Saturday, August 29, 2009
QF1, The bench, Forty T-bags, In praise of older boats
St Martin
QF1 is the number of our berth against the visitor’s pontoon in the floating (west) section of the harbour at St Martin. I think I’ve said that it gets busy here, with up to 25 yachts packing into an area only slightly larger than they are, with lots of movements in and out every day. We’re lucky with our neighbours, who are very quiet, apart from elephant-ing across the deck and kicking the jib sheet cars (metal pulley things that bang on the deck) every single time. The other acoustic hazard is late-night teenagers who start up around midnight. There are sweet wooden benches around the harbour. The angle of view is such that the occupants of the bench appear in the starboard side window above the galley, as if framed for cinemascope. At neaps (when tidal differences are small) we only see faces; at springs (when high tides are higher, and low tides lower) we can see full bodies. So the bench is like a ceaseless film of families, friends, loners, eaters of ice cream, churros, galettes, smokers, drinkers, dogs… Couples changing babies - if only I had a tripod, this would be a fabulous documentary. Can even eavesdrop some of the time. But the teenagers are a pain. They drink, they smoke and they try out there newly broken voices going AAAUUUURRRGGHH while the girls try out a reperoire of screeches and giggles. I am sure their parents don’t mind - they are pretty safe here unless they fall into the harbour, or get attacked by a crazed yacht person armed with bolt cutters.
40 tea bags is how many we have left - will we make it home? (Not counting assorted herbal and earl grey mixed up in a plastic bag, probably since we first stocked up the boat). Still no definite plans to leave, since I have been recovering for a week and 10 days was the minimum recommendation - but I am starting to check out the weather forecast and so far as I can see, the beginning of September is at least gale-free. Thank you for the support messages, and get-well-soon messages! I feel a lot better, have read all my fiction (withdrawal setting in) and find the days are flying by. Al bikes to the beach on the other side of the island, goes swimming and programmes music on his iPhone. I potter about, read, rest and around evening high tide start to look for him on the quayside, like a sort of reverse French lieutenant’s woman. I go for a couple of short walks, check the Internet stuff and plan supper. And so the day goes. The inside of Snork Maiden is a good place to convalesce, choice of sleeping/reading spaces, never more than 2 steps from galley (and food), entertainment (computer), work if I feel like it (computer & navigational bits), sun deck… and the weather has been fabulous - a real summer.
In praise of older boats - the population of this end of the harbour is mostly 20-30 years old, I’d say, with a few newer, but still small craft - less than 33 feet, and many smaller than that. For those of you not familiar with small sailing vessels, I can tell you that, in a nutshell, the older boats are heavier and will look after their crews in a seaway, although they may demand more in terms of deck work; the new boats have much more volume for their length and weight, making them much friskier at sea. They have more berths (bed spaces) than you can possibly imagine - up to 8. (Our boat has 5, in theory, although as some of you know she has sailed with a family of 7 before we bought her.) The modern boats also have electric pumps, showers, roller furling jibs, and many of them can control the mainsail from the cockpit, eliminating the need for scary and often wet trips on deck. (Some of us would argue that those trips are necessary to actually clock what’s going on! The counterargument is that sail adjustments will be avoided if they are too uncomfortable… jury’s out on that.) Snork Maiden is rigged the old fashioned way, so watch this space for more about this when we’ve actually done some sailing! So the new boats look very good in the showroom, but the old girls can show them a thing or two when it comes to stowing gear and handling rougher weather. And if you’re only carrying 150 Litres of water - no, it’s not much - there’s no point in giving people the option to pump it down the sink without effort.
It’s 1530 - 2 hours after astronomical noon (when the sun is at its highest) and maybe time for me to lie on deck and have a prescribed snooze - I still have a couple of audio books between me and literary deprivation. TTFN.
Monday, 31 August 2009
QF1 The bench, Forty T-bags, In praise of older boats
Saturday, August 29, 2009
QF1, The bench, Forty T-bags, In praise of older boats
St Martin
QF1 is the number of our berth against the visitor’s pontoon in the floating (west) section of the harbour at St Martin. I think I’ve said that it gets busy here, with up to 25 yachts packing into an area only slightly larger than they are, with lots of movements in and out every day. We’re lucky with our neighbours, who are very quiet, apart from elephant-ing across the deck and kicking the jib sheet cars (metal pulley things that bang on the deck) every single time. The other acoustic hazard is late-night teenagers who start up around midnight. There are sweet wooden benches around the harbour. The angle of view is such that the occupants of the bench appear in the starboard side window above the galley, as if framed for cinemascope. At neaps (when tidal differences are small) we only see faces; at springs (when high tides are higher, and low tides lower) we can see full bodies. So the bench is like a ceaseless film of families, friends, loners, eaters of ice cream, churros, galettes, smokers, drinkers, dogs… Couples changing babies - if only I had a tripod, this would be a fabulous documentary. Can even eavesdrop some of the time. But the teenagers are a pain. They drink, they smoke and they try out there newly broken voices going AAAUUUURRRGGHH while the girls try out a reperoire of screeches and giggles. I am sure their parents don’t mind - they are pretty safe here unless they fall into the harbour, or get attacked by a crazed yacht person armed with bolt cutters.
