Christmas /New year

Just to fill in the blanks, we brought Aragorn into the marina to leave her here over Christmas while we were home. And we are staying in the marina until February, agonizing over where to go next - stay in the Canaries, cruise back to Europe or the African Med coast, or go west.

We got home at Christmas for 2 weeks, but got to see too few of you as we were weather bound for much of the time. We left in the nic of time (on 5th Jan), before the really bad weather came from 6th of Jan on. As we were staying in Catherine's Mum's outside Blessington, I wouldn't have been too optimistic about making our flight if that weather had come in a day sooner.

In the meantime we have been getting our bits and pieces fixed, and continued our Spanish lessons, until we finished them on 22nd January.

Ahora, ablamos un pocito más.
Hasta luego!

A short and scary trip on the boat

I do not remember ever having been so frightened. This trip was so short that it didn't involve the engine, nor raising a sail or even an oar. As a matter of fact, we didn't as much as untie our lines. Yet short of meeting a hurricane on a lee shore I cannot imagine being as scared on a boat.

Of course the “trip” I refer to was up my mast. The problem was my tri-light had stopped working and we planned to leave for a three week cruise to Scotland at the weekend. I suspected a blown bulb, but only knew one way to make sure. The bigger problems were that this was my first time up the stick, and it was all of fifteen metres.

On the plus side, we were on the marina and Paul was with me, who in addition to experience has a good strong back for winching.

We used the main halyard on the never-before-used bosun's chair with its cargo of me, and used the spinaker halyard for a safety line on the D-ring of my lifejacket. Paul took the slack out of the two lines and I sat in to test my weight. So far so good, then he started winding.

With my dicky right arm I was limited in the assistance I could give as I millimetred towards the boom. Then I managed to swing my legs onto the lazybag, and as I scrambled to my feet the slack disappeared gratefully from the halyards. Now I can clamp the mast between my thighs and start using the other lines and any mast furniture I can grip to take some of the load. I fix my gaze upward, all my fears are below me now.

As I approach the spreaders I have to swing out to get around the inner shrouds, scary as this was, I was going to have to repeat it higher up at the main shrouds. Then I get my feet on the spreaders, I stand up and once again the lines tighten with enthusiasm. Half way, we take a breather. Must keep looking up, focus on the task.

“Once more, into the breach”, Paul winches, I scramble. We're not long restarted when we're hit by the wake of some motorboat blissfully ignoring Dun Laoghaire harbour's never enforced speed limit. My trapeze swings out, I look down at the deck of my neighbours boat, 30 feet directly below, a moment later as I swing back I catch the mast almost hysterically, I lock on in a desparate embrace. As the wake subsides I hear Paul tell me to stop making love to the mast, it might have been funny if he didn't sound so far away!

“Nearly there?” “About three feet”, I reply. And then I am there, or at least as close to “there” as I'm going to get, the halyard has reached the sheave at the masthead. The masthead light is still over my head, but I can reach it with my good left hand. I take a moment to figure out how to get to the bulb, and then I ask Paul to turn on the light. The words are barely out when I catch a glimpse of a small RIB with a big wake heading our way along the marina fairway. “Scream something at the moron in the RIB” I added, but he didn't need to, the RIB slowed as the still evening carried my words and panic all over the harbour.

The masthead light cover is bigger than I expected. I stuff it awkwardly inside my shirt, no don't let me drop it I prayed quietly. I take out the offending bulb, it's well blackened. I fish out one of the three spares I've brought. Bingo, there is light. Coming down is less arduous, but faster and equally terrifying. I land on the deck, almost puzzled that I am still intact after such an insane adventure. Seeing him stripped to the waist I realise Paul has been working hard winching my 14 stone up 15 metres. Still I insist that I had expended the greater energy, clinging for my life!

Wearily we make the much more placid trip home to a well earned dinner.

Copyright © Pat Egan 2007

Stuck in the Mud on Moon River

Sometimes I can get so full of the tale I want to tell that I forget to pay attention to the level of interest of my victim, err, I mean audience. This time, it's two months since my last cruise and I still have an overwhelming urge; suppressed thus far; to grab any passing stranger by the throat & force my story on them.

