Oh dear – we do look desolate! I was going to photograph the mast
coming down in stages – however, since I was needed to make up numbers, my role
in documenting the action was scotched.
As you can see, we look a bit depressed when it’s not in vertical
mode. Now I understand completely
why the rigging can’t be changed without taking the mast down. Actually the mechanics of taking the
mast down are the least of it.
Much more challenging is disconnecting – or rather re-connecting – the
cables that run from the mast to the instruments – lights and radar. I’m sure you will hear more about that
when the time comes. If you have
ever taken your phone apart and seen that nest of tiny coloured wires, you’ll
know what I am talking about. For
anyone contemplating a passage alternating sea sailing with inland waterways,
the advice would be to make the connection boxes accessible, simple and well
documented.
The Dark Art of Rigging
Actually, not a dark art at all, but a
matter of precise measurement, strength and dexterity. I am going to try to put up a sequence
of photos to show how wire is fitted into terminals in a way that ensures it
stays in – and the mast stays up.
Hmm. Or I might just save
that for the website… maybe a step
too far for the people who I hope are reading this.
On
a personal level – I bought the new rigging in a box from Atlantic Spars in
England (no, not THAT Spar – you can’t just pop down to the corner shop and buy
this stuff). I did this to save
our precious Euros, and also because it wasn’t clear how long I might have to
wait in France since the old rigging couldn’t be removed until the mast was
down… you get the idea. Meanwhile
I am living in a windswept place with no facilities for personal hygiene. I knew that there would be hazards in
this plan, but thought they would be minimal, which I suppose they have
been. The ‘baby’ stay turned out
to be delivered as 6mm not 5mm.
That wouldn’t have mattered if the 6mm terminal fitted into the 5mm hole
on the mast. It didn’t. The second issue was with the backstay
(pataras, for those who like languages) that had turned up with the wrong sort
of fitting for our sort of Sadler (nobody’s fault really – except that it pays
to be obsessive around rigging matters.
So clutching a piece of paper with directions to an industrial estate
and some notes about what I needed should words fail me, I headed off in the
general direction of La Rochelle.
Soon I was seeing a real riggers’ workshop for the first time
(Sparcraft). It was a huge shed
(looked completely abandonded on the outside – to keep thieves at bay?) and
held fabulous drums of all kinds of wire, steel and cordage (rope to you
landlubbers). I was introduced to the artisan and the lad. They laid out the old baby in a kind of
narrow trough, clamp the end next to a fresh length of steel wire – the artisan
looked closely at the bottle screw (adjustable fitting at the deck end) and
asked me exactly where it should be.
I did what I hoped was a Gallic shrug. It probably looked ridiculous. I mumbled that it was the first time I had done this
business with the rigging (are you all still with me?). He looked at the weather marks and
worked it out for himself. The lad
wrote down the measurements (shouting them back like a ship’s mate given a new
course) and then operated the machine that made very quick work of fixing on
the terminal. The manual method
(to be described, see above) takes around 20-30 minutes. Consequently, I and my wires were out
of there by 1000. Paying for the
job turned out to take just about as long as the job itself. Numerous bits of paper emerged from the
printer – this was definitely not a paperless office. The dark haired operative had a nice face and a smoker’s
cough and couldn’t take cards. I
raided the cache of cash and then there was an issue about change until I
rooted around and found the right money.
They clearly don’t get a lot of passing trade.
My
other errand in La Rochelle (apart from posting this blog which mission clearly
failed) was to collect cheque books.
The only vaguely interesting thing about this, is that the French seem
to call them ‘checkies’ (no, I’m
not sure about the spelling, but that’s how the chap said it – more than once. On the way I got greviously lost in a
huge Carrefour car park and almost had to wash the car in order to exit (no, it
just couldn’t be the only way out), then almost equally lost in the outskirts
of La Rochelle. Why do the French
have so many bed shops? Carrefour
fed remorselessly into the kind of shed park that makes you think that perhaps
retailing should be made illegal.
That is very nearly catapulting me into a low-pay, taxes optional rant,
but I’ll save it for now.
I
want to tell you just a bit more about our temporary home. Although it is desolate, and unless you
are in desperate need of a concrete boat ramp you’d think it was pretty useless
and not worth a visit. Ha! It is actually a pretty popular little stop-over for
somewhere that’s way outside a village that it itself fairly far from
anywhere. People actually drive up
and stop near the boat. Some go
fishing or do things like pull in a piece of green polypropylene string that’s
been in the water all day. One man
asked me if this was the Sevre Niortaise (it is). Last night I heard a kind of rumbling motor noise outside
and it looked as if a meth lab had showed up – a French version of the one we
loved in Breaking Bad. I have seen
it again – it lives behind an abandoned building around the corner – but why
did it need to come and look at the dirty brown water for a bit? White vans come and go quite a bit, and
in the early evening I think that a stall at the other end of the port sells
eels to go. I haven’t investigated
it and I am not going to.
Fishermen come and go with small craft – they can dry out on the
ramp. There’s a big abandoned
house on the bank, and fishing stuff, crates and nameless things seem to live there,
get washed, exchanged or repaired – none of that is clear to me.
I
met another boat person – Laurent I think his name is. He wants to set up a sailing school here. He looks like a slightly depressive
single handing type. He helped
with our mast and was fairly pleased that I had some rigging problems since he
had had to lower his mast a second time because he had made some of his bits of
wire too long. I have some photos
of the chaps helping with his mast – I don’t quite understand why they needed
so many, since we managed with 3, but all the geezers emerged from their
various hidey-holes. There was
lots of French wit flying about – but I can’t understand it. I don’t understand much really, unless
people look straight into my face and speak slowly using simple words.
I
had lunch in La Rochelle – I managed to find a place I ate at once before. Its clientele are a mix of University
types and people who work in the technical area of the nearby Basin des Chalutieres.
They have good hot and cold food.
You help yourself and weigh the plate afterwards. I had fish in a creamy sauce, and a
kind of vegetable couscous with a hint of curry powder about it. And salad. And desert.
This was the first time I have eaten out since I arrived more than a
week ago! Maybe moules frites
tomorrow. It’s possible that the
weather will be good enough that we can comfortably put the mast back up, then
I can work at the hull over the weekend.
Sorry, I digress from the very important topic of food! Cooking on the boat is OK – washing up
involves hoses, ladders, buckets and trying to avoid excesses of wind &
rain.
I
just had another visitor – a chap knocked on the hull and wanted to know where
the lock is (as in water, not keys).
All go here! On Sunday I am
planning a visit to a Vide Grenier in the next village – a sort of car boot
sale. I am really hoping to pick
up another bike. The boatyard in
Marans lost my old pink bike - seen in many previous (b)logs. Uncomfortable but functional and cost
20€ the first summer we were here.
There must be a French Gumtree or something similar – we bought our
caravan that way.
OK
– enough for today – better wash up before the next shower sets in.
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