40 tea bags is how many we have left - will we make it home? (Not counting assorted herbal and earl grey mixed up in a plastic bag, probably since we first stocked up the boat). Still no definite plans to leave, since I have been recovering for a week and 10 days was the minimum recommendation - but I am starting to check out the weather forecast and so far as I can see, the beginning of September is at least gale-free. Thank you for the support messages, and get-well-soon messages! I feel a lot better, have read all my fiction (withdrawal setting in) and find the days are flying by. Al bikes to the beach on the other side of the island, goes swimming and programmes music on his iPhone. I potter about, read, rest and around evening high tide start to look for him on the quayside, like a sort of reverse French lieutenant’s woman. I go for a couple of short walks, check the Internet stuff and plan supper. And so the day goes. The inside of Snork Maiden is a good place to convalesce, choice of sleeping/reading spaces, never more than 2 steps from galley (and food), entertainment (computer), work if I feel like it (computer & navigational bits), sun deck… and the weather has been fabulous - a real summer.
In praise of older boats - the population of this end of the harbour is mostly 20-30 years old, I’d say, with a few newer, but still small craft - less than 33 feet, and many smaller than that. For those of you not familiar with small sailing vessels, I can tell you that, in a nutshell, the older boats are heavier and will look after their crews in a seaway, although they may demand more in terms of deck work; the new boats have much more volume for their length and weight, making them much friskier at sea. They have more berths (bed spaces) than you can possibly imagine - up to 8. (Our boat has 5, in theory, although as some of you know she has sailed with a family of 7 before we bought her.) The modern boats also have electric pumps, showers, roller furling jibs, and many of them can control the mainsail from the cockpit, eliminating the need for scary and often wet trips on deck. (Some of us would argue that those trips are necessary to actually clock what’s going on! The counterargument is that sail adjustments will be avoided if they are too uncomfortable… jury’s out on that.) Snork Maiden is rigged the old fashioned way, so watch this space for more about this when we’ve actually done some sailing! So the new boats look very good in the showroom, but the old girls can show them a thing or two when it comes to stowing gear and handling rougher weather. And if you’re only carrying 150 Litres of water - no, it’s not much - there’s no point in giving people the option to pump it down the sink without effort.
It’s 1530 - 2 hours after astronomical noon (when the sun is at its highest) and maybe time for me to lie on deck and have a prescribed snooze - I still have a couple of audio books between me and literary deprivation. TTFN.
QF1, The bench, Forty T-bags, In praise of older boats
St Martin
QF1 is the number of our berth against the visitor’s pontoon in the floating (west) section of the harbour at St Martin. I think I’ve said that it gets busy here, with up to 25 yachts packing into an area only slightly larger than they are, with lots of movements in and out every day. We’re lucky with our neighbours, who are very quiet, apart from elephant-ing across the deck and kicking the jib sheet cars (metal pulley things that bang on the deck) every single time. The other acoustic hazard is late-night teenagers who start up around midnight. There are sweet wooden benches around the harbour. The angle of view is such that the occupants of the bench appear in the starboard side window above the galley, as if framed for cinemascope. At neaps (when tidal differences are small) we only see faces; at springs (when high tides are higher, and low tides lower) we can see full bodies. So the bench is like a ceaseless film of families, friends, loners, eaters of ice cream, churros, galettes, smokers, drinkers, dogs… Couples changing babies - if only I had a tripod, this would be a fabulous documentary. Can even eavesdrop some of the time. But the teenagers are a pain. They drink, they smoke and they try out there newly broken voices going AAAUUUURRRGGHH while the girls try out a reperoire of screeches and giggles. I am sure their parents don’t mind - they are pretty safe here unless they fall into the harbour, or get attacked by a crazed yacht person armed with bolt cutters.
40 tea bags is how many we have left - will we make it home? (Not counting assorted herbal and earl grey mixed up in a plastic bag, probably since we first stocked up the boat). Still no definite plans to leave, since I have been recovering for a week and 10 days was the minimum recommendation - but I am starting to check out the weather forecast and so far as I can see, the beginning of September is at least gale-free. Thank you for the support messages, and get-well-soon messages! I feel a lot better, have read all my fiction (withdrawal setting in) and find the days are flying by. Al bikes to the beach on the other side of the island, goes swimming and programmes music on his iPhone. I potter about, read, rest and around evening high tide start to look for him on the quayside, like a sort of reverse French lieutenant’s woman. I go for a couple of short walks, check the Internet stuff and plan supper. And so the day goes. The inside of Snork Maiden is a good place to convalesce, choice of sleeping/reading spaces, never more than 2 steps from galley (and food), entertainment (computer), work if I feel like it (computer & navigational bits), sun deck… and the weather has been fabulous - a real summer.
