fernicketty finishes …

… take a little time.

Butterfly is now at the stage now where she could be test-sailed – something we hope to do very, very soon – but there are a host of little finishing touches that must be completed before she’s no longer a W-I-P but a WOW. Realistically, however, little touches aren’t necessarily that quick to install, so while there’s a chance she may be ready in a week to ten days – it wouldn’t surprise us if it took a little longer. As ever, to avoid frustration, we’re sticking with the view she’s ready when she’s ready and not before.

Today, we went down to the marina to measure up for curtains – something I can at least be getting on with while we wait. (I’ve brought my sewing machine out here, just keep your fingers crossed it still works after the long transit.) While there, we had a good long natter with Steven, after everyone else had gone home. Much easier to do a little recapping and brain-storming with the boat to ourselves and some peace and quiet. As ever, Steven very receptive to new ideas, and we’ve come up with a couple of extra embellishments that should make the boat even better. Not of interest to anyone but other FastCatters, perhaps, but nice additions for liveaboards like us. (We’ll outline the details in the FastCat forum.)

So, tomorrow, we must surrender to the delights of curtain fabric shopping. Dick, as you can imagine, is ecstatic, can’t wait. And just to really make his day, he must make the appt for the DOC licence interview. I mean how much excitement can a chap take? I on the other hand, will have the onerous task of pacing those shopping aisles, fingering this fabric and that, matching each to samples of flooring and liner, squinting to visualise the finished effect, and after much tutting and twittering, working my way through the entire shop again. Tricky, head-scratching stuff, but somebody’s gotta do it. And do it, I happily do – but usually, nay scrub that – always – on my own. In fact, we swear one of the reasons we’ve stayed so happily married all these years is that we never go shopping together unless it is absolutely unavoidable. Unfortunately, here in Durban there are several excellent reasons why shopping together is a must. But curtain shopping together? – I mean curtains of all things …

It’s going to be an ‘interesting’ day. :0)

—————————————————————————–

At the moment, for rather obvious reasons, am reading Alan Paton’s celebrated classic, Cry, the Beloved Country. Dealing with the racial tensions and problems of South Africa during Apartheid, it’s billed as “A Story of Comfort in Desolation”. Which is, I think, a wonderfully concise and accurate summary. Although written in 1948, so much of it is still relevant now. Yes, the times have changed since Apartheid was abolished, yet so much about Africa remains unchanged; and this wonderful book captures the essence of the country and its people, as they were then, and as they are now. It’s a terrific read, very moving, very troubling – and written in language that has a strange haunting beauty all of its own. If you’re ever of a mind to visit South Africa – and even if you’re not – this is a book I really can’t recommend highly enough. Poignant, tragic, majestic stuff.

Calling Jarry Bohn and Al pal …

Sorry folks, please forgive us and talk amongst yourselves for a moment – this is just a quick aside to our beloved progeny: Ha-very-ha indeed, me dearies. Love the search engine thingies – Virus schmirus! And yes, say Hi back to Jack from both of us.

Oodles and squoodles …

Muv and Pa

The return of …

… the prodigal cat! Hooray! Sorry to keep you in suspense – (go on, admit it, bet you were biting those nails and pacing the floor just like us, waiting for news of Jack, our worryingly absent feline friend) – but you need fret no more. Al (youngest son) emailed yesterday afternoon to say His Nibbs showed up that morning by our pond, cool as custard, without so much as a by-your-leave, loudly hollering to be welcomed back into the fold. Whatever the reasons for his disappearance, he’s keeping them to himself apparently. Which is bloody inconsiderate, we think. I mean if you’re going to worry the bejezus out of your adoring human caretakers, then you should at least have the courtesy to let them in on what you’ve been up to. Given this Jack-goes-awol milarky seems to happen just the once almost every year – usually around the same time in summer – we’re wondering if there’s an annual convention of moggies that meet in Ramalley Alley, or behind the newsagents in Hiltingbury Road – somewhere, where all the local cats gather for their AGM to discuss mousing tactics or optimal scratching posts or what to do about the feline-loathing pair of Jack Russells at No. 29. If so, then it’s a pretty sophisticated affair with shrew scraps and tuna titbits for refreshments – because he never returns hungry or thirsty. Just very vocal, demanding a fawning reception committee and non-stop fussing … which he always gets, of course. Whatever – Jack’s back and that’s another little prayer very happily answered.

