushed off over to their landing and asked the skipper if he had caught any dorado and would he cut me a piece.
“Yuh“, he said.
Twenty minutes of putting away the boat, the fish come ashore, four 40 lb females with roe intact.
“You want a fish?” the crew asks.
“No just a piece off the tail, about this much.”
Great show of disappointment ..“This much?” he says indicating about 20 lbs. of fish,
“No, this much.” I say, indicating about two lbs. of fish.
Finally he gets out a machete and hunts for a honing stone to sharpen it up. None in sight, although all the likely spots are rifled. He strikes the dorado a great blow, almost severing the tail section from the body. Another thwack from the opposite side frees my fish dinner. It is a full 23 inches long after the tail has been trimmed away.
“How much?”
$10 EC a pound”
I have the fish in a bag and it feels like a good five pounds.
”Where’s the scale?” yells the short beefy crew. Lots of rummaging about again, no scale, finally a big spring scale appears and my fish is placed upon it. It barely registers. This scale must go up to 100 lbs.
“5 lbs?” I ask
“No three, but just a moment.” consultation with number two crew, who scratches his head.
I offer $40 EC to end the discussion. Done deal and I am off to Django with dinner in the bag.
Aboard Django, I use hammer and largest available knife to cut the piece in two, one for tonight’s barby and another for tomorrow.
The fish is a delight, done just enough to keep the bone raw and the flesh close to it still kicking. The rest, more than enough for A and I is tender, flaking and full of oil. Omega 3 up the yin yang.
Fish dinner day 2 is the back half of the beast barbied again, just as delicious as the night before.
Fish dinner day 3 is the broth of the bones, to which I added yams, onions, carrots, chrystofine, sweet potato and okra. Alicia is delirious. She has made a banana custard which is more like banana scrambled eggs, but there you are.
Lunch day 4 will be an aspic from the remains of the stew, along with cold dorado, mayonaise and a salad. The stew will set to a solid jelly and be turned out onto a plate to wriggle with the swell.
So the fish dinner has done us well.
The repaired netting came aboard this afternoon and after a good deal of discussion and near mutinous refusal to do it my way, it has been installed (mostly).
Haiku for tomorrow:
Atop the raised chair,
Sag removed, better than ever,
We’re off to Martinique.
“Could we have a cut off the tail please?
“No way, whole fish only, come back tomorrow at two.”
Two the next afternoon found me alongside the dock, oil containers cast willy nilly next to nets thrown up on the quay. Lots of teeth sucking going on and no fish to be seen. One fine fellow deigned to talk with me.
“Four o’clock“ he suggested.
Back at four and more of the same. The fellow I had befriended earlier said
“You again?”
No fish to be had. A Rasta in a long boat painted in the Rasta way came alongside. We recognized each other from an encounter earlier in the day, he offering taxi rides and other services. He thought the dorado guys would be in at five. So on I waited, determined not the disappoint by returning to Django empty handed again. At the advertised hour, in came the seagoing long open boat, 75 HP Enduro on the stern, yesterday’s three yellow slickered fishermen aboard. I pushed off over to their landing and asked the skipper if he had caught any dorado and would he cut me a piece.
“Yuh“, he said.
Twenty minutes of putting away the boat, the fish come ashore, four 40 lb females with roe intact.
“You want a fish?” the crew asks.
“No just a piece off the tail, about this much.”
Great show of disappointment ..“This much?” he says indicating about 20 lbs. of fish,
“No, this much.” I say, indicating about two lbs. of fish.
Finally he gets out a machete and hunts for a honing stone to sharpen it up. None in sight, although all the likely spots are rifled. He strikes the dorado a great blow, almost severing the tail section from the body. Another thwack from the opposite side frees my fish dinner. It is a full 23 inches long after the tail has been trimmed away.
“How much?”
$10 EC a pound”
I have the fish in a bag and it feels like a good five pounds.
