Communication woes

My employer just did me the great favor of robbing me of a night's sleep. It's the first time they did this since my journey began on July first. Of course, they robbed me of many nights before, because sometimes that's what a job does to a person. But I don't complain, since having a job at all is considered a priviledge these days, thanks to our masterful economists and bankers.

But to have to change ones' communications strategy with 3 days notice is a bit of a present I didn't expect. So I'll be a bit more difficult to contact and getting an internet connection has just moved a whole lot up the list of routine priorities.

As far as lamenting goes, that's about it, considering I'm a bit tired now and desperately in need of some sleep.

Yesterday, we met up with Bernard and Jeanne again and met their son Nicolas. We had a nice time and even though it's a shame Bernard had the accident with his foot, it's fun to meet some of the nice people later on down. They were a bit delayed because of the accident, so we caught up with them in Sesimbra. This is where we'll be for a couple more hours, until after an early morning dive. It'll be my first wreck, so I'm quite looking forward to it.

Along the route, we spent a couple of nights at anchor. One very calm one in Aveiro after a day of motorsailing in dense fog. And one quite bumpy night at Ilhas Berlengas, where the swell worked its way around the island from both South and North, since the wind had changed from South West to North during the evening. But snorkeling the inlet beneath the light house early morning was well worth the lack of sleep. Hundreds of fish, small animals on the rocks, and crystal clear visibility made it a very wonderful experience. I even got to swim through one of the many tunnels through the rocks, albeit a fairly large one since I wasn't so keen on doing the smaller ones on my own.

Ingrid got a very funny T-shirt at a souvenir shop, with drawings of typical fish of the region. I don't like all the Portugal shirts which you see by the hundreds, but this one had Portugal written all over it without mentioning it once.

It even came in a kind of fish-box which obviously makes it a design object and as such it was priced a bit above Portuguese standards.

It's getting a bit foggy outside as well as up here so I'll once more retire to bed to wait for seven when we'll rise and I'll get my diving gear.

Scrape, paint and everything in between

Victor Too looks ready to go in the water, and she almost is.
The different stages to get the hull painted were scraping her down, until she looked like this:


Then it was applying the antifouling, now she looks like this:

Just two images, and it looks like there is nothing to it. And of course it was nothing as hard as what I'd imagined. Not that I would do it again, noooooooooooooo way!

I generally scraped two hours in the morning and two in the evening. After noon and before 5 p.m. it was too hot to do this, and my arms and shoulders welcomed the rest. And there was plenty to do in between, so I kept my days full with other jobs. I sewed all the protection covers for the hatches and made another fly screen for the main hatch. I took the prop off - or rather, had it taken off by Tomané and then put it back on with mild force and a lot of grease. The grease will hopefully ensure I can get it off under water when I want to have the folding prop on.

After the hull was clean, I took some pictures, waited for the wind to subside and on Friday ground the rust from the keel. I then immediately put on a first coat of antifouling so the rust didn't get a chance to take hold again. On Saturday morning, I put on the first coat of antifouling to the hull and the second on the keel. And on Sunday morning, the second coat on the hull was applied.


And voila, after cleaning and waxing the topsides, now I have an entirely treated hull that will get us across and back, without bringing half the ocean life we encounter with us.

Fresh water in the forest

It was nice, Sunday tourism. After using some more epoxy to fill the last of the remaining holes of the log, I went on a trip. I'd seen there was an aqueduct nearby and I always enjoy seeing these so I cycled over there. The thing about aqueducts is, of course, they are not just in one place. They tend to span wide stretches of countryside. The Vila Do Conde aqueduct is not particularly beautiful or architecturally special, but it was a bit of hide and seek, because some parts of it were so hard to find.

Aqueducts are a sign of determination on the part of the builders, because of their size and linearity. This makes them hard to protect from progress. Parts of this aqueduct have completely disappeared, such as in a field where the corn has prevailed over the monument. Next to that field, I took this photo, where the Aqueduct had been preserved and even lighted.



Other parts were destroyed for making a motorway and roads. What I particularly like with aqueducts, is when they become incorporated into the houses or walls. With this one, that isn't so much the case. Some parts have been made into a wall around a house or estate, but it doesn't run through a city, though some parts line the road. Mostly, the aqueduct stands apart from the houses, and some parts are so worn I wouldn't want them hovering over my house.



The Sunday was well spent, with some fish and chips - Portuguese version - in a quiet restaurant somewhere oddly placed in a neighborhood of very expensive looking houses. And at the end, I was invited for some drinks and a very good cognac on board Bernard and Jeanne's boat, before they left Monday morning. I took some pictures of them leaving port.

After that, I could begin the final episode of my work ashore, by scraping the hull. Luckily, I found some replacement blades for my scraper, which made the work advance so much more.


Quite bizarre was the fact that many people came by to chat a bit and comment on the work. I think everyone sympathizes when hard work is being done. Nobody likes scraping very much, least of all me. But it should be finished near the end of the week, and I'm putting on antifouling during the weekend anyway, so whatever doesn't get done, too bad.

Work like dogs

The stern gland. The rudder stuffing box. The old log holes. The new log. The new depth sounder. The toilet through hull. The kitchen sink drain.

All make holes in the boat. They're not all the holes, mind you, I've never actually counted all of them, but there must be almost twenty. I'm filling five up and have created one new, enlarged one and am stuffing one more after having stuffed one today. It is absolutely amazing that we haven't sunk yet, and I sometimes dream about that. I used to think we were sinking after we bought the new anchor chain which made the bow drop several centimeters. I still sometimes fear one of the through hulls will fail, and there are so many of them.

No wonder I sometimes check on my three bilge pumps, to see if they're working properly.

But now the boat's on shore, and the risk of sinking is minimal. Quite fortunate, I must add, for there are very big holes in the bottom which still need filling, stuffing and a new through hull and seacock.

But the log and depth sounder work.

It's work. All that matters now is work.

I'm at the point when the work is actually starting to show a pace and a rhythm. I'm a big believer in the specific nature of work, that it requires us to feel its needs. Some work needs to be done instantly, but there is work that can only be done right after careful consideration.

One of the jobs I've always felt to be entirely autonomous is taking pictures. I don't mean the everyday pictures we all take, of people and places and situations. There are a kind of pictures which call for us to take them serious and they qualify as work. Photography is not really a hobby of mine, so I take pictures and sometimes they constitute work, as in, choosing the position and frame and timing and respecting these to create something.

So after my working day, I used the evening light and took some photos of dogs and their surroundings.

It wasn't exactly work, but it was fun. Who said work can't be fun?