Dalmations
Ellen here, THE BOATYARD - that’s where we are, otherwise known as purgatory. Don’t get me wrong - this is an amazingly beautiful, tranquil, friendly purgatory, so far my favourite boatyard ever, and I’m quite happy to be here. But there’s something about starting the process of any sort of significant boat work that has the energetic aura of Groundhog Day dunked in molasses and then quicksand. In the earlier stages of this whole cutless bearing process we had wonderful help. Huge shout to Bill Huber, Qwalen’s and my neighbour in the states, for leaping into the boat parts research process with zero notice and the knowledgeable context of a lifelong sailor and incessant mechanical tinkerer. You see, it’s awfully easy to not find the boat part you are looking for in the wide world of marine-specific custom nonsense, and equally easy to get three different wrong assertions from any number of “experts” working in marine shops. Bill, knowing all this and also understanding what a cutless bearing is, called Bluebird’s manufacturer, tracked down the hull number, and got a solid confirmation from jboats that it could really only be one size, which matched pretty closely with our best attempts at awkward underwater measurements - so we thought we had it figured out. Equally fortuitous, Miriam was about to arrive from a major city in the states and Bill was able to get the appropriate prop puller and cutless bearing delivered to a store where Miriam could pick it up on her way to the airport. This is all pretty much a best-case scenario with regard to getting specific sailboat parts in the middle of nowhere French Polynesia on short notice. But then you start work, and it is just one little thing after another. Yesterday we had not foreseen the need for an extension for our square drive prop nut loosener-majig- today that hurdle was surmounted by the boatyard guys loaning us one. Today we discovered that our specially-purchased-for-this-prop prop puller from the states did not in fact fit around our prop. Again stoked we’re in a friendly boatyard - we made one of theirs work and GOT THE PROP OFF (this can be extremely difficult). Even got a video of Qwalen standing upside down on the bottom of the boat to wrench it off while I am hovering inexplicably in the background with a hatchet (the back of which is our biggest hammer, okay?). However, once the prop was off it became abundantly clear that our new cutless bearing, when held up to the old one still recessed in the strut, is in fact… too small. Hmm. I don’t know what to say except,… shit. There is approximately zero likelihood of anyone from here to Papeete having one of these or being able to get one easily. Getting one with difficulty though? Maybe - we shall see, after Tony does some digging for us, but when we started talking about measurement in inches he just smiled and suggested we add to our too-small bearing with painstakingly thin layers of fibreglass… which doesn’t sound to me like it would work. So. The plot has thickened, as expected. No tiger shark sightings today though…
Q here. Hmmmm….. boatwork…. As anyone who has ever worked on boats would full heartedly expect, nothing went as expected. Ups and downs of excitements and roadblocks was all and all a little exhausting to the ol nervous system. But in a consolation at the end of the day, I set up a dive float on a line tied to a bomey, and practiced breath holds, with a heavy weight belt, sitting on the bottom while the tiney blue and striped fish interlaced with the coral reef swim back and forth like the on the windows 95 screen saver. Back to the surface recover air long enough to dive back down, and again stillness and quiet, except for the tiny clicks of the tiny fish nibbling on the seaweed. Clear night tonight, moon waning, shooting stars, so many stars.
Ia orana, Megan here. To add to our other woes, the head still doesn’t really work. I bravely returned to my plumbing job to check that the joker valve hadn’t pulled another prank (it hadn’t) and then proceeded to dismantle most of the rest of toilet to try and figure out where we were going wrong. I dread to tell you this, dear readers, but at one point quite a bit of water started to pour out one of the hoses. I was sure I had turned off the correct valves, I had expected some trapped water to come out, but I simply panicked. What if it was fresh water? What would the crew think of me?? I remembered Naomi telling us with a wrinkled nose that sometimes when water is in the bilge, you’re supposed to taste it to determine whether it is salt water or fresh water. With remarkably little hesitation, I dipped a finger in and tasted it. Salt water. The flow almost immediately ebbed. Cistern water. I’d tasted toilet water. Fresh water connecting to the toilet makes as much sense as a pet tiger shark. This did make me feel quite salty and sailory, which was a consolation.
I persisted in my labour, but couldn’t find anything obviously wrong. It takes water in fine, but seems to lose its force when it is asked to flush. I worry there is a something wrong in the depths of the impossibly long outtake hose. Likely it is just something out of my own depth and that we would struggle to fix anyway… so we remain in Ellen’s repair purgatory.
I went on a little kayak and walk as well, my usual fare. Startled and was startled by sea creatures. Filled a hole that seems to have opened in the bottom of my stomach: mangoes, handful after handful of homemade crackers from Miriam, hazelnut studded salami, and biscuits and gravy for dinner oh my. Maururu!
Miriam chiming in, though I feel very quiet tonight. The cumulative exhaustion I brought along caught up with me today and naps became necessary. Kayaking to shore, wandering through the strait of sea cucumbers, marvelling at the neon intensity and varied colours of giant clams, looking for shells, and falling in love with the black and white speckled eels that undulate through the shallows also happened. Along with helping the windlass motor fix and dinner and of course, taking the time it takes to watch the sunset.
Jamie - this evening we lay out our collection of shells. I say “our” although I haven’t taken any part in it. But upon seeing an entire table of exquisite shells and treasures I was thoroughly inspired to begin taking part. The next step was for the crew to go through this collection and cull out the less desirable ones. Well, now my inner scavenger came out. I opened my empty bag and said let it rip. I got an entire bag of second hand shells all without combing the beach for hours. My shell collection game is starting strong. WOD- Rasp. Rasp - a file like tool used to remove burrs from a rough edge. / rough, husky, often used to describe someone’s voice. Used in a sennyyyy: to open that door you simply rasp the handle firmly and pull toward yourself.
Naomi here, Biscuits and gravy tonight, with southern style cabbage greens, pork, and chilled vino verde . This combined with gazing upon our wondrous shell treasures has done much to lift the crews spirits after some setbacks today - altho we did have a win with the windlass, it is slathered in lanocote and when we tested it out after installation it brought in and let out the chain with an alarming eagerness. I am encouraging everyone to make preparations to notify bosses etc that they will be working from home now, home being Apataki boatyard, it has 2g internet. This of course poses a problem for Jamie but I’m sure he can start working on his memoirs, from goat to boat and back again, the story of Jamie aitchison. My highlight of the day was going into the boatyard for the 3rd or 4th time of the day and watching a smallish pig trot briskly from one end to another while the boatyard men clapped and yelled at it before it disappeared into the coco palms, then after another ten minutes or so watching it skedaddle back across the boatyard. A pig on its little piggie missions. Also can anyone tell us when French fries were invented please.