The Return to Marans

So yesterday - back in the water, courtesy of M. Philippe Julien and his 3-wheel travel lift.  I invited Desislava & Frederick - I met her in Pune and she and Frederick moved from Paris to the tiny village of Villedoux last year.  Villedoux is just a few Kms from Marans - and Charron.  They were both completely new to boats and so were wide-eyed with it all.  It was nice to have their company, and Frederick was able to give me some help with the lines.  Approaching the Brault lifting bridge, a bit later than I said we would be, the bridge remained obstinately closed, and the indicator light red.  I asked Desislava to rummage in my bag and find my iPhone and asked Frederick to speak to the lock / bridge keeper.  Oh yes, just wait a bit and I'll open it when I've finished with the lock...  So we circled a bit and then up it went, with a line of huge lorries waiting for us to amble through.  The lock was empty and our entry smooth and calm - all lines in the right place this time.  The lock keeper (not needed this time) came down for a nice manly chat with Fred - very happy to describe the complete mess I made on the way out - he omitted to mention that he could have moved his backside a bit sooner and helped out!  He also explained that the swing bridge was sticking a bit!  Eventually it juddered open, I let go the forward line, the mid line and finally the stern and we swung smoothly out into the centre of the lock and on out into the canal.

The Marans Canal 1- this is not Snork Maiden

The canal on a good day like this is really beautiful, tranquil apart from the thrum of the engine - as you can see, the 3 chaps on this little boat took the quiet route with the wind nicely behind them.  Next time, maybe we will try it!


COMING SOON: TOOLS & MOULFEST

But it could be!

The Return to Marans

So yesterday - back in the water, courtesy of M. Philippe Julien and his 3-wheel travel lift.  I invited Desislava & Frederick - I met her in Pune and she and Frederick moved from Paris to the tiny village of Villedoux last year.  Villedoux is just a few Kms from Marans - and Charron.  They were both completely new to boats and so were wide-eyed with it all.  It was nice to have their company, and Frederick was able to give me some help with the lines.  Approaching the Brault lifting bridge, a bit later than I said we would be, the bridge remained obstinately closed, and the indicator light red.  I asked Desislava to rummage in my bag and find my iPhone and asked Frederick to speak to the lock / bridge keeper.  Oh yes, just wait a bit and I'll open it when I've finished with the lock...  So we circled a bit and then up it went, with a line of huge lorries waiting for us to amble through.  The lock was empty and our entry smooth and calm - all lines in the right place this time.  The lock keeper (not needed this time) came down for a nice manly chat with Fred - very happy to describe the complete mess I made on the way out - he omitted to mention that he could have moved his backside a bit sooner and helped out!  He also explained that the swing bridge was sticking a bit!  Eventually it juddered open, I let go the forward line, the mid line and finally the stern and we swung smoothly out into the centre of the lock and on out into the canal.

The Marans Canal 1- this is not Snork Maiden

The canal on a good day like this is really beautiful, tranquil apart from the thrum of the engine - as you can see, the 3 chaps on this little boat took the quiet route with the wind nicely behind them.  Next time, maybe we will try it!


COMING SOON: TOOLS & MOULFEST

But it could be!

Cockpit B(log) Approaching Sunset & Al’s Birthday 4 June

That’s approaching sunset in the sense of time – not distance-time since we are still out of the water, the Snork Maiden & me.  It is warmer this evening and the wind has dropped to a mere whisper.  The ever-present cuckoo is still going, and the swallows are twittering in the trees that surround the abandoned house.  The evening heron has done his / her evening scout and a pair of ducks head West.  I suppose this is bucolic.  I had to ask Gayle Kidder what that word meant – I think I had always avoided it, made up as it is of ‘bubonic’ and ‘colic’ – neither of which are any fun at all.  I try using it sometimes but it still conjures up nasty bodily states, so I think I will officially abandon it.

            I really want to write about writing, and I’d appreciate comments from other blogsters out there, and their (and my) readers.  First, a technicality: does anyone know of any good free, or even cheap, offline blogs?  It’s a bit of a bore having to generate text & pix separately and then put them togethr in precious online time.  Second issue:  what do you like better – longish essay type blogs or short diary entries?  I have been listening to Alan Bennett’s Untold Stories, read by himself.  They are all short, many of them less than a minute, and rarely more than 2.  Highly recommended, but it does leave me feeling that I am still at the start line. I am also nervous of too much description of character, in case the describee reads the b(log). I think I will try to stick to reportage in this respect.  I first had Laurent down as a taciturn single-handed type.  He is actually generous and social.  He’s planning to run a saling school, trips for small families, teenager wrangling, cruises – all on his lovely boat, recently renovated and today re-named with proper ceremony.  It required another social lunch and a bottle of bubbly.