In praise of older boats - the population of this end of the harbour is mostly 20-30 years old, I’d say, with a few newer, but still small craft - less than 33 feet, and many smaller than that. For those of you not familiar with small sailing vessels, I can tell you that, in a nutshell, the older boats are heavier and will look after their crews in a seaway, although they may demand more in terms of deck work; the new boats have much more volume for their length and weight, making them much friskier at sea. They have more berths (bed spaces) than you can possibly imagine - up to 8. (Our boat has 5, in theory, although as some of you know she has sailed with a family of 7 before we bought her.) The modern boats also have electric pumps, showers, roller furling jibs, and many of them can control the mainsail from the cockpit, eliminating the need for scary and often wet trips on deck. (Some of us would argue that those trips are necessary to actually clock what’s going on! The counterargument is that sail adjustments will be avoided if they are too uncomfortable… jury’s out on that.) Snork Maiden is rigged the old fashioned way, so watch this space for more about this when we’ve actually done some sailing! So the new boats look very good in the showroom, but the old girls can show them a thing or two when it comes to stowing gear and handling rougher weather. And if you’re only carrying 150 Litres of water - no, it’s not much - there’s no point in giving people the option to pump it down the sink without effort.
It’s 1530 - 2 hours after astronomical noon (when the sun is at its highest) and maybe time for me to lie on deck and have a prescribed snooze - I still have a couple of audio books between me and literary deprivation. TTFN.
Wednesday, 26 August 2009
Heartache
Wednesday, August 26, 2009
St Martin de Re
There must be an official word for port-bound, but I don’t know what it is! Since the last blog a lots seems to have happened. We came in to St Martin on Thursday evening. I had forgotten just what it’s like when the harbour gate opens. It was like a stampede on water when around a dozen boats come out of absolutely nowhere and converged on the bottleneck of the harbour mouth. I’d also forgotten that before boats can go in, the outgoing boats have to leave. There was a never ending parade of them, so the waiting boats have to play a ghastly game that is a cross between musical chairs and ‘what’s the time Mister Wolf?’ (Only in this case, the Wolf is played by “La Maline” - the huge white ferry from La Rochelle that comes steaming in, taking no prisoners.) See, the problem is that boats, unlike cars, have no handbrakes, and can’t just sit on the spot.. They have to tie up to something solid, on land or water, or else keep up a flying Dutchman act, in constant motion. It ain’t easy, especially since more boats come in to join the game every few minutes, and these have to be dodged whilst the outgoing boats take up most of the channel. When this is all played out, and red-faced skippers cling damply to wheels and tillers, the real fun begins. Now an unbelievable number of boats start to cram themselves into a u-shaped harbour, and the last bit has to be negotiated backwards… are you sitting comfortably? Well, eventually we found ourselves ensconced in one of the prettiest harbours in France, surrounded by expensive boutique hotels, classy gift shops (nothing louder than pale grey), ice cream parlours, street cafes and an evening market. Oh yes, and a Jazz Festival.
We decided 2 nights here would be fun, and by then there might be some wind in the right direction - or not so much in the wrong one. So we were all ready to leave Friday morning, suitable dosed up on jazz, oysters etc. Only thing was - I had a PAIN. ‘Oh where?’ I hear you ask.
Best way I can describe it is behind my left breast, somewhere in that upper left chest quarter, yes, near the heart, my Hearties. So finally brushing aside all the ‘It’s just my ribs, gasp…’ from me, Al decided we should find the health centre. Although St M is small, it has a healthy (har har) holiday population and so opens a walk in clinic July and August. We found it at 5 minutes past its alleged closing time, despite appalling signage and misdirection, Al striding purposefully out in front and me by now doing hop-along-shuffle whilst apparently holding my left breast in defiance of gravity. Ignoring the closing time business, (actually 65 minutes ago) a nice doctor listened to my symptoms, sympathetically and accurately translated by Al, my French having apparently got bored and gone off for aperitifs. He also listened to my chest with his stethoscope - comfortingly old-fashioned. Well, it could be a neuralgia, but he didn’t really think so. He thought it was an inflammation of the pericardium - the membrane around the heart. ‘What, me!! Heart? No, no, wrong person…’ OK, not the heart, just the bag that it sits in, that’s OK then. La Rochelle? Tonight? Ambulance? No,taxi. OK. It’s OK, everything’s OK.’
So there we are in a taxi going frighteningly fast… emergency room at hospital, no wait, doctor, tests, blood, more stethoscope…. Big smile (doctor, not me) Pericarditis, probably caused by a virus. Ultrasound. No overnight. Lots of QUIET rest, big doses of aspirin. So this is day 5. Pain lessens every day - almost gone now and I am resuming light cooking and short walks, also Internet duties.
Getting back, however, is all a bit touch-and-go. One doctor said rest 10-12 days, the other 12-14. NHS direct says 7 days - well, they would, wouldn’t they. So we’ll see how I feel after a week, also start checking the weather. Ooops - time for another aspirin, maybe a little nap. Yawn.
