A big hello to all our avid readers, yes both of you! Katharine has asked me, her younger brother, to write a blog. She told me that I had to do it because my last blogs were very funny. I think she is rather exaggerating my comedy ability and hasn’t realised the extreme pressure a statement like that puts one under. I am also at a disadvantage this voyage because the subject of most the funny incidents is not aboard this time. Mark we are missing your… well we are missing you.
We departed Tortola at 0820 on the morning of the 24th January. Old Grey Beard was in a frustrated mood because we couldn’t push off until the harbour office opened at 0800 for him to settle the bill. The crew on the other hand were relieved that this meant he could not justify rousing them before 0700, which in my opinion is still too early! I think the laidback Harbour Master must have got a shock when he opened the office door to find Captain Simkins queued up outside like a 16 year old girl waiting for an X-Factor audition.
On Old Grey Beard’s return the lines are slung off and we set out to sea. Cruising away from the Islands we pass a secluded cove that Sarah and I had attempted to get to with the Skipper’s new inflatable dinghy. The story of this journey, it may surprise you to hear, was not straight forward;
Deciding that a snorkel at a nearby beach would be rather nice Sarah and I commandeered the inflatable and outboard engine. As I am casting off the lines Father says to me “just be careful that engine has been a little temperamental but it should be OK”. This, I fear, was information I could have done with before casting off our line to shore and rapidly being gripped by the current.
It seemed the seasoned Skipper’s warning was unfounded, the engine ran perfectly as we headed for the beach that appeared secluded on the map. As we rounded the head land we were surprised to find a beach with a grounded rusting ship on it. This left no room for us to get ashore. With the engine purring away at this point and giving no hint of frailty I decide to venture slightly further afield. We spotted a lovely beach on an adjacent, uninhabited island. All we needed to do to get there was to go with the current across a busy shipping lane and travel around a mile and a half.
As intrepid adventurers we set off and made surprisingly good progress. This should have been my first warning as to the strength of the current. As we passed the southern most headland of our Island and had to dodge a fast moving ferry the hairs on the back of my neck start to rise. It was very much the same feeling you get when driving a car rapidly into a hard corner and you start to wonder if you are travelling just that bit too fast. Still we are committed now being halfway across the channel. As we get to within 50 meters of the beach I start to relax, we have made it! Then a noise no rubber dinghy captain likes to hear. A very gradual winding down of our engine and then silence. I try to restart the engine but to no avail. While I thrash the it’s rip cord we are rapidly being taken past our beach and island by the tide. Next stop I fear would have been Bermuda!
Resigned to the fact that the engine was kaput we broke out the oars. The small dinghy proceeded to spin in small circles as in my haste to get ashore before we headed out to sea I put a little less force into my rowing than Sarah on her side. When we started to work as a team we made very gradual progress against the tide. Eventually we landed with but a few meters of our safe haven’s shore left. We pulled the dinghy up the beach and I started tinkering, as men do, without a clue what to look for. We had a full tank of fuel so it couldn’t be that… Or could it, I had a flash back to when I last borrowed an outboard from Old Grey Beard and ended up floating in the Beaulieu River. This on a first date with a rather unimpressed looking woman who, following rescue, I heard very little from. The problem on that occasion had been that the fuel tank connecter was incorrect for the outboard and as such no fuel was getting to the engine. Surely my Father would have learnt from the mistake back in the UK and not duplicated it now. I have a look in the small header tank on the outboard and to my surprise it is bone dry, the bloody tank in the base of the boat was not feeding it! Furthermore it appeared to me that the connecter was for a different outboard!
When the rage subsided and I returned to my usual zen-like state I started to grapple with the logistics of getting the fuel from the large fuel tank into the small header tank without a funnel. Luckily Sarah had a hair grip that I used to remove the jubilee clip from the end of the fuel line. I then used the primer pump to fill the tank on the outboard. With a few pulls we were back in business!!!
Deciding that we had pushed our luck enough and that we ought to head back to the sanctuary of our island we shove off and gun the motor. Half way across the channel the engine slowly starts to give up. Just before it stalls it roars into life again, as we pick up speed Sarah and I look at each other and say “phew”. In response to this the engine dies instantly without warning. We are again in the shipping channel surrounded by a heaving sea and being swept away. As I start to pull the rip cord a passing dive boat crosses our path and the skipper gives us the “Are you OK?” hand signal. Out of habit I respond with “Yes were OK” and they speed off as I wonder to myself why I responded that way?
As we pass the point we last set off from the engine finally comes to life again. We both stare at the far shore as we plod towards it against wind and current. It almost felt that if we stared at the distant shore hard enough it would start coming to meet us. This time the engine, although not happy, delivered us to within 30 meters of the shore before coughing and dying. We decided to row for it. Circles again. A brief argument. Then team work and we start holding our position but making no headway. At this point we decide to parallel the tide to reach the beach and again just make the tip of the island the boat is moored on. I leap over the side as soon as it is shallow enough for us to stand.
There is a funny phenomenon with water where when looking through it from the surface it acts as a magnifying glass. With this in mind the 4 foot I perceived was more like seven and I disappeared under its surface. Sarah could not help but laugh even after I voiced my displeasure. I finally tug us into the shallows to notice the sea bed is encrusted in spikey urchins. I quickly procure Sarah’s size 5 flip flops and hope I don’t kick one. Finally we get the engine to start and it then sees us back to Maximilian. I feel a sense of relief when we tie up alongside. Old Grey Beard asks “How was the outboard?” and we responded “A little unreliable”. I haven’t had the courage until now to tell him quite how near we were to being rescued by the Coast Guard. Ironically we were gone for over two hours and we did no snorkelling.
I will sign off now for I fear I may have bored you all enough with my tale of incompetence!
Early morning in Soper's Hole and Tris returns from the showers