——————————–

Popped down to the marina to say goodbye to James and Roz, who are off back to Free State today. Both busy putting their boat, Sunday Star, to bed, though they’ll soon be back in a few weeks’ time to continue working on her. As for our own boat, well, work on Butterfly is coming into the final finishing stages now. Looking down the pontoon while talking to James, we could see she now sports an impressive set of sails and a smart sailbag in a dapper shade of navy blue.

Fascinating watching the guys rig up the lazy jack lines. The bosun’s chair being put to good use – something neither of us have actually tried as yet. As I’m the lightest by several stones and have a head for heights, it may well be my job to learn the art of that one. Alternatively, Dick has the brawn and size to be more effective, perhaps – guess we’ll just have to toss a coin. Fighting over who’s to go aloft, or fighting who’s the one to stay below – ha, perish the thought! This skipper and his first mate are always as one – on everything. ( ahem.)

Y’know, it is rather exciting to see her decked with sails and running rigging now. And what rigging! Some very snazzy dyneema sheets and halyards – colour co-ordinated to match the blue and yellow design of her name and logo. Even the guard rails are blue and yellow dyneema – she’s a slick and snappy looking dame, alright.

The new shower room doors are just the ticket, too. Lightweight, fully functional (they’re hinged to concertina, making it easy to get in and out of the shower cubicle) – with a cool smoky-white finish. Very swish. The doors to the saloon, though, we’ve decided to change. They look absolutely great, but we’re not entirely happy with the degree of flexing you get if you yank on the handle. (Btw, these doors are made of Lexan Margard, which is fabulously tough stuff, but it is rather bendy under pressure.) Our concern is that any opportunist burglar will test the handle, immediately see how much give there is, and be encouraged to force-it-Phoebe to get them open. Of course the fact is that no boat is burglar-proof and any hatch can usually be broken open fairly easily given the right tools, so why worry about the doors – but we just didn’t want to put ideas into anyone’s head. No probs, because Steven is going to make us a set of ‘old style’ doors. Like the ones that were fitted to Hull No. 2 – African Love. These won’t allow so much light in, but they are impressively solid and unyielding. And in any case, the light issue is well taken care of with the saloon having so many windows as it is.

Back to the sailbag and sail-hoisting/dropping system: having seen the new hybrid flaking Dutchman-cum-Lazy-Jacks arrangement today, must say we think it’s looking rather good. The sailbag hasn’t had the new basalt battens fitted to it yet, so it’s too soon to say if they do the trick, but the combined system seems very workable – and if there are probs, then it’s easy enough to dispense with the flaking Dutchman element altogether. We’ll certainly keep you other Fast-Catters posted.

And speaking of sails, we also have a very sexy looking genoa, navy-trimmed, mounted on the forestay now. Steven (and we, of course) are itching to put all the sails to the test and take Butterfly out for a spin. The difficulty is that until Dick gets the DOC certificate that I keep mentioning (the appointment can’t be made until next Tuesday for some reason), we can’t take her out on our own without someone aboard who DOES have a DOC cert. All of which means we might have to wait until the middle of next week when Gideon arrives. But there again, we’ve waited so long for that moment, that one more week certainly isn’t going to hurt us. Must say, talking with Steven, who’s been an absolute gem throughout everything, we’re all of us getting really excited about putting her through her paces very soon now. What do they say – the good things in life are worth waiting for. Well yes indeedy – ain’t dat da truth!

Strike …

… while the iron’s hot. Internet connection on its best behaviour tonight – so a quick update. (That shot, btw, is the Maxim 38 we’ve been sailing these past two days. Not Butterfly, just in case you were wondering.)