As cruising experience goes, ours is on the modest side of modest, but even by these standards this was such a short hop that it hardly qualified as a day cruise. A five mile trip down the river from Waterford to dry out at Cheek Point so my prospective buyer and his Surveyor could examine the bottom of our 26' Westerly Griffon.

I hadn't been in to Cheek Point before, so I scouted it out in advance. We are bilge keeled, so taking the ground is easy once it's reasonably flat. There is a concrete slipway in the harbour, but rather than risk upsetting the locals by blocking it for the day, I chose to dry out in the mud where I was sure we wouldn't be in anyone's way. A mistake!

Accompanied by my crew, Catherine; who doubles as my spouse in real life; we set off at high water from Waterford at 7 a.m. on the 3^rd February under a clear sky. Without the slightest suggestion of wind, and being slack water, the river Suir was like a mirror. Dawn was getting ready to break in front of us and a full moon hung over the city behind us. A little down the river the city lights melted away; leaving us alone with the engine's unceasing thump thump thump, the rippling splash of our bow wave in the still water, and the pre-dawn silence. Behind us the yellow moonlight undulated across our wake and in front the gradual brightening blue sky morphed into red along clouds rimming the horizon. Anytime at all the river trip to and from Waterford is magical, but this morning it was absolutely spine chilling.

Having taken our time we arrived at Cheek Point just after 8 a.m. I was pretty sure we could have just gone straight in over the mud banks, but as it was my first time I played safe and followed the buoys. This meant going past the harbour and then coming back via the channel. I knew it was a big spring tide but I was still surprised by the strength of the current just one hour after high water when we turned, we ended up crabbing in until we got to shallow water.

By 10 a.m. the water had receded enough to do my own mini survey, prior to the arrival of my would be buyer. I donned my wellies and my old oilies and stepped off the transom ladder into knee-deep mud. I do not exaggerate, the mud was above the tops of my wellies. Needless to say, Lara's Bilge keels were so well sank in that there was barely a gap between the mud and her belly. I jury-rigged some snowshoes from Lara's “For Sale” signs, which enabled me to complete my inspection. Everything looked good except that my anode was missing. The propeller seemed none the worse for wear so I crossed my fingers and rang the Surveyor.

Now here I must pause to give credit where it is due. The Surveyor, Robert McConnell of Prolines Naval Architects, Waterford, could not have been more helpful. Bear in mind that he was hired not by me, but by my prospective buyer, yet he detoured to the chandlers and picked up a new anode for me, he even left me his screw driver so that I could put it on when he was done.

So the survey went well; as subsequently did the boat sale I am pleased to say, and then came the fun part!

Let me remind you that Lara had sank to her oxsters in the mud, that there was an anode to attach and that it was early February, and consequently freezing. I put on my bravest face crawled through the mud, and set to the task under Lara. Alas, courtesy of a motor bike injury in my youth I was unable to hold my finger on the nut while screwing on the anode. After 20 minutes of lying in freezing wet mud I abandoned the task.

However, all was not yet lost. I am blessed with positively the best, the bravest, the most willing and most able crew there is going. Nothing would do but for Catherine to have a go. In truth, she had volunteered to do it before I ever lay down in the mud, but whether chivalry or macho pride, I had insisted on making the first attempt. Now I could not refuse her. Time was against us. The tide was rising and flooding in over the mud banks. With the water lapping at her feet she got the anode on, tightened up, and scrambled back up the transom ladder.

We had a few more moments of anxiety as the water level rose, and rose, and kept rising well above Lara's waterline as her bilge keels remained firmly planted in the mud, but eventually, with a lazy slurp, Lara hauled herself out and we were afloat.

A trip back up the river with the last of the flood, this time before the moon had risen, but with the setting sun in front of us, and back to our berth on the marina.

Yes barely a day cruise, but still, one to remember.

Copyright © Pat Egan 2007