While you’re sleeping…

…your boat is breaking. This fact of cruising life is very good at keeping WW entertained. There is always something for him to fix. It keeps me entertained, too—keeping out of his way, usually on the bench in the saloon (unless he needs to hang head down under it) with a good book.

Some of his finer repairs were about to happen in the week between Frisha and Whit’s visit and that of Dan, Genevieve and (a late addition) their friend Maïa. First, he collected the drive for our big autopilot and installed it. We tested it as much as we could at anchor. It appeared to work.

The rest of our first couple of days post-visit was spent restocking our food supplies and doing nothing very vigorous. Turning the occasional page, rolling over during a nap. Stuff like that. WW even took over as chef on Monday evening and presented me with a perfectly grilled rack of lamb. Yum.

Day two was cleaning day. I did my standard vacuum, sole scrub and head sanitization. WW wanted to move to Freeman's Bay, across the harbour, where the water is clearer. Tucked in under Fort Charlotte, it wouldn't be too rolly either. So over we went. Our first attempt at anchoring wasn't great. The anchor dragged. I started to raise it when (remember the groaning sounds from the windlass back in Port Louis?) the windlass up and died. The motor made noises, but the gypsy did not turn. I, therefore, bravely took up the slack until I got the anchor rode up and down. This meant I was lifting about 20 feet of heavy chain plus some 45 pounds of anchor. I suggested WW come do the heavy lifting. He did, but it was too late. Something in my back went "sproink".

We hadn't even been sleeping and poor WW was looking at a broken windlass AND a broken first mate. He consoled us by taking us (him and me, not the windlass) out for pizza. Then we came back and the head exploded.

Lucky WW. Lots to do.

For the next few days, I was barely able to walk. Getting in and out of Boffo was an exercise in agony. I couldn't roll over at night. I was still able to cook, which doesn't require much in the way of sudden movement or contorting turn. We had corned beef hash. How the mighty had fallen.

WW came up with a solution for the head. It has worked well, so far. (I write this a month after he set it up.)

He also raced around with bits of the windlass, hoping to be able to have it repaired, then discovered a new one would probably be cheaper. He ordered it. It would arrive from St. Martin. He would need a customs broker. Naturally, this being the Caribbean, it all took a little longer than usual, but hey.

Within about four or five days, I was once again almost fully mobile. I was able to do some light work at Tot Club Keep Fit, again at Fort Charlotte. That was Sunday, February 7, and that evening we joined about a dozen other Tot Club members in a very packed taxi van and travelled across the island to the US Naval Base. Its commander Art is a member. It was also, for those who care, Super Bowl Sunday. And there was a chili cookoff (won by a Tottie).

Over the course of the next week we sewed and installed new straps for the life raft; scraped, sanded and painted Boffo's davits, mucked about and generally prepared for the arrival of D, G and M.

Antigua was, by now, into its second or third week of quite serious drought. Montserrat had had a partial dome collapse, shooting a column of volcanic dust and ash up nine miles in the air. The wind carried the cloud down over Guadeloupe, Les Saintes and the northern part of Dominica. The airport in Guadeloupe was closed for four days. We were coated with ash but there really wasn't enough water about to clean it off properly. Then our watermaker packed it in.

More fun for WW.