I have always liked the phrase, nooks and crannies, an example of an ‘irreversible binomial’ so AI informs me; just as well its irreversible because crannies and nooks just wouldn’t do it for me. It conjures images in my mind of tiny inaccessible hideaways and secretness (to use an obsolete word), the sorts of places you too often find a boat’s engine tucked into, as if no human will ever need to touch it again, or where the automatic bilge pump lurks buried somewhere in the dark deep curve of the keel. Of course it was in just such a nook, or maybe a cranny, that hidden damage was discovered in Island Star that required heavy lifting and brutal carpentry to access. Wishing to see it for myself, it helped that I am a tiddly chap able to contort my body into a foetal position in the fore cabin bilge clutching an endoscope, following in the footsteps of my marine surveyor James, like David Attenborough hunting for dinosaur footprints.
Bingo there it was, just as James had said. The non structural fibreglass hull liner had fractured, just forward of the engine bay, under the impact of Island Star’s recent tussle with a rogue wave off Les Hanois, which had me thinking once again about the forces involved, sufficient to bend 1/2″ of steel and throw 2 comfortably upholstered septuagenarian gentlemen skywards. Curiosity led me to do a quick internet exercise that indicated a force of at least 5 tons was required, which suggests to me that the basic boat structure is pretty tough.
Island Star was ashore, resting in the drafty shelter of the boat shed to have such things attended to, and unsurprisingly closer inspection revealed a second bent engine mount though not serious enough to prevent gong to sea. There was also the issue of the sliding cabin door, which had become a non slider, a victim of corrosive old age. This revealed another problem that comes with older light weight Frenchies when replacement parts are needed, for your enquiries seem always to be met with a metaphorical Gallic shrug of indifference, and a “ce n’est pas mon problem, mon ami. Mais si tu veux un nouveau bateau ...” And so there began a lengthy internet hunt, which was fine as I am a self confessed Jack Russell of a boat nerd, and my efforts eventually produced the goods though time will tell, for these new door rollers were never intended to go to sea.
My surveyor James is worthy of further mention here, for he has become a friend and has attended Island Star twice recently, armed like Thor with his hammer, to check out the soundness of hull and latterly propeller. It is refreshing if not amusing in this hi tech world that the most used tool in the arsenal of a marine surveyor is nothing but an ordinary hammer, though I imagine each has his or her own favourite one. There seem to be a bewildering variety of hammers and James has an elderly but clearly much loved one with a round head, which I suspect he has named. But it is not just about bashing away though, for you need a musical ear to interpret the different notes created by hammer on substrate, healthy or not. He had earlier pronounced the hull as being undamaged after playing a symphony on plastic, and gleefully informed me that he had played the glockenspiel on the 4 bladed bronze propeller, which meant it too was in rude good health, all matters for celebration in my book.
James does seem to be dyslexic when producing invoices, however, something I have taken him to task for as I have yet to receive one for quite a while.
Incredibly, Island Star was relaunched on time as planned with works completed, and immediately headed off in breezy choppy conditions with Angie’s cousin Rachel and husband Ed aboard, their first trip out in a small motorboat and I must thank them for not being sea sick and messing my cabin. As we headed out into St peter Port Roads, I ruminated on my obsession with boats and wasn’t surprised to note that I had missed not having one in harbour during the 2 weeks Island Star was out and was childishly excited to be on my first trip for 3 weeks. But I am not embarrassed to admit that, as I consider boating to be a healthy obsession that fires me up, and brings sufficient adventure, albeit sometimes unwanted, to stir my soul, all in an environment that so often generates joy. Perhaps most importantly my absence gives my better half left comfortably at home a break from the turbulence of my restless spirit.
I can’t be sure that crewman George sees things quite so romantically, but he is a stoic uncomplaining sort seemingly with the patience of Job, who seems up for the challenges presented to him by his skipper. One day we were discussing important confidential operational matters and decided we should go fishing, not that we had any fishing gear or any idea how to use any fishing equipment we might have. My only fishing experience was throwing a mackerel line over the stern of our ancient unseaworthy converted iron ship’s lifeboat in 1968, and triumphantly hauling in 13 of them for my poor mother to deal with, just 3 miles south of St Peter Port.
George talks a good fishing story, but reading between the lines, I guess he knows little more than I do, but to give him his due he managed to find an old fishing rod, so off we went to the Great Bank to dangle it over the side in an effort to see how it worked and though it took a while, we finally got to grips with its mechanism, if not the full details of equipment and tasks required of our new on board activity.
Talking of nooks and crannies, global warming has rather changed things round these and other nearby parts, for fishermen routinely now bring up their pots, only to find nothing but a bit of lobster or crab shell and a Post It note inside from newly arrived and obviously very hungry octopuses of the Common or ‘Octopus Vulgaris’ variety. Sometimes as many as a dozen are crammed into one pot, which is strange for they are generally solitary creatures.
Experts are not sure why this octopus bloom, which started in France, has occurred or why these intelligent live fast die young animals are behaving as they are, but rising sea water temperatures probably have a part to play; but whatever the reasons, octopus are rapidly replacing crab and lobster on local restaurant menus. They are fascinating creatures, intelligent yet short lived and occasionally cannibalistic – its safer to be female.
Meanwhile close by above the undersea world of octopuses, Island Star will rest in her nook over the winter always ready for mini adventures and visits to nearby isles during stolen moments between storms, where no doubt we will sample an octopus recipe or two..
Voyaging with Island Star 