Porto-Vecchio, adrenaline and allergies

Porto Vecchio Bay. Sunday, August 6th. Alone on board with my two children, the gale forecast over the last few days (yellow wind/wave/submergence alert) turns into a strong gale, verging on a storm with gusts to 50 knots. Certainly not as alarming as the violent thunderstorm that ravaged Corsica last year (killing 5 and injuring 20), but I’ll leave you to judge the anxiety-inducing tenor of the events that unfolded between 6 and 10 pm.

18:00. We return to the boat in the dinghy, and I call Thomas to tell him about my abject failure to organize a canyoning trip for the following day, as well as the exorbitant prices charged on the Isle of Beauty during the summer months (bus to the beach €11 return, car rental €120/day).

18:15. As we climb aboard Obelix, some lifeguards patrolling the area in their RIB ask (shouting, because of the wind) if all is well. When I reply in the affirmative, they ask me if I can anchor further out (!), as Taimiti, the sailboat anchored to windward on our port side, has no propulsion (the folding propeller refuses to deploy fully forward) and has already dragged once. It’s less than twenty meters from Obelix and could come close to skidding over it. I explain to them that my husband (much easier to say in a stressful situation than companion, spouse or partner) is away and that I don’t intend, in this weather, to be alone again with the children.

18:30. Second visit from the lifeguards, who reiterate their concern about the risk of Taimiti skidding over us, and ask me when my husband will be back. I repeat that he won’t be back until the following evening, and that as I’ve been well anchored for several days, I prefer to stay where I am and only turn on the engine if there’s a proven problem. I shout out my phone number for them to pass on to Taimiti’s skipper so that we can communicate on the matter. They leave, telling me that if I have the slightest problem, I shouldn’t hesitate to leave my boat and board the dinghy, better to only bear material damages. I don’t know whether to laugh or cry.

18:35. Call from Michel on Taimiti, to agree on what to do if his boat drags, and to install preventive fenders, he to starboard, I to port. On starboard, we’re 40 meters from Kallisto Rose, which could become our target if we drag ourselves, but we seem to be holding on to our anchor, our curved trajectory not flinching.

18:42. Call from the rescue center thinking I’m drifting. A glance at the chart plotter confirms that Obelix is stationary, I tell them they must have the wrong boat.

18:59. Call with Thomas to explain the situation and ask his advice on whether or not to put more chain, the main concern being that we’re waltzing within ten meters of the channel buoy and would risk hitting it with more chain. We agree to maintain the status quo.

19:24. I vent some of my stress by describing the situation in a fb post, which earns me the virtual support of many friends and family.

19h31. Call with Thomas as the dinghy has flipped over with the outboard attached to it, so it’s underwater. I had a hunch I should have reeled it in, but the last comment from the lifeguards at sea and the fact that none of the other boats seemed to care that their outboard was still on their dinghy, which they had left floating behind them, had made me doubt myself. Too bad, because I’m such a proponent of revaluing intuition, despite working in the data industry!

19:33. Call from Patrick, a new salsa buddy I’ve met a few days earlier at Eden Mare and then U Stampu Di Corsica. A keen sailor too, he greeted us earlier in the evening from his motoryacht, which he was rushing back to port with his wife Cathie. He wanted to make sure that everything was going well for us, and urged us to contact him if anything happened. He has tied up at the gas station, waiting for the wind to calm down so he can maneuver safely into port.

19:37. Call with Thomas to confirm that I’ve managed to turn the dinghy over and recover the engine, and can now set about resuscitating it. He tells me to start by rinsing it thoroughly with fresh water, and the kids and I go into whale-rescue mode, placing it over a large bucket, into which it doesn’t quite fit, and armed with a basin which we take turns filling and pouring over it.

19h44. Thomas calls us back to tell us what to do next and what tools and accessories we need, i.e. screwdriver, open-end wrench and CRC/WD40.

19h52. Call with Thomas as the dinghy has just turned over again with the oars still on it. I suggest leaving it as it is, as at least it won’t move again, but Thomas raises the problem of the oars and oarlocks coming loose and suggests I put on my swimsuit to retrieve them while the dinghy is still turned over, advice he takes from Moitessier’s book. Too afraid to leave the ship with the kids on board and the other boats around that could get in the way, I hastily turn the dinghy over from the platform to retrieve the oars. Unfortunately, in the process, one of them gets loose with its oarlock and floats away.

20:03. Patrick’s call, cut short due to the oar rescue. A couple in a motorboat passes by just as I hesitate to get into the water (now in my bathing suit) to retrieve the stray oar. We wave and point at the oar floating a few metres away, but they don’t slow down and continue towards the harbour, ignoring us.

20:05. Call with Thomas for an update on the situation. With the time we’ve lost, the oar has floated a bit far and it’s unreasonable for me to consider swimming out to get it. On the other hand, on returning to the cockpit after the second dinghy turnaround, I notice that Kallisto Rose has disapeared, I take a look around and realize that they’ve dragged and are 300 meters behind, now anchored right in the navigation channel (they’re not the only ones). At least it’s one less thing for us to worry about, because if it’s our turn to hunt, we’ve got all the time in the world to react.

20:14. Call with Patrick to apologize for the brevity of our previous exchange, and to tell him about the oar rescue fiasco. He cuts me off to explain that the couple from the aforementioned motorboat were returning, both completely overwhelmed by events, the woman in tears, after dragging on their anchor.

20:23. Thomas sends me the video explaining what to do to save a drowned engine.

20:43. Patrick calls to check once again that all is well on board. He informs me that two boats have run aground on the opposite coast as no one was onboard, and I confide in him that we have heard two May Days on the radio.

20:44. Long call with Thomas to detail the outboard rescue procedure, which consists first of all in unscrewing the plastic casing, dismantling the spark plug vertically and then tilting the engine to see if any water flows. The test was inconclusive: my hand got wet, but I couldn’t tell whether the water was coming from inside the engine or from external parts that were still wet. It’s good to keep our hands and minds busy.

21:08. Another call to Thomas to take stock of the situation and spray the cylinder with CRC, live, before closing up for the night.

21:30. We finally have dinner, leftovers from the night before bravely reheated by Zephyr, who affectionately remarks that Obelix is like a mountain chalet, despite the raging elements outside, keeping us warm and sheltered.

21:43. Call from Patrick to confirm that all is well, and to note that the wind has died down (25 knots) and we can sleep soundly.

22:42. Call with Thomas to wish each other a “good” night.

With all this, I wonder if I’m developing an allergy to the wind. His breath, his moans, the way he turns the sea, everything about him irritates me. Mithridatization has failed over the last sixteen months, when I’ve been exposed to too much of it, and the cumulative effect, instead of making me numb, has led to intoxication. Too much repeated stress, with too little respite between each trying episode, which far from developing my psychological resilience, seems to have dulled it.

Fortunately, we’ve already made some great memories on the Isle of Beauty, including a long walk to the Punta di a Vacca Morta (feature pic), and the next day Azur takes matters into his own hands by cooking us pancakes and bringing them to the V-berth for breakfast in bed.

May the rest of our stay go off without a hitch, or at least almost without a hitch.