”Where’s the scale?” yells the short beefy crew. Lots of rummaging about again, no scale, finally a big spring scale appears and my fish is placed upon it. It barely registers. This scale must go up to 100 lbs.
“5 lbs?” I ask
“No three, but just a moment.” consultation with number two crew, who scratches his head.
I offer $40 EC to end the discussion. Done deal and I am off to Django with dinner in the bag.
Aboard Django, I use hammer and largest available knife to cut the piece in two, one for tonight’s barby and another for tomorrow.
The fish is a delight, done just enough to keep the bone raw and the flesh close to it still kicking. The rest, more than enough for A and I is tender, flaking and full of oil. Omega 3 up the yin yang.
Fish dinner day 2 is the back half of the beast barbied again, just as delicious as the night before.
Fish dinner day 3 is the broth of the bones, to which I added yams, onions, carrots, chrystofine, sweet potato and okra. Alicia is delirious. She has made a banana custard which is more like banana scrambled eggs, but there you are.
Lunch day 4 will be an aspic from the remains of the stew, along with cold dorado, mayonaise and a salad. The stew will set to a solid jelly and be turned out onto a plate to wriggle with the swell.
So the fish dinner has done us well.
The repaired netting came aboard this afternoon and after a good deal of discussion and near mutinous refusal to do it my way, it has been installed (mostly).
Haiku for tomorrow:
Atop the raised chair,
Sag removed, better than ever,
We’re off to Martinique.
Wednesday, January 21, 2009
Cetric and Rae Marine
Some years ago, Cetric, somewhat strong and reclusive, and Rae Marine, outgoing and joyous, but a bit frail, were wed aboard Django. They have lived aboard ever since, enjoying a life of loyal service conning Django when her owners were otherwise concerned. Cetric had been aboard and serving valiantly for years before Rae Marine was introduced to him by Capt. Bjorne Hansen, Django’s previous owner. Though strong, Cetric over ate, consuming large quantities of nourishment at the expense of the others in the Django community. Capt. Hansen brought Rae Marine aboard to relieve Cetric while being a bit lighter on the nourishment budget. It was love at first sight, and soon nuptials were in the works.
On their marriage day, Cetric and Rae Marine were joined at the brain (not the hip, as some might have thought). Cetric gave up his brain and took Rae’s as his own. An unselfish gesture. His role was to take over when the going got rough. As time went by, Cetric became lazy. He didn’t have to work everday, and began not showing up for work at all if he didn’t feel like.
Personally, I find this annoying and a bit selfish of him. We have been a bit rough on Rae and her clutch is sore and slipping. She has been feeling poorly, in need of a rest. Sometimes Cetric is there when I call, but more often he is AWOL.
So Cetric is to be called onto the carpet and an explanation demanded. This will be unpleasant, because he is bolted in and I have to go to him, deep in the bowels of the crawl space above the fuel tank. Perhaps its not his fault. It could be he is not getting the message that it’s his turn to take over. On the other hand, he may be getting the message from Rae that he needs to fling the wheel to port, but does not have the power to do it because we have neglected to feed him properly. All this needs to be understood before I berate him severely.
All that will take a good deal of sweat out of me. I have fixed the sagging pilot chair this morning instead.
On their marriage day, Cetric and Rae Marine were joined at the brain (not the hip, as some might have thought). Cetric gave up his brain and took Rae’s as his own. An unselfish gesture. His role was to take over when the going got rough. As time went by, Cetric became lazy. He didn’t have to work everday, and began not showing up for work at all if he didn’t feel like.
Personally, I find this annoying and a bit selfish of him. We have been a bit rough on Rae and her clutch is sore and slipping. She has been feeling poorly, in need of a rest. Sometimes Cetric is there when I call, but more often he is AWOL.
So Cetric is to be called onto the carpet and an explanation demanded. This will be unpleasant, because he is bolted in and I have to go to him, deep in the bowels of the crawl space above the fuel tank. Perhaps its not his fault. It could be he is not getting the message that it’s his turn to take over. On the other hand, he may be getting the message from Rae that he needs to fling the wheel to port, but does not have the power to do it because we have neglected to feed him properly. All this needs to be understood before I berate him severely.
