What Time Is The World Cup Draw Tomorrow Learn How to Replace an Intermediate Shroud at Sea

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Learn How to Replace an Intermediate Shroud at Sea

Making good time sailing in the advanced twilight of another gorgeous tropical evening, all is well with the world and she is feeling quite grand, settling in for a good nights progress towards Manihi. Skipping along a dock, her water cut effortlessly cutting through the choppy but choppy water, she knows she’s making a great image and is just slightly irritated there’s no gallery of onlookers to take in her finery. her. Her crew appreciates the show, but some recognition from others would do wonders for her self-esteem – she loves to show off as much as the other ship! Pride always comes before a fall, and with no warning and certainly no foreknowledge on her or the crew’s part, a thunderous crack shatters the calm of the evening. Her captain and sister-in-law crew run up the companionway to see Anglo’s crew looking skyward at an intermediate starboard shroud lazily swaying. It has split at the top of the stretcher, dropped in half circles, and now falls to the right.

Shocked, her crew look at each other. Having heard and read many stories of yachts losing their rigs at sea, thousands of kilometers from the nearest yard, due to failed rigging, they are speechless for a few moments. The scene before their eyes spells disaster if they cannot resolve quickly. She brings her head around through the wind and into the lobby to position. She is very sorry, but she doesn’t have time to worry about it now. Fortunately, the weather is good and her crew decide that provided they stay in a port, the port side rigging will take a very considerable strain. Equatorial darkness is now upon them, so they secure the jagged end to the lifelines on the starboard side and plan to make another shroud in the morning. The immediate crisis caused her to turn in her direction, quickly picking up speed again without any apparent problem.

‘Phew, that was complicated,’ she thinks. Maybe she will get out of this relatively easily?

Downcast and serious, she now wants to atone for her earlier vanity rush. Over an obligatory cup of nerve-soothing coffee, her distraught team discuss the problem. First, Manihi Atoll, sparsely inhabited and therefore unlikely to be useful, has been removed from the itinerary. Its course is changed to Rangiroa Atoll, which has the largest population in the Tuamotus. Fishing is the main source of income for most of these atolls and this means that boats, ropes, cables, wires will be in abundance – sailors are the same the world over! In their second cup and with their minds more settled with some reasoned thoughts, the major implications of the problem seem to diminish for the time being. Given that all things remaining equal, most of her sailing will be in port as far as Tahiti, where they know all things marine are available. They are carrying a considerable length of spectra rope and this will be converted into a replacement shroud tomorrow. This Spectra line has an even lower stretch factor than Kevlar and if it can be pulled tight enough over the spreaders and over the deck gear, it can last until they land in Papeete.

When Mother Nature is in the frame, nothing is equal. She makes her call at her own discretion. Running a printout from the weather fax shows no change in the weather pattern anywhere in the ocean area they are sailing – just steady SSE trades across this sector. However, within an hour of their misfortune, the cloud covers the night sky, blackening out the stars. The wind picks up, bringing rain with it, and our little boat is constantly slapped. It is suddenly like a storm, with winds up to thirty knots and likely to come from any direction. Thirty minutes into these conditions, the captive steel circle fights free and begins a wild arcing pattern amidships. Its main target is the main pillar and every few seconds this eleven millimeter diameter steel drill wants to penetrate the aluminum shoulder. The tang originally attached to the bottom has long since disappeared into the sea with a loud hiss, leaving an inferno of deadly steel rod bent to pierce anything in its slithering path. Aluminum, wood or skull would make no difference, as they would all accept the flying projectile at a depth dependent on its physical resistance.

Her mainsail had fallen earlier at the start of the scale attack, and she is only sailing under Genoa, so her mainsails are not under threat of damage. How do we quickly secure this falling missile and survive before it wreaks havoc? With a deck already heavy, her captain, wearing a life jacket and wrapped in a jacket, crashes on the port side. The crew, shining a weaving searchlight in the general direction through the rain, observes the wet, glistening shroud flashing back and forth through the beam—they’re thankful they’re still in the cockpit. Her captain, ducking down and dodging at the same time, tries to catch her as she passes.