• Dick and I both have our S.A. Day Skipper tickets now. One hurdle jumped. Next is the DOC – for which we need to make a firm appointment. And start learning by heart all 54 of Durban port’s nav lights. Dem’s da rulz.

• Email from BJ saying Jack, our beloved 10 year old tripod of a cat has disappeared. He does this about once a year, but always there is a panic he won’t return. No cat is more adored, so forgive our fretting. The boys have done everything they can to find him … just got to wait it out now (and say our prayers).

• Back in Durban, more play on the Maxim 38. Neil and Dick and I – out for a lovely sail this morning, where a very brisk 20-25 knot sou’westerly whipped up little white horses all around. A pod of dolphins (is it a pod? or a school?) alongside for a spell. But they were very obviously in serious pursuit of something, so didn’t hang around for long. Lunch at anchor by Vetch’s pier. Trouble with electric windlass which packed up temporarily, but all resolved happily. Yacht missing an anchor bridle – so Neil improvised. Boarded by harbour police who regularly check everything afloat, apparently.  Dem’s also da rulz.

• Fascinating chat with Neil in the yacht club bar at the end of the day. He’s been around boats since a boy. Some hair-raising tales of the deliveries he’s undertaken and places he’s sailed. A good man and an excellent sailor. We count ourselves lucky to have bumped into him.

That’s Neil on the right. This shot taken this morning aboard the Yilanga above.

• Lastly, some good news. Steven is hopeful of a test sail for Butterfly sometime towards the end of this week. The sailmaker has had staffing difficulties this week, so it’s a little delayed, but should be a matter of only days away. A wretched stomach bug has been doing the rounds of late and Steven now recovering from same. The last thing he needs – so join us in wishing him a speedy recovery.

Time and tide …

… wait for no man. Trouble is man must wait for the bloody internet before he – or in this case, she – can file a new post to our Butterfly blog. All sorts of cyber gremlins, it seems, bedevil us in the evenings – and on Sundays. Or anytime we are free to write a little something. Mornings, when we’re dashing to be off and out, everything internetty works just fine. Heigh ho.

(Btw – that’s Dick (left) and Neil (right) aboard the Maxim catamaran, Yilanga.)

So – playing catch-up then after a (briefish) spell of radio silence. But first our apologies, today has been a long (albeit very enjoyable) one – but rather ker-nackering, so will keep this very short. Hope, therefore, you’ll forgive the bullet-point approach.

Friday 20th June:

Sailing in and around marina/port with James and Neil. Paddy, who joined the day before, didn’t show. We think his absence had something to do with the previous day’s ”vigorous’ close-hauled tacking stint. A bit of a wild ride for those who have never sailed at all before. Alan turned up, but worryingly had to leave very suddenly – after a SOS from his wife. They live in Zimbabwe and with the imminent election, things have become very frightening indeed. It’s clear none of the newspapers and tv stations here or at home are reporting anything like the true extent of the horrors of the situation. We wish Alan and his family all the best and are keeping our fingers firmly crossed for them.

Saturday 21st June:

Out on the water bright and early with James and Colin. It’s James’s assessment for his Day Skipper ticket. Dick and I acting as crew. A great morning – albeit a bit of a stressful one for James, who was put through his paces in no uncertain way. Seems to us that some things are taken a little bit more seriously, perhaps, than back in Blighty, but no complaints. A lso, Durban is a busy port and not the easiest setting for such things – and there is no margin for errors. But the weather was generously kind and behaved itself impeccably. So did the darned sea, for once. And hooray – James got his ticket and so mission accomplished.