All that will take a good deal of sweat out of me. I have fixed the sagging pilot chair this morning instead.
Tuesday, January 20, 2009
Maintenance Aboard Django
Chris Parker, our trusty and wise gay weather man aboard Bel Ami, normally gives a full synopsis every morning at 7:00 am on the SSB (Single Side Band radio for the nautically challenged among us), along with detailed forecasts for up to a week ahead. We have not heard him for a week, which is very unusual. Maybe he is embarrassed by the continuing foul weather; rain, rain and more rain. So we take advantage of the down time to tackle some of the more pressing maintenance issues. Alicia started a rip in the stitching of our netting forward between the hulls. This is not good and needs to be seen to, so I have dismounted the net and carried it in to the sail maker in Rodney Bay Marina. “Thursday“ he says gloomily, hefting the net and wondering aloud if it will break his machine.
We are here for a few more days. I am not keen to travel without the netting in place. It leaves a gaping chasm in front of the foredeck. But there’s lots to do. More work on the windlass to see if it will let out the chain as well as bring it in. So its back to Island Water World for a few more bits of wire. Alicia is quite happy to draw and paint. She says she is improving a lot in this intense and focused working environment. She kayaked off into the distance, returning as I came back from my shopping foray, big straw hat drenched and difficult in the wind. The windlass work went well until time to take a test. The machine ran up and down but at a snail’s pace. Something not right. Wires warm to the touch. Undo the down hot wire and off she goes again at full speed. Something awry inside the motor, so we will let sleeping dogs lie and settle for pulling up the chain for a while. Perhaps a new windlass motor?
More heavy rain overnight. We can take a bath in Boffo, she is so full of fresh rainwater. Another midnight insight, this time without blame. The lack of Chris Parker on the SSB is related to the short in the windlass solenoid, now repaired. The short has probably caused a stray current to eat away at the grounding strap running through Django’s bilge. I noticed this erosion in the strap when we bought Django in January 2008, and repaired it, but had no idea what might be causing the problem. Whit has helped here, pointing out across cyberspace that an annoying shock we were experiencing climbing up the swimming ladder was probably related to the bum solenoid. So first thing this morning, five minutes before Chris’ scheduled appearance, I had a peek in the bilge. Sure enough the grounding strap had parted. A couple of alligator clips made a temporary bridge in time for the test. Chris Parker reappeared on the radio and allowed that he really couldn’t explain the foul weather, but hoped it would dissipate soon.
This morning has passed with your skipper and scribe bum up and head down, kefia in place, replacing a length of copper strapping and redoing the multiple grounding connections to the ship’s systems. Hard, hot work. Alicia, completely unconcerned, has come up with an idea for a children’s book, handwritten and illustrated, to be launched with a show of the original work. Sounds like fun to me. The fruit man came in his tiny boat festooned with huge flags and sold us three mangos for EC$5. He comes everyday, yesterday he had a pineapple, the first we have found this trip. Yum. He can barely see where he is going for all the flag flapping.
It’s beer o’clock, ‘nuf writ.
Lesson for the day: Midnight insights are probably ok if blameless.
We are here for a few more days. I am not keen to travel without the netting in place. It leaves a gaping chasm in front of the foredeck. But there’s lots to do. More work on the windlass to see if it will let out the chain as well as bring it in. So its back to Island Water World for a few more bits of wire. Alicia is quite happy to draw and paint. She says she is improving a lot in this intense and focused working environment. She kayaked off into the distance, returning as I came back from my shopping foray, big straw hat drenched and difficult in the wind. The windlass work went well until time to take a test. The machine ran up and down but at a snail’s pace. Something not right. Wires warm to the touch. Undo the down hot wire and off she goes again at full speed. Something awry inside the motor, so we will let sleeping dogs lie and settle for pulling up the chain for a while. Perhaps a new windlass motor?
