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Over the last two years, the first mate and myself have had occasion to
'get stuck', in anchorages and marina's on both sides of the Atlantic.
The reason for this is you, yes, you gentle reader.
To put MarineZine together called for 'Leopard Normand
III' to be in places with access to the Internet and e-mail for months at a
time. The compilation of MarineZine was started in Trinidad, in the West
Indies and from there we worked our way up the Caribbean chain as we
headed gently back to Europe.
The excitement of actually travelling just eighty-five miles from Trinidad to
St. Georges, Grenada, after so long with the hook down in Chaguaramas Bay, was positively
tangible. The first mate and I 'stowed to go' and slipped out of the
Boca del Dragon (the dragon's mouth) into a pleasant reach for Grenada.
Incidently, whilst in Trinidad, I had occasion to replace some rope and wire halyards,
later exchanging others for Spectra. I also re-ran spinnaker halyards and swapped others
around according to wear.
I suppose I should point out that the first mate did help by doing all the aerial
bits... I thought I acheived all this with the dexterity of a professional
rigger. The confusion that ensued, however, stopped just short of
hilarity.
It took an age to figure out what the hell I had
done. "Of course I'll remember which is which" soon became
"Er, Linnet, do you remember....?" All because I hated those
horrible little labels that are stuck on for the benefit of crew!
After a couple of hours revelling in 'Leopard
Normand's great spread of sail, the beautiful sun, a good breeze and enjoying the sensation of all the cobwebs blowing away, we encountered a reasonable swell and, as the schooner's bowsprit dipped into a wave the entire grating that had just been made and fitted
disappeared in a shower of splintered teak.
I went forward and inspected the damage.
To compound the sad mess of the bowsprit grating, I saw that our gilt figurehead, a leaping leopard that had been removed to facilitate the fitting of the new bowsprit and grating, had also gone by the board.Why had I not checked the
work?
The mate and I are pretty
philosophical about breakages on boats and don't tend to cry over spilt
milk, which is exactly what I found upon
opening the refrigerator to get a cold beer. I reckon a near-litre of milk can cover an area that most paint manufacturers would be proud to
claim.
I could have kicked myself for forgetting the stowage of the cartons of
yoghurt, plastic containers of sundry dribbly, goopy, food and my favourite
bisque. Poorly covered with cling-film, containers, I was sharply
reminded, are not spill proof. I was certain that I had cleared up all the
milk and lobster bisque but, a few day's later, the reek emanating from the galley bilge
made it obvious that I had not.
In one particular trough, between two
rather handsome waves, a crash and a bang reminded me that I had omitted to use the rubber straps to secure the two open elbow chairs in the
saloon. Whilst attending to this oversight, a ringing cacophony of falling pots and pans also brought to my attention
the fact that, when at anchor, one takes to using more convenient places to put cooking utensils than the carefully but awkward seaway recesses installed for the
purpose.
An ominous thud from the aft cabin was found to be my
dear old manual typewriter vacating it's slot on top of a locker, having jumped
the inadequate fiddle. It wasn't supposed to live there when we were at
sea...
The water forcing its way through an inspection hatch, under the sofa
in the saloon, reminded me to turn the fresh water tank separator valve
off, as always before sailing. Except this time.
The metallic 'ptang, ptang', from a cockpit locker, was the forgotten spare gas cylinders that had been refilled and replaced without
being strapped down. At the time I had been certain that I would
remember to attend to the matter before we sailed...
A screech, loud enough to wake the dead, informed us that
Bella McCaw's cage had not been lashed to the pushpit and had fallen onto it's
side. What else, in my hurry to get back to sea after so many months, had I omitted to think
of?
I am sure there are forgotten incidents
to add to the above-mentioned but I have certainly discovered that, after a long stay in one
place, there is still more to stowing than just securing all hatches; checking the rig, oil and water
levels; testing navigation lights and radar; seeing to deck stowage, sea cocks
, safety gear and pumps before returning to sea.
There are also all the 'land-based'
habits to shake off again. One has to reframe the mind back to the,
normally, instinctive routines of a seaman...
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