ALL HANDS 7 June
Now in Aruba, tied up at Oranjestad. The bobstay chain is still hanging straight down from the foot of the stem.8 June - under way from Aruba at 09002015 - a horrid day. Major decision made, to take the boat under tow to Venezuela. Tow arranged. Many difficulties with local officials. Customs was OK. Very stiff resistance from Immigration which is also Harbor Police, and everyone an emperor in his own right. YUK. OK, I finally got through it all, barely in time to make the 1 pm departure, at which point a Jeff showed, interested in buying the boat. Apparently at extreme sacrifice only. I'll be sorry, maybe, but I didn't encourage him. Polite though, showed all, best lame foot forward too. But while we were communing with that muse, word came from my tame Italians running Gitano II that we'd stay over and leave in the am.
OK, where have I been and what have I done? Worst of all, what have I written? Boat: bowsprit gone, mainmast gone, rudder split through and hanging by a thread. (I've added a lot of other threads now for the tow.) No proper facilities for repairs here. So off to Venezuela in the morning.
There have been 2 (at least) days in Aruba, 3 or 4 in Curaçao since Bonaire, which was such a success for me that Nothing would seem great after it. Well, it's not great. Made it to shore by hook and crook. Customs collected my person and rubber boat, sent a tug for my vessel. We ended up together before nightfall in Aruba's commercial harbor. Guest status, but I have no idea why. Everyone courteous and kindly. Prices very high. Good friends right away with Venezuelan boat astern, operated by two Italians and a black boy. After much research, there just aren't any repair facilities in Aruba. Maybe I should have stayed in Curaçao. So I'm being towed by my Italian friends to Punta Fijo, their home port. They go to Aruba once a week with veggies and fruit. Domeni built his own boat, a small well-powered commercial launch. Packs it with at least 200 orange crate sized boxes of Venezuelan melon, bananas, plantain, potatoes and some I don't recognize. They were short handed unloading and I bore a hand, got welcomed into the family.
Tow line fouled in screw at exit of reef that protects the harbor. Bit of a close call too. Both boats anchored briefly while we cut the tow line out of his screw, and made it up again as we pulled up anchors, gradually picking up way as we entered ocean waves. Hectic rearranging of foredeck, anchor ropes, etc., in near constant slop of wave tops. Now 1030, clear of Aruba, heading magnetic south. Winds fresh and easty.9 June, Saturday am, 0600We are charging along at what my friend says is 7 kn (or is it 7 KM?), faster than I can normally go, steering hard over and still dragging the towboat 10 to 20 degrees off course. Not correctible with my non-functioning rudder. Could it be corrected with a line? Not apparently worth it. Salvo spoke at extreme shouting range and got a negative response. OK, it works. 30 miles to land, 20 more to Punto Fijos.
An hour out, the tow line showed signs of chafe. Seas quieter than usual, but big enough to toss the bow around. Some maneuvering as we changed tow lines, Salvo on the bow, me on the engine controlling forward and reverse but having no steering. Useless but not disconnected. OK, go again. Full speed still pulls the bow of my boat above its normal float or sailing posture. That buries the stern, of course, enough to have the ocean reverse its flow in cockpit drains. When risk of wetting the engine became likely I bailed- out and stuffed the drains with rags. Warm water, but cold spray! Work naked to keep as much wet as possible out of cabin. Could have shut valves below, but didn't want to leave the hatch open that long. So bail now and then. Salvo and I take turns, every 10 - 15 minutes. Have a look at the tow line too. Coffee, sandwich, crackers and cheese, banana, watermelon (trifle over ripe having been on board 3 days) soup, and the propane ran out in the process.