More heavy rain overnight. We can take a bath in Boffo, she is so full of fresh rainwater. Another midnight insight, this time without blame. The lack of Chris Parker on the SSB is related to the short in the windlass solenoid, now repaired. The short has probably caused a stray current to eat away at the grounding strap running through Django’s bilge. I noticed this erosion in the strap when we bought Django in January 2008, and repaired it, but had no idea what might be causing the problem. Whit has helped here, pointing out across cyberspace that an annoying shock we were experiencing climbing up the swimming ladder was probably related to the bum solenoid. So first thing this morning, five minutes before Chris’ scheduled appearance, I had a peek in the bilge. Sure enough the grounding strap had parted. A couple of alligator clips made a temporary bridge in time for the test. Chris Parker reappeared on the radio and allowed that he really couldn’t explain the foul weather, but hoped it would dissipate soon.
This morning has passed with your skipper and scribe bum up and head down, kefia in place, replacing a length of copper strapping and redoing the multiple grounding connections to the ship’s systems. Hard, hot work. Alicia, completely unconcerned, has come up with an idea for a children’s book, handwritten and illustrated, to be launched with a show of the original work. Sounds like fun to me. The fruit man came in his tiny boat festooned with huge flags and sold us three mangos for EC$5. He comes everyday, yesterday he had a pineapple, the first we have found this trip. Yum. He can barely see where he is going for all the flag flapping.
It’s beer o’clock, ‘nuf writ.
Lesson for the day: Midnight insights are probably ok if blameless.
Saturday, January 17, 2009
Rodney Bay...Success
I know my readers have been pining for an update, curious to know how the histoire du windlass has come along, and to hear more of Alicia, artist, designer and ponderer of the mysteries of life and the long distance call.
We arrived yesterday morning and parked opposite the Sandals resort hotel, close in to the reef so as not to have to pull up too much chain should the windlass repair job go awry. Also likely we will get good internet from the hotel. Regretably, the hoter only services its guests, but Alicia managed to get another connection which works just fine.
Lesson of the day: I will learn to write my copy in a local file before attempting an upload to the blog.
We have a mission to find the parts needed to fix the windlass and get a few bits at the grocery store, including, of course, the ice. This was quickly and efficiently accomplished thanks to Island Water World.
Back aboard, my nerve fails me. I am not ready to attack the job. Not enough contemplation of the subtleties has taken place. Not enough mulling has happened yet. So its over the side to scub the weeks of growth off Django’s bottom. Alicia does the shady side and I the sunny. After some short while, she announces that she will put off the work until the sun comes over to her side in the morning. Too gloomy, she says and returns to her paintings. We have discovered that the scanner aboard works and will scan some of her watercolours for you all to see.
I contemplate the windlass solenoid and two switches lade out on the saloon table. It occurs to me that the solenoid has four terminals where the old one has only three. Hmm. The hand switch comes in two parts, one of which needs mounting in a dry area. Hmm. The foot switch is identical to its replacee. Good.
With the dawn, I am determined to get on with the job. Coffee and a bit of breakfast, then lets find out the worst. First thing is too find out if Whit really did burn out the motor. Short the solenoid switch with an alligator clip on a wire. With clip safely gripping one terminal, I gingerly move the end of the wire to touch…. Oops! The windlass roars to life as the clip slips and shorts the connection all by itself. So Whit has not actually ruined the windlass… good. As I push on to dismantle connections to the solenoid, it comes apart in my hands… hmm, probably not Whit’s doing either. So Whit needs an apology, so sorry, I have made an error of insight. Whit absolved, the job proceeds slowly but surely to a conclusion sometime after beer o’clock. The windlass runs. The switches and solenoid are all brand new and looking spiffy. Just a bit more work to bring up the down chain functionality, which we didn’t have before anyway, so, success, I say.
