Return Crew Day 13 – 20 February 2020
By Clare Cole
We have had 2 days of good wind and finally the motor is having a good rest. We had growing concerns that having motored continuously for what felt like a week,(actually only 50 hours in total) that we would run precariously low on fuel before our scheduled refuel stop in Tristan. Rory and Tony witnessed the biblical phenomenon of the “never dropping” fuel gauge – whether this was true or apparent we shall await the beatification committee’s judgement on the matter. St Rory of the Southern Atlantic – remember thatyou heard it here first. Dang, the theory doesn’t “hold water”, so to speak. This morning the tanks have received a carefully poured top-up of 75 litres from the Jerry cans that we hold in reserve.
Despite several false starts, the reels have failed to lure and provide us with more fish. Earlier this morning a fishing disaster was narrowly averted when a sudden swell and momentary lapse in helming resulted in a granny jibe.
The difference between a granny one and a full-on proper, potentially knocking your head off with a wild swinging boom one, is subtle. The former is a more gentle error while the latter has the capacity to cause lasting damage to the boat and her crew. Both result in the boat turning through 360 degrees and the helmsman having to recover from it and return to the correct course from an ocean doughnut. Most of us have now performed these granny oopsies over the last two weeks . So with our fishing lines in place streaming from the push pit (the back of the boat), doing a doughnut crosses the lines and they get entangled on the underside of the hull. On this last occasion there was the unfortunate drama in that the lines were caught around the freely spinning propeller which is positioned under the aft deck. It required much coordination and detangling but eventually ended with a freed prop, the lines and lures all doing their thing again, streaming and luring those illusive fish . As a granny myself (the only granny on the boat) I feel deeply honoured to have a manoeuvre named with me in mind.
Fishing on this scale is a whole new thing for me; I have seen the lures in outdoor shops on my travels, having admired the dazzling array of heliotrope and bedazzling colours to their various jelly and fishy forms. Every fisherman has their favourites for a given situation. It must be heart breaking to lose them to the deep when they are snatched from the line by a line break or the “one that gets away”. When a fish is lured and hooked, the art of bringing it in and landing it is the bit that gives the fisherman the bulk of his or her tale. It involves intense concentration, perseverance, strength and technique. Being deep sea fishing rods, the handles are rather stubby and as we have been unable to find the rod holders on board that Grant had supplied with his rods and fishing tackle when the boat left Cape Town they have unfortunately caused a few hip bruises. So Ollie has put in a request for us to pick up a tennis ball or two on Tristan. What are the chances that a volcanic island with a farming and fishing community perched on one tiny leeward slope, may also have a tennis club? Maybe they have stock for playing with their dogs suggested Rory. We will keep you posted with our on the spot market research.
Getting to Tristan is becoming a reality now and feelers are being laid to secure a few treats for us. The island’s legendary crayfish, tea and cake are being discussed on board and if we are able to secure a shower we will be all the more comfortable and well restored for the home run.
I watched a few brief YouTube snatches about the islanders and their life. Through the years, the Rotary Scout crews have made connections with some islanders and we hope these are strengthened with this visit. I am very keen to capture some environmental portraits of people we meet and take a bit of time to tune in about life on the most remote inhabited island in the world.
Over a delicious pick and mix lunch today our thoughts turned to recounting the tale of the toilet drama from last night… (or rather the lack of an available toilet in the night). I woke ready for our night watch just before midnight in need of a quick trip to the loo before wrapping in my foulies, ready for duty.. BUT the toilet (heads) door wouldn’t budge ! I asked for Tony to please help and he set forth with a knife and strong hands to release the jammed catch. Meanwhile I have first watch to get on with to let Ollie off his shift as now Cameron is also stuck in the forepeak behind Tony who is wrestling manfully with the door and knife. I explained to Ollie all the drama unfolding and he chirped “ I was there when it happened”!
So two cool hours later and with our watch over, I am now in dire need of the heads. To my dismay, a sail bag that was propped against the loo door to hold it open had slipped and rejammed the door. And my knife wielding saviour Tony is now firmly asleep at the stern of the boat.
What to do? I have some audience from Cameron who has stayed to chat to the incoming watch of Kristy and Francois. I am a practical horse gal so not totally averse to answering “natures call” out in the deep blue sea. What followed though ranks as my most undignified experience ever. I reached down into the lazerette in the cockpit area to fetch a galvanised bucket only to find one bucket inside the other filled with recently sorted vegetables.
“You can’t use that, those are our good veggies!” exclaimed Cameron . Watch me, I said as I pulled that bucket out. A Brit can also ‘mak ‘n plan’ which she did and it worked! She was relieved much to the consternation of her three huddled witnesses. When the queen of the silver throne awoke for watch this morning the door had been fixed and much hilarity shared in the re-telling of her tale of woe. So I claim the title of Queen of the Silver Throne AND what’s more NO vegetables were harmed in the process!
We have sailed 128nm since our last blog.
Total 1483nm