The Chagos Diaries: #5 - Poetry in Ocean

“Water, water everywhere,
And not a drop to drink”
A famous poem brought to mind,
When our watermaker went on the blink.

“The Rime of the Ancient Mariner”,
A tale of misfortune about the killing,
Of an iconic bird, after a third,
Of a voyage that becomes quite chilling.

The poem’s Mariner, in the spur of the moment,
Shot an albatross with an arrow
And with this miscue, changed the fate of the crew,
A long way from the straight and the narrow.

A string of misfortune affected the trip,
And the mariner was blamed as the cause,
Totally becalmed, with nothing to drink,
Their journey at a permanent pause.

One by one they succumb in the blazing sun,
Until eventually all the crew perish,
Surrounded by water with nothing to drink,
Not even a rain squall to cherish.

The Mariner lives and spends the rest of his life,
Doomed to tell his tale as a warning,
Of the need to respect animals all of the time,
Whether afternoon, evening or morning.

After only two years, this sailor and his wife,
Are considered by some to be newbies,
But they’ve kept the mariner’s tale at the heart of their grail,
Until the “Attack of the Giant Boobys”.

Only two nights before the start of this tale,
The three vessels in Chagos were moored,
In the darkness of night, a flock of Boobys took flight,
Drawn in by the lights, they were lured.

Into rigging they slammed, personal safety be damned,
Disturbing our cards and our beer,
When out of the blue, in a flurry of spew,
They made their displeasure quite clear.

As their boat was attacked, Sonrisa’s skipper cracked
And on the VHF a warning was broadcast,
But despite the onslaught, and without second thought,
Andrew’s kindness was in stark contrast

To the brimstone and fire, evident on Steel Sapphire,
Where skipper Pete was quick to accost,
The angriest bird, sharp beak, vomit and turd
Swearing rudely and yelling “Get Lost”

Despite all the laughs, videos, photographs,
One thing was quite clearly forgotten,
The Ancient Mariners rhyme, meant no victimless crime,
Pete would regret the bad luck he had brought in.

As cruisers we fear, whenever land is not near,
Our ability to access fresh water,
Hydration, cleaning fishes, washing clothes and the dishes,
And taking more showers than we oughter.

Sinking and fire, falling overboard are all dire,
But our next biggest issue is thirst,
And despite massive tanks, and for rain we give thanks,
Steel Sapphire was soon to be cursed.

Whenever we’re far from marinas and cars,
Our main water source is Reverse Osmosis,
This produces the water that augments the beers,
And keeps us away from cirrhosis.

Our water-making machine, so long as it’s clean,
Can produce one hundred litres per hour,
But keeping it working, with gremlins ever lurking,
Can make even the happiest sailor dour.

Self sufficiency’s the aim, when there’s no-one to blame,
Especially when it comes to the water-maker,
Whatever we do, whether sailing or hove to,
We need to ensure we don’t break her.

So before hoisting our sails, and dodging the gales,
When we left Phuket for Sri Lanka,
We conducted repairs, and stocked up on some spares,
To avoid needing the lingua franca.

It’s now 9 months later, and we’re south of the equator,
14,000 litres have been made,
With Chagos the most remote, place we’ve been afloat,
Our machine chooses NOW to degrade?

When the water-maker’s switched on, it’s clear that it’s gone,
As water sprays everywhere inside,
Not one, two or three, but four joints broke free,
It’s no wonder that Pete and Jen cried.

Only two days have passed, since the Boobys amassed,
And Pete’s fight with one, had them both shrieking,
Can it be chance, or was it his stance,
That’s led to the water-maker leaking?

There’s no time for questions, they need some suggestions,
For how they’ll get out of this pickle,
The first thing to do, is tighten every screw,
And see if THAT slows the stream to a trickle.

When that doesn’t help, Pete whimpers and yelps,
It’s looking like more than bad luck,
With a sense of foreboding, he checks for corroding,
And lets slip the inevitable “FUCK”!

Just as predicted, the joints were afflicted,
With terrible rust and corrosion,
Unable to believe what he could perceive,
He couldn’t contain his explosion.

When the boat was ashore, just two years before,
He’d realised that one of the keys,
Was to replace all the hardware, but to his current despair,
He’d chosen to go with Chinese.

At the time it seemed plain, less money less pain,
Two years later he finally deduced,
As ever in life, you get what you pay for,
The chickens had come home to roost.

A second opinion is always worth having,
And sometimes even some beers,
As good luck would have it, the two nearby boats,
Are both skippered by engineers.

Pete takes to the dinghy, and brings all the things he
Had removed that were corroded to hell,
He shows them to both, and they let out an oath,
“There’s no way that this will end well”.

At Pete’s behest, they both do their best,
To see if they have the right spares,
But of course they do not, it’s the Law on a yacht,
The right parts are Murphy’s affairs.

Back to Steely he goes, not quite in the throes,
Of a despair so deep he might drown,
“I’m an optimist, me”, and “Fiddle de dee”,
“I wont let this bump get me down”

There are 4 metal pieces, which have suffered increases,
In their girth due to salt water intrusion,
All that is needed, he quickly conceded,
Was to file away any protrusion.

The right tools are dug out, and like a boy scout,
He gets to work with the file and the vice,
After a fair bit of time, and covered in grime
He’s ready for a throw of the dice.

The machine back together, it’s time to see whether,
His hard work has achieved its effect,
But somewhat predictably, he notes there is visibly
Still water making everything wet.

Undeterred he continues, and stretches the sinews,
Of his mind as he looks for a plan,
And then he remembers as he digs through the embers,
The words of a very wise man.

“Some advice here’s a piece of, Anaerobic Adhesive,
Is your friend when you’re making a seal”,
And lo and behold, in a drawer stained with mould,
Was a bottle of 5811 Loxeal.

It was quickly produced, and gave the necessary boost,
To achieving a watertight finish,
All that remained, check a seal was attained,
And confirm if the leak had diminished.

“Once more unto the breach”, he thought,
As the watermaker was started anew,
But this time behold, the hoses held fast,
He’d achieved a fresh water breakthrough.

The smallest of leaks continued to seep,
But the amount was barely perceptible.
With only three weeks until the Seychelles
It was certainly more than acceptable.

And as he reflected on a job near perfected,
There were two lessons that came quick to mind,
The first was quite clear, the Ancient Mariner’s words from yesteryear,
To an animal always be kind.

The second was deeper, but also a keeper
And came as a total surprise,
To have a major problem and fix it,
Turns out is a blessing disguised.

For only when you’ve lost something and regained it,
Can you really begin to understand,
Not just what you had in the first place,
But that you always had the answer to hand.