St Martin de Re
There must be an official word for port-bound, but I don’t know what it is! Since the last blog a lots seems to have happened. We came in to St Martin on Thursday evening. I had forgotten just what it’s like when the harbour gate opens. It was like a stampede on water when around a dozen boats come out of absolutely nowhere and converged on the bottleneck of the harbour mouth. I’d also forgotten that before boats can go in, the outgoing boats have to leave. There was a never ending parade of them, so the waiting boats have to play a ghastly game that is a cross between musical chairs and ‘what’s the time Mister Wolf?’ (Only in this case, the Wolf is played by “La Maline” - the huge white ferry from La Rochelle that comes steaming in, taking no prisoners.) See, the problem is that boats, unlike cars, have no handbrakes, and can’t just sit on the spot.. They have to tie up to something solid, on land or water, or else keep up a flying Dutchman act, in constant motion. It ain’t easy, especially since more boats come in to join the game every few minutes, and these have to be dodged whilst the outgoing boats take up most of the channel. When this is all played out, and red-faced skippers cling damply to wheels and tillers, the real fun begins. Now an unbelievable number of boats start to cram themselves into a u-shaped harbour, and the last bit has to be negotiated backwards… are you sitting comfortably? Well, eventually we found ourselves ensconced in one of the prettiest harbours in France, surrounded by expensive boutique hotels, classy gift shops (nothing louder than pale grey), ice cream parlours, street cafes and an evening market. Oh yes, and a Jazz Festival.
We decided 2 nights here would be fun, and by then there might be some wind in the right direction - or not so much in the wrong one. So we were all ready to leave Friday morning, suitable dosed up on jazz, oysters etc. Only thing was - I had a PAIN. ‘Oh where?’ I hear you ask.
Best way I can describe it is behind my left breast, somewhere in that upper left chest quarter, yes, near the heart, my Hearties. So finally brushing aside all the ‘It’s just my ribs, gasp…’ from me, Al decided we should find the health centre. Although St M is small, it has a healthy (har har) holiday population and so opens a walk in clinic July and August. We found it at 5 minutes past its alleged closing time, despite appalling signage and misdirection, Al striding purposefully out in front and me by now doing hop-along-shuffle whilst apparently holding my left breast in defiance of gravity. Ignoring the closing time business, (actually 65 minutes ago) a nice doctor listened to my symptoms, sympathetically and accurately translated by Al, my French having apparently got bored and gone off for aperitifs. He also listened to my chest with his stethoscope - comfortingly old-fashioned. Well, it could be a neuralgia, but he didn’t really think so. He thought it was an inflammation of the pericardium - the membrane around the heart. ‘What, me!! Heart? No, no, wrong person…’ OK, not the heart, just the bag that it sits in, that’s OK then. La Rochelle? Tonight? Ambulance? No,taxi. OK. It’s OK, everything’s OK.’
So there we are in a taxi going frighteningly fast… emergency room at hospital, no wait, doctor, tests, blood, more stethoscope…. Big smile (doctor, not me) Pericarditis, probably caused by a virus. Ultrasound. No overnight. Lots of QUIET rest, big doses of aspirin. So this is day 5. Pain lessens every day - almost gone now and I am resuming light cooking and short walks, also Internet duties.
Getting back, however, is all a bit touch-and-go. One doctor said rest 10-12 days, the other 12-14. NHS direct says 7 days - well, they would, wouldn’t they. So we’ll see how I feel after a week, also start checking the weather. Ooops - time for another aspirin, maybe a little nap. Yawn.
Heartache
Wednesday, August 26, 2009
St Martin de Re
There must be an official word for port-bound, but I don’t know what it is! Since the last blog a lots seems to have happened. We came in to St Martin on Thursday evening. I had forgotten just what it’s like when the harbour gate opens. It was like a stampede on water when around a dozen boats come out of absolutely nowhere and converged on the bottleneck of the harbour mouth. I’d also forgotten that before boats can go in, the outgoing boats have to leave. There was a never ending parade of them, so the waiting boats have to play a ghastly game that is a cross between musical chairs and ‘what’s the time Mister Wolf?’ (Only in this case, the Wolf is played by “La Maline” - the huge white ferry from La Rochelle that comes steaming in, taking no prisoners.) See, the problem is that boats, unlike cars, have no handbrakes, and can’t just sit on the spot.. They have to tie up to something solid, on land or water, or else keep up a flying Dutchman act, in constant motion. It ain’t easy, especially since more boats come in to join the game every few minutes, and these have to be dodged whilst the outgoing boats take up most of the channel. When this is all played out, and red-faced skippers cling damply to wheels and tillers, the real fun begins. Now an unbelievable number of boats start to cram themselves into a u-shaped harbour, and the last bit has to be negotiated backwards… are you sitting comfortably? Well, eventually we found ourselves ensconced in one of the prettiest harbours in France, surrounded by expensive boutique hotels, classy gift shops (nothing louder than pale grey), ice cream parlours, street cafes and an evening market. Oh yes, and a Jazz Festival.
