Lifting out

Imagine if once a year you had to hire a great big crane and move your house as the only way to access and clean your basement. Imagine your home swaying on a chain as it is plucked from between your neighbours while you pray some mishap does not reduce all you own to matchwood. Then imagine that you have to work flat out for twenty four hours before the whole process is repeated to slot your pride and joy back into place.

Aragorn, our boat, and soon to be home, got it's annual below the waterline maintenance this week. The whole process would have cost a lot more and taken a lot longer had it not been for Catherine, my wife and crew, Sean, our friend and sailing mentor, and Anthony, our “shore engineer”.

Our concern about costs has increased proportionately with the imminence of our Live-aboard lifestyle. Fortunately we were able to book our lift-out in Howth Yacht Club, whose reasonable rates were matched by an equally reasonable chandlers just across the harbour.

Our plan was to sail from Dun Laoghaire on Monday night, lift out first thing Tuesday and get all the work done within the day. Then lift back on Wednesday and sail home.

I spent Monday buzzing around making sure that all the tools we'd need were aboard while Catherine ensured a suitably provisioned galley. Then, at eight o'clock, with Sean as extra crew, we slipped our lines and sailed across Dublin Bay. With twenty knots of wind out of the Southwest, under a clear Winter sky, we had a perfect sail, snug in our thermals, arriving in time to sample the Guinness in the club bar.

We slept on board, rising at a civilized 8 o'clock. With Catherine manning the camera, Nicky on the crane, told us what to do, while his mate Kevin, with his infectious smile, kept everyone on track and in good humour. With slings sunk under the boat fore and aft, the mighty crane slowly hoisted Aragorn's ten tons. Sean held a line on the stern while I held one on the bow, conscious that a sudden gust of wind might send us for a swim, or smash Aragorn to smithereens off the quay wall. Thankfully no such disasters befell, and she made a perfect landing in the waiting cradle.

Then it was all go. Examine the hull and keel for signs of wear. Check the propeller, its shaft, and anodes. The prop needed a little restoration, the anodes and cutlass bearing needed replacement, and the rope cutter required some dentistry to return it to as new chomping performance. Credit to Anthony, who beavered away despite a few inadvertent dousings as we hosed off the marine fuzz that had started to overcome last year's anti-foul.

By seven in the evening it was dark, we had covered the hull in a fresh coat of paint, and all was done bar a few last minute jobs. Second night on the boat we slept the sleep of the just.

Next morning, while the crane suspended Aragorn in the air, Anthony and I held the lines, and Catherine, armed with paintbrush instead of camera, touched up the patches that were inaccessible on the ground.

Back in the water, the shore engineer made his final engine checks, and, with her freshly cleaned hull Aragorn tore across Dublin Bay at a blistering eight and half knots to home sweet home on Dun Laoghaire marina.

One big job out of the way, all going well next time we'll be doing it in the warmth of an Algarve Spring.

Copyright © Pat Egan 2008, all rights reserved.

Planning to be Marine Itinerants

“How are the plans going?”, or “What are your plans?”, are questions we are asked a lot these days about our forthcoming move to live-aboard in warmer climes.

First I say that, although everything may sound very definite, it has to be flexible. Travelling by small boat is unpredictable. You never know when something's going to go wrong and you just have to stay and fix it. It might be that you have to wait a month for a part. Or the weather can turn sour and stay that way for weeks. Alternatively we could arrive somewhere planning to stay for a week, and then get a perfect forecast with the wind blowing out of just the right direction, and leave the next day.

Still, we need a plan to get where we want to be when the Winter comes in. For us this is the Algarve, more specifically Lagos Marina. The Algarve is strategically situated on the entrance to the Mediterranean, and just off the main sailing route from Northern Europe to the Caribbean via the Canary Islands. We're told that Lagos is a great spot for novice liveaboards, with its thriving live-aboard community, town centre location, and launching pad to either the Med or the Americas. Because Lagos is so suitable it tends to fill up quickly, so we're already booked in there from November 1st.

Another factor defining our schedule is the weather. I've been warned that the North Coast of Spain is prone to fog from late August. As we head South we expect it to improve, but, travelling down the coast of western Europe we will be ever exposed to the full might of the Atlantic, and that gets angrier and mightier the later in the year it gets.

Then there is the route we plan to take. We are taking the coastal route around the Bay of Biscay, partly because we want to cruise a little in France on the way, and also because we have little appetite for a long passage directly to Spain at this stage.

Our final consideration is domestic, because of other commitments we cannot leave before the end of May. All of this combines to create the framework of our first year of our life as marine itinerants.