Sunday 22nd June:

Day of rest. It needed to be – it’s been a hectic and lively fortnight. But come the evening and we ventured down into Durban (which always fills me with trepidation – particularly at night) to meet James and Roz for a meal by the waterside. Driving down through the hills, we suddenly saw lightning crack and blaze across the sky. And almost immediately a phone-call from Roz warning us not to meet them by their boat – because torrential rain was now bucketing down in earnest. By the time we reached the city centre, manhole covers were popping and geysers of bubbling rainwater were gushing back up on to the road. The sound was deafening. The cause? One of the infamous coastal lows that barrel around down the west coast, across the tip, and back up the eastern side. Two hours later and after all the drama, it had rained itself out. But the marina waters are now filled with tons of floating garbage and grot washed down from the city’s drains. That there are still fish in that marina – still wriggling and flapping their fins – is both a wonder and a mystery. Lovely meal with James and Roz – lots of laughter, and much fun – and a relaxing ride home, since rather conveniently, the deluge was likely to have kept the car-hijackers and Durban’s other ne’er-do-wells indoors.

Monday 23rd June:

A wowza of a day. 9.a.m. and out all day with Neil on a Maxim 38. It’s been approximately two years since we last sailed on a cat for any length of time. (Although we had a fun weekend with Frank and Martha last November in Madeira – hello you guys!) Again, today the weather oh-so-kind: the perfect sailing variety. After the narrow, tippy confines of the L34, the Maxim seemed huge (and almost staid – no clinging on) – and yet she’s almost 7ft shorter than Butterfly. Very much like a truncated – or rather, compact – Voyage, same feel and layout. Same stern-to-bows walkways, too – a little too narrow and slippy for our liking, and same obstacle course trying to get to the winches, but for all that, she’s generally well-regarded. Had forgotten just how easy cats are to sail – and to manoeuver. And after the previous two week’s of laboriously flaking mainsails and hanking on jibs and all the faff of folding genoas and jibs a certain way, before stowing in their bags – the ease of a stackpack and lazy jack system and roller furling were very, very welcome. That said, the L34 was a lot of fun and very good for honing the more traditional sailing skills.

For our Day Skipper Practical tickets, we needed a night entry back into port, so we sailed along the coast, watching the sun sink pinkly behind a small cluster of clouds. And inevitably, as the sun sank, so the night wind began to blow a little keener. Coming in behind a huge container ship, following the leading lights and lateral markers, all twinkling merrily away in the encroaching blackness, we suddenly realised how tired we were. Again, it’s that bone-weary but very relaxed tiredness that comes from being out in the sun and salt air all day. A few bevvies in the yacht club bar after putting the boat to bed and home to a huge pot of chicken one-pot.

A long day, but a real good ‘un.

And would you believe it, but just as I typed that last line, the darned internet connection has gone west again. Buggeroo. N’er mind. Will save this in Word and zap up here tomorrow first thing, before we leave for the marina.

G’night gentle people.

Zzzzzzzzzzzzz ….

Wacky weather …

… and wild, wild wind. Some strange meteorological action going on in these thar parts. Torrential rain yesterday and overnight has broken bridges, roads, boats and several records – and heck knows what other damage. More tragically, several lives lost as people crushed by falling buildings, trees etc – or washed away as rivers burst their banks. But today the rain stopped and the wind started – it’s blowing a hoolie outside tonight, as I sit typing this. So did we do the sensible thing and stay nice and dry and warm indoors on terra firma? Did we heckers. The morning was spent taking the South African Day Skipper Theory Exam – we passed (as we jolly well should have done, with Dick getting 98% and yours truly 93% – that man of mine knows too much for his own good, y’know!) – and then down to the marina, straight after lunch, to go play on the L34 Standfast. Just to explain for those who won’t necessarily know or haven’t read my earlier posts, but to sail a boat in Durban Marina or the surrounding waters, you must have a SA Day Skipper ticket. The RYA one won’t do. In fact, no matter how many other fancy certificates you’ve got – you still have to have this SA Day Skipper one regardless. That and a DOC (Durban Operator’s Cert) which is a separate thing altogether, and which includes amongst other things being able to recite by heart all 54 marker buoys/lights in their right order as they appear in Durban Port. Yes, really.