Second lesson of the day: Mistrust midnight insight.
We arrived yesterday morning and parked opposite the Sandals resort hotel, close in to the reef so as not to have to pull up too much chain should the windlass repair job go awry. Also likely we will get good internet from the hotel. Regretably, the hoter only services its guests, but Alicia managed to get another connection which works just fine.
Lesson of the day: I will learn to write my copy in a local file before attempting an upload to the blog.
We have a mission to find the parts needed to fix the windlass and get a few bits at the grocery store, including, of course, the ice. This was quickly and efficiently accomplished thanks to Island Water World.
Back aboard, my nerve fails me. I am not ready to attack the job. Not enough contemplation of the subtleties has taken place. Not enough mulling has happened yet. So its over the side to scub the weeks of growth off Django’s bottom. Alicia does the shady side and I the sunny. After some short while, she announces that she will put off the work until the sun comes over to her side in the morning. Too gloomy, she says and returns to her paintings. We have discovered that the scanner aboard works and will scan some of her watercolours for you all to see.
I contemplate the windlass solenoid and two switches lade out on the saloon table. It occurs to me that the solenoid has four terminals where the old one has only three. Hmm. The hand switch comes in two parts, one of which needs mounting in a dry area. Hmm. The foot switch is identical to its replacee. Good.
With the dawn, I am determined to get on with the job. Coffee and a bit of breakfast, then lets find out the worst. First thing is too find out if Whit really did burn out the motor. Short the solenoid switch with an alligator clip on a wire. With clip safely gripping one terminal, I gingerly move the end of the wire to touch…. Oops! The windlass roars to life as the clip slips and shorts the connection all by itself. So Whit has not actually ruined the windlass… good. As I push on to dismantle connections to the solenoid, it comes apart in my hands… hmm, probably not Whit’s doing either. So Whit needs an apology, so sorry, I have made an error of insight. Whit absolved, the job proceeds slowly but surely to a conclusion sometime after beer o’clock. The windlass runs. The switches and solenoid are all brand new and looking spiffy. Just a bit more work to bring up the down chain functionality, which we didn’t have before anyway, so, success, I say.
Second lesson of the day: Mistrust midnight insight.
Thursday, January 15, 2009
Vigie in Castries Harbour
Anchored 100 ft from the mooring we lay to until the day before yesterday, we are out of touch with the world. Alicia is dying to get Skype running on our computer so she can while away the hours chatting with B for very little money. We have the Rogers cellphone, but at $3.00 per minute, I am mumchance at the thought of a half hour to Bermuda every evening. So we bob to the anchor eyeing the shore, knowing that if we just take the computer in and sit on a bench, we can connect again.
Last night was the first good sleep we have had since arriving. The first night anywhere is difficult for me. The next night, our first at anchor in a while, the suspected tropical depression manifested a nasty squall at 1:15 am, dragging us from sleep and Django from her tenuous hold on the bottom. We are in a tiny cove off the main Castries harbour, home to the police and coast guard, various fishing boats and the cat tourist carriers where we had shared moorings. At anchor there is almost no swinging room and definitely no room to drag. Without the loss of a moment, I fired up the engines and got Alicia out of bed to raise the anchor. 1:00 am is a poor time to give instruction on the mysteries of the anchor windlass. In point of fact, the anchor windlass had chosen this particular moment to give up the ghost. By dint of great efforts, we raised the anchor and moved out to the entrance of the cove, hoping to hook on again in a place with a bit more margin for error. Success finally and, after setting the anchor alarm, back to bed.
The morning broke to sun and Chris Parker could be heard in the distance, on and off, telling us of nasty weather in the region that should clear late Thursday (today, I believe). After breakfast, I pull all the bumpers, lines, jerry jugs and the spare anchor from the side by side forward deck lockers where the innards of the windlass lie. Exploratory surgery reveals that the “on deck” switch has ceased to be, the main control solenoid has stopped pulling down heavy duty switch on the “pull the chain in” side, and has been shorting on the “let the chain down side” for sometime (cable has been disconnected from the winch, explaining why we were never able to make the down switch work). The hand held switch has been bad for the long while. I resurrected it in Grenada, knowing it needed replacing at an early opportunity.