We decided 2 nights here would be fun, and by then there might be some wind in the right direction - or not so much in the wrong one. So we were all ready to leave Friday morning, suitable dosed up on jazz, oysters etc. Only thing was - I had a PAIN. ‘Oh where?’ I hear you ask.
Best way I can describe it is behind my left breast, somewhere in that upper left chest quarter, yes, near the heart, my Hearties. So finally brushing aside all the ‘It’s just my ribs, gasp…’ from me, Al decided we should find the health centre. Although St M is small, it has a healthy (har har) holiday population and so opens a walk in clinic July and August. We found it at 5 minutes past its alleged closing time, despite appalling signage and misdirection, Al striding purposefully out in front and me by now doing hop-along-shuffle whilst apparently holding my left breast in defiance of gravity. Ignoring the closing time business, (actually 65 minutes ago) a nice doctor listened to my symptoms, sympathetically and accurately translated by Al, my French having apparently got bored and gone off for aperitifs. He also listened to my chest with his stethoscope - comfortingly old-fashioned. Well, it could be a neuralgia, but he didn’t really think so. He thought it was an inflammation of the pericardium - the membrane around the heart. ‘What, me!! Heart? No, no, wrong person…’ OK, not the heart, just the bag that it sits in, that’s OK then. La Rochelle? Tonight? Ambulance? No,taxi. OK. It’s OK, everything’s OK.’
So there we are in a taxi going frighteningly fast… emergency room at hospital, no wait, doctor, tests, blood, more stethoscope…. Big smile (doctor, not me) Pericarditis, probably caused by a virus. Ultrasound. No overnight. Lots of QUIET rest, big doses of aspirin. So this is day 5. Pain lessens every day - almost gone now and I am resuming light cooking and short walks, also Internet duties.
Getting back, however, is all a bit touch-and-go. One doctor said rest 10-12 days, the other 12-14. NHS direct says 7 days - well, they would, wouldn’t they. So we’ll see how I feel after a week, also start checking the weather. Ooops - time for another aspirin, maybe a little nap. Yawn.
St Martin de Re
There must be an official word for port-bound, but I don’t know what it is! Since the last blog a lots seems to have happened. We came in to St Martin on Thursday evening. I had forgotten just what it’s like when the harbour gate opens. It was like a stampede on water when around a dozen boats come out of absolutely nowhere and converged on the bottleneck of the harbour mouth. I’d also forgotten that before boats can go in, the outgoing boats have to leave. There was a never ending parade of them, so the waiting boats have to play a ghastly game that is a cross between musical chairs and ‘what’s the time Mister Wolf?’ (Only in this case, the Wolf is played by “La Maline” - the huge white ferry from La Rochelle that comes steaming in, taking no prisoners.) See, the problem is that boats, unlike cars, have no handbrakes, and can’t just sit on the spot.. They have to tie up to something solid, on land or water, or else keep up a flying Dutchman act, in constant motion. It ain’t easy, especially since more boats come in to join the game every few minutes, and these have to be dodged whilst the outgoing boats take up most of the channel. When this is all played out, and red-faced skippers cling damply to wheels and tillers, the real fun begins. Now an unbelievable number of boats start to cram themselves into a u-shaped harbour, and the last bit has to be negotiated backwards… are you sitting comfortably? Well, eventually we found ourselves ensconced in one of the prettiest harbours in France, surrounded by expensive boutique hotels, classy gift shops (nothing louder than pale grey), ice cream parlours, street cafes and an evening market. Oh yes, and a Jazz Festival.
We decided 2 nights here would be fun, and by then there might be some wind in the right direction - or not so much in the wrong one. So we were all ready to leave Friday morning, suitable dosed up on jazz, oysters etc. Only thing was - I had a PAIN. ‘Oh where?’ I hear you ask.
Best way I can describe it is behind my left breast, somewhere in that upper left chest quarter, yes, near the heart, my Hearties. So finally brushing aside all the ‘It’s just my ribs, gasp…’ from me, Al decided we should find the health centre. Although St M is small, it has a healthy (har har) holiday population and so opens a walk in clinic July and August. We found it at 5 minutes past its alleged closing time, despite appalling signage and misdirection, Al striding purposefully out in front and me by now doing hop-along-shuffle whilst apparently holding my left breast in defiance of gravity. Ignoring the closing time business, (actually 65 minutes ago) a nice doctor listened to my symptoms, sympathetically and accurately translated by Al, my French having apparently got bored and gone off for aperitifs. He also listened to my chest with his stethoscope - comfortingly old-fashioned. Well, it could be a neuralgia, but he didn’t really think so. He thought it was an inflammation of the pericardium - the membrane around the heart. ‘What, me!! Heart? No, no, wrong person…’ OK, not the heart, just the bag that it sits in, that’s OK then. La Rochelle? Tonight? Ambulance? No,taxi. OK. It’s OK, everything’s OK.’
So there we are in a taxi going frighteningly fast… emergency room at hospital, no wait, doctor, tests, blood, more stethoscope…. Big smile (doctor, not me) Pericarditis, probably caused by a virus. Ultrasound. No overnight. Lots of QUIET rest, big doses of aspirin. So this is day 5. Pain lessens every day - almost gone now and I am resuming light cooking and short walks, also Internet duties.
