Never Prognosticate

So the engine worked and we sailed away and lived happily ever after.

Of course not. I knew looking ahead was a bad idea.

At about 12:30, Danny got WW to flip the switch that gives power to the engine but not to the starter engine. The starter engine started. Oh terribly bad. Much pondering of a tangle of wires that, clearly, had not been reinstalled comme il faut.

I did some cooking, planning a nice Mediterranean meal for dinner: slow cooked squid, marinated zucchini, hummus and pita bread. To assist, I had dozens of flies. It became a bit of a brawl when I started cleaning the squid. I won, scrubbed the galley to within an inch of its life, then wandered off for a bit of a nap leaving a galley full of depressed flies.

WW came by and suggested it might be rum o’colock. He was right, it was 5 p.m. By now five people were either in the engine room, hanging into the engine room through the hatch, standing just outside the engine room or standing on the dock peering into the engine room. There was a lot of head scratching, mutterings and I believe I might have heard an incantation. Chicken entrails were consulted. WW said he was trying to stay away to avoid having to listen to the head scratching etc.

Eventually the team discovered that a magical electrical control box (I’m sure I have grasped the technical terminology perfectly) was out of commission. They put in a spare, only partly dead one we had from a previous encounter with this issue. The engine worked, but for full function, we’d need a perfectly alive version of this magical box which, for a miracle, Carl said he had one of at home.

Another night in Jolly Harbour. Huzzah. I discovered that spraying the sheet with bug spray was and effective and cooler approach than spraying myself then swaddling. The dinner, incidentally, was delicious.

On the morrow, Terry appeared bright and early with the magical box and installed it and the engine ran and we smiled and were happy. Danny found a water leak. Terry suggested some of our hoses were a bit beyond their best-before date. Carl approved us for departure.

At about 9, we headed over to the fuel dock and fuelled up. Then we headed out to sea with an essentially new engine. WW was alarmed to find it smoking, but that turned out to be oil and gunk that had ended up on the outside because it does. It burned off shortly. The water leak persisted, source as yet unknown, but it was going into the bilge which was where it should go if we had to have it.

It was very windy as we headed off. On our way to Jolly, going before the wind, we’d managed over 6 knots. Coming down the west coast, with a 17-20 knot wind coming off the island, we managed about 4.5 knots. Then we turned the corner at Pelican Island. Let me show you…

I really hope you can see this. Up on the left hand side is a number 1 and an arrow; that is Jolly Harbour. In the left hand bit at the bottom is a 2 and an arrow; that is Goat Head Channel which starts after you turn the corner at Pelican Island. On the right at the bottom is an arrow marked 3; that is English Harbour. The dotted line connects the two and is, more or less, the course we sailed. We rounded Pelican Island and came into Goat Head Channel which runs between the island and the extremely nasty Sandy Reef (also visible on the map).

Goat Head Channel also exists in the real world and looks like this:

The sort of dark coloured dome is Goat Head, beyond it is Curtain Point with a white building on it and the big headland at the end of the channel is Old Road Bluff. Because of the reef (not visible in the photo...sorry), we were protected from the seas, but the points and bluffs and whatnots could not really shelter us from the wind.

This is what happened when we turned the corner:

That's 29.6 knots--oh what the heck, let's call it 30--on the nose (please notice the little outline of a boat with its nose pointing directly into the wind).

At a speed sometimes topping 3 knots, we crept along the south coast to English Harbour. To add to the general frolicsome pleasure, once we rounded Old Road Bluff, the next bit of protection from the seas was Africa. This is generally considered too far to be of much use, so we did our plod through a large and urk-inducing easterly swell; WW estimates it at 9 feet.

We are back and safe. WW has sorted the water leak but now transmission fluid is oozing from somewhere and we may need to haul out to have that dealt with. Later. Much later.

It took us a number of anchoring attempts to find a spot, but we feel comfortable and secure, tucked back in amongst our friends. The seas and winds are dropping, we are going to celebrate a friend's birthday (we rescued him today when his mooring parted...he is very grateful), and all's right with the world.