We are not far from Rodney Bay where there is an Island Water World marine distributor, whose handy 2007 catalogue shows the parts we need to be functional again. There is a little voice which says replace the entire winch. The main motor will probably die sooner rather than later, but I am resisting the outlay of large sums of cash, in keeping with the theme of this voyage.
Alicia is hungry four times a day, so we prepare a lovely small brunch of bread toasted in the pan with olive oil and a tomato and green onion omelette made from the egg whites and some yolk left over from Alicia’s Caesar salad dressing from the night before. Delicious. Then off to town to seek out a convenient handset for using the computer as a cheap long distance phone.
The route to town runs along a rustic path through a muddy patch, leading out to the cruise ship landing, where many taxis gather hoping for a fare. We have to run the gauntlet of taxi drivers begging us to let them take us to the beach, or just to town, which is a 15 minute walk. Then there is the old man trying to sell the same battered conch shell every day, without luck, so he begs as well, just for a bit of money to get a plate of food, he says. I give him some money, I have learned to carry a pocket full of change to dole out on the road. Then there are the rude boys who hang out at the fish boat landing, behind the sheds smoking ganga, who come out to the road and dance and beg for coins to go and buy a Piton beer. We cut through by the fisherman’s Co-op, no fresh fish to be had there, the fishermen prefer to set up rude wooden tables by the roadside and sell direct. On the main road over the little bridge and past the small park, there are the serious beggars, not many, but they are down and out, crippled, missing limbs, or just terminal drunks.
Into town the world is less dire, and it bustles with the life of the market and the food stalls. We make our way to Digicell to see if we can get the cellphone unlocked and set up with a local SIM card. No luck. On to a local computer store, where we find a reasonably priced USB handset for use with Skype. Now we are ready to talk for hours for very little money. Lunch is a large shared beef roti and a Piton beer each at the five star (?!) restaurant in the market (EC$14.50= US$5.60). Then back to the boat. A second quick trip in to get gas for Boffo while Alicia scrubs the bottom. She scrubbed for a bit but found the water too murky for comfort, worried about unseen fish that might come and bite her toes. So the scrub consisted of a very fast swim up one side of the boat with the scrubber held firmly (yet ineffectually) against the hull, and an even faster swim back making as much kicking fuss as possible to ward off importunate fish.
I determined that we should up anchor and try to get in close to our old mooring spot in the hopes of an internet connection. More strenuous effort and eventual success, only to find we are still just out of reach. So here we sit, eyeing the shore.
Last night was the first good sleep we have had since arriving. The first night anywhere is difficult for me. The next night, our first at anchor in a while, the suspected tropical depression manifested a nasty squall at 1:15 am, dragging us from sleep and Django from her tenuous hold on the bottom. We are in a tiny cove off the main Castries harbour, home to the police and coast guard, various fishing boats and the cat tourist carriers where we had shared moorings. At anchor there is almost no swinging room and definitely no room to drag. Without the loss of a moment, I fired up the engines and got Alicia out of bed to raise the anchor. 1:00 am is a poor time to give instruction on the mysteries of the anchor windlass. In point of fact, the anchor windlass had chosen this particular moment to give up the ghost. By dint of great efforts, we raised the anchor and moved out to the entrance of the cove, hoping to hook on again in a place with a bit more margin for error. Success finally and, after setting the anchor alarm, back to bed.
