The good the bad and the ugly

The good news is that Shiloh is fixed! All her parts are working, or at least all those we know about until we get moving and test it all out.

The bad news is that it has taken a good two or three extra weeks as more and more ‘issues’ were discovered.

The discovery that we had an internal seal leaking AFTER the haul out, led to calling help onboard, moving our 300lb engine, through the bedroom hatch with a rope contraption, and another discovery, that a water pump had been leaking salt water and other bits and bobs were corroded….

Finally all the parts arrived and were installed, and all the goopy thick oil was pumped out from under our engine (and bed!), and we are ready to go!

The bad news is that this week, for the first time in a month or so, the winds have changed completely, to north/north east – which is exactly the opposite of what we need to sail north!

The good news though, is that some old cruising buddies have come back to Grenada and the cruising life, and we’ve had a blast with friends, new and old. 

 We've seen some epic sunsets and had some great get togethers. Our delays meant we were around for the great Halloween party this week at the fancy Port Louis Marina in a … yes it’s true…. Airconditioned bar! There were some amazing costumes and some unfortunate ones. Let's just say that orange blow up boobs are just not a good look on JW...

The mermaid and the squid

Our friends who won best costume - as California sushi rolls (yes the balloons are the caviar!)

 The bad news is that the infamous northerly swells have hit our anchorage, which means the boats are tossed violently about, lifting and plunging. Inside, the people and their belongings fall from side to side, bottles tip, hips smash on door frames, all while the horizon bobs in and out of view.

But luckily we have friends in fancy places (ie the marina) so we can come on land and take indulgent showers and sit on terra firma for sundowners. And there’s an awesome two mile white sandy beach just a dinghy ride away.

But the lure of new adventures calls. We now have plans… yes plans… to provision (with food and drink that is either unavailable up island or cheaper in Grenada), fill up propane tanks, and move. If only one or two anchorages north of here. Today!

By the end of the weekend we should be out in deeper waters, with the wind in our sails, or the sound of diesel motors as we beat against the wind on our nose.

Either way, windward islands, watch out! The *DEET fleet is heading to unsuspecting anchorages.

*DEET Fleet is a term of endearment coined by my friend Leslie on a vessel called Texas Two Step, given to a group of us party animal boats, who have travelled together, standing for ‘Definitely Entertaining Every Time’, and used as a play on the word DEET (which is actually an Acronym for a lethal anti-mosquito ingredient in bug spray, used in copious amounts while in rum squalls on the beach).

Days like these

Some days are lazy hazy lolling, where you are in tune with the waves that gently rock the boat. You doze and read, snack, sit out on the deck and observe the bay and your ever changing set of nautical neighbors. You match the sway of the palms on the beach... There is nothing to buy or organise or plan or attend, and the cleaning (which is always there), can wait.

 And then there are the other type of days. Where a calm day quickly evolves into something completely different. Where a simple engine check in the morning leads to a discovery, that changes all your plans and has you trying to organise an emergency haul out with a boatyard, because your sail drive seal is leaking and there is salt water seeping in.

These types of days are apt to disintegrate instantly, all preorganised travel and social plans, and will no doubt involve lots of tools, grease, paper towel, sweating and help from  boating buddies. Thanks be to our boating buddies who always have the tool we’re missing, the much needed second opinion on the technical issue at hand, and the words of encouragement when our faith in the boat and the lifestyle waver.

These days lead to the action days, where you wake early amidst black clouds and rabid squalls and start praying for a break in the weather so you can get around the island and anchor. And you do arrive, as a huge black cloud threatens, unleashing the heavens just as you come in to anchor. So, wet and chilly, you prepare for your haul out. Fenders are gathered and lines (ropes) set in all four corners of the boat, awaiting the hopefully smooth entry into the narrow concrete slip.

And the speed and depth meters need to be changed out with the dummies, which involves dismantling yet another cabin bed, throwing all the stored items aside and watching JW climb down in the cavity. Then each plug is swiftly removed, and for that brief instant the panic inside, as you see the sea below and it gushes into the cavity around JW, as he stuffs the dummy plug in with a determined twist. And repeat for the other. Sometimes a sea creature comes in as well so it’s not a boring job. This time, it involved a small purple slimy octopus who was quickly repatriated to his ocean home. All that’s left is sopping up the saltwater that got onto and into everything in the storage space during the swap-out.

 On these days your captain must be on his best form – manouevering the 20 ton mammoth beast called Shiloh into a narrow concrete parking bay of sorts. You throw the ropes to the guys onshore and captain JW does his thing – and we’re in.

 They force us off the boat and so we watch with the others ashore as the haul out machine heaves it’s massive slings under Shi, and lifts her up, up up.

On days like this, when your boat is swinging precariously above your head, you come face to face with the reality of the sea. It has basically claimed her from beneath. Creatures, shells, plants, all grow and thrive. The propellers are encrusted with layers of oysters and other shells. Then they are blown away by a team with power washers and metal scrapers. And the smell… you remember the smell.

The real work is to begin at that stage and as the boat administrator, you leave your able captain to deal with the technical job, and you head to the marina office to deal with the payments. And booking a hotel, and packing an overnight bag. And when he is done, you climb the hill with backpacks on, pay again at the hotel, climb further to the room, open the door and collapse with a sigh.

You each take one hour showers and wash the matting hair, twirl in all this frivolous space, set the early morning alarm for tomorrow’s ‘splash’ where you will reverse all that was done today.

And you lie down on the white expanse, falling hard into a still, non rocking sleep.

Every step of the journey IS the journey

Disappointment is a relative thing. It varies from person to person and can be anything from devastating to a minor inconvenience.

I’d say that our cruising life hasn’t involved any marked disappointments at all. Until we found ourselves with itchy sails, ready after last week’s storm scare, to head out. Even Roger’s vibrant Sunday beach party had lost it’s lustre – and that it just us getting spoiled. We needed a new adventure and finally got it together yesterday to do just that.

Even our ladder was ready for a new scene - this is what it looked like when we pulled it up to go...

Captain John in his element

 We sailed around to Grenada’s capital, the pretty port, surrounded by house spotted hills, pulled in to the yacht club to fill up all our tanks. All went smoothly, mostly, and we anchored out in the bay.

We filled a huge shopping cart at Foodland and loaded up the dinghy. We got back to the boat and planned a walk on the beach. It was all going swimmingly.

And then JW went down to do a standard check of the engines. There were tools and oil bottles and rolls of paper towel – up and down the hull steps he went, sweating heavily. Silent.

And then he shouted up:

“The sail drive seal is leaking again. The oil has drained out and there is milky residue in the bottom”.

Which translates to:

“We not only can’t sail off as planned, but we have to head back around to the south end of Grenada and get a booking at a boat yard to haul out”.

Which further translates to a night or more of life up in a sling, with no use of water (toilets, kitchen (galley) sink), no breeze, mosquitos… basically hell.

And so for the first time in a long time, I felt it. The stomach gnawing claw of disappointment. I was heartbroken, crushed. Not quite devastated.

And as all things are relative, I remembered that we were anchored near Grenada’s best long white sandy beach. And that Umbrella’s beach bar has the best burgers around. Even on a global scale. And I remembered I had to do laundry, and here I am, and there is high speed Internet here, a light breeze, and this is my view:

 They say sailors have short memories. Soon we'll have 'accomplished' our latest maintenance feat, and we'll be headed off. And disappointment sounds like a foreign word.