1445 - We are steaming along in relatively smooth water, still taking spray and an occasional wave top, but no green water inside the combings. At least 3 hours more. Apparently the wind is against us and very strong on the next leg. Meanwhile we're in the sea shelter of a sandy, low land, very yellow, shallow water, stirred up sand I guess. 3 meters, sometimes less, about 1/4 mile from shore, an hour or more. Touched bottom once too. Bright sun and the same old fresh (and sometimes very fresh) easterly wind. Salvo is with me. We look up words in the Spanish-English dictionary to make the very few whole sentences we need for communication. Many details are lost of course, but in general meanings are clear. His father-in-law is driving the tow boat. They seem to be old hands at working together. But Salvo is only here from Italy a coupla three years. Domeni (also locally Domingo, which is Sunday) is driving the tow boat. Has a boy working for him. Black and very unequal, but not unkindly treated. Couple of shoreside towns and one big refinery before Punta Fijo, which has a bunch of railways, mostly for big fishermen, 200 to 300', at least that's what's on them. I can see two that are unoccupied, either is amply big enough for me. Maybe too expensive. Anyway I'm here.
1950 - Dark out after pretty nice pink display, first in the west and then all over, lasting longest in the east. All over now. I'm in Venezuela, anchored off the beach in 7 or 8 feet, little protection, but none needed; trade winds are very constant. There is a swell here, but gentle. Lights in town a half circle around me. An oil refining town with lots of big shrimpers with skyscraping rigs to spread nets. Domeni & Salvo and their black boy have left me here to report into Immigration, say they'll report me too, and they'll come back. I'll save $100 if they don't. Not so. Actually I offered to pay before, as they were splitting. Little spoken communication, but ample trust. Very comfortable guys.
Does the switch to Punto Fijo, Venezuela take your breath away? Mine too. The one reputedly knowledgeable guy in Aruba is too busy. Runs 2 tourist boats as well as a repair service for yachts. Looked me over and said he's too busy to tackle that much more work. Couple of boat loafers suggested that I'm not rich enough to attract him. They and the #2 customs guy said go to Venezuela. More knowing help, vastly lower prices. I can readily believe the lower prices bit. Dutch Antilles is out of this world for high prices. The lumber I could pick and choose from in PR was 40 cents. Log run in Aruba is 65. Daylight is at hand. Get to work.10 June, Sunday, 08002325 and I'm just back aboard after phone (a great complication) unsuccessful to Margaret and Stan. Did get through to Peg. Still need numbers for Rosa and Nat Wilson, probably for Lunenburg Foundry too! Wild party tonight, Salvo and Domini whistled me up from shore, and a bloody great whistle it must have been. I was not wearing my machine. I loaded as quick as I could, repumped the dink, and rowed in - almost forgot hearing aid. Had to come back 50'. Rowing the stupid blowup against a sharp 20 kn head wind is NFG. I got here, but in skivvies only, carrying a full suit of clothes. Venezuela doesn't approve of bare chests or knees, even women's knees. Nobody notices bare feet though!
Gitano II's crew and another Italian were there waiting for me, whirled me off to beer, telephone and then pizza and beer. Much talk and translation and my Spanish is better than I thought. Not good though!. After eat and drink, meet the wife, the recognized children of Domini and Salvo's friend (20 years in Venezuela and still an Italina), coffee and off for another beer and meet Querida Friend, who has two of his children, and a third older is obviously a beloved person. Children cherished, ancient father-in-law supported and respected, but they live in the one-story part of town. Ghetto it's called, and it's obviously poor but not crowded. Room for dogs and even some gardens. Not many trees and NO second stories. He - the name is gone - is a two-boat fisherman, shrimp, has hired captains and crews. Seems to be well off if not maybe stinky rich. Four-wheel drive Dodge with crew cab and dual rear wheels. Two-story house in what I'm guessing is almost the RIGHT part of town. Backyard full of shrimp net, which has to be oil soaked before use in this climate. Nice guy, good host. None of us seagoing characters were allowed to pay for anything.