Getting back, however, is all a bit touch-and-go. One doctor said rest 10-12 days, the other 12-14. NHS direct says 7 days - well, they would, wouldn’t they. So we’ll see how I feel after a week, also start checking the weather. Ooops - time for another aspirin, maybe a little nap. Yawn.
Time And Tide
Thursday, August 20, 2009
Off St Martin
Time And Tide
So here we are - we managed to leave Marans on time yesterday. We tied up in the lock - the only boat going out, but then a power boat roared up the canal and shot into the lock far too fast. Turned out to be Dominique who runs the yard where we have been wintering. He was en famille and entirely in control of his boat in a Dominique kind of way.
The plan was to go onto the visitor’s buoys at St Martin and leave early to get to Les Sables d’Olonne with a West wind before the North Westerly came in to spoil our fun. Well, we did the first part of the plan, but the leaving early part didn’t quite happen. I had hoped we would catch the 0703 weather forecast and then leave, but the forecast didn’t come and by the time we called Chassiron to get it repeated, found it’s now available continuously on VHF channel 63 and listened to it, it was all getting a bit late. The first part of the trip would have been have been fine, but we would have had a bit of a knock about in the NW wind which is exactly the direction we need to go. So we made the prudent decision to hang out until early afternoon when we can get into St Martin on the tide. There’s a harbour gate that opens for a few hours, around high water. (1445 today)
St Martin is a very pretty harbour with a market that sells oysters etc. It gets very busy in tourist season, with lots of restaurants, ice cream sellers, evening markets - all quite pricey - this is a rich island with Parisian’s parachuting in. There are some very classy holiday homes, hiding behind high walls. For us, there’s a small beach nearby, and we can top up the tanks with diesel so that we don’t need to stop at Les Sables unless we have another reason.
Last night was a bit noisy. Mooring buoys are good since you know they aren’t going to drag, but not so good in that they bang on the hull of the boat when the wind and the tide are not both going in the same direction. Since the tide turns every 6 hours, its going to be noisy quite a lot of the time. Imagine sitting in a Portacabin with a relentless teenager kicking a football against the wall, occasionally missing it. Yes, it’s like that.
Sorry that this blog is uni-media. Between us we managed to leave all the possible connecting leads for the camera and the digital recorder at home. I thought I had tracked one down in Super-U. Al opened the box and what I had though would be a friendly USB lead, turned out to be a weird extra-terrestrial one. I got on the pink bike, pedalled back to Super-U and ended up exchanging it for a nailbrush, deodorant and wishy-washy yellow towel, none of which is really useful for sending sounds and pix whizzing round the virtual world and onto a computer near you. I really would like you to share the sounds of Snork Maiden so maybe we’ll make a podcast for when we get home.
Al’s almost deserted his digi-recorder, having been quite seduced by his iphone and its many apps. Favourites are 4-track recorder, tuning fork, chart plotter and wind-speed meter (yes, really). Unfortunately the battery life is pretty pathetic, and it’s far too expensive to let it connect to the Internet.
He’s been recording potential hits this morning; I’ve been sitting on the foredeck re-stringing the safety lines with zigzags to stop the sails falling off the deck.
It’s 1255, wind speed 15Knots, wind direction W/NW, depth 16 feet, weather sun and high cloud, moon - none. Time for lunch, see you later, shipmates.
Off St Martin
Time And Tide
So here we are - we managed to leave Marans on time yesterday. We tied up in the lock - the only boat going out, but then a power boat roared up the canal and shot into the lock far too fast. Turned out to be Dominique who runs the yard where we have been wintering. He was en famille and entirely in control of his boat in a Dominique kind of way.
The plan was to go onto the visitor’s buoys at St Martin and leave early to get to Les Sables d’Olonne with a West wind before the North Westerly came in to spoil our fun. Well, we did the first part of the plan, but the leaving early part didn’t quite happen. I had hoped we would catch the 0703 weather forecast and then leave, but the forecast didn’t come and by the time we called Chassiron to get it repeated, found it’s now available continuously on VHF channel 63 and listened to it, it was all getting a bit late. The first part of the trip would have been have been fine, but we would have had a bit of a knock about in the NW wind which is exactly the direction we need to go. So we made the prudent decision to hang out until early afternoon when we can get into St Martin on the tide. There’s a harbour gate that opens for a few hours, around high water. (1445 today)
St Martin is a very pretty harbour with a market that sells oysters etc. It gets very busy in tourist season, with lots of restaurants, ice cream sellers, evening markets - all quite pricey - this is a rich island with Parisian’s parachuting in. There are some very classy holiday homes, hiding behind high walls. For us, there’s a small beach nearby, and we can top up the tanks with diesel so that we don’t need to stop at Les Sables unless we have another reason.