For now.

About that HotHotHot Spot

I keep nattering on about the HotHotHot Spot coffee shop where we have breakfast most days and where dinner is served on Wednesday nights only. I want to tell you about the truly fabulous people who make it go.

The place was run by our dear friend Gay Nichols for many years. She is now planning a retirement to England and has spent most of this season over there, settling into a new house. Her partner Arnold runs the HotHotHot (which I'm tired of typing so will call it HHH from here on in) Internet service. He joined her in the UK in December and is rumoured to be returning in February. While they are away, the coffee shop is being managed by Dave, about whom more later.

Whenever we arrive on the island after being away, one of my great joys is my first visit to HHH. I am greeted with squeals of joy, massive hugs, hug grins and, always, “Where is Uncle Willie?” (who is generally paying the taxi or buying ice or getting the dinghy). Fear not, he gets the same treatment when he appears.

The bearers of all this welcome are:

Nicola (said with the emphasis on the ‘co’), 

queen of the kitchen, master roti maker, 

fun person and awesome dancer.

Pettie (short for Petronella), with a laugh that’ll knock you sideways, 

a lusty singing voice and always the most amazing hairdos.

Alicia (pronounced Aleesha) is a new permanent employee, 

but shows every indication of equalling her colleagues’ awesomeness.

Dave lives on an old ferro-cement boat back in Ordnance Bay, right by Gay and Arnold’s Cormorant. This year, his secret vice was revealed: he plays the trumpet. WW (guitar) and John Nobbs (aka Queequeg, clarinet) lured him from his den and he astonished us all with his stylings.

John, Dave and WW doing a little crowd pleasing.

HotHotHot hopping on Wednesday night.

The trio perform on Wednesday nights at HHH for the usual breakfast gang, a crowd of zealous Tot Club adherents (of both the trio and the dinner) and sundry persons from boats at the Dockyard. Anyone with an instrument is welcome to join the fray.

Oops, naughty moi. I forgot to give credit for the HHH Wednesday night photos. All glory to Frank, Tot Club member, captain of Marae and all-round great guy.

The Engine Saga Continues

On Monday (yesterday) morning, at about 10 a.m., we raised anchor and made our way through biggish seas and biggish winds to Jolly Harbour where we tied up at the dock after calling Carl to make sure that such behaviour would be OK. We were very excited about getting our second engine back.

Yes, well…

First, the forklift had blown its starter engine so could not be used to reinsert our engine. There was some talk of using the travel lift, but the boatyard wasn’t keen on that. Then Daniel (the nice Dominican man who extracted the engine) came with a measuring tape and a furrowed brow. Much sighing and O-my-god-ing ensued. The engine had been removed in two largish pieces, now it was all put together in one piece and was too big to get through the hatch or through our doorways. What to do?  His suggestion of enlarging the door to the engine room was rejected out of hand. Clearly, it is going to be more difficult getting the baby back in than it was getting it out.

Carl didn’t want to unseal the gaskets he’d so carefully applied. Any extraneous bits were removed from the engine. Work was perpetrated on the forklift starter motor. Evening came. We aimed for today.

We don’t like Jolly Harbour. It is very protected, thus windless, hot, crowded, smelly, ugly. It features many flies by day and many small biting insects by night. These last can be dealt with by liberal application of bug spray and/or by wrapping one’s body in a sheet like a shroud. Both ways have drawbacks. With the first, you always miss a bit and the bugs always find it; with the second, you are sweltering. Suffice it to say, last night was not one of our most restful. We were grateful that the temperature plummeted to about 24C (which after a day of 29C in the sun is pretty nice) overnight and the swaddling didn't seem so terrible.

A first attempt has now been made on reinserting the infant. In the way of babies, it has grown since delivery and doesn’t want to go back whence it came. They are removing its exhaust manifold…one of the bits Carl didn’t want to mess with. WW is accepting. “Oh well,” he says.

