Splash

4/10/2018, Trinidad

Exactly one month after returning to Shanti, she was ready to “splash”, as they call it.

The jobs’ list spread itself into the available time, as per usual, with “Island time” and the rainy season contributing to delays. A typical tropical pattern saw generally sunny mornings, dense clouds building ominously behind the eastern hills toward midday, a torrential outburst followed by soaring humidity - with a possible repeat performance later in the day.

Temperatures in the mid to high 30’s with relative humidity around 90%, are more conducive to snoozing than working. Most of the liveaboards have hired an air-conditioning unit to make life “on the hard” more bearable. No such luxury on board Shanti, but a couple of excellent Caframo fans ran 24/7.

The first task after my arrival was to affix the new tricolour and anchor light fitting on top of the mast. German friends, Wolfgang and Klaus, took on this challenge.

Klaus, at 82 years old, nimble and strong as a 30 year old, was the perfect choice to go aloft. I've been told that the German language is not rich in expletives, but it seemed that Klaus used them all. We could sense his frustration as he called down for yet another "shraubenziher" or “schlappenwoofa” (or some such tool), which luckily Wolfgang was able to interpret.

Corrosion had solidified the old bolts, but in the end they gave way to German, not-so-gentle-persuasion. Klaus was rewarded for his efforts with a thorough drenching when the heavens opened up, leaving him hanging like a soggy bratwurst, while Wolfgang and I sheltered quietly in the cockpit. It was decided to resume the job the next day.

Meanwhile, in between downpours, local painter, Nigel Barker, was attempting to spray paint the sides and antifoul the bottom, assuring me it would all be done by Monday. Of course, he didn’t specify which Monday. 

A month later, I couldn’t be more pleased with the end result.  Shanti looks brand spanking new!!

There were other jobs I was waiting on anyway, which also had their own share of frustrations. Here in Chaguaramus, local workers invariably bite off far more than they can chew, promise deadlines they can’t keep, seldom turn up when they say they will and are quite arbitrary in their pricing. 

I didn’t think it was such a big ask - just a 5’ long stainless steel pipe with a small plate welded onto the base - yet it took weeks longer than planned. But in the end, after many gentle reminders and waving around that magic phrase, “booked to go in the water tomorrow”, I am happy to introduce the latest addition to crew: “Blewy”.

(You may recall this nautical tendency to name everything that has a slightly less inanimate function, such as wind pilot, “Min”, tiller pilot, “Tilly”, and now “Blewy”).

A second-hand ‘Silentwind’ wind generator, (painted blue), coupled with a new charge controller, which I bought from Portugal and had it shipped to me in France in only one day, now augments my power bank.

Close to schedule, Shanti splashed on Wednesday 3^rd October. Blewy sang her heart out as we motored down to the nearby anchorage of Scotland bay, putting in 0.155kw of power overnight, whatever that means – but it sounds impressive. Several times the automatic brake came on, to avoid cooking the batteries.  The sad thing is that after 4 months of disuse, the fridge appears to need re-gassing, so all that wonderfully abundant power was wasted.

I can’t say that Chaguaramus has been without its entertainment. A well-organised group of cruisers from all over the world seamlessly conspire to ensure there’s always plenty to do. At 0800 each day there’s the Cruisers’ Net on the VHF radio, with excellent weather reports and a wealth of other information, from “treasures of the bilge” to shopping trips and social events. There are a couple of “pot luck” dinners a week, Mexican train dominoes, “noodling” in the pool.

My favourite, of course, being the Friday night jam session, where I get a microphone stuck in front of my face and get to sing loudly to my heart’s content, while rows of Congos and Jimbos and Tambos and other drums keep the beat.

I would like to say that it was at one of those riotous events that I damaged my ankle, but no, there wasn’t even any dancing or alcohol involved. I simply slipped off the edge of a wobbly wooden step, rolled the ankle to the accompaniment of a loud cracking sound, and fell down, rather dramatically. It was the kindness of others that got me home and up the ladder, where I felt somewhat trapped for the next week, unable to do much more than RICE – (Rest, Ice, Compression and Elevation) and French. Luckily I still had plenty of the magical homeopathic remedy Arnica on board, which really speeds up healing immensely.

The following Friday I was driven to the gig, which was held on board "El Zorro", a super yacht (power boat), with several tiers of decks and apartment-sized accommodation, all gleaming with mirror finish high gloss timberwork. Still not sure why the owner chose to let this rabble on board and take us all for a night cruise.

Here's a photo I took of the boat (ship) last night as it did its usual charter trip to Scotland bay, canned music blaring.

After launching, it seemed prudent to spend a few days alone in this bay, resting (sure), getting ship-shape, checking systems and rediscovering my sea legs. The continuing tasks of cleaning mould from decks and dinghy, etc. were made easier with a peaceful seascape and cooling breeze. I love being back out on the water again, enjoying that gentle motion of fluidity beneath. As friends have told me, “the land is dangerous”.  It's also great to be using my body again, rediscovering all the muscles that have been land-bound.

The time spent as a French student in Montpellier was a classic case of idle atrophy, just sitting on my backside for most of the day with arms hanging like limp noodles, or perhaps pushing a pen about in tiny, cramped wristmotions. Good to be winching and schlepping, twisting and turning, balancing and wriggling again. However do people survive desk jobs?

Tomorrow (Monday 8^th October) I clear out at Customs and Immigration, then an overnight sail to Grenada, where large numbers of cruisers are already beginning their northern jaunt up the Windward Isles, pending the end of hurricane season next month. This is a seasonally dictated digression for me, a chance to “smell the roses” of the Caribbean islands before turning south and heading toward the Panama Canal next year.