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?

The cheap life

After a day of organizing things and talking to people, Victor Too is now ashore in Póvoa de Varzim. This is a bit to the North of Porto and generally a nice place to stay. After a night at the waiting pontoon, we put my temporary home into a crane and on the land.



So now I've been doing the many chores which I've been putting off, scraping the antifouling, drilling holes for new senders, and getting the keel sand blasted. It's been a while since Victor Too was on shore and I hope to get the prop replaced with a folding one, for I have gotten tired of the sound of the prop turning while we sail.

So now the boat is a mess once again, for all the work tools have come out of hiding and certain inaccessible spaces had to be made available to put stuff in them, such as: holes!

This is the one for the log transducer. I re-used an old log site so I didn't have to make yet another hole in the hull. I just made the existing one bigger. Making a new one would have been easier, but the hull already has so many holes a Swiss cheese would feel quite inferior to it.

Yesterday I celebrated the sale - finally - of the bike and the termination of some more contracts I was bound to, such as insurance, insurance and even more insurance. I now only have two more insurance contracts going and it feels good to get away from some of the modern entanglements.

I need to get a replacement for the autopilot motor since it packed up while we were crossing Biscay. I already got someone on it but I dread to think what it'll cost. These Raymarine parts rarely come cheap.

But last night, I went out to eat and I found a local eating place which serves good quality Portuguese cooking which set me back a total of 5,5 Euros for food and half a litre of Vinho Verde. It's hard to think of a reason why I should go to the trouble of cooking, washing up, let alone get the ingredients for this type of food at these prices. Life can be cheap and it's about time, because getting here sure cost me enough. And that Romeo y Julieta cigar I savoured yesterday, was a well earned treat after a 1000 Mile trip South.