Now the boat is back in the water, I can assess the changes made over the winter.
One of the tricks for a single-hander is to be able to lower the foresail and dowse it before the bulk of the sail slides under the lifelines and into the water. 99 times out of 100, there’s no problem. Occasionally everything goes wrong. It happened to me at the end of last year and it was time to do something about it.
As we waited, we wondered how often this happens. We hoped it wasn’t every spring tide.
A post from Webb Chiles in Opua brought memories of a walk we made from Paihia to Opua in April last year.
The walk follows the bays, first across rocks and along a beach, on through mangroves and then along a sometimes wider, sometimes narrower, sometimes rough, sometimes smooth path. We walked comfortably through bush or along the water’s edge beneath the low and somewhat fragile cliffs.
To my last post I added the comment that the qualities single-handed sailors had in common were determination and perseverance. On Wednesday evening I met Jeanne Socrates. I haven’t changed my mind.
In a recent post, Bill Serjeant has reminded us of his Folksong (Zeta), which he passed on to Julian Mustoe. The latter bought her for a specific voyage, totally rebuilding her coach roof and renaming her Harrier. It’s Bill’s story and I will let him tell it – (link below).
The following arrived during the week:
“I was thrilled to find, by chance in your collection, a photo of my Great Grandfather’s boat. The Ethel May was built at Rhyl, North Wales, in 1878 (65 tons) owned by John Kearney of Co. Down. I am assuming it was a schooner? My Great Grandfather, Richard Coppack was her captain. My Aunt was named after the boat, although she always felt it should have been the other way around.
Blue Mistress is slowly coming together.
Because we won’t be back in the water before Easter, I have had time to tackle the planned jobs and some unplanned ones as well – like painting the floors of the quarter berths.
I now know why I avoided this for so long. It meant forcing my 42 inch chest five feet down two 38 inch holes – cleaning, sanding and then one, two, three coats – shoulders hunched, arms outstretched, pushing an open paint-pot before me, having to work out how to use my right hand accurately and then how to worm my way backwards without touching the fresh paint.
The New Zealand Herald has a report from one of their reporters in Vanuatu this morning – here. The video clip shows the destruction in Port Vila. Sadly, there has been loss of life. I understand wind speeds were in the 300km/h mark.
Yesterday, Webb Chiles carried a photograph of the damage in the harbour and a first hand description of the harbour itself – here
You carefully pilot your ship into harbour at the top of the tide. You wait until the tide goes out and there is clear ground around the ship. Then you bring the horse and a cart to offload into. The cargo is heavy – coal, or slag, so you harness two horses in tandem to haul the load across the beach and up to the stores.
As we walked past I glanced up and thought, “That’s a fine-looking dinghy.”
And then, “That’s an interesting way of stowing it.”
Beyond Steeple Point 