Diary of a Deckhand

I sometimes think I am a cynical bugger, it feels like it would take an emotional juggernaut to make me feel moved by stuff I find on the internet.  Sanitised and detached from the world, we seem to read daily of events which have simply destroyed peoples lives.  But because it is words on a computer screen, somehow it is not real.  Unless it is on our doorstep, we are seldom moved to anything other than looking for the button to click for the next news story. 

The other day I found a site which moved me, it was quite by accident.  Hosting some pictures on photobucket for putting on here, I happened upon a category called “Post Secret”.  Viewing the images which had been hosted under this title, I found some of the most beautiful sayings and words I had ever found.  A quick google and i found the answers I was looking for. 

http://postsecret.blogspot.com/

It was set up as a project where people could jot down on a postcard a secret they had never told anyone.  The release from telling someone must do some good, and in the world today, any good is worth doing.

Here are my favourites from the site:

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The weather seems to have run out of fury in the past few days, the yellowed blades of grass barely twitch in the still air.  Christmas seems to make people suddenly want to get out and see the world, but my favourite time is probably Christmas morning, not for the presents or the people or anything like that, but for the silence it brings.  Pretty much everyone is with the people they care about, spending time where their heart lies.  The roads are quiet, the usual distant noise of a tractor labouring to move straw or silage cannot be heard.  Only the sheep and the birds pepper the stillness.

So today we went for a walk to the beach on Eastside.  Its a lovely beach, with coarse sand made from a billion smashed seashells.  Piles of kelp lie, their fronds intertwined making great rafts at the high water mark.  The dogs have a riot, running into the sea, chasing eachother, running amoc with four mad collies who have boundless energy. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Hoooooo what a blowy few days we have just had.  I was tempted to feed the chickens some lead shot to keep them from blowing away.

Anyhoo, we had to go to South Ronaldsay over the Churchill Barriers and a wave broke over the car!  I had taken my camera along as I knew it would be a little bit damp going over, but I never quite expected this!

Barriers video

 

I know its not quite over yet, but this is my review of 2008.

 

Major undertakings

Back at the start of the year we decided in our winter caused madness to extend the galley on the boat.  Stepping back from what was a very nice diving platform and looking at what we could improve, the galley was the obvious choice. 

It was basically a box on the back of the boat, two long thin benches down each side, with a very small food prep area.  The steam from the water boiler would make its way sneakily into the wheelhouse, so half the time Hazel was surrounded by her own personal fog cloud which clung to the windows and drove her that little bit madder. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 Starting in January, we quickly reached the point of no return, sparks flying into the frigid air as the angle grinder cut through the steel.  Slowly, oh so slowly, the galley moved to where we wanted it.  People called round, walked its length and we were told how if it were them, how different it would be done.  Nothing is ever better or worse, only different.  Well, for me, its different in a good way. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

As the start of the diving season crept closer like the rising tide, the pace of work quickened, suddenly the concrete floor was laid and we had to leave to go to London to the dive show to promote our boat to the thousands of divers who travelled to LIDS to exercise their credit cards.  Four days, one very bemused shop assistant in Ikea (why do you want 12 matresses?)  and many hundreds of miles, we arrive back to Orkney only to have to leave almost immediately to travel to Fraserburgh for what turned into a two week stretch of the Valkyrie high and dry.

 

 

 

 

 

 

The weather saved up some extra winter for us in those two weeks, throwing hail, wind, snow and sleet, mainly at me as I power washed the hull back to wood, removing years of flaking paint.  I felt like I was some kind of archaeologist, uncovering her past lives.  Up on the bow, layers of paint fluttered to the ground to reveal her fishing number – FR 399 and a flag proudly fluttering in a long forgotten breeze.  All the paint removed we had a blank canvas to repaint with primer, undercoat and top coat.

 

 

 

From metal to wood

Soon enough we were back in the water and on our way back to Orkney to complete our marathon of work on the galley.  The construction had changed from welding and grinding to hammering and sawing.  Sawdust replaced the rust gathering in the treads of our shoes and yet we still collapsed into our beds at night exhausted just not quite as dirty. 