Daniel tries with the entire engine.

Entire engine resists re-entry.

* * * * *

It is in! Or rather, its bits are in. Almost the minute it landed in its nest, the heavens opened as a squall came through. A sort of baptism, I suppose. Now Daniel and Terry (another person who knows what he's doing) will reconstruct the baby in its womb. And WW reports that the gasket didn’t break. I gather this is a good thing.

Terry and WW with the slimmed-down version.

She's in! It's all just hours of reconnection now...

In a few hours, we may be on our way back to English Harbour, its pleasant breezes and relative bug-freeness.

Or not.

It is never wise to attempt to foresee the future while in the islands.

A Long Involved Week

Last week was very busy. We were rum bo’suns, so had to be at the tot every evening to set up, collect fees, and run the show. In addition, WW performed with his jazz trio at the HotHotHot Wednesday-night dinner. Prior to this, of course, there had been numerous episodes of his vanishing for a few hours to practise. It was during those times that I would go ashore and blog, since the Internet connection on Django was beyond pathetic.

At some point during the week, WW finally became terminally fed up with the Internet issue, went into St. John’s and bought a modem/router. We now have great Internet on our own private LAN, provided (for a fee, of course) by the cell company Digicel. Hurrah!

On Thursday, we had a very light turnout for the tot—just eight people. That’s always nice and relaxed. We should have known it was a warning...

I’ve managed tots with as many as 30 people and eight to 10 guests, each of whom must be poured a special measured tot. That’s in addition to preparing glasses of water for all comers. It can be pretty hellish. Well, on Friday, we had more than 40 people, 21 of whom were guests. Fortunately, our fellow Tot Club members leapt into the breach and we started more or less on time. We had three of the Row2Recovery rowers as guests, with a number of their supporters, which was a great honour.

The other big news on Friday was: our engine is ready! Due to the busy social whirl, we decided to head to Jolly Harbour on Monday.

Saturday was Burns’ night and I was emcee because of my excellent bad Scots accent. There was an option to drink whisky instead of rum for the tot.

Rum bo'sun Yr Humble Correspondent, in vaguely Scots attire,
with fellow Totters Mike and Joe.

 This was followed by Anthea’s homemade oatcakes topped with cream cheese and smoked salmon. Then there was haggis (imported by a guest from England and hotted up by Life-on-the-Corner’s chef Jill—a real actual Scot) with champit tatties and neeps and, naturally, whisky. Very fine whisky, in fact, that had been presented to the Tot Club by the Talisker rep after our marathon Friday evening invitational. Everything was most delicious. I had the honour of reading Tae a Haggis as the assembled tucked in. [There will be photos, but Anthea hasn’t sent them yet. No pressure.] [Update: As seems obvious, Anthea has come through.]

Haggis, tatties and neeps seen through rose-coloured iPad.

On Sunday afternoon, our friend Claire had a house chilling party. She had had a small conflagration in  her kitchen last year and had finally finished the repainting and repairs. Unsurprisingly, she served chilli. We dined aboard, having completed our bo’sun stint. No one who has done that for a week wants to attend the tot on Sunday. Early to bed in preparation for reclaiming our engine.

Thanks to Anthea Beck for the photos.

Different Strokes...Literally

Before I get going on the topic for today, I'd just like to say that Elizabeth's and Roger's boat is Energy. I'm glad we got that cleared up.

There are several ways to get to this island. You can fly, you can sail, you can motor, you could take a ferry from one of the other islands, or you can...row. Our friend, Tot Club member Tiny Little from Norwich, rowed here solo back in 2005. A big man, by the time he arrived, he was a shadow of his former self.

We've recently had an influx of rowers, and not, as you might imagine, from nearby islands. These rowers set off back in December from the Canaries. Fourteen boats left and three have arrived, one single-handed (or maybe it was a two-man) boat and two four-man boats. They are part of the Talisker Whisky Atlantic Rowing Challenge 2013. It is unclear whether any others will arrive or if they have given it up as a bad job. Apparently there were severe storms all the way across.