Anyway, after all that wild rain and wind of the last 24 hours, the sea was reported to be bucking and breaking big time. But Neil, intrepid sea dog that he is (he has over 30 years experience of sailing in these waters) decided we’d find out for ourselves, so we puttered across to the harbour mouth to take a shufty. Out beyond the entrance walls, white horses everywhere, lashings of spray, and a very choppy horizon. Wind speeds of 35-40 knots, and much more in the gusts. Not that we were cowards (perish the thought), but the decision was made to give it a miss and confine ourselves within the port walls. Even so, it was pretty wild at times – especially during prolonged, repeated tacking on a close haul up the Esplanade Channel. Gun’ales under the water, boat almost flat on her side – and that with three reefs in the main and the smallest jib. It was a good job that we weren’t exactly crowded out there – most folk had the sense to stay home and stay dry. But a good blow and a bit of sunshine – the wind kept the clouds whipping by overhead – is always guaranteed to put a wag in your tail and a gleam in the eye.

And with all the theory exam stuff out of the way, and if the weather doesn’t pull another fast one on us tomorrow, then we’ll be out on the water for most of the day. Tails wagging, eyes gleaming – and no doubt another set of bruises and blisters to add to the score.

All good salty stuff.

Rain stops play …

… darn it. The gorgeous sunshine has temporarily deserted us. Today, Durban sits under a heavy lumpen sky – one that’s got rain a-plenty in store. And as is the way of things, as the clouds stomped in, so the wind upped and fled. Rain and no breeze is not a tempting combo for sailing, so today we and the sailing school guys stayed indoors and brushed up on navigation and theory. Tomorrow’s forecast is even worse – much talk of yet more rain, but with hazardous conditions and 18ft waves. Not much fun in a 34ft mono with slippery decks. Gosh, our nav skills will be awesome!

In search of some fresh (if rather damp) air, Dick and I used our lunch break to go see what’s to do aboard Butterfly. The sunshades are on now, which are rather sleek, and the floor protection covering has been removed. Ken and co still finalising the electrics – though nearly done now. Yesterday was a bank holiday here, but Steven used the peace and quiet to visit the boat and draw up a snag list of things that need tweaking to make sure she’s A1. So the floor wraps (we think) were removed for that purpose. One of the things we’ve really appreciated has been the way we’ve been given access to the boat whenever we’ve wanted it. Other boat manufacturers don’t necessarily do that. Usually, customers are allocated one visit and that’s that. But Gideon and Steven have an open door policy which doesn’t necessarily make life easier for them, but it certainly does for us. We also appreciate that things don’t always go right first time – especially on a newish design, and one where many changes have been installed during production – and so we’ve asked to be told the bad news along with the good. Or shall we say, the problems and challenges (such an overworked euphemism that!) – as well as the successes. Again, when we’ve asked, we’ve mostly been given that information. Why do we value hearing both the ups and the downs? Because, It would be completely unreasonable to expect everything to go according to plan all the time. But if you know what difficulties are/were encountered, and what solutions are/were devised to solve those difficulties – well, apart from that information being of possible future use (should something go awry that relates to earlier problems), it creates a sense of confidence that nothing is being hidden from you. Conversely, always being told that everything is wonderful just doesn’t ring true and undermines customer confidence. Perhaps other customers might prefer to be spared the news warts and all, which is fine, of course, but for ourselves, we like the facts served up unselectively and without a hefty dose of spin garnish! After all, providing problems are recognised, acknowledged and then solved satisfactorily, what’s not to like, eh?

Keeping to the above theme, it was apparent when we last visited the boat that the genoa wasn’t going to sit right over the spreaders, so Gideon has very kindly organised an entirely new sail, rather than re-cutting the existing one. The new one will be Spectra – an excellent material and an upgrade from the original which was to be of Pentex (still, very good stuff). Now Gideon, I’m sure won’t mind my mentioning it, has a certain reputation for saying ‘there are no problems, only solutions’. A man, you will note, who walks the walk, too.

Changing tack here: with busy days, there is always much catching up to do at night on things domestic. And over recent days that all means I’ve have had so little time for photography, I’ve got severe camera withdrawal symptoms. So much so, that I’ve promised myself a little pixel play on the computer, this evening. Dick, playing hero again, will be swotting up on the requirements for the DOC licence – more of which at a later date (news that won’t be quite as dull as it sounds, honestly). Anyhoo, given that we have so little news for you at the moment – well none that’s exactly riveting – I hope you’ll excuse us if we love you and leave you till a little later.

