Thursday 3rd December

Thu 3 Dec 2009 13:42
Crisis what Crisis
To paraphrase that role model for us all. Miles Smeeton, anybody who takes a small yacht to sea for sport or adventure has not the right to expect outside assistance should problems occur. The crew of Fenella have attempted to follow this code but our present crisis appears to be insurmountable without intervention.
In Las Palmas when a broken spreader was detected it was fixed by the crew alone within 24 hours. When our alternator burnt out on day two this was quickly replaced by the on board engineering department. With our morse controls jammed in reverse gear a member of the starboard watch simply grabbed the turning prop shaft - odd that it should be turning with engine off and reverse gear engaged - to bring it to a halt and selected neutral with his other hand.
When fishing had produced no fare for three days the more Polyannaish crew members welcomed this as a release from the slaughter of more of God's creations. The remains of a spinnaker sheet which now trails behind with the fishing lures makes us look forward to the otherwise dreaded calms so that we can go swimming. So what crisis has stumped this doughty crew.
Last night whilst dining on deck by moonlight, who says that The Grumpies lack a romantic streak, it came to light. The pan fried pork fillet in a mushroom and claret jus had been served, the wine glasses had been clinked in celebration and the wine bottle had been narrowly missed by a large flying fish which decided to join us for the feast when someone asked for the pepper. There was none.  Fenella has been ransacked but to no avail, we are clean out. With apologies to Blondie Hasler who suggested that rather than ask for help a yachtsman should "Die like a Gentleman" we would ask any yacht within vhf range to come to our assistance.