Hi gang,

What happened to February? I know it is a short month but I’m sure it was shorter than usual. Assignments are now coming up monthly so stiff competition for the newsletter. That’s on top of a full week at the uni including three evenings. (Are you feeling sufficiently sorry for me yet to forgive my lateness??)

There are boaty things happening around here. The main hatch of Eventide Ruana keeps appearing near the fire for things to dry. Sula the Silhouette is in the shed having a new.....whoops, nearly let the cat out of the bag. Should add another couple of knots anyway. Thinking (laterally) of the East Midlanders and sailing on lakes, I hope they won’t get any ideas from the Swiss winning the Americas Cup. No doubt they learned to sail on Lake Geneva, which isn’t much bigger than Rutland Water. And Brian has been negotiating with the insurance company of the boat that broke its moorings and damaged Avocet’s roller furling foil. Hopefully we can replace it. Really looking forward to hearing the ripple of water under the hull again, and that lovely smell of diesel, portapotties and mildew.

We both enjoyed the dinner. Kim commented that she used to think I was a bit strange because of my boating-related activities. Now she realises that this is perfectly normal...

I'm really looking forward to getting the boat (I only have one I'm sorry to say) in the water. I did a lot of the routine maintenance last year. Sanding and re-treating all the exterior woodwork was part of this but it only took me a couple of days (ha ha - get yourself a Mk3). There are still little things to do to sort out all those annoying things I discovered last year. Of course I won't get them all done because I don't want to have nothing to do over next winter.

The Last Meeting...

...was upstairs in the Orwell Yacht Club because there was a shanty evening going on downstairs, which looked like fun. Perhaps we ought to have one of those? I’m sure rollicking Roger, bellowing Bob and sonorous Simon could come up with something.

Mike Dacey told us that he had bought Bob Searle’s glassfibre SII, Jose Too. Oh dear – another defector from wood to plastic. Brian of course is jealous; it has occured to him that a plastic boat could sit happily on our mooring at Overy Staithe during the winter and allow us more winter sailing. Hmmm.

THE EXTRACT

From ’Rahui’, by Colin Iles (1975). This is the story of a young ex-para adventurer who decided to emigrate from G.B. to New Zealand under his own steam in search of a new life and a wife. His knowledge of cruising was scanty and his shipmate knew even less. In their 70-year-old gaff cutter they learned fast and lived off their wits.

In this extract they are making landfall for the first time in the Pacific, 42 days after leaving Panama.

‘Within an hour the first signs of day were sneaking up out of the eastern horizon. My attention was to the west, however, where I hoped soon to see a dark shape silhouetted against the lightening sky. An age seemed to pass as daylight slowly filtered down through the heavy overcast. The western sky was becoming brighter, but still not a sign of land. I scanned the whole horizon. Not a thing. Had I made a mistake in navigation? I refused to admit it was not there and continued my search with growing anxiety. "Maybe it’s just out of sight behind one of those clouds," I tried to persuade myself.

"But wait, is that a cloud or could it be..." I stared, frowning hard to better focus my eyes. An indistinct line at a steep angle connected the sea to the scud above. I was far from convinced. "If that’s one end of the island, where’s the other" I wondered. I scanned southward. Sure enough, there was another line, barely discernible, sloping the opposite way. I was not yet fully convinced, but was feeling increasingly excited. Soon I was sure. "Land Ho!" I cried. "Land ho! Land ho!"

My crew was beside me in a second. It was a moment filled with emotion. Never before had I been so moved by the sight of land. We gazed at it for a long time in silence, soaking up the view, or what there was of it. Just two angled and indistinct lines and a slightly darker space in between; a horizontal layer of cloud obscured the rest of Fatu Hiva.

"It’s pretty well where we expected it," remarked Martin. "About thirteen miles away I would say. Not bad navigation – after forty-two days at sea."

* * * * * * * * * *

It was raining and a stiff breeze was blowing as we came under the lee of Venus Point, an impressive 700 feet of sheer cliff. Our chart showed a little bay, aptly named Bon Repos, just around the corner. Presently a magnificent valley came into view with high, green-clad mountains all round and a little village nestling amongst tall coconut palms near the water’s edge. Here, in a gentle swell, our anchor was lowered into thirty-five feet of crystal clear water to bury itself joyfully in golden sand.’