DAY 13 (Thursday 26th Nov)

Today was to be the day of Colin’s Big Climb. Our First Mate had volunteered to shin it up the mast to drop a fresh spinnaker halyard after the previous one had snapped like a lace on a cheap shoe.

We were all more than a little nervous – except Colin, whose main concern appeared to be changing out of his ‘best’ shorts into a slightly shabbier pair more suited to the task at hand. That done, he strapped himself into the Bosun’s Chair – a canvass harness which would not look out of place in some of Soho’s more specialist shops. What we hoped were the right ropes were attached to the harness. Colin popped a can of WD40 lubricating oil into his pocket, just in case “anything needs spraying while I’m up there”.

Captain K took charge of the Grand Voile line, which would be used to winch Colin up the mast. I was stationed at the foot of the mast, manning the safety line (skipper’s words of encouragement: “If you screw this up, he will die and it will be your fault”). Kitkat had his video camera at the ready (I’d told him “You’ve Been Framed” still shelled out 350 quid for this sort of stuff, as long as the pratfall looked realistic. He’s saving up for some sound editing equipment so needs the cash).

Having taken his starting position in the main sail bag, we started to winch Colin up. And up and up. Once he was past the radar reflectors it became clear that he wasn’t going to back down. As his backside continued skywards, we prayed the sea stayed relatively calm.

As Colin approached the very top of the mast, he shouted something to us, which sounded rather like “below”. A second later I heard a loud clank on the deck a few feet to my right. It was his can of WD40. I knew he’d be worried about it so I yelled up: “Don’t worry, Col. It didn’t go over the side and the can’s barely dented.” “What about my bloody boat though!” spluttered Captain K.

The last few feet of the ascent passed without incident and Colin was able to drop the fresh spinnaker halyard down the mast. Slowly, we began to lower him down. When we were confident that he was no longer in danger of serious injury (i.e: only 25ft up the mast), it was time for a few “let’s leave him about there” and “help, the rope’s slipping” type gags.

Safely back in the cockpit, Colin revealed that he’d been more concerned about the shouting and bickering of his crew mates on the ascent than the swaying of the mast. “It sounded like you didn’t know what you were doing,” he said. “You were never in any danger, Colin,” said Captain K, glaring at me.

Buoyed by Colin’s mast antics, we set about deploying the crazy chute with vigour. But our enthusiasm had got the better of us. The conditions weren’t right and we abandoned the attempt in favour of the twin foresail rig which had actually served us well. One problem with the chute was that we’d risked raising it without its snuffer, as the latter’s ropes had become horribly tangled when the sail ended up in drink the other night. While we hauled the chute in without too much of a problem, we needed that snuffer working. Four long hours later (seriously) we’d finally untangled it. Sailing – you just can’t beat it.

It had been another fairly fraught morning, but our good humour soon returned and we got stuck into a ritualistic ‘blaming each other’ session, which saw the skipper take the brunt as usual. Morale restored, Captain K disappeared down the hatch with the words: “I’m going to land a monster!” Fortunately, he steered clear of both C1 and C2 (see earlier posting) and instead returned with a lure which looked like a meal in itself (I’ve caught and eaten smaller mackerel than the rubber brute he attached to the end of the line).

As usual, we’d forgotten all about the fishing rod until a sudden rapid clicking told us Captain K had a bite. A bite and a half, it seemed, as the end of the rod appeared to be bending back towards the boat. Delving deep into his pescatorial knowledge bank once again, the skipper declared: “This one’s a really big bugger!”

Calling for the net and his “special belt” (which, the more you looked at it, definitely had a screw-in attachment for a catheter), Captain K battled manfully with his aquatic foe. A frothing wake had appeared some 25 metres from our stern, causing the skipper to lose his grip (if not on the rod, then certainly on reality). “Look! It’s a bloody torpedo headed straight for us!” he yelled. “Bandits at six o’clock! I need air support!” He continued in this vein until a golden flash in the water told us that he’d almost certainly hooked a tasty dourade. Encouragingly, this one looked a little bigger than our previous catch (which had comfortably fed four anyway).

But as Captain K reeled the fish in closer and closer, big looked less and less beautiful. This was definitely a daddy dourade. I looked at the net in my hand and thought ‘good for butterflies, rubbish for Moby Dick’. The fish was three and a half feet long. Weight? “It’s definitely lighter than the skipper,” said Colin, “but not by much.”

Lacking the facilities of some other boats (freezers, walk-in dental surgeries, helipads), we decided that, after it had smiled for the cameras, this one had to be set free. The swine didn’t even thank us. A giant fish supper disappeared beneath the waves forever. “Anyone who mentions the word chicken will be confined to their bunk for the rest of the day,” warned Captain K.

Afternoon drifted into early evening and, as Colin prepared “meat curry” (that’s curry with the c-word in it) we decided to go crazy and have another crack at the Scrabble. Despite being on galley duty, Colin shot into an early lead. But he was hauled in by an increasingly competitive Captain K (who shielded his letter tiles much like a slow-witted child hides their school work from a clearly brighter pupil on the next desk). I was coming in fast on the inside rail with a series of big scores, but the skipper felt certain of victory.

Having lost to me by three points, Captain K muttered something about no one having the balls to take him on at back gammon. And so our evening drew to a close and the day of “Colin and the Mast” was at an end.

RWD

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