Last night was a bit noisy. Mooring buoys are good since you know they aren’t going to drag, but not so good in that they bang on the hull of the boat when the wind and the tide are not both going in the same direction. Since the tide turns every 6 hours, its going to be noisy quite a lot of the time. Imagine sitting in a Portacabin with a relentless teenager kicking a football against the wall, occasionally missing it. Yes, it’s like that.
Sorry that this blog is uni-media. Between us we managed to leave all the possible connecting leads for the camera and the digital recorder at home. I thought I had tracked one down in Super-U. Al opened the box and what I had though would be a friendly USB lead, turned out to be a weird extra-terrestrial one. I got on the pink bike, pedalled back to Super-U and ended up exchanging it for a nailbrush, deodorant and wishy-washy yellow towel, none of which is really useful for sending sounds and pix whizzing round the virtual world and onto a computer near you. I really would like you to share the sounds of Snork Maiden so maybe we’ll make a podcast for when we get home.
Al’s almost deserted his digi-recorder, having been quite seduced by his iphone and its many apps. Favourites are 4-track recorder, tuning fork, chart plotter and wind-speed meter (yes, really). Unfortunately the battery life is pretty pathetic, and it’s far too expensive to let it connect to the Internet.
He’s been recording potential hits this morning; I’ve been sitting on the foredeck re-stringing the safety lines with zigzags to stop the sails falling off the deck.
It’s 1255, wind speed 15Knots, wind direction W/NW, depth 16 feet, weather sun and high cloud, moon - none. Time for lunch, see you later, shipmates.
Time And Tide
Thursday, August 20, 2009
Off St Martin
Time And Tide
So here we are - we managed to leave Marans on time yesterday. We tied up in the lock - the only boat going out, but then a power boat roared up the canal and shot into the lock far too fast. Turned out to be Dominique who runs the yard where we have been wintering. He was en famille and entirely in control of his boat in a Dominique kind of way.
The plan was to go onto the visitor’s buoys at St Martin and leave early to get to Les Sables d’Olonne with a West wind before the North Westerly came in to spoil our fun. Well, we did the first part of the plan, but the leaving early part didn’t quite happen. I had hoped we would catch the 0703 weather forecast and then leave, but the forecast didn’t come and by the time we called Chassiron to get it repeated, found it’s now available continuously on VHF channel 63 and listened to it, it was all getting a bit late. The first part of the trip would have been have been fine, but we would have had a bit of a knock about in the NW wind which is exactly the direction we need to go. So we made the prudent decision to hang out until early afternoon when we can get into St Martin on the tide. There’s a harbour gate that opens for a few hours, around high water. (1445 today)
St Martin is a very pretty harbour with a market that sells oysters etc. It gets very busy in tourist season, with lots of restaurants, ice cream sellers, evening markets - all quite pricey - this is a rich island with Parisian’s parachuting in. There are some very classy holiday homes, hiding behind high walls. For us, there’s a small beach nearby, and we can top up the tanks with diesel so that we don’t need to stop at Les Sables unless we have another reason.
Last night was a bit noisy. Mooring buoys are good since you know they aren’t going to drag, but not so good in that they bang on the hull of the boat when the wind and the tide are not both going in the same direction. Since the tide turns every 6 hours, its going to be noisy quite a lot of the time. Imagine sitting in a Portacabin with a relentless teenager kicking a football against the wall, occasionally missing it. Yes, it’s like that.
Sorry that this blog is uni-media. Between us we managed to leave all the possible connecting leads for the camera and the digital recorder at home. I thought I had tracked one down in Super-U. Al opened the box and what I had though would be a friendly USB lead, turned out to be a weird extra-terrestrial one. I got on the pink bike, pedalled back to Super-U and ended up exchanging it for a nailbrush, deodorant and wishy-washy yellow towel, none of which is really useful for sending sounds and pix whizzing round the virtual world and onto a computer near you. I really would like you to share the sounds of Snork Maiden so maybe we’ll make a podcast for when we get home.
Al’s almost deserted his digi-recorder, having been quite seduced by his iphone and its many apps. Favourites are 4-track recorder, tuning fork, chart plotter and wind-speed meter (yes, really). Unfortunately the battery life is pretty pathetic, and it’s far too expensive to let it connect to the Internet.
He’s been recording potential hits this morning; I’ve been sitting on the foredeck re-stringing the safety lines with zigzags to stop the sails falling off the deck.
It’s 1255, wind speed 15Knots, wind direction W/NW, depth 16 feet, weather sun and high cloud, moon - none. Time for lunch, see you later, shipmates.
Off St Martin
Time And Tide
So here we are - we managed to leave Marans on time yesterday. We tied up in the lock - the only boat going out, but then a power boat roared up the canal and shot into the lock far too fast. Turned out to be Dominique who runs the yard where we have been wintering. He was en famille and entirely in control of his boat in a Dominique kind of way.
