Andrew and Leslie’s excitement over the possibility of Thailand’s borders opening was short lived. It didn’t take long for that article to be retracted, with other administrators in Thailand saying “well, wait a minute, not quite.” And so, Thailand was again off the table and we are left to float here wondering what to do next. The big questions remain unanswered, leaving us with only the more immediate question: is it time to sail Southward within the Maldives?
I, for one, am quite excited to set sail again regardless of where we are going. But the bigger issue is the weather in Uligan. We made it through this storm with Huvahandoo’s Western coverage, but Southwest and Southeast are still open and exposed, and there is the chance for a blow in that direction. There are many reasons to argue we should stay up here, but everyone else is gone and Steel Sapphire are next to go.
“As an upside, we can have a new high pressure hose made to replace the one you crushed while fooling around with the water maker.”
Andrew scowls at me.
It's not really his fault, though he acts as though he thinks it is. The wheel that the pump belt is on came loose and was grinding against the frame of the pump. So, he had to dive into the cupboard, take everything apart, and put it back together again to make it work. Otherwise, no fresh water! He did all that just fine, but when he went to reattach the high pressure hose between the pump and the membrane that filters out the salt, he accidentally crushed the metal bits and bobs that screw everything together. It was as though Leslie and I could both see his soul let loose like an errant balloon: farting, deflating, and flying around about the cabin uncontrolled until it ran completely out of air and flopped onto the floor.
“It's okay!” Leslie says. “Don't worry, we will figure this out.”
Head in his hands, Andrew tries to think. “Yeah...hydraulics are usually pretty easy to get your hands on.” But the weight of the fact that we are floating in such a remote place without the ability to make fresh water is a catastrophic worry.
“Listen, it's not like we are out at sea alone. I'm sure Asad won’t let us die of dehydration."
Andrew shakes his head, stands up with the weight of the world on his shoulders and starts tearing apart my forward bunk. “Maybe I have a spare hose for the refrigerator compressor that will serve this purpose.”
Soon, he has a tangle of alternate hoses being attempted for install, one of which works, and gives him some reprive - though it is rated for about only 2/3s the pressure that the original hose can handle. “It will probably hold.” Andrew says, knowing it could hold for a day, a week, or the next five years. None of us knew. We tried to order and procure new hose to be brought up from Male, but explaining the need for “high pressure hose, and the fitting to attach it" proved to be more than we could do from afar. Andrew needed to speak directly with the hydraulics specialist.
And so, a trip to Male isn't the worst thing in the world.
But first! We have to go pick up my wayward BBQ.
Katherine Hepburn was snuggled into her laundry bucket peacefully snoozing when the whole crew decides we are ready to go. None of us had the heart to wake her with her nemises: the engine; and so we unroll the sails to unfurl in the sun and work our way off the anchor by sail alone. Why not? When Kitty wakes to find us underway, having not been rudly awaken, she emerges into the cockpit purring like a tractor.
She flops down, rolls on her back and snuggles her cheek on my companionway door as she enjoys the sound of bow waves rolling past our hull. We all do. The sun sparkles off the flat atoll water where we are while the veil of grey squalls slide along the horizon before us. The breeze is just off my port (left) side, and I quickly gain speed to hit six knots. Leslie beams as her curls toss in the jet trails behind my sail; Grin drags along behind surfing my bow wake right and left. We are happy. We are moving.
As we arise in Uligan, though, one of those gray squalls is brewing just before us. “Think we can get our anchor safely down before this thing blows through?” Andrew asks Leslie. We all look to the horizon and shrug. Probably. We hustle in place and drop the hook to be secured only as wind begins whipping up waves and frenzy, pushing us to a lee shore. I bounce in the waves, bow forward, imagining myself a contestant in one of those dusty rodeos we left behind our wake.
“Annnnd....this is why we left this anchorage a while ago!” Leslie mutters as she follows Andrew’s anchoring hand signals from up on the bow.
As the squall leaves, the anchorage is no more pleasant than while it stayed, Andrew wrestling with Grin’s outboard engine, who has stubbornly decided that NOW is the time to have her mounting screw stick. Soggy, wet, seasick, mechanically challenged - all of us don sour moods, except Grin, of course.
“I’m going on a rescue mission, Sonrisa! I love rescue missions! A BBQ Rescue Mission!”
“Grin, just cooperate and hold still, please?” Andrew begs.
Getting Kitty (The Motor) down onto Grin’s stern proves to be a successful, but annoying, circus trick. Grin is excitable and woggly in the waves, and he can’t focus.
Leslie stays with me while Andrew and Grin swerve through the breaking anchorage waves to pick up the BBQ.
“I hope he doesn’t flip. Do you think they’ll be successful?” I ask Leslie.
She squints in Andrew’s direction, waiting to see him re-emerge from the small boat jetty. “Well, I don’t think Grin will return empty handed, let’s just say that.”
I raise an eyebrow, but tend to agree.
Sure enough, a short while later we see Grin’s bow breaking through incoming waves throwing spray back into Andrew’s now wet, flopping hair. As they get closer, I see the BBQ safely held in Grin’s bilge. “VICTORY! Sonrisa, I am victorious!” Grin declares.
Andrew gives Leslie the side-eye as he heaves the BBQ onto my deck, rehoists Kitty (The Motor) onto her perch on my arch, then prepares Grin to drag the six miles back to our more protected anchorage.
“Good job, Grin.” Leslie says, helping Andrew tuck Grin’s towing line through the hole that leads to my stern cleat. “And how are you, Andrew?”
“I think I’ll take a rum based cocktail just as soon as we get back.”