Tomorrow is Sunday, and only a few minutes away right now. I still haven't cleared customs or immigration and therefore am not supposed to leave the boat. HoHum. Nobody seems to pay much attention to the rules. There is a watchman at the "chosen" yard, most cooperative too. Helps launch the dink, not really necessary, but cooperative. No agreement with the yard yet, but I have a translator, young man with English, recommended by Salvo - Carlos - who would like to take over everything for and from me, even breathe for me. I need to be courteous to him, but I need to hold the reins of my life too?
Will I have to fly to PR and back to get my brains? I need the drawing of the mast too. Can Rosa do it? No phone for Rosa and the local CANTV will not admit to the existence of Information overseas. No such thing!!! More to learn. CANTV office is a 10-15 minute drive, too, at least an hour's walk. Bed now, it's tomorrow already!
Woke early as usual and flopped right back into bed! Try again at almost 8. Coffee and toast and I've made it to "erect", but not as far as "productive". The yard has a long line in the water for a floating lighter (4 55-gallon drums and platform). I should try something like that. The wind is often very strongly adverse, going ashore, and my dink loses air faster than I like, is often pretty limber by the time I get ashore. There's today's first chore. Let's go.Monday,11 JuneNoon. Can't find the major leak, the minor leak is hardly worth the try as it is right on a seam and only floor fabric. Beaten again. Telephone is worst. A hightech bureaucracy knows no equal for stubbornness. There's only one o'seas calling station, it's a prohibitively long walk & 50 Bolivars minimum in a taxi. Bolivars are printed like dollar bills, but the smallest seem to be 10s. I've seen no ones. I still have very little idea of the exchange rate. Will be in the bank for numbers tomorrow and may be able to get info from other than Carlos, who wants to reassure me that all is well, but can't seem to make facts available. I can't figure out if he's milking me or not. Very uncomfortable. Salvo and Domeni put him on me. I am confident - from work-labor-effort expended together - that they are not bilking me. Carlos is still a question mark. Señor Momo is the principal of the yard. He may have English. If so I'll boost Carlos, but until I find out, I'll deal with the devil I know rather than espousing the devil I know not.
I'm OK. Annoyed at my own difficulty with Spanish. Setting up to go aground here. There are apparently 3 yards on this bay, which is on the West Coast of the Paraguana peninsula, over a hundred miles west of Caracas. (Has an airport, but not international.) Punta Fijo is the town name, Astillero Bolivar is the yard, Falcon is the state. Refitting will take more than a month I'm sure.
Difficult morning waiting for the Port Captain who never showed. Carlos brought an English-speaking "sport boat agent" but was not really backing him. I grilled him back and forth on what services he provided for $200- Very little of course. Took some doing on my part to refuse the agent's help. Changed clothes on the beach with an admiring audience (unimpressed) of a variety of kids. Rowed the rubber horror out to Apogee. Signals from two people to come back. I did. It was Salvo and his Italian fishboat owner to hear about my refusal to pay $200 to the "Sport Boat Agent". Tony - manager of the yard - was so delighted that I had avoided the agent's services (Tony has some English), that Tony himself will beat up on the Port Captain. Tony and Momo together came around checking on mast dimensions, a rather laid back yard, nice guys.Tuesday, 12 June, 0625Breakfast done, boat in usual mess. Have not yet sorted out yesterday's paper work. Need to. Engine running to charge refrigerator and batteries. The boat on the small ways is said to be launched today, so I may go up today. Seems doubtful to me. When I do, I'll be busy. Have been busy right along, but mostly busy trying to get to a place in Spanish where I understand. Busy and tense a lot of the time. Still no Customs and Immigration (required before going up on the railway). Scheduled for today too. Scheduling is done by bystanders. Principals leave it to chance! Half my new store of Brains is locked up with my dink ashore (against theft), but I need to organize. Bank account exists #1050196271, Banco de Maracaibo, Punto Fijo, Venezuela. I deposited $100 in US funds, so now $ can be deposited electronically.13 June, ThursdayI'm in the telephone office. The "tarjeta" phone I find very awkward, and of course no one near here has English. Many Italians apparently. My yard is operated by an Italian family, and because I am loved by Salvo and Domingo, they are falling all over their footsteps being nice to me. Yard management is apparently delighted with my avoidance of the $200 agent and took me to Immigration and Port Captain in the yards. Something done Right. Maybe the only thing. I lose everything. Forgot my numbers in PR, have lost the number Peg gave me two days ago, and along with them several pages of this account. I am so annoyed with myself I could scream. I do have Stan's home number in my head. He keeps late hours, but I'll sit here in the air-cooled phone office, hoping to get him. The number I made up out of memory is apparently wrong.