And today is Al’s birthday! 

This looks like landscape - it's actually our old anode.  It has done 2 years and now there's a shiny new one.

The sun is peeking yellowly from behind a bank of cloud and sea birds are making a noise like cats.  Probably time to slot the boards in and go to bed.  Trying for an early start on the dreaded antifouling in the morning.

PS. Laurent’s boat is called BOW – great name, I think.  And our mast is UP.

COMING SOON: the launch & a meditation on tools

Cockpit B(log) Approaching Sunset & Al’s Birthday 4 June

That’s approaching sunset in the sense of time – not distance-time since we are still out of the water, the Snork Maiden & me.  It is warmer this evening and the wind has dropped to a mere whisper.  The ever-present cuckoo is still going, and the swallows are twittering in the trees that surround the abandoned house.  The evening heron has done his / her evening scout and a pair of ducks head West.  I suppose this is bucolic.  I had to ask Gayle Kidder what that word meant – I think I had always avoided it, made up as it is of ‘bubonic’ and ‘colic’ – neither of which are any fun at all.  I try using it sometimes but it still conjures up nasty bodily states, so I think I will officially abandon it.

            I really want to write about writing, and I’d appreciate comments from other blogsters out there, and their (and my) readers.  First, a technicality: does anyone know of any good free, or even cheap, offline blogs?  It’s a bit of a bore having to generate text & pix separately and then put them togethr in precious online time.  Second issue:  what do you like better – longish essay type blogs or short diary entries?  I have been listening to Alan Bennett’s Untold Stories, read by himself.  They are all short, many of them less than a minute, and rarely more than 2.  Highly recommended, but it does leave me feeling that I am still at the start line. I am also nervous of too much description of character, in case the describee reads the b(log). I think I will try to stick to reportage in this respect.  I first had Laurent down as a taciturn single-handed type.  He is actually generous and social.  He’s planning to run a saling school, trips for small families, teenager wrangling, cruises – all on his lovely boat, recently renovated and today re-named with proper ceremony.  It required another social lunch and a bottle of bubbly.

And today is Al’s birthday! 

This looks like landscape - it's actually our old anode.  It has done 2 years and now there's a shiny new one.

The sun is peeking yellowly from behind a bank of cloud and sea birds are making a noise like cats.  Probably time to slot the boards in and go to bed.  Trying for an early start on the dreaded antifouling in the morning.

PS. Laurent’s boat is called BOW – great name, I think.  And our mast is UP.

COMING SOON: the launch & a meditation on tools

31 May – My Birthday

First an apology – I really should have taken a photo of my birthday lunch, hosted by Philippe Julien – proprietor of the boatyard here at Charron.  He asked me in the morning to join them for a barbeque. I took long some prawns with tex-mex sauce (courtesy of Super-U), salad and strawberries.  There was more salad, bread, beer and for desert a fabulous gateau and a champagne toast.  I can’t quite imagine this sort of celebration in any of the other yards we’ve stayed in!  Anyway – sorry about the absent photo, but the table and benches were improvised, the barbeque was a pile of wood lit by an electric heat gun and we ate on paper plates and paper towels with plastic forks.

 

So the photos are the sun setting on my birthday!

Coming next: a new old bike!!

 

31 May – My Birthday

First an apology – I really should have taken a photo of my birthday lunch, hosted by Philippe Julien – proprietor of the boatyard here at Charron.  He asked me in the morning to join them for a barbeque. I took long some prawns with tex-mex sauce (courtesy of Super-U), salad and strawberries.  There was more salad, bread, beer and for desert a fabulous gateau and a champagne toast.  I can’t quite imagine this sort of celebration in any of the other yards we’ve stayed in!  Anyway – sorry about the absent photo, but the table and benches were improvised, the barbeque was a pile of wood lit by an electric heat gun and we ate on paper plates and paper towels with plastic forks.

 

So the photos are the sun setting on my birthday!

Coming next: a new old bike!!

 

The Mast Comes Down

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.