Have a good evening, all!

Edit: 27.06.08 – Learn tonight that due to a little slip of the Gideon tongue, the new genoa to be of Pentex, NOT Spectra.

Another ragbag …

of this, that and t’other.

It’s Saturday and just like the last one, the sun has shone at full blaze. It tickles me, here we are in the depths of African winter and it’s hotter and fairer than a perfect English summer’s day. And such a nice heat too. And unlike an English summer’s day, there’s a pretty good chance its tomorrow will be just as fine. And its tomorrow’s tomorrow, too. Just as well, for this Saturday’s tomorrow is the date for the Durban to Pietermaritzburg Comrades Association marathon. A Marathon with a capital M that is – all 54 miles of it! Fifty-four miles made all the more gruelling because the route embraces a long, mean, (and meaningful) hill that goes on for- well, for absolute ever. And that hill is not near the beginning of the race, but is encountered only after the runners have already put in a huge amount of effort. The entrants are quite mad of course. But impressively mad. And the least we can do is offer a little moral support for their heroic insanity. So providing we can kick ourselves out of bed in time, we’ll mosey on down to the BP station where the runners will pass, to cheer them on. The main road beyond the BP station here in Gillitts/Winston Park will be closed to all traffic for many hours because of the race, so we’re sort of a captive audience anyway. All the same, the race, which starts at 6.00 am, is a huge event here, and captive or not, it would be a shame not to witness some of the sweat and drama (she says sadistically), since by the time the poor devils arrive at the BP station ( the middles and ends of races are always more interesting than the beginnings, after all) they will already have done a huge chunk of the course – including that wretched hill – so they’ll need every ounce of encouragement.

Moving on …

Bits of paper, red tape, rules and regulations … Well, again, phooey to ‘em all. Discovered this week that not only must we have a South African Day Skipper ticket to sail our boat in the marina and local waters, but also a DOC : Durban Operator’s Certificate. To get that, you must have completed an approved First Aid Course amongst other requirements. No problemo. We both did one of those back in Blighty. And a Sea Survival Course. But looking for the paperwork to prove it, we drive out to the factory and must rifle through our boxes sent over on the container. Now these boxes – ten of them, plus two large suitcases – we packed chocka with all sorts of goodies for our new life aboard. And to ensure we knew what was packed where, we wrote lists for each box’s contents. All very efficient. All very shipshape. Only somewhere, somehow, despite such bristling efficiency, we can’t find our collection of sailing certificates. Buggeroo. So back to the apartment and more scrapping around in the boxes stored there. No joy. Big sigh and sign on to Skype to get dearly beloved Heir (the equally beloved Spare is still in darkest Wales) – to check through all our files at home. Nada. Zilch. Buggeroo with knobs on. The hope, however, is that those much needed certificates are tucked away inside Dick’s Sailing Record Book – which is in Box no 3 in the container which we’ve already checked but obviously not thoroughly enough – which is in Gideon’s old factory. But we won’t get a chance to go there until next Saturday, so if those certs aren’t there, and we can’t find them anywhere else in the meantime, then … more courses must be booked and more time wasted. Not the end of the world but awfully inconvenient, soooo - if you wouldn’t mind omming us a little luck so we find them snucked away in Box 3 after all – well, we’d be mighty darn grateful, and to prove it, the next round is definitely on us. Cheers!

(NB: Lest anyone should object to our apparent scorn for all these bits of paper – I must declare in forthright, vigorous tone that we both subscribe to the firm belief that anything – even a dog-eared little squit of paper – that ensures more people go to sea with some idea of what they’re doing is, of course, A Jolly Good Thing.)