The first boat arrived a week before the second boat, sailed by a bunch of polo players. The design of the first-place boat is very innovative, very unlike the others and very fast, hence his domination. It is expected that all boats will look like his next time around.

On Tuesday, January 21, boat number two arrived just as we were preparing to come ashore for breakfast. A cluster of small boats was outside the reef, including the Antigua Coast Guard RIB. In the midst were the rowers, who always insist on rowing right to the dock wall though a tow could certainly be arranged. After 47 days, what's another five minutes? As they entered the harbour, all the boats blared their airhorns, dozens of small craft came out to join the escort, and the dockyard denizens lined the harbour to cheer the lads on. Parents, family and friends reached down to hug and hold the brave rowers.

Passing the reef at the entrance to English Harbour.

Boats' horns, flares, cheering, pandemonium...a hero's welcome.

A small matter of running aground at the Dockyard wall

meant a little splashing about to complete arrival.

Later that evening, at about 7 p.m., the second four-man boat arrived. This was particularly special as it was crewed by a team of British Armed Forces lads two of whom had suffered grievous injury while serving. Arriving as they did after dark, they had no expectation of any kind of reception. They thought they'd just get out of their boat and go to their hotel. Hah! The dock was 10 deep in cheering screaming adoring crowds, the airhorns and whistles blew nonstop, flares were set off, flags bearing their logo Row2Recovery flew wildly. They were utterly gobsmacked (and, it should be added) delighted. Interviewed, lionized, televised...it was ages before they got that lovely first beer.

(I have no photos from this group's arrival, though you can see them on the Talisker Challenge Web site looking, well, fabulously happy.)

One Day Much Like the Next

We found Django in fine form, if still lacking a port engine. (The engine fairies had not come during our absence and reinstalled it, alas.) We were in the calm safety of Ordinance Bay, surrounded by friends or, at least, by their boats. The problem with a safe, calm spot at the end of a long bay is that there is little change in the water. The mangroves do their best, but it remains a place one would rather not swim. The watermaker laboured. However, the wind was still strong out in Freeman's Bay, so we were forced to wait.

WW called Carl, the mechanic at Jolly Harbour, and he said the parts would be expensive so he'd waited to order them. Less expensive than a new engine and we've little choice; the process was put in motion.

On January 15, early in the afternoon, the command chain  (WW to me) passed down the word: time to move out to Freeman's. It was relatively painless, barring the large amount of gloopy mud that came up with both our anchor chains. It probably took us more time to wash down the foredeck and trampoline  than it did to up anchors and get the heck outta Dodge. The first thing we did, once safely relocated, was have a long lovely swim.

Django is, again, with friends. David and Nancy live astern of us on Vamoose; Roger and Elizabeth are tucked ahead of the reef and, between them and us are Arnie and Lili on Scott; off to starboard are Carol and Bill from Toronto aboard Steel Away; closer to the harbour are Tom and Jos on Pelekan.

Now our days take on a certain sameness.

We arise, ablute, have tea (me) and coffee (WW). WW also has something to eat, usually in the bread, peanut butter and Marmite line. After a bit, we head in for the morning social session at HotHotHot Spot in Nelson's Dockyard. The cast of characters changes daily, there is ebb and flow as regulars arrive and others depart. The following shows a pretty typical group with their cappuccinos, chocolate croissants, pots of tea, bacon and eggs, bagels, French toast or English muffins.

Breakfast at HotHotHot Spot, where everyday is a battle for shade.

There seems to be a Guy Side today: Roger (in the sun),

Henry (92 this year, had a boat till he was 90,

sold it and now walks over each day from Falmouth),

Tom of Pelekan, and WW.

 

And a Women's Side: Nancy in the great hat and David her husband

(no room on the Guy Side) from Vamoose, Jos from Pelekan,

and Elizabeth (must find out their boat's name).

