Sunday 30 September 2012

Should I Stay or Should I Go

The town is called Asilah, but we're anchored in the middle of the marina, so there's not much chance of getting onto dry land.

The main sail is dead - hopelessly beyond repair. But there's still a solution, apparently. There has to be a solution, because Asilah is an even worse place to be stuck than Tangier. Jean-Pierre & Thomas have pulled out the storm jib - a small sail designed to be used in place of the genoa in extreme winds - and are trying to fashion some way to connect it to the sliders on the mast so that it can replace the main sail.

In the early afternoon, I emerge on deck and am told that Roland, the big Austrian is leaving us. I'm told he only had flights booked from Gran Canaria back to Spain, then back to Austria, and if he continues with us he'll miss both flights. Although Roland speaks as much English as I speak German, over the past week we've both exchanged several knowing glances and wry smiles, as parts of the boat have fallen off and we've each sensed the obvious, immediate and progressively swelling danger.I choose to believe that the scheduling issue is the only reason he's leaving. As he's rowing away in a comically unfit for purpose children's inflatable dinghy, just barely able to contain he and his luggage, I'm on the cusp of throwing in the towel myself.

If I were to leave, I'd really feel like I'm letting my new friends down. On the other hand, I'm recalling the vivid and realistic scenarios where I, or any one of us, looses a finger, or just as likely, is entirely lost at sea. Drowning at sea is a pretty miserable worst-case to be working with. But, back on the first hand, if I leave, that leaves the remainder at even greater risk. We're already in a bad way, having a lost one of the three guys who really knows what he's doing.

My decision falls just narrowly on the side of persisting. Besides, I've already kicked in my food contribution. I might abandon my friends, but I could never abandon all those biscuits, eggs and sausages.

By late afternoon, we've discovered that both heads - toilets - are blocked, badly. It's not pretty. It's really, really bad. It's abhorrent.  Jean-Pierre and I attempt to sanitise and dismantle one of them, hoping to fix it. The hour so I spend plumbing is... unbecoming. Neither head is repairable. A bucket is designated to replace them. I should have gone with Roland.

Jean-Pierre and Thomas have managed to adapt the storm job to serve as a main sail. The storm jib is a fifth of the size of the main sail, and is an isosceles shape that points away from the mast, rather than a right angle that runs along both the mast and boom. It looks truly ridiculous. It's looks like we're sailing with a napkin.

And we're off, again.

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