Moving on a little further …

Had to laugh. When we were deciding on the name of our boat, and came up with Butterfly (see here for our reasons why) – neither of our lads were very enthusiastic. Not zazzy or ballsy enough for them. There then ensued a lot of joshing about livelier alternatives. And that was that and we forgot all about it. But last night, checking out this blog’s dashboard section (where the blogee – me – can check out his/her – my – statistics and other admin info), I note that someone, somewhere has arrived at our blog by putting the following into Google’s search engine:

“Butterfly and Barnacle and gun running”

Honestly. I kid you notteth.

Falling foul of the law before we even leave port is definitely not part of the game plan. Running anything – other than before a fair wind with the spinny flying – is certainly not on the agenda. “Who are these guys?” we asked, “what manner of weirdos and miscreants have we attracted to our blog’s gentle shores?” Then a halfpenny dropped. Wasn’t Gunrunner one of those crazy, zazzy names that the kids had suggested in half-jest. And checking with BJ tonight, he came clean – that Google search was indeed son- the-elder’s little joke. Ha! Gunrunner indeed: imagine the difficulties of trying to clear entry with the police and port authorities with that loaded little moniker …

Oh how we laughed.

If this blog has gone …

… a little quiet, it’s not lack of enthusiasm for the project, but lack of time – and post-sailing ’smooshiness’. Or healthy knackeredness, if you prefer. After a full day, much of it spent out on the water being fairly active with some hectic spells thrown in, we have an hour’s drive through heavy traffic before we finally get back to the apartment. Evening meals, preparing lunch and breakfast for the following day, answering emails, packing togs for the following day’s sailing – well, there’s not a lot of evening left for things like blogging. Not a lot of energy, either: in fact it’s serious blob time once everything’s done that must be done – and that means bed. Ah well, so much for the excuses …

Several times a day, we sail (well, motor) past Butterfly as we to and fro in and out of the marina – and it’s an odd sensation seeing her there. In fact, knowing she will soon be what we call ‘home’ – it feels slightly weird not to be calling in on her, seeing how things progress. But there are reasons, which are: (a) we’re kept busy enough with Neil and James aboard the L34 Standfast and (b) by the time we’re through sailing for the day, the guys have finished working on her and she’s all locked up.

There again, it’s good this way. We’re not getting in the way, holding things up – and it’s a lot easier on us, because finding ourselves so busy, the days are just flying by, so it doesn’t feel quite so much like playing an eternal waiting game. All the same, it’s hard not to sneak in an affectionate glance at her whenever possible. It’s also good to know that Steven, who, bless him, has so much on his plate – and Ken and Doug – will be there, ensuring things get done right.

This week has also been very useful in familiarising ourselves with the marina and all the nautical furniture around these waters – including a disintegrating tub that’s been abandoned on the edges of the marina’s main channel. Perhaps it’s me, but it’s not only fascinating, but quite, quite beautiful in its own way – and a photographer’s dream for a maritime fine art subject. The rust, the acute angles of broken spars, the hulls rapidly disappearing under expanding colonies of barnacles – there’s something very touching and rather human about its demise.

Another useful gain this week – and this is very much thanks to Neil – we’re getting a little more clued up on local weather patterns and the peculiarities of sea state beyond the port’s enclosure. Local maritime knowledge is not just desirable, but can be a vital tool – and although we still have much more to learn, we’re chipping away at things, bit by bit.