All going well we leave Dun Laoghaire at the end of May. Hopefully we'll get a few days in the Scilly Islands and Cornwall before moving on to Concarneau in Brittany. From there gently make our way down the French coast to La Rochelle, visiting the cities, towns, villages and remote anchorages along the way. In some we will only stop overnight, in others we may stay for a week, longer if the weather turns nasty & we have to wait it out. We will probably stay in France until after Bastille day, 14th July, just to join the celebrations. Then we'll wait for a good forecast to cut across Biscay to Bilbao.

We will loll our way westward along the North of Spain over the next few weeks. Remembering the fog, we will press to get around the northwest corner of Spain and on past Cape Finisterre by late August. I have heard a lot about the Rias of Northwest Spain, we'll spend some weeks exploring them. Along the West coast of Portugal we will at least stop in Porto and Cais Cais.

We want to be around Cape St Vincent on the Southwest corner of Portugal by the 1st October, and into the relative shelter of the Algarve. We'll cruise the Algarve for the month, before snuggling down in Lagos until February.

Then it's lift out for some routine maintenance and by March '09 we'll be poking our nose into the Mediterranean, but that's next year's plan.

Copyright © Pat Egan 2008, all rights reserved.

Decision made.

Yes! Our minds are made up! We're going!

Come 31^st May, or as soon after as weather permits, it's "all aboard" for Catherine and me on our 40 foot sailing boat, "Aragorn", out of Dun Laoghaire harbour, hang a right at Dalkey Island, and see what happens.

In truth, our minds were well made up long before now, but we had to stay shtum for business reasons. No more! It's the nomadic life for us, and we're shouting it from the rooftops.

And OK, we have a specific destination. We're going to hunker down in the Algarve from November through February, before heading East into the Med for Summer 2009. After all, we want to be where the weather's warm come Winter. The downside being this imposes a schedule; we can't simply dawdle our way down, or we might end up in a French or Spanish Winter, not much better than our own. And that's another thing that's going to hurry us up : weather. I'm told it gets foggy along the North of Spain in the latter part of August, so we want to be South of Finisterre by September 1^st, and around Cape St Vincent on the Southwest corner of Portugal in early October.

Gosh, we'll barely have had a couple of pints in the Scilly Isles but we'll be upping anchor & heading for France. A few days cruising the Glenan Islands, perhaps a week on the Morbihan inland sea. But making our entrance between the towers into La Rochelle's old harbour is a moment to savour for ever.

The Spanish coast beckons, but wouldn't it be a shame to be in France at that time of year and not wait to join in on Bastille Day on the 14^th of July?

Little over a month to whistle stop through Bilbao, Gijon, La Coruna, and the Rias of Northwest Spain. A visit to Santiago de Compostello is a must, but I don't think we'll walk! What a happy dilemma that in order to visit the next beautiful place we must leave the one we are in.

As for funding this, well, you know, it doesn't cost much to drop the anchor in a sheltered bay and hook a couple of fish for dinner. Hoisting the sails in a fair wind not only means free transport for us, but for our home and contents too! Ye can keep yer Estate Agents' commissions, yer Solicitors' fees, and yer removal vans ye land lubbers!

Of course we'll have to pay to stop in ports and marinas to shelter when the weather's bad, or just for a rest. When the wind doesn't oblige we may have to use the engine, and that's three expensive litres of diesel an hour. We will offload more cash stocking up on land produce, on the odd "bouteille du vin", or on visiting local hostelries. And of course there'll be ongoing maintenance and repairs to Aragorn. But continental prices are favourable and with renting the house and our savings, a little budget planning should keep us indefinately.

When are we coming back? Wrong question! Not when, if! If we get ill, or go broke, or get fed up with warm weather or challenging seas, or maybe we'll just wait 'til we're too old for adventure.

We might even decide we don't like the lifestyle and just return quietly in August after an interesting French cruise!

Hmm, I don't think so!

Copyright © Pat Egan 2008, all rights reserved.

Cruising the Crinan Canal

Can you imagine looking down a hill from a sailboat to the sea; Or your boat being overtaken by
joggers, horses and cyclists. How about boat after boat with fenders out both sides looking like baubles at Christmas. This latter to minimise damage from accidental bumps in a narrow waterway.

Our passage through the Crinan Canal was one of the highlights of our recent Scottish cruise. This nine mile shortcut through fifteen locks across the North of the Mull of Kintyre saves up to 100 miles, and in times past was the fastest route between Glasgow and the North of Scotland.

We entered from the Firth of Clyde at Ardrishaig in Loch Fyne. Having skimmed the guide book we intended to spend the night tied to the jetty, get a good reconnoitre of the sea loch, read up on the instructions, and enter the canal in the morning after a good night's rest.