Venezuela is cheap, so say all cruising people who should know. Cheap compared to Dutch West Indies, yes; New York City's best, yes; south shore of CT and Cape Cod, yes; but for most of the world it's about the same old rat race: "marine" doubles the price. I'm in a fishing community. That's good. The old man in the yard is an Italian boat builder. All the management help is Italian.
One of the risks here is kids. Generally I can get along with them. There are so many here though that they can overrun you like ants. They have swum out and gobbled up food left in sight, not got into cans yet. Scissors gone, but no tools yet, I THINK. Hard to know exactly. Only protection is a person on duty, boats, yards, cars on the street. Carlos (with a gimp hand and arm) is my person. He works the shore as errand boy and translator. I went through a period of little trust with him. He hadn't been completely frank about money, hasn't encouraged me to do anything for myself, wants to do all the errands and negotiations. Yes, I need his language services, directions, information, but I do want to live for myself, to be master of my pennies, even if the $ are committed by affairs around us. Now we seem to be a lot more comfortable since I have beaten him into a price. 100 for the month is our agreement, but it specifies no hour, only that he is concerned to keep me from being robbed blind by the kids. I have no idea how he lives and apparently supports a family on that.
Stop press. Just had a half hour's enchanting conversation with a fellow telephone sufferer, young and eager. Surprised that I live alone on a boat (that anyone does, I guess). Neither of us speaks more than a few words of t'other's language - he's eager to understand. I'm eager to tell. No way to stop the flow of conversation - or maybe communication is a better word for the spatter of speech we hurl at each other fast, slow, gesture and facial acting. Another interested non-English observer finally joining in.
I'm in the phone store (CANTV) the only overseas telephone station, while I wait for my new young friend (student of English) to rejoin me. I have walked once each way, a fat hour, and hard on my knee, too. Now my young friend has shown me a publico route (hope I can find it again - no map yet), 5 bolivars instead of 50 for a taxi, but still a good walk from El Central to the Astillero where my boat is about to be hauled TODAY. That's only a promise of no consequence at all in this mañana country. My student is apparently through school, studying English and Italian in some mail order, noncity school.14 June, 1600Old age has crept up on me behind the curtain of disaster, and I forget everything and lose whatever I inscribe or record: piece of this Journal, telephone numbers I was given two days ago, my address here! Pens fail me too. Pkg of 10 Bics has run dry since Bonaire, less than 2 weeks.
Nothing done today. Flagged in once on a false alarm. Carlos here after that. Big fisherman coming in on the railway close to me. I was able to help with a loose block in the dink. Wind shift as the fisherman started up the ways, so that I was in difficulty with hanging towards shore on too long a rope. Could have been real trouble, but I got a second anchor out. Still very close to shore in too easy reach of kids who play on the other anchored boats. The wind shift brought all kinds of Venezuelans out of the woodwork. I met and communicated with 2 open-boat owners, one of whom is a net-setting fisherman, who seems too old and decrepit to man his boat, but sees to its safety. Maybe he can fish, I can't tell for sure. T'other two are vigorous adults. Swam out to me after I'd loaned them the lousy dink to chase a line out to moor one of the boats to a wreck. Betcha they'll have to change that one when the wind goes east again. Need my dink too. New interruption. One of the nicer kids, 14 or so, came out with a bag of shellfish. Tiny hard shells, blue points? but small. Now I have to fetch Carlos.15 June, 0930Now it's tonight. I've climbed up the callera (very steep concrete steps busted away in one place for a 3-step scramble up the loose gravel). Walked 3/4 mile to El Centro, found the publico after some confusion, got to the local phone monopoly, am now waiting on a computer-designed chair in air-conditioned comfort. Phones are busy. People wait in line very easily here, easier even than PR, where people are at least unhappy at waiting. Here it seems to be expected, if not actually welcome. Interesting to see the motions of hands and bodies within the booth. It's a variety of prurience, an invasion of privacy, peeking. Got through on one call, hope I got enough information across. My head works so badly that I doubt I can ever get anything straight.