By the time it reaches the end of its bow to port, it’s too high and out of reach anyway – so plan A won’t work. So far, she has hit the mast many times already, fortunately not always head on. The crew, seeing the black shape slide into the porthole, think it has given up or been hit. He rises again, this time with the loose glass in his hand, and following a few mistakes, he manages to catch the tip on the extinguished roof, whip the cord around the steel as much as possible, pull it down and fix it in one eye. port side cushion. Job done, he straightens up and walks back into the cabin, grinning from ear to ear. No doubt he thinks he’s a hero now, not realizing that it was pure shroud luck caught on the wall on his wild twisting path. However, the opportunity to eliminate any further immediate damage, she is pleased, allowing him to enjoy his thirty seconds of fame. Tomorrow is another day when the options will be considered, but for now they are waiting for comfortable beds. They are packed, leaving the remaining crew on guard to wonder what could have been.

Moving gently from her masthead, her captain surveys the scene around him. A brilliant tropical morning, fresh and crystal clear from the overnight rain, leaves a brilliant picture. Three hundred and sixty degrees of perfect, glowing blue disk surround it, forever holding it captive, the dead center. Turning his head, he marvels at her wild extension. Endless, like a woman’s love, the blue ocean seemingly stretches to infinity. The top of the canopy is faultless but for some fluffy, harmless thunder low on the horizon in the southwest quadrant. Perhaps hovering over a distant part of the earth, but being so far away, it cannot be seen above the horizon. For the rest, a vast canvas of broad shades of blue, lightly painted with shimmering sparks as the sun reflects off the tops of the waves in the sharp wind. No camera, confined as they are to a small window, will ever be able to capture the overall exhilarating feeling of seeing and being part of such a scene. Filled with the quiet joy of being alive, her captain turns his head to the task at hand. Dawning, as it did this morning, on a fine unbridled day with only a light breeze on her stern, her captain had set a trip up the mast to see what could be done with her shroud wrong. He would also inspect Miguels slide in her forest.

‘Waste of time even looking at it!’ she says, sometimes practically, ‘good or bad, what does he think he can do about it here?’

Human nature being what it is, there was no way he wasn’t going to get the extra height on the truck for an inspection. Apart from everything else, it is so high that he can go on it and he will go there! Normally at sea, a trip to the mast would only be considered in an emergency. Five degrees of movement on deck translates to a fifteen to twenty degree arc up here. It is imperative that the pole is firmly gripped between the climber’s thighs to avoid swinging and slamming back into the shoulder. These young people who race around the world climb in all weathers – no doubt the fear of youth drives them. With the passage of age, a person becomes a little more prudent.

Miguels engineering masterpiece is certainly flawless and he feels a burst of love for that mustached man and the product of his craft. Three thousand five hundred nautical miles ahead of them, struggling he will be calm. Drinking in sight, lasting as long as possible without the deck crew becoming suspicious, distracted (it’s a twenty-foot drop to the deck!) or simply leaving it up there, he hails the deck for put it on the intermediate distributor. Strapped to his belt is the spectrum line and in his bag a replacement tang. Glancing along the entire length of the rope to the deck, he is momentarily fascinated by the intricate twist it takes close to the mast to get out to sea. With its blue and white diamond stitch pattern, it looks a lot like a very long and very lazy python, snaking its way up its rear end!

‘Come on,’ she checks, ‘keep working!’

It is relatively easy to double loop the spectrum cord through the tang, tie it to the keyhole in the mast and drop the two loose ends down to deck level to attach to the deck fitting. On the way down he checks the leather distributor end covers for wear. Back on deck with some inner thigh skin burns, the results of which are deposited somewhere up and down the mast, the episode is shared over a refreshing beer – can’t rush these jobs at sea!

Thoughts of lazy days in those far-off, but ever-approaching, fantastic South Sea islands, prompt them, and her captain and Anglo crew set out to draw the shroud of the jury rig as taut as it would allow. their combined strength. With no blocking system and tool available that would work in this situation, they would have to rely on sheer physical force. This is quite significant in the Anglo crew, but the contribution of her captain will be somewhat small in comparison. Being on the right side, on the slack side, they surprise themselves at the degree of tension they are able to set on the brute. Even tension with its twin intermediate shrouds on the port side isn’t as much of an issue now as having a rig in place that will keep the rig upright without breaking or collapsing. In the event that the product of their efforts preserves this premise admirably all the way to Port Papeete. Meanwhile, the arrival of a steaming glass plate liberally coated in rapidly melting bright yellow butter is part of the operation, no doubt infusing the furry chest with enough force to defeat that pound or two. additional requested.

‘Men!’ she thinks, ‘they are so easy!’

The finished assembly, without too close inspection, looks acceptably ship-shaped. Still, strong enough for fair to moderate weather, and her crew admire their nimble work from her cockpit. Both she and her captain pray that Trades will stay until Tahiti.

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