Then our day may take us to visit Aubrey who provides us with fresh fruit and vegetables, or over to Dockside for more extensive groceries, or up to the Dockyard Bakery for bread or patties. Word  has it the chicken burger there is outstanding.

Eventually we make our way back to Django. Lunch, maybe a nap, lolling and reading, a swim, then it's time for WW to head ashore to get ice and we have our evening rum punch. Many evenings we go ashore to attend the tot. Often we dine with friends at one of the local, inexpensive restos.

Another exhausting day completed.

Heading Home From Home

They say getting there is half the fun. Sometimes that just isn't true.

As I mentioned in the previous post, the temperature had plummeted over New Year's, then rose steadily to above zero, with rain. Then dropped again. Sunday it rained, Monday is became cooler (we went into Montreal and were allowed to enjoy the rapidly icing streets and sidewalks). We rented a car and headed back to the lake. The road was a skating rink. Somehow we made it in to the house. WW drove the rental while I took his 4WD, not that 50WD would have helped.

On Tuesday morning, we prepped Ken and Jen's house for a lengthy period of unoccupiedness. We took out recycling and garbage. We tidied and packed. We returned cross-country skis to the garage. We tucked WW's car in an accommodating snowbank and bade it a fond farewell. We left.

We arrived at Trudeau Airport and returned the car. It was freezing cold. We shivered and shuddered our way to the terminal. Outside the doors, the rental car guy finally caught up with me and handed me my cellphone and its charger which I'd left plugged into the car...

We were told our flight to Toronto was cancelled. We had time to get the shuttle to the Via Rail station and catch the train to Toronto. The shuttle was very slow in arriving. WW talked to a Greyhound bus driver who said a bus to Toronto was "just around the corner". It was too cold for me to go tramping "around the corner" on spec. I voted for the train if the shuttle was in time, at which point it arrived. We saw no bus "around the corner". We bought our train tickets five minutes before the train arrived. WW spent the waiting time calling his son to say we wouldn't make it for dinner.

The train trip was uneventful but for two things. One, I discovered there was free and functional wifi. Two, while freely and functionally wifi-ing, my dear friend Rosemary (last seen about 8 years ago) emailed me from Salt Spring Island and we exchanged email like chat during the trip. (We did not use chat because we are both old and stupid and didn't think of it.) This email exchange has had far-reaching effects as I have since, under her tutelage, installed and used Skype to have a long lovely chat with her.

Our Toronto taxi driver is a big Rob Ford fan, watches the Discovery channel while waiting for fares, knows that the boreal forest is the lungs of the world (the Amazon jungle was brushed off as a mere bagatelle in the global respiratory stakes), and entertained us mightily until arrival at our hotel. We were lucky to have the reservation. People had been. stuck in Pearson Airport for three and four days. All the hotels were chockablock. We had a light supper and hit the hay at about 10:30 pm. WW called for a six a.m. wakeup call.

The next thing I knew, WW was stumbling about the room. What are you doing? I asked. It's 7:30, he answered.

Fortunately, the airport shuttle was at the door as we arrived downstairs. We hustled onto it. At the airport, most flights were cancelled. At check-in, we were told only three flights were allowed to leave each hour. We weren't sure whether this was per airline or total. Regardless, by some miracle, ours was one of them. It was a bit delayed, so our missed wake-up call wasn't a problem. Soon enough we were loaded onto the plane ready to taxi onto the runway.

And there we sat. And sat. And sat. The captain finally came on to say a passenger was having a medical issue and they were waiting for EMTs. These finally arrived and the woman was put in a wheelchair and left the plane with her husband/partner. Another couple took their place and we were off.

From there it went like Gilbey's: smooth.

They Weren't Kidding.