Slowly, the galley was boarded out by tongue and groove, lockers grew from the walls and the partition wall separated the galley from the small room next door.  A joiner put up the sections of roof, made some of the cabinets and hung the door.  The huge table finally graced the back of the galley and finally we could splash up the lime wash and varnish to every surface.  The final thing was the lino to cover the floor and we were done.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Of course the other 101 jobs had to be done too, everywhere needed painting, things needed fixing, the decks needed paint and the joke was that we would be done 10 minutes before the first diver arrived.  It was actually 5 minutes before when I picked up the few off cuts of lino and thrust them into a black bin bag. 

The season got off to a steady start, with us ploughing back and forwards up and down Scapa Flow for several months.  The weather was bad, the weather was good, the vis was bad, the vis was good.  It all seemed to change so rapidly. 

Shetland

Soon the time came for us to go to Shetland, a place I have a great affinity for.  Our journey to Shetland was eventful to say the least, with the Coastguard having to attend us when we damaged our rudder stock and one of our bilge pumps failed, leaving us with only two.  I don’t think I have sworn quite so much and really really meant it before.  Great friends were made in our time up in the far north and I am so looking forward to going back.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Diving

Each year we seem to have lots of small incidents involving divers, the vast majority are scary for the person involved, and even then only really bad for a few minutes or so.  However, there is usually one which tops this, and this year was no different.  One serious incident where a diver very nearly died once again told us vital lessons in how we deal with these things.  It also puts you in touch with your own mortality, and how fragile that grip on life can be.  Diving no matter how you dress it up, is a dangerous sport and we are not supposed to be down there. 

 

 

 My diving this year has been characterised by one thing – my camera.  Some people dive and just happen to take a camera, I just happen to dive and take a camera.  I was incredibly lucky to get some accessories for my beloved Olympus – a strobe and a wide angle lens.   

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Over the summer I practiced my technique with both of them and got some pictures I am actually pleased with.  Dives were always too few and too far between until a friendship with Bob who runs the Halton allowed us to dive more than we had managed in months.  I am very grateful to Bob for letting us come out with him, and hope we can repay the favour. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The home run

The end of the season seemed to last forever and I could feel the exhaustion building up.  I seem to have made a rod for my own back, by discovering I can cook.  Nothing fancy of course, just huge home cooked meals – just the thing when you are cold and tired.  Things like lasagne, shepherds pie, Thai green curry, and steak in ale seem to be firm favourites.  Puddings like trifle, baked peaches, cheesecake and bread and butter pudding also disappear scarily fast.  I have no idea where this ability for feeding people came from.  Of course when I had just started out it was a very steep learning curve and even after all these meals things sometimes go oh so wrong (like trifle refusing to set, burning things and forgetting to buy a vital ingredient!) but I must be doing something right, as last year we had around 6 weeks of evening meals to do, this year all but two groups wanted evening meals.  Maybe during my years of living at home with my mum things seeped into my brain by osmosis… I don’t know, but I am glad for it now.

The last week of the season was a cold one but with excellent visibility in the chilly water.  Snow the week before set the tone, and soon we tied the boat up for the winter, stout ropes holding her firm to the quayside.

 

 

2009

Many projects are on the cards over the winter.  One of the major downsides to our boat – the dive deck, will be getting improved, plus some upgrades of our on board electronics.  My cabin will be getting altered as at the moment it is a little rough and ready. 

 

This has been a good year.  Many more things have gone wrong than we would have liked, but far fewer have gone wrong than we feared.  The weather had been both stunningly kind and vicious all in the same breath.  The divers have made me feel on top of the world and tried my patience, sometimes from the same person all in one day! 

 

I am looking forward to 2009, other than on the last day of next year I am 30 years old.  30!  That’s OLD!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Its getting towards that time of year again. Although it seems to be happening sooner and sooner each year. Christmas being inflated to a two month long celebration of something so many people simply do not believe. Its rather sad that the Christmas decorations, advent calendars and cards seem to appear in our shops before even Halloween has past, all to make an extra pound or two.