- What was that saying about the plans of mice and men?

The lochkeeper waved us straight through, directly into the sea loch. A hurried rearrangement of warps; a few frantic minutes of shouted instructions; shortening ropes; the deafening crash of half a million litres of water filling the loch; then calm, and we were sitting in still water having climbed our first fifteen feet.

With just two of us the thought of making our way through the canal was daunting, but we quickly fell into a routine and we were soon comfortably managing the lochs. It was usually up to Catherine to heave open the massive gates, I stopped feeling guilty when I saw a child of about ten doing it. Later I discovered that the gates were so well balanced that one had only to lean on them.

We spent our first night in the still water of the canal basin in Ardrishaig with an assortment of fellow transients and permanently moored boats. On our first full day it took us only a couple of hours to climb to Cairnbaan at the summit. Though at sixty five feet above sea level “summit”

seemed something of an overstatement. The following day we went down through the lochs to Crinan where the local hotel's food was really super.

The third morning we said good bye to the friends we'd made in the canal. We were tempted to stay longer, but the Hebridean Islands beckoned and our time was limited.

Once in the open sea, and conscious that our engine had been in tick over for three days, we gave it its full compliment of 3,000 revs and raced across a calm Crinan Bay. We turned north to Ardfern for a night’s rest before negotiating "Dorus Mor" and its eight knots of tide.

But the “Big Door” would have to wait as once again that phrase about mice and men comes to mind, and we remained weather bound for the next three days. But that's another tale.

Doing it Shorthanded

The lochs were about 25 by 10 metres, with a ladder near the entrance to starboard and another near the exit to port. I rigged long fore and aft lines with one metre diameter loop bowlined on the ends, both led back to separate winches in the cockpit.

On the ascent we would enter the loch on the starboard, Catherine holding a spring line attached to our midships cleat. As I stopped the boat, she would pass this through the ladder and tie on, climb the ladder with the two long lines and drop the loops over shore cleats fore and aft. I would pull in the slack and untie the spring while Catherine closed the loch gates behind us and opened the sluices to fill the loch.

There was quite an amount of turbulance as the water gushed through, but we minimised it by staying at the back of the loch. While we rose I kept the tension in the lines by shortening them from the cockpit. Once the loch was full we would open the gates on the other side, push off and drive through.

Descending was even easier, Catherine stayed ashore and opened the sluices. We tied on the long fore and aft lines, and I eased them out as we went down. At the bottom I would tie on the spring and Catherine would open the gates, unhook the other lines, then down the ladder, release the spring and off we went.Our respective roles fell naturally as Catherine is not yet happy to manage the boat on her own. This meant that it was usually up to her to heave open the massive loch gates, however I stopped feeling guilty when I saw a child of about ten doing it with ease. I subsequently discovered that the gates were so well balanced that one had only to lean against them. Indeed pushing harder served little purpose against hundreds of tons of water.

Approaching each loch there was usually a pontoon to tie on to while opening the gates, and another one once through, so that you can go back and close the gates after you. We were usually lucky in that as we approached the lochs there was often another boat coming, and we could leave the gates open for each other.

There were also a number of bridges to be negotiated, operated by British Waterways personnel. Most were beside lochs, so there was plenty of time for them to see us coming, but in remote places we announced our approach with a timely blast on the foghorn.

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

Things I found out buying a boat

Getting the right Paperwork when buying a boat.
This is an account of some lessons I learned when buying a second hand boat recently. You may be well advised to get an expert's opinion before spending your cash, but this may help you understand where some of the pitfalls are. I sure wish some one had told me all this before I started. The three things I learnt about are “VAT”, “RCD compliance”, and “Legal Title”.

There is a common misconception that proof of VAT is not necessary on boats over a certain age. It's not true.

Although VAT is a complicated tax, there is one simple statement that is always true;
If you can't prove that VAT has been paid on your boat you are liable to pay it.
A VAT receipt, either from customs or from a VAT registered company who legitimately sold the boat is usually enough.

Your concern when buying should be in understanding the VAT status of the vessel. VAT being due should not be a deal breaker because you can factor it into the price.

The RCD status on the other hand is a deal breaking issue. If not compliant it can render your boat legally unusable and it may cost more than she's worth to sort out.

RCD stands for the EU's “Recreational Craft Directive”. This basically states that boats built or imported into the EU after 16^th June 1998 must be stamped with the EU “CE” mark. Initially this certified standards of seaworthiness, but in recent years extra requirements, such as engine emission levels, have been included.

RCD exemptions can be had, commonly by proving the vessel was in EU waters prior to June '98, but get expert advice before committing yourself.