The plan was to go onto the visitor’s buoys at St Martin and leave early to get to Les Sables d’Olonne with a West wind before the North Westerly came in to spoil our fun. Well, we did the first part of the plan, but the leaving early part didn’t quite happen. I had hoped we would catch the 0703 weather forecast and then leave, but the forecast didn’t come and by the time we called Chassiron to get it repeated, found it’s now available continuously on VHF channel 63 and listened to it, it was all getting a bit late. The first part of the trip would have been have been fine, but we would have had a bit of a knock about in the NW wind which is exactly the direction we need to go. So we made the prudent decision to hang out until early afternoon when we can get into St Martin on the tide. There’s a harbour gate that opens for a few hours, around high water. (1445 today)
St Martin is a very pretty harbour with a market that sells oysters etc. It gets very busy in tourist season, with lots of restaurants, ice cream sellers, evening markets - all quite pricey - this is a rich island with Parisian’s parachuting in. There are some very classy holiday homes, hiding behind high walls. For us, there’s a small beach nearby, and we can top up the tanks with diesel so that we don’t need to stop at Les Sables unless we have another reason.
Last night was a bit noisy. Mooring buoys are good since you know they aren’t going to drag, but not so good in that they bang on the hull of the boat when the wind and the tide are not both going in the same direction. Since the tide turns every 6 hours, its going to be noisy quite a lot of the time. Imagine sitting in a Portacabin with a relentless teenager kicking a football against the wall, occasionally missing it. Yes, it’s like that.
Sorry that this blog is uni-media. Between us we managed to leave all the possible connecting leads for the camera and the digital recorder at home. I thought I had tracked one down in Super-U. Al opened the box and what I had though would be a friendly USB lead, turned out to be a weird extra-terrestrial one. I got on the pink bike, pedalled back to Super-U and ended up exchanging it for a nailbrush, deodorant and wishy-washy yellow towel, none of which is really useful for sending sounds and pix whizzing round the virtual world and onto a computer near you. I really would like you to share the sounds of Snork Maiden so maybe we’ll make a podcast for when we get home.
Al’s almost deserted his digi-recorder, having been quite seduced by his iphone and its many apps. Favourites are 4-track recorder, tuning fork, chart plotter and wind-speed meter (yes, really). Unfortunately the battery life is pretty pathetic, and it’s far too expensive to let it connect to the Internet.
He’s been recording potential hits this morning; I’ve been sitting on the foredeck re-stringing the safety lines with zigzags to stop the sails falling off the deck.
It’s 1255, wind speed 15Knots, wind direction W/NW, depth 16 feet, weather sun and high cloud, moon - none. Time for lunch, see you later, shipmates.
Wednesday, 19 August 2009
On the Canal in Marans
Wednesday, August 19, 2009
On the Canal in Marans
So here we are back on Snork Maiden, hoping to leave this afternoon. We arrived via Easy Jet to La Rochelle on Sunday, schlepping around 70Kg of luggage between us - no wheelies since they don’t fit on the boat very well. After a couple of hours dozing and reading under a tree in Place Verdun, we caught the local bus to Marans then struggled into town. (Taxi apparently on holiday). Our favourite café was open and so we stopped for a drink and met a nice Belgian man, attracted by Al’s guitar, which they got out and played for a bit. By that time it had cooled down a bit, and so we set off on the second section of the route march, only to be caught up by Belgian Derek on his bike, offering to load up our heaviest bags and wheel them down to the boat. So he did, and we arrived without any major joint dislocations.
Snork Maiden was fine - of course. It always takes us a couple of days to get ready - packing the boat, flushing tanks, cleaning her and just getting used to being on board. Sorry - this will be a short one - Al’s just got back with 10L of diesel, and I have to go and collect the laundry that he dropped off in the machine on the way. We’ve paid up for our berth and now there’s very little to do except head for the open sea!
Oh yes, and post the blog - almost forgot in a flurry of downloading weather forecasts.
Incidentally - you don’t get to read the best blogs ‘cos those are all written in my head whilst doing other things!! I’ll try to remedy that.
On the Canal in Marans
So here we are back on Snork Maiden, hoping to leave this afternoon. We arrived via Easy Jet to La Rochelle on Sunday, schlepping around 70Kg of luggage between us - no wheelies since they don’t fit on the boat very well. After a couple of hours dozing and reading under a tree in Place Verdun, we caught the local bus to Marans then struggled into town. (Taxi apparently on holiday). Our favourite café was open and so we stopped for a drink and met a nice Belgian man, attracted by Al’s guitar, which they got out and played for a bit. By that time it had cooled down a bit, and so we set off on the second section of the route march, only to be caught up by Belgian Derek on his bike, offering to load up our heaviest bags and wheel them down to the boat. So he did, and we arrived without any major joint dislocations.
Snork Maiden was fine - of course. It always takes us a couple of days to get ready - packing the boat, flushing tanks, cleaning her and just getting used to being on board. Sorry - this will be a short one - Al’s just got back with 10L of diesel, and I have to go and collect the laundry that he dropped off in the machine on the way. We’ve paid up for our berth and now there’s very little to do except head for the open sea!
Oh yes, and post the blog - almost forgot in a flurry of downloading weather forecasts.
Incidentally - you don’t get to read the best blogs ‘cos those are all written in my head whilst doing other things!! I’ll try to remedy that.
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