We anchored in Freeman's Bay, at the entrance to English Harbour. It wasn't easy as a catamaran with one engine is almost unsteerable in reverse. Reversing is very important in anchoring since you drop the anchor, then back away from it, letting out chain as you go. We managed to find a spot on our second or third attempt, but when the wind came up on Friday evening, we began to drag. Discretion...valour...all that. We fled to one of the arms of the inner harbour, Ordinance Bay, where we anchored at the entrance at about 8:30 p.m. We were made to move in the morning because we were a bit of a hazard for the enormous boats cluttering up the harbour for charter boat week, but at least we relocated in daylight.

Then the wind came. It howled. It blew. It wailed. And with it came rain. Serious, torrential downpour rain. Rain such as I have never seen here before. Rain that did not stop for two days. We discovered every leaky hatch in the boat. It was wet. It was cold (seriously). It wasn't much fun.

Then again, we're living on a boat in the Caribbean. How bad can not much fun be?

And the weather did end. The sun came out and dried everything up nicely...yes, even the mattress under one of those leaky hatches. And almost before we knew it, it was time to go home for Christmas.

WW has a penchant for getting the wrong days for these flights home. Last year he told me Tuesday, then checked online on Sunday to discover we were leaving that day in three hours!! This time I checked the flight several days before and learned he was only one day off this year. Perhaps he'll be spot on next year.

We had to miss our friends Moroccan theme party (an excuse for couscous, as if you need one), but the trip home was uneventful. We spent a lovely Christmas in the Laurentians at Lake Anne, and New Year's with our friend Lorna in Val Morin. I skipped the midnight -38C tobogganing. Can't imagine why.

We headed back to Antigua on January 7. And therein lies a tale, which will be told in another post.

From Montserrat We Go

Bright and early on Wednesday morning, we raised anchor and set of down the west coast of Montserrat. This would take us past the island's erstwhile capital Plymouth. Today it is utterly abandoned, occupied only by drifts of muddy ash and gradually encroaching greenery. It and the lush farmland around it were abandoned when the volcano made its presence known with engulfing swathes of hot mud, ash, steam and sand. Today, enterprising islanders mine the muck for the sand which is used up and down the islands in construction. Positive told us it is considered among the best sands available because it contains no salt.

Plymouth is off limits, deep in the exclusion zone. Sailing past it was not permitted until just a couple of years ago. The view is extraordinary. We moved slowly past the scene, wrapped in our thoughts. Hardly a word was spoken until we reached the end of the island.

Plymouth today--a ghost town.

Speechless.

The volcano, still seething, looms behind Plymouth.

We sailed well south so we could head almost directly back to Jolly Harbour. Our guests had a flight out the next afternoon, and we had an engine that needed care and feeding.

The crossing was uneventful except for the arrival of a pod of dolphins, who joined us for a brief spell. There were about 10 of them, bounding through the waves beside us. Most of them seemed very small, making me think it was a dolphin kindergarten class on a field trip to learn about boats.

We arrived in Jolly Harbour in the late afternoon and WW went ashore for ice and to talk with our mechanic. He learned that a vicious blow was headed our way, with 25 knot winds gusting over 30 kts. It was due to start kicking up a fuss on Friday evening. He arranged to have the engine pulled the next day, Thursday.

As our Eager Crew prepared for departure the next morning, we drew up to the boat yard wall. A charming young Dominican man (from the DR, not from Dominica...can be confusing) with almost no English immersed himself in the engine compartment, sloshing about in spilled fuel and other vile liquids. He disconnected all the connections that bound our port engine to the boat. After several hours, including that during which we bid the Eager Crew a fond farewell, the engine was liberated. A forklift arrived and our Dominican gently eased the engine up through the hatch. As it emerged, he smiled broadly and announced, "I bring out baby!"

The labour is almost over.

Delivery!

It looks so small...

We decided to waste no time. It was about 3 p.m. and we cast off and beetled straight off for English Harbour, arriving a bit after 5 p.m. We planned to sit out the blow in the safety of the best harbour  in the Caribbean.

Thanks to Enn for the Montserrat photos.