In the Banco de Maracaibo. At least 100 people in this great room, all of them communicating at their best rate and volume. Lucky me, I have a machine to cut off the noise. I'm here to change $ into bolivars. 0900 rate was $1=47.35 Bs - 2 cents per B. I pay the kid who keeps the other kids off the boat 100 Bs for 1/2 day. He's a nice shining, clean smiling kid, brought me the hard shell clams yesterday. I suspect he can fish or get fish too. Bank has received money, but not credited here in Punto Fijo yet, ready tonite or at 3 pm. Don't need it till Monday, soonest. Have yet to draw money out. Present financial condition is OK, enough in Bs to eat, etc. Not so good for numbers and dimensions for mast and sail plan which I need for the yard. They are still looking for suitable timber. A single tree? No hurry I guess. Steel mast? That's easier for them. I can't imagine how many difficulties it would make. Corrosion, changes of fastening?18 JuneI should be doing major preparation for hauling, which gets closer every day. Promised for this morning - it's now 1 pm and the boat that has my place is still high and dry. I did get ashore this morning, supermercado & PO, letter off to Rosa, to deposit my SS check and send Brains & boat specifications. I've not turned off the Ensenada PO. The Round Pond PO is holding mail now. The US Govt sends my check to Belmont. I can't stop them.19 June, Tuesday amA new mystery, maybe only to me, is the way Banks work in Venezuela. The Bolivar apparently changes value very rapidly. I got 4,700 Bolivars for $100, so they are close to 2 cents per B. Bank makes changes at a given hour. The 9 am price was 4,735 when I deposited $100. On the street it's $1=40 B. Worth waiting in line at the bank, but only just, and only when I am not profitably engaged (which is most of the time). Profitably engaged will get better when I'm hauled. I'll have to stand 100% watch because of kids' pilfering. They are irresponsible and unpunishable, have no fear, great greed and sticky fingers. Bananas evaporate along with knives, clothes, towels, anything untended within reach. At the mooring it's bad enough. On the ways I'll need a whip!
Birthday Greetings from almost 3/4 of a century. All these years and where am I? Punto Fijo is a city, spread out over a large area of tableland that floods in 1 1/2" of rain. Cirurubana is the old village next to the sea, spreading up the cliffs of sandy soil to a rim of single-story houses, mostly shacks, along the top, 40 or 50' above sea level. Poverty is what we have plenty of. Fish too. It's a big shrimp fishing town. Several hundred boats, I guess. Most with refrigeration that process the catch before selling it frozen. Many trucks with refrigerated bodies. I've had one feed of fresh fish, brought by kids. Fry for supper and chowder for lunch. Little 5 to 6" sucker-looking fish. Kids cleaned them and gave them to me. Also had a feed of tiny blue points. Eagerly waiting for shrimp.