The morning broke to sun and Chris Parker could be heard in the distance, on and off, telling us of nasty weather in the region that should clear late Thursday (today, I believe). After breakfast, I pull all the bumpers, lines, jerry jugs and the spare anchor from the side by side forward deck lockers where the innards of the windlass lie. Exploratory surgery reveals that the “on deck” switch has ceased to be, the main control solenoid has stopped pulling down heavy duty switch on the “pull the chain in” side, and has been shorting on the “let the chain down side” for sometime (cable has been disconnected from the winch, explaining why we were never able to make the down switch work). The hand held switch has been bad for the long while. I resurrected it in Grenada, knowing it needed replacing at an early opportunity.
We are not far from Rodney Bay where there is an Island Water World marine distributor, whose handy 2007 catalogue shows the parts we need to be functional again. There is a little voice which says replace the entire winch. The main motor will probably die sooner rather than later, but I am resisting the outlay of large sums of cash, in keeping with the theme of this voyage.
Alicia is hungry four times a day, so we prepare a lovely small brunch of bread toasted in the pan with olive oil and a tomato and green onion omelette made from the egg whites and some yolk left over from Alicia’s Caesar salad dressing from the night before. Delicious. Then off to town to seek out a convenient handset for using the computer as a cheap long distance phone.
The route to town runs along a rustic path through a muddy patch, leading out to the cruise ship landing, where many taxis gather hoping for a fare. We have to run the gauntlet of taxi drivers begging us to let them take us to the beach, or just to town, which is a 15 minute walk. Then there is the old man trying to sell the same battered conch shell every day, without luck, so he begs as well, just for a bit of money to get a plate of food, he says. I give him some money, I have learned to carry a pocket full of change to dole out on the road. Then there are the rude boys who hang out at the fish boat landing, behind the sheds smoking ganga, who come out to the road and dance and beg for coins to go and buy a Piton beer. We cut through by the fisherman’s Co-op, no fresh fish to be had there, the fishermen prefer to set up rude wooden tables by the roadside and sell direct. On the main road over the little bridge and past the small park, there are the serious beggars, not many, but they are down and out, crippled, missing limbs, or just terminal drunks.
Into town the world is less dire, and it bustles with the life of the market and the food stalls. We make our way to Digicell to see if we can get the cellphone unlocked and set up with a local SIM card. No luck. On to a local computer store, where we find a reasonably priced USB handset for use with Skype. Now we are ready to talk for hours for very little money. Lunch is a large shared beef roti and a Piton beer each at the five star (?!) restaurant in the market (EC$14.50= US$5.60). Then back to the boat. A second quick trip in to get gas for Boffo while Alicia scrubs the bottom. She scrubbed for a bit but found the water too murky for comfort, worried about unseen fish that might come and bite her toes. So the scrub consisted of a very fast swim up one side of the boat with the scrubber held firmly (yet ineffectually) against the hull, and an even faster swim back making as much kicking fuss as possible to ward off importunate fish.
I determined that we should up anchor and try to get in close to our old mooring spot in the hopes of an internet connection. More strenuous effort and eventual success, only to find we are still just out of reach. So here we sit, eyeing the shore.
Tuesday, January 13, 2009
Safe aboard
http://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/qsCeWScOEak_cbJY1Y2TgA?authkey=dYtqVKLtT6U&feat=directlink
Alicia and I arrived last evening just before sundown. Our first resolution, to take the bus from Vieux Port in the south of the island up to Castries where Django is lying to a mooring, fell to the wayside once in the taxi to the bus stop. Our driver was keen to make a deal, so we saved US$10 and came in the taxi all the way. Good thing as the little tourist cat landing where we stay was closing for the evening as we arrived, bags in hand. after a long day of successful travel.
The battered little dinghy from the landing loaded with our bags, some ice and two loaves of bread we paddled out to Django hoping to find all well. She seemed fine, but the batteries were way down, reading 11.9 volts on the meter. Not what I had hoped for, but enough juice to start an engine. So the mystery is why have they not been kept up by our banks of solar panels, as they have in the past. Is it a slow leak or a failure to charge?. Now we are charging back up slowly; finding the cause may take a while.