Establishing legal title, i.e., proving conclusively that the Vendor owns the boat, can be complicated;

It is most simply done by producing the original Builders Certificate and originals of all Bills of Sale to second and subsequent owners. However if the vessel is on a full ships register then these documents will have been replaced by the Ships Registrar with a Certificate of Registry. Therefore ...

The second way to prove ownership is with a current Certificate of Registry. If the vessel is on a full ships' register then the Vendor should have an original of this document. Further, you can and should write to the registrar asking for a transcript of the register before buying. Among other things this will tell you who really owns the vessel and whether there are any mortgages on it.

Unfortunately there is more, for if the registration is not current, then there will be a “Deletion Certificate” from the register. The third way to establish title is with the Deletion Certificate plus any subsequent bills of sale, in effect the Deletion Cert acts much like the Builders Cert in the first method. As before, all documents must be originals, copies, even certified copies, won't do.

Thus far I've been talking about the full register or “Part 1”. There is a special “Part 2” register for fishing boats and in the UK there is a “part 3” or “Small Ships Register”, also called the SSR. Being on the SSR means that there is an official piece of paper that says certain details about a vessel have been registered against a person's name. It doesn't mean that those details are true, nor does it mean that that person owns the boat, nor that the boat is VAT paid, nor RCD compliant. So be careful! You will still need either an original Builders Cert or Deletion Cert and the full chain of Bills of Sale from then on.

If you think there is anything irregular or missing you should take professional advice.

Making the deal.
Once you are satisfied with the boat and paperwork, then comes the negotiation and contract. Closing my recent boat purchase was an education in itself, and of the lessons learned, some I got right in the negotiation, others I'll know better next time.

As many boats are bought through brokers, let's dwell on them for a moment. Brokers are useful, they matchmake us with our boats and convert our beloveds into cash. Sure we grumble about the chunk of change deducted from the capital sum, but a good broker earns it, and, if as a seller you don't think so and have time, you can sell direct.

However brokers are not all the same. I would expect a broker in my own area, on average, to be more concerned about me than one in a distant location, or another country. Still, it's common that we have to travel to get what we want.

Now despite what any broker tells me about how reputable he is; how long he has been in business; what other important clients he has; how he is working for me, whether I am buyer or seller; I always try to remember that very few of them are not also doing it to make their living, and this usually means they're in it for the money!

Surely in these circumstances even a saint would be tempted to push the sale through regardless of a couple of “i”s not being dotted?

Assuming our impeccably honest broker has not been subjected to such temptation, it is still possible that in the excitement of making a deal, he could forget to mention something to you or to the seller. Indeed, in the excitement of popping champagne bottles, you yourself might fail to notice something amiss in the contract you are signing!

So, and this applies whether dealing with a broker or not, make your offer in writing including all conditions.

At very least;

• Subject to originals of any unseen paperwork

• Subject to survey by your own marine surveyor

• Subject to engineer's report on the engine

• Subject to test sail

• Subject to any other repairs or updates that you want the seller to attend to.

• Subject to standard documents for contract and bill of sale being used (For example those of the RYA or YBDSA).

• For a cross border transaction insist that your deposit is held in a Euro account. You can lose a couple of percent in the conversion, and if the deal goes south, you will lose it twice if you have to change back.

• If dealing through a broker, then pending your other conditions being met, offer a deposit of not more than 5%.

This latter will upset the broker, who typically will want 10%, be prepared for a hissy-fit. However he is caught, turning you down without reference to the seller could put him in an awkward situation, so let him do the haggling! If he insists you can reasonably ask why. For a small boat a 10% deposit may be reasonable, but if paying six figures plus it's hard to justify. Be flexible and fair, and be willing to settle for somewhere in between.

By putting your offer in writing it can eliminate arguments later, it will also make it less likely that the broker inadvertently omits something to the seller, and it will reduce the risk that you forget to mention something. It will also enable you to refer to all your conditions with the single phrase “as per my written offer”, and provides a check-list to compare with the contract.

If your club or sailing association provides standard documents for contract and Bill of Sale, get them. If not, others can.

The RYA is internationally recognizable and their reputation is hard to challenge, alternatively many yacht brokers are members of Yacht Brokers, Designers and Surveyors Association (YBDSA). Both organizations have standard documents, which you can familiarize yourself with well in advance. Use of standard documents should not give either buyer or seller cause for concern.

Be careful of a broker's own contract. It may only have “minor” modifications from one of the standards, but be sure that you are satisfied with those differences.

Buying a boat is always going to be a risk, but I hope you derive some benefit from my hindsight. Good luck!

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