2000 - Happy Birthday to me, a very mixed statement. Am I being sarcastic? I'm not sure. I have been blessed with an easy response to human beings. I'm accepted by the crew of the Astillero. They brought a jar of rather nice rum to the evening "debriefing" in the shade of the west wall, and insisted on my having one, two, and a third whack at the jug. Cheerful bunch, look for all the world like vicious pirates that would cut your throat for a dime. Not these, 40,000 B minimum. People are poor, but often generous. I've often been driven out of someone's way, once been offered 500 B to alleviate distress! But the kids are vicious. Vicious to each other. Black humor at its worst. Funny is when one of your buddies trips on your rope and falls on his face, breaking up his nose and glasses on the stick you threw at him. Not so the adults. All pretty slow to react, but maybe grinding exceeding fine. The locals have a lot of indian blood and heritage. The manager "classes" are often estranjeros (foreigners), and here in Punto Fijo, that's Italian. Many aggressive Italians, and especially Sicilians here. Yard is very definitely Italian. I'm loved, came recommended by Italian friends. No reason to doubt my feeling, but prudence is respected, so go easy on that.
I'm a bit drunk (74-yr birthday, 3 drinks ashore, beer with supper) on my way into the sack, but together enough to survive.
Have great expectations of going up on the beach today. The system here is to slide 2 great timbers down a plank railway. They are tied together with a steel web that keeps them submerged 300 to 500' out into the water - still only 7 to 8' deep. Drive the boat between them, and drag the whole shebang up the beach. Timbers are BIG and flexible enough to conform to the beach. Steel web strong enough to keep them together as the bilges of the boat rest on them. Presumably the keel is supported by the web.20 JuneHaving expected to haul the boat up the ways yesterday, and again this morning, I asked the winch operator instead of the Boss. Not before 10 am or noon, So I did my postal, bank and phone efforts. PO is closer than phone. Mail takes longer but may be more secure - 4 mile walk to phone and damn poor results, an aching knee. That much walking hurts, but the hurt goes with a night's rest. This is a new discovery, that the hurt is temporary. I'm better off than I thought but not a whole hell of a lot. Going downtown is tense making. I'm lost half the time, can't make myself clear most of the time, and NEVER make sense of the machine gun Spanish answers!
1827 - Hey, hey! a visitor, rather fat shore type with skinny helper or worker and two locals who begged, borrowed or stole a tiny fiberglass dink to bring them out. The fat one is an India Indian from Trinidad. Skinny is Venezuelan. They are local employees of Radio Holland, familiar with Sat Nav and SSB, which he'd like to sell me. Thanks, I don't need it. I don't feel I have any right to call for help at deep sea. I'm not doing the world's work - I shouldn't sit on the world's security system. I've said it before, and violated my own principles several times. This time I didn't, but I probably would have, had I been able. Anyway, he is apparently pretty competent, has a big outfit behind him, based in Caracas, doesn't mean a lot to me, but it's no doubt easier to get parts there than in Cirurubana, which doesn't even have a real market. He will take all my stuff for bench tests and correct the polarity of the LORAN, get new antenna, cable for SatNav and VHF, and see to the installations. No prices yet. I can expect him tomorrow, if I get up on the ways.
OK, two things done today, electrics and fuel, another 5 gallons on board. Pisspoor day, but better than yesterday, slow, awkward, lazy, but at least not going backwards. I did walk all the way to CANTV via PO and Bank. That's a morning's work, hard in the sun too. Fuel is SAID to be cheap in Venezuela. 3 cents a gallon is the word in Bonaire and Aruba. Not so here. I've just bought 20 liters, about 3 B/L, which is "International" price. OK it's not very high either, something like 15 cents/gal. We bought gas in the US @ 8 g for $1 in the Depression. Not so far off. Diesel in Bermuda was over $2/g and generally in FL and NC it was $1.50 or more. I started this paragraph thinking diesel was expensive. It's hard to get used to paper money here. Street exchange rate is 4 cents, a comfortable profit for the money changer, but hardly a ripoff.
