All at Sea - 3

Well, after a series of dives using his lungs only, Hass finally managed to free the launch's rope from the screw, the Captain started the engine (and it actually went! Good old Sacha Distillery) and we were under way. Both crew members briefly boarded the launch to inspect the damage, decided that she was still seaworthy and, a mere two and a half hours late, we were once again chugging along at a stately 8 knots. 

Of course, by now our schedule for the day was completely out the window, but the Captain told me to announce that if we just cut out one of the scheduled swim-stops, we could still make it a nice day out and get back to Lindos for the designated hour when, if all went according to plan, there would be a coach waiting for us. Of course, my faith in anything about this day going to plan now was considerably weakened. As things turned out, I was right to be dubious. At least he acquiesced when I suggested we supply the guests with a free drink of their choice from the "bar", which consisted of an ice box which used to be a chest freezer in a former life, by the look of it. On boats the size and shape of this one, you have to strike a compromise. Mind you, he only agreed to this whilst registering a look of acute financial pain all over his face at the prospect.

Having skipped one scheduled bay and proceeded immediately to the location where we were going to be serving up lunch, we found ourselves dropping anchor just off Red Sand Bay at around 1.30pm. Would the lunch go according to plan? Surprisingly, it did. On this particular outing we used to have hot food supplied by a caterer, who would load a few thermal cases about two feet square aboard, which would open to reveal a racked series of "tapsia" [Greek open stainless steel baking trays] all crammed with various foodstuffs like moussaka, oven-baked potates, stifado, and a macaroni dish. There would be one case which was cool and this one would carry two or three delicious trays of salad, plus a supply of bread rolls. Got to say at this juncture, I've worked a few boats that have used this particular catering company and every time the lunch has been a great success with the guests aboard. 

This photo, and the one below, were taken on a much larger boat, but they do show the same food from the company that's run by the young lady shown above serving it up. She's called Vaso and she's a star.

On the boat trip we're concerned about with this saga, they didn't supply staff to serve up the food, but rather the crew (if you can call two blokes a crew) did it. The cabin in which the food was served up was far too small for any extra staff to be present. But you can see from these shots how good the food was.

As I mentioned before, quite a few of the guests aboard for the boat trip from hell were French, and even they raved about the lunch. 

While the guests were having a swim, which mercifully was now possible owing to the sun having been out for a while, Captain __________ and Hass struck out the vittles and, once they were ready, everyone was called to parade in an orderly fashion through the tiny wheel house to be served their lunch. By the time everyone was sat around chomping and sipping from ice cool cans it really did look as though this day had been salvaged. After all, I couldn't imagine what else could possibly go wrong now.

Having worked on bay-to-bay swim cruises for around eight years now, I consider myself well adapted to the pitches and rolls of a modestly sized vessel. I'm familiar with a lot of the equipment that the crew use as they go about their work of operating the vessel. What I don't know though, is what a lot of the contraptions that they use are called. Even if I might take a stab at it in English, I'd be hopeless and remembering what they call these gizmos in Greek. Take the oojamaflip that they use to raise and lower the anchor, for example...

Now, let me make it clear right at this juncture that the above photo was taken on an entirely different and much larger (not to say more modern and thus not so pretty) vessel. But I've stuck it in here so you can see the kind of mechanism that I'm about to describe. I suppose on really old ships they might have been called capstans, but then a capstan usually was horizontal and a few sailors would insert wooden shafts into holes around the perimeter and then walk around it in order to unwind or rewind the anchor chain. I'm sure you know about all that stuff. On most of the boats that I've worked on the anchor chain is lowered by machinery like that shown above, that is the assembly shown above just to the left of the girl taking the photograph. It's usually operated by an electric motor and controlled from the wheelhouse by a crewmember while someone else stands near the machine to watch as it lowers or lifts the anchor.

Right, now you've got that I'll proceed to the next of the day's mishaps. Once the lunch had been devoured and the French guests had all asked for red wine during the meal and a coffee to succeed it, while Mr. Smarm the Brit had of course stuck with yet more cans of lager, the crew, aided by myself, gathered up the plastic glasses and cutlery, the paper plates and leftovers from all around the deck and did a general tidy-up. At least at this point in the day most folk just want to find as large a space on deck as they can to smooth out their towel, slap on a bit more cream, get out their MP3 player, Kindle or paperback, adjust their sunglasses and get down to the serious business of chilling out while the crystal clear Aegean laps at the hull a few feet below them, glistening and twinkling like precious jewels in the bright sunlight.

Even the sound of the anchor being "weighed" as the chain clanks around that vertical metal wheel can be soporific as one acknowledges it as a harbinger of the fact that we'll soon be gliding lazily over the waves once more, perhaps watching for dolphins off the ship's bow. With nothing else to do but apply the art of indolence, moments like this can be defining of a really good holiday.

They can be, but that doesn't necessarily mean that they will. 

Having decided that it was time to weigh anchor and chug off to our final swim-stop before heading back to Lindos, Captain _________  repaired to the wheelhouse to flip the switch that operates the assembly that raises the anchor and Hass trotted off to the bow (stepping attentatively over various almost naked female bodies in the process. I'm sure I saw him dribbling) to watch the operation proceed. His job it was to raise his hand when the anchor had cleared ths surface and was hanging just below the hull, with its top section lodged into the steel runner that was fitted into the hole in the hull that's designed as a "garage" for the anchor while the ship's moving.

Now, if this operation goes to plan, the anchor chain will clank and grind, as the cogged wheel turns and the recovered chain is winched into its "parking" area below the foredeck. If it doesn't? Well, how about the whole boat begins to dip and rise rather violently at the bow as the chain decides to slip on its gear and emit awful grinding and squeeling noises, all the while sending out puffs of smoke into the air around the machinery, born of the fact that the metal's getting extremely hot and there isn't much lubricant in sight. Hass knows all about lubricant I shouldn't wonder, eh? You know, nudge nudge.

Anyway, it seemed that the machinery for raising the anchor had decided that the anchor was far too heavy and it didn't want the job of raising it. As a result, the ship's bow was making robust attempts to join the anchor at the bottom, twenty feet below, thus throwing the earnest sunbathers on the foredeck hither and thither in a mass of flailing arms and flying Kindles. It took the Captain a seemingly endless minute or so to realise that the anchor chain wasn't in fact being reeled in, but was rather complaining vociferously as it slipped its cogs on the capstan wheel. To the strong smell of electrical short-circuiting and the desperate cries of Hass to stop it, the Captain eventually threw the switch to stop the motor and emerged from the wheel house looking decided cheesed off.

Ah, right. There we are then. Some people say that things happen in threes. They were yet to be proven wrong on this occasion. So far we'd had a broken down engine, a launch that was almost smashed to a pulp against the ship's hull, and now an anchor chain that refused to be reeled in. 

What else could possibly go wrong after this? Always assuming that the crew could sort this one out and actually get us moving before it got dark. You'll just have to wait for the next episode to find out!