Last night was squally and this morning there is rain and cloud intermittently with a fair bit of wind. No Chris Parker with the weather on the SSB this morning. I heard one fellow calling in but nothing on the other side. Very poor propagation. The weather does not look promising, probably a tropical wave going over, so we will sit tight until it clears.
Alicia has brought along a water colour kit and is painting the scene out over the cockpit from the saloon. It is the entrance to Castries Harbour, dappled water and the shore on the far side. She has also been let loose with the camera and we have lots of pictures to sort through already.
Alicia and I arrived last evening just before sundown. Our first resolution, to take the bus from Vieux Port in the south of the island up to Castries where Django is lying to a mooring, fell to the wayside once in the taxi to the bus stop. Our driver was keen to make a deal, so we saved US$10 and came in the taxi all the way. Good thing as the little tourist cat landing where we stay was closing for the evening as we arrived, bags in hand. after a long day of successful travel.
The battered little dinghy from the landing loaded with our bags, some ice and two loaves of bread we paddled out to Django hoping to find all well. She seemed fine, but the batteries were way down, reading 11.9 volts on the meter. Not what I had hoped for, but enough juice to start an engine. So the mystery is why have they not been kept up by our banks of solar panels, as they have in the past. Is it a slow leak or a failure to charge?. Now we are charging back up slowly; finding the cause may take a while.
Last night was squally and this morning there is rain and cloud intermittently with a fair bit of wind. No Chris Parker with the weather on the SSB this morning. I heard one fellow calling in but nothing on the other side. Very poor propagation. The weather does not look promising, probably a tropical wave going over, so we will sit tight until it clears.
Alicia has brought along a water colour kit and is painting the scene out over the cockpit from the saloon. It is the entrance to Castries Harbour, dappled water and the shore on the far side. She has also been let loose with the camera and we have lots of pictures to sort through already.
Thursday, January 8, 2009
New blog, new crew.
So here we are, my daughter Alicia and I, ready to board the plane for St Lucia on Monday. KMH, our last mate and galley slave, not to mention scribe, has jumped ship to renew the coffers for a while, leaving us feeling without and potentially hungry. But there you are, life marches on and we are off to accompany Django on the next set of adventures.
Alicia is a freelance artist and designer, hence able to set herself free of the rat-race for a time and soak up the cruising life. She is looking for ideas and boutique manufacturers to build her creations, and is bringing along a set of water colors to depict the scenes. Hope we can get them into the blog for you all you dear readers.
The ship's computer is an aging laptop, well out of date and not wifi capable, so being the cheap SOB that I am, I have run out to buy the cheapest, smallest subnotebook available. How great is that? I have come up with a C$299 deal with integrated wifi and a camera memory card reader built in, from Acer. The screen is small but clear as a bell. Google Earth runs on it as does SketchUp for Alicia, It weighs 2.2 pounds. I am using all the online software I can, including the Google Documents Suite so all the stuff I need is to hand wherever we have a connection. I am impressed. All this and a very small power footprint as well.
So in keeping with the belt tightening times, the theme of this voyage is How Little Can We Spend? We will let you know.
Alicia is a freelance artist and designer, hence able to set herself free of the rat-race for a time and soak up the cruising life. She is looking for ideas and boutique manufacturers to build her creations, and is bringing along a set of water colors to depict the scenes. Hope we can get them into the blog for you all you dear readers.
The ship's computer is an aging laptop, well out of date and not wifi capable, so being the cheap SOB that I am, I have run out to buy the cheapest, smallest subnotebook available. How great is that? I have come up with a C$299 deal with integrated wifi and a camera memory card reader built in, from Acer. The screen is small but clear as a bell. Google Earth runs on it as does SketchUp for Alicia, It weighs 2.2 pounds. I am using all the online software I can, including the Google Documents Suite so all the stuff I need is to hand wherever we have a connection. I am impressed. All this and a very small power footprint as well.
So in keeping with the belt tightening times, the theme of this voyage is How Little Can We Spend? We will let you know.
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)