And a good sleep it was, woke at 3 ish wondering if I was aground because it was so still. Nope, all well, hanging to 2 anchors and an old mooring that pulls gently astern. Railway is close alongside to starboard, so it behooves me to keep careful position and avoid being in the way. The mooring is somebody's, abandoned or lost. Little idea how heavy or the condition of the line, but it's keeping me 10 or 15 degrees off the wind and clear of the course of the railway. 2 boats out since I've been here. I was ready to move, didn't have to. Good day. I committed no new stupidities and discovered the worst stupid of yesterday when I lost bug juice that I thought was stolen. Turned up where I put it, under the spare single berth. Apologies made to Carlos and Juan for my temper and accusations.21 JuneHauling is and has been promised momentarily. But at 1800, I'm still at anchor. Blew very hard today, so I'm just as happy not to have had to maneuver into the cradle without the rudder. Plenty of help available, but they all want to be captains, and none have English. May NEVER happen either. I'll die of old age before my turn comes up!
Bank is almost as bad. Wait for the clerk who makes the entry in the book. Then stand in line for the cashier to pay off on a chit. Seems to be all savings accounts. Don't they have checks? There's one English speaker at the Bank. Not always at his desk though. He must be a big shot of some sort, offers coffee to his clients. Very strong, black and sweet.
Best thing today, a sight, mid afternoon, and only one came out RIGHT, 2nd time to be sure, but Right. I'm in a bay that hides the horizon more than half way round, so can only take mid PM and later sights. OK, I know where I am anyway, but I need to keep taking them to keep my hand in.
Chicken stew of 3 days ago was especially good. Beef stew in the pressure cooker now, making good smells. Had a goat stew when I first got here, damn good too. Aruba goat! My tapeworm is working double time again, I can't stop eating. Maybe I'll slack off when I get busy. Not dark yet. 1810, and out.
Early morning is my time. No disappointments yet today. Clean taste of banana and coffee. Good rest behind me, so nothing hurts, no feeling of ground down weary that I get from the overlong walks to Punto Fijo. The sky lightens fast after a very slow start. Ambient light here is considerable with enormous antipilfering lights in the yard and refineries northeast and south, as well as the usual civilization-type street lights. Enormous waste of energy - one of the few plentiful commodities in Venezuela. As the light increases, the distant ships' lights fade and the shoreline resolves itself into houses and streets, a beach, 1/4 mile wharf solid with moored shrimp boats, all substantial steel vessels, most very clean and well appointed. The smaller ones are on chained anchors off the beach (me too), and they show now with a little color: white hulls, all of them, but bright house and trim, reds and yellow mostly. These little ones, 30 to 40' are decked boats with a pilot house barely aft of amidships. All the same slightly rakish lines. Sturdy wood vessels, hulls covered with fiberglass usually. 6 or 7 crew who live aboard, sleep on deck, cook on an open fire aft of the house. They catch small fin fish, 6 to 12", lighter them ashore in a paddled skiff, 8 or 10 trips sometimes, to load them across the beach into refrigerated trucks. Full daylight now from a bright but still pale blue sky, heavily laced with bands and flecks of yellowing silver cloud. Vaguely o'cast in the west, with mottled pink and silvery blanket. Pretty good show. Refinery flares still show and have a new tail of black that must be half a mile long.23 June, Saturday, 16381100 - Ashore to the PO to mail letters to Round Pond and Wilkie, less than a mile, but up the steep steps to Punto Fijo plateau. Back down the steps to try the local phone. Yup it rings on Stan's number, but he doesn't answer. Can't buy tickets here. Carlos has a source it turns out, but he never told me. The 3 or 5 mile walk has never been necessary. So I sit in the shade under one of the fishing boats being repaired, waiting for Carlos to show with a case of beer, which will cost 360 Bs. $7 and change. Not as cheap as it sounds either, since they are only 250g cans and everyone expects to dip into the case on its way to the boat. Kids, a changing lot from 1 or 2 to 30, surround me as I write, staring. Have they never seen writing?
I spoke to Tony who has English and is manager of the yard. He is a trifle elusive about costs and charges. Carlos says the US yacht before me was 50' and paid $15 per day. My feeling is that the yard has been very busy for a fat week and has little to do now. I am being very patient. Why not? I've got all summer and winter now. No way I'll get to Maine this summer unless I fly. Caught Stan on the phone this pm, reassuring. Still some question about the big sum of money. OK though. I'm assured the yard is happy, no one needs to know how much there is in the kitty. Another successful shot of the sun late this pm. Almost dark. Swim and bed. Maybe railway tomorrow!
