WW commandeered a ladder and we were soon aboard. With her bimini down, her cockpit had become rather grungy. Rain had gathered and evaporated in corners, leaving interesting black slime. The veneer on her table had cracked and peeled in the sun. I opened her companionway door and was assaulted by a blast of humid, smelly, very hot air. First order of business...open all the hatches. Her solar panels meant the batteries were well charged, so we were able to run the fans. She'd need a good scrubbing, inside and out, but she seemed as happy as a boat can be on the hard, tucked in among her many land-locked companions.
The view from Django, looking inland to the wonderful hills of Grenada
The neighbourhood: all waiting to feel water on their hulls
We got the bimini up in short order. It shades both the cockpit and the salon, so is an important part of our climate control. Then we ran our hose up from one of the boatyard faucets. It didn't quite reach the water tanks, so I filled 5-gal jerrycans and carried them forward to pour into the tanks. Meanwhile, WW scrubbed and swabbed the cockpit.
I went over to De Big Fish to see if it was open. We were hoping for ice and dinner. No joy. Closed up tight. So we dined aboard on tinned tuna with mayonnaise and some rye crisps that were not so much crisp as rubberised. All washed down with 151 proof rum and plenty of water. A grand meal eaten at the weatherbeaten table in the cockpit, with an army of voracious mosquitoes for company. They stayed with us all night. Short, fat little things, compared to our svelte mozzies, far less whiny, but just as itch-inducing and persistent. I was up several times in the night to reapply the Off...which has a disconcerting floral scent.
The morning was bright and hot. We prepared for more exertions. First on the agenda was to learn when she could be launched. We were told we could be fit in at 2 p.m. We had much to do to prepare.
The new day seen from the cockpit, looking seaward
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