As an atheist I sometimes wonder quite why we do some of the things we do. Why do I send cards? Why do I give presents? Well to me, Christmas is my time to say thanks to everyone who is around me for being there, a time for me to show them that I think about them and appreciate them. For a good few years I have had rather less money than I would like to have (don’t we all). The fact that I cannot splash out on something big and impressive to give to people really doesn’t bother me a huge amount but in the same breath it does. Why does Christmas have to become a competitive thing? How much we spend on little Joe for him to discard the present and play with the box?
Marketing no longer presents solutions to problems, but creates problems that were never there in the first place and then conveniently offers a solution for only £199 with free batteries and hey, if you can’t afford it just now you can have it on credit until you really cannot afford it.

We watch the adverts with beautiful people in beautiful houses with perfect children as the snow flutters down outside and the log fire crackles and know fine well we will be sat on the sofa on a drizzly mild December 25th, pine needles slowly falling to the carpet where they will defy the dyson only to embed themselves in the unwary foot until Easter. We somehow get brainwashed into wanting that perfect Christmas and by spending the GDP of a small country we might get there. Or not. I want socks for Christmas, something on that boat eats them, or rather one of a pair of them. If we are ever in real trouble you could follow the slick of lost socks to the stricken boat. Whatever it was, it was on the Stormdrift too as the same bilge monster lived there too, munching happily on my socks.

When I used to live in Newcastle I would always note the number of people on the shopping streets would easily double on the first days of December. It was as if before December actually arrived, people couldn’t count up the days until the fateful day. As soon as it was OH MY GAWD, ITS ONLY 24 DAYS NOW! The number of people would increase hugely, the silly season would be truly upon us.

Anyone foolish enough to leave a big shop until a couple of days before Christmas had better get a cattle prod, or possibly a cough that sounds like it may be fatal. One good session hacking into a hankie while turning a fetching shade of blue should get you solo access to the frozen food aisle. People grab a trolley and pile enough food to feed their families for weeks, because OH NOOOO the supermarket might just be shut for TWO WHOLE DAYS. Life is going to end. We might run out of….well….something so I will buy 10 times more than I would use in a week to last two days. Ho hum.

And after Christmas is done, we will all go out to celebrate in the halls of the Shopping Centre, to worship at the tills and clamour with our credit cards because we might have saved ourselves a little bit of money on a jumper we will never wear, or a pair of jeans that are too long but were 50% off!

Socks. That’s what I want. Socks.

I didn’t want my first post on this new blogging site to be a sad one, but now I think I can finally post this. 

The fat rain drops splatted against the windscreen as we drove, running in temporary rivers beside the tarmac.  Grass bent over in the deluge, sheep huddle next to stone walls, clouds hung low and heavy over the small green isles.  Chatting, listening to the radio was suddenly cut as we passed a farm and some houses, a small black and white cat lay beside the road, clearly dead.  Instantly I knew, deep down, it was Sam.  I don’t know how, passing at 60mph I could hardly have seen anything distinctive.  But I knew. 
Later we returned, and as the rain dripped from my hair, I picked up the tiny shattered body and carried him to the car.  It took some time to identify him, but his distinctive nose and small splash of white up between his eyes confirmed the worst.  Sam too had been taken from me.

Sam disappeared over two months ago and we searched for him.  Walking in the fields calling his name, waiting to see the tail stretched so high in the air as he bounced over for a cuddle.  But he never came.  Slowly I wrote him off as being dead, or missing in action and when Giles died from eating rat poison from source unknown, it sealed it in my mind.  Deep down, I secretly hoped he had found somewhere new to live, a warm fire to stretch out in front of and plenty of cuddles.  I don’t know if he did, and probably never will.  We searched in the wrong direction, going east rather than west.  It hurts to know that you can see the farm where he was found from the kitchen window.  He was so close.

A baby Sam

 

 A grown up Sammy

 

It took me a while to work out why I had so few photos of Sam.  It was because he was always at my feet, wanting a cuddle and a fuss.

He will be buried next to his brother, Giles, who died about 3 weeks ago from being poisoned.  I am glad we had the joy of three years of their lives.

Just a quick go at putting images into the blog.  Hope this works

Woooo yeah :o) Island Blogging lives on! 

Massive thanks to Jay for setting this up for us.  I never realised how much I enjoyed blogging my little life in IB until I could no longer do it.  Hopefully we will continue to grow and flourish, a new community springing from the ashes of the old. 

Well done than man.  Big favour in the bank for you if you ever need it. :o)