"Saturday Night Is the Loneliest Night In the Whole Week Long" That was the favorite tune on my ship across the Pacific, played and replayed ed over the PA system. It's still pretty lonely, and not really enough to do, except when there's too much. There's always guard duty too, a varying swarm of kids all shapes, sizes and colors of brown. Very few whites if you're meaning color. I'm not either. There are plenty lighter than I, but most are dark, less than half negroid, many indians.25 June, 0100I've had the "Haul" conference with Tony. He's given me a sheet of costs. Scary and still nowhere near all costs. Flat charge in and out is 13,000 Bs ($300 +). Daily charge (subject to lowering?) $41.60; a onetime Inspection, $62; scrape and wash $62; labor to paint $104. Dark green antifouling paint 28 gals @ $41.66. I screamed at the $41.60 per day and he softened the blow a little without any real promise. Momo got a close look at the butt of the mast this am, calls it pine, finest construction - but impossibly expensive in this yard - agreed! But where cheaper? Steel he says, we might come to that too. Final decision waits till Monday appointment with the wood supplier. Rudder is out, brute force did it, not too neatly, but no more damaged. Will be patched with fish plates and reglassed. OK. I still haven't a clue what total damages will be. I do have a more comfortable feeling and relationship with Tony, and a real warm for Momo. Pretty damn old, maybe older than I, and cataract operations on both eyes - wears monster heavy bottle glass glasses. I'm quite fond of him in spite of our inability to communicate.
Finally up on dry land, my batteries were suddenly dead. Scared stiff. I borrowed a battery out of a pickup truck for a jump start. Hauled it up on board, waiting for cables. Another try on my "weak" battery. Took off - not fast - gurgle and belch and nearly died before really hitting out on all three. Fresh water (washwater) pumped into the engine to cool it and the refrigerator. Seems to run very hot still, but part of that is cooling the refrigerator. Nuisance to have to do this hookup 3 or 4 times a day. Saturday was a half day. Sunday, nothing but kids. OK, I'm wandering, not the heat - it's high o'cast and quite pleasant out - just old and stupid.
Radio Holland showed up 1n his Sunday play clothes instead of his white linens. Took Sat Nav and VHF. Very polite. Old and new disasters: bilge pump and hinge of exterior instrument panel. I keep the hinge material on hand, that's a small disaster. Pump not so minor, not pressing either. Got to it Sunday, but it was noticed Friday at my last chance to pump out the bilge on the ways. So Sunday was a bilge day. Why is it pumping air? Obviously because the vacuum is not sound, so go over the suction. Clean part is OK. Dirty part up out of the bilge with ordinary difficulty, removing wires and bilge guards. It's one nasty, greasy, foul mess. Much scrubbing with Joy, and I've got enough of it off the suction line to cover me pretty well. Found a break in the pipe. Cut and patch, insert piece of flashlight body and reassemble with extra hose clamps. Looks OK, but still leaks air pretty copiously. As I try working it hard, I suddenly feel the suction fall away to nill. Sure enough, the diaphragm is gone. That's one of the around-the-corner-and-under-the-builtin-cockpit-seats jobs. Most of the rest of Sunday on that, and having disconnected many battery wires, I hauled out the batteries and watered them up. Always hard to do and very dangerous at sea because of motion. So it's a good day, with good things done, and even maybe a solution to the current electrical problem. I have the batteries up to normal now, but have been shutting off the main switch to avoid drain. Can't find a leak at all. Maybe there isn't one. Maybe it was low water 1n the batteries. Have not yet found trash. Yard has not found mast material, big question.This has been written as I sit on the forward edge of the house, lit up like a studio by the yard's anti-pilfer lights! Marvelous.