Back to Butterfly for a moment: the sails and sailbag were delivered this week – we know because while stepping aboard the L34 we could look down the pontoon and see the sailmaker scratching his head aboard our boat, looking up at a crisp, smart genoa that fully unfurled, was hugging the spreaders rather too enthusiastically. The bad news is the sail will need to be re-cut and refitted (though no big deal, really); the good news is the sail trim is a lovely shade of blue! Sounds daft? Ha! You wouldn’t believe the fretting I’ve done (Dick will bear testimony) – about the colour scheme of the sail trim, sailbag, cockpit covers etc. It wasn’t so much deciding on the colour, as being sure we would get what we thought we’d ordered. As some of you may already have discovered, choosing from a shade chart displayed on a computer screen is a thoroughly unreliable business. Few people bother to calibrate their laptop screens and computer monitors, so colours – even those displayed by manufacturers – can be way off target. Therefore, what looks like a fetchingly elegant navy blue on screen can, in reality, turn out to be a virulent psychedelic, migraine-inducing funky ‘Azure’. All very well if you like surprises; not so good if you don’t. My advice to future FastCat buyers would be to physically get hold of a sample of the blue (or black or green or whatever) you want – though am not suggesting for one minute that you cut little samples out of other boat-owners’ sailbags or cushion covers, however perfect that particular shade of eau-de-nil green is – and hand it over to Gideon or Steven. It also, so you can show them precisely which colour you want. It also makes it much easier for them to then colour match the paintwork on the hulls – if that’s applicable. It also helps enormously when manufacturers change their colour charts and descriptive names, which the swines do just at the point when you decide on your chosen colour theme. But enough of all that. Suffice to say I’m just glad – and so is Dick (very – it would have been a costly error) – that our hopes of a smart navy blue have produced just that.

Okay, apologies to the guys, that’s the girly colour thang outta the way. Next time we report back here, I’ll make sure we discuss knobs and dials and whir-y bits – with a smattering of low-down dirty engine-speak chucked in for good measure … once Dick’s drawn me lots of pretty diagrams that is – and – darnit! – perhaps it’s best I finagle the Skipper into writing it himself. Watch this space …

(Uh-oh. The Skipper’s just read this. “You’ll be lucky,” he says.)

And so the sun sets …

… on another thoroughly enjoyable day. An enjoyable and satisfyingly tiring one. Up at six-thirty a.m. again, sandwiches packed, sailing togs stowed, and in Durban by 8.15. But whereas yesterday the sun shone gently and there was little breeze, today the wind returned with gusto and staged a lively show. So, by afternoon, and once out of the protection of the port, the seas were heaving nicely and up we rose and down we plunged – and were too busy by half to check if our dolphin was on hand to witness. Close hauled, which we were for a goodly stint, the leeward gun’ales were buried deep in the tumbling froth of racing sea. A lusty gusty day – and not surprisingly, another cap made a successful bid for freedom – James’s this time; yesterday, it was Dick’s. Mine’s safe: it’s been wedged on so hard and low I keep wondering who’s turned the lights out.

James (our newest, latest, bestest friend – but of course), has also recently bought himself a boat. It’s also currently berthed in Durban Marina, just a hop and a skip along the pontoon from where Butterfly is moored. James and his partner, Roz, have also thrown in the 9-5 towel and plan to live and cruise their way into a ocean nomadic future. There’s a few of us about, it would seem.

But the four of us – Neil, James, Dick and I – had an absolute blast this afternoon. And although thoroughly soaked on several occasions, the sun shone enthusiastically throughout, and we, the bedraggled, salt-encrusted walking laundry piles, dried in no time at all.

There’s a wonderful relaxation that comes through strenuous sailing like today’s – aided by the overdose of ozone, salt and sun, that leaves you feeling slightly smooshed and very happy … and that’s before hitting the Marina bar! And it’s just as well – for that happiness and smooshiness make for a wonderful anaesthetic against the catalogue of cuts, scrapes and bruises that you find later in the shower. In fact, why is it, that come within five metres of a boat and many of us start to turn an attractive shade of purple, blue and black – but can rarely remember the hows and whys of most of those fetching injuries? Too busy having fun – or averting the next disaster, I guess.

All in all, A G-o-o-o-o-d Day.

Next week, Colin and Neil are really spoiling us. The brothers have access to a Maxim 38 and since either Dick or I need our S.A. Day Skipper ticket to sail in and around these waters on our own, we’re going to do the necessaries in this cat. Not sailed a Maxim before, so looking forward to it. Given that we both already have our RYA Day Skipper tickets, and Dick has his coastal skipper’s licence, and ocean and yachtmaster theory, we saw the South African qualification as a bit of unnecessary nonsense. But having got back on the water, we’re all too happy to find a genuine excuse to stay there a little longer – especially since we get to try out a different toy. Thank you Colin and Neil – we owe you!