Well that's it, it's time for bed. Hermy is out of the water
and all went without too much of a hitch.
It was blowing a bit
of a hooley as we approached Navy Services yard and I spun the old girl around
to dock her, forgetting the keel was up. So she didn't quite make the turn as
quickly as I would have liked but bow thrusters are wonderful things.
I became aware of
some French yelling but couldn't really locate it until I looked up and saw a
guy hanging from a mast telling me to come towards him. Now Mrs K doesn't like
surprises but I had to abort her jumping ashore at the last minute and spun
around again to head towards another dock with no way out and an adverse wind.
I adopted the 'into wind' approach when more shouting erupted from this suspended
Frenchman gesticulating that we must turn around and face the other way at the
last minute. Well I could see that Mrs K was not happy but I didn't quite know
how to articulate this to the man up the mast.
I spun her round again and we went alongside by which time
the small Frenchman had come down to take our lines. At this point the Frenchman
told Mrs K that he wanted to be handed the stern line just as Mrs K picked up a
fender. He then made the mistake of saying "no the stern line." Her
eyes narrowed, just slightly, as she continued with the fender. I could see he
was clearly married as I was sure he felt the sudden chill. I think he realised
he may become subject to a few well chosen, good husband, pointers should he
carry on in the same tone. He was handed the stern line and his close up with
Mrs K did the trick. He became very polite. I think he had done the 'Wife
annoyed, damage limitation' for beginners course.
All became clear when he gesticulated towards a tractor set
up with a large hydraulic trailer type thing and we were facing a slip way. All
made sense now.
Claude and Pascal were our guides while they pushed this
sort of forklift set up under Hermy, lifted her and dragged her, teetering up
this slope. So scary that we forgot to take a photo. One thing we have learnt
in France is that an approaching lunchtime can become an issue if things don't
look like they will conclude just before it.
It was 11:45 and we could tell that Pascal was hoping to get
away on time. The chocking up had taken a while and all came to a head as they
tried to extract the tractor thing. Claude wasn't listening to Pascal and
caught the uprights with the lifter. An explosion of 'mind my French' broke out
and we witnessed an 'I'm late for lunch and its all your bloody fault Claude,' domestic.
At 1205 all was well and we were slotted in amongst a forest
of resting yachts. Despite my plea that our mast should be brought alongside it
was clear that Monday was the next opening.
Now since we had arrived in Port St Louis we had become
aware of the quantity and size of the resident mosquitoes. Mrs K had suffered a
bite or two and was not happy. I had spent a night beating myself about the
face as the little devils approached my ears with that high pitched dentist's drill
noise but somehow always managed to avoid death no matter how hard I slapped
myself.
Luckily Nige had given us a sheet of netting designed for just this
eventuality and Mrs K built a mosquito proof stern cabin with which she was
very pleased. She said it kept out all but one pest. I'm not quite sure what
she meant.
Next step is to step the mast which is always a frightening
thing. I have watched Bill and the old boys at the club do it a thousand times and it
always appears to go without much of a hitch. When it is my mast it is usually
a monumental pigs ear. Tangled ropes, tangled wires, bent split pins, lost pins,
no pliers where you just left them, screw drivers that go missing, and wires
that don't reach. All these add up to you being a nincompoop in the eyes of
weary yards men and adding to your stress levels.
We had a day to unwrap the
mast and put all its bits together, of course bits that refused to cooperate,
bits that did not behave as they should but by evening time I was there. What
could go wrong?
We woke up on mast on day to a howling wind. Visions of
elevated masts spinning around decapitating other masts filled my mind. They
won't be able to do it, they will say next week, we will miss our train Mrs K
will quickly work out whose fault it is. What will I do?
The allotted time
arrived and Claude and one other arrived. I went to meet the other. "You
ready" he said with that, of course not, look about him. "I think so,
but isn't it too windy?" "No" came the nonchalant reply it will
get much worse than this. It's cold and windy just like being in England I
joked. "No" came the reply " it's not raining."
I could see him casting his critical eye over my 'Bill
trained' preparations. No criticism came although he removed my line to the
bottom of the mast and put his own on. Picky, I thought.
Anyway it all went swimmingly. This other guy was clearly
the boss, No way Claude was going to have a domestic here, the boss, present
together with the British leading authority on husband correction, he didn't
have a chance. Within 15 minutes I was running around trying not to unscrew bottle
screws by accident, making sure everything was tight and all pins were in and
bent over. Very pleasing and no piss taking from the yard men.
Finally got the bloody electrics to work, well most of them,
and it doesn't leak. Yet.
Wife now complaining of ropes thrapping against the mast.
I'd forgotten about that, 2 am on deck in the freezing cold in PJs trying to
stop ropes bouncing about.
That's it. All washed up and heading home. With a bit of
luck we might get Hermy to Corsica next year. See you all next year for another
bit of a giggle.
