Watching the weather forecast in my pyjamas I call to Hazel to come and look at the charts. For once, all the websites seem to agree - unexpectedly the weather window we have been waiting for seems to be creaking open. A quick discussion about whether it is feasible to leave the next morning or not and we start gathering clothes, I empty the fridge of anything that can go off in the next two weeks and we load our bikes into the back of the pickup.
Arriving in Stromness at midnight we detach our stout winter ropes from the pier and play cats cradle with the ropes for a small creel boat who ties up outside of us. Moving to the Ice Plant pier in the velvet stillness of the night, I am somewhat amused to see a starfish pinwheel off into the depths, it having been quietly minding its own business munching the fine green weed which has grown on our rudder.
Passing through the flow past the private constellations of the sleeping oil tankers, down gutter sound to Cantick head, we leave the shelter of the islands and begin to cross the Pentland Firth in the steel grey dawn light. As predicted there is a small amount of swell from the west, but nothing enough to stop us on our way. The tide slingshots us through, at one point we do 14 knots, which isn’t bad when you consider without the extra shove we would be doing around 7.5knots.
Past Duncansby head and out into the grey of the low cloud and rain, soon land is a mere imaginary glimpse of something dark on the horizon. The radar becomes our eyes, and no sooner had Hazel gone to her bunk for a sleep, than a huge block of flats seemed to appear as if from nowhere. Heading towards us I peer out through the binoculars and rain spattered windows but it fails to emerge. I make my turn to starboard and he passes around a mile to our port side, a fuzzy shape in the mist shows a container carrier, no doubt heading for the firth and the west.
The occasional Malliemak (fulmar) and Sulan Goose (gannet) soar past us, silently riding the air currents. I always feel a bit of a fraud, they would normally head for a boat shooting or hauling their nets for the scraps of fish and dead fish being spilled into the sea. The best I can offer them is a hobnob biscuit.
I spend the hours looking for whales, dolphins, hell anything that isn’t a wave, cloud or seagull. Alas nothing is seen, just lots of waves doing cetacean impressions, getting my hopes up only to dash them by dissolving to sea foam.
Soon enough land appears, our journey across the Moray Firth being totally uneventful which is probably a good thing to be honest. Lots of tea and good music keep us company. Fraserburgh appears, the long stretch of yellow beach topped with the fuzzy green dunes, the stark harbour wall and the haunting wreck on the rocks around 3 miles away. A fishing trawler still painted and totally recognisable sits high and dry on the black wave surrounded rocks. A grim reminder of what can happen to those of us who work on the sea.
Mooring up inside the harbour, a set of nostrils like a 12-bore shotgun appear close by. The seals who inhabit the harbour are to be disappointed by us in much the same way as the seabirds were. Although we might look like a fishing boat, the only fish we catch are by the rod and with a bit of luck, rather than by the net and the thousand.
We lie in the harbour over the weekend, catching up on the sleep we missed because of our journey and we take a walk up to the lighthouse museum at Kinnaird Head.
At around 9am we are moved into the ship lift cradle and it slowly lifts us out of the water. I love it when they close the road to tow the boat to the shipyard! It is such a clever and safe setup, its lovely to just sit back and let the boys do their jobs. They have even painted the loos and showers, changed the locks and we have the only key while we are here - what more could you ask for?
Monday, around 7.30am and all hell breaks loose. A fleet of power washers are lined up and we are blasted clean, the fine film of algae on the hull revealing beautifully sound paint from last year - it looks like the 5 days of power washing the old paint off in the snow paid off as the hull is in excellent shape. Tradesmen arrive to deal with so many jobs its easy to get mixed up who is doing what. Glands are a way of having something come though the hull and not leak. The propeller and the rudder are the two main types of gland. The seal is a tube filled with what could be described as greasy rope which allows the prop shaft or the rudder to turn without water getting in. Our stern glad is assessed and found to be fine, the rudder stock is re-packed, no more leaks from there. And the most scary thing starts to happen….
One of our cabins is partly dismantled, the floorboards lifted and the concrete ballast below cut through with a jack hammer. Once the loose concrete is removed by bucket chain an 8 inch hole is cut into the hull. At this point we both get the ohmygodohmygodohmygod jitters about what we are planning, and the poor workmen are harassed at every turn as to what they are doing and why. A huge steel plate is bolted to the hull and a thick steel tube is passed through and welded into place. This will house our new directional bottom profiling sounder. This is a very clever bit of kit, if you think of a submarines periscope - you can look wherever you want to above the water - well this uses sound waves to allow us to look wherever we want underwater.
The enormous pipe soon has the sounder unit bolted in place and wires are run up through the engine room into the wheelhouse. Here they are connected to the processing unit and the display screen so we can see what is going on.
While all of this is happening our paint is being sprayed, brushed and rollered on and pretty soon we are looking damn good.
At the weekend we hire a car and go to Edinburgh to see family and raid Ikea, B&Q and M&S. I’m surprised the car even moved with that much stuff packed in when we returned on Monday.
One of the most annoying problems we had last season was the paint peeling off around the sinks in the cabins below. Water lying on it simply ate through and it all seemed to just disintegrate. While in B&Q we found some beautiful mosaic tiles in pale blues and white, so bought enough of them to do the sinks and some of the shower room. I spent a very messy day grouting them all in and losing my fingerprints.
Tomorrow we go back in the water for sea trials and to make sure nothing leaks (eek!)
Below - Stromness Lifeboat down for paint
Highlights of the trip so far:
Going to a pub near Fraser burgh and finding they had two cats unconscious in front of an open fire. Good food and free cats - bargain.
Seeing places I had heard of but never seen - Montrose, Stonehaven, Glenrothes.
Being a very nervous passenger while Hazel drove around in the city - my god I will never ever be able to do that in a million years.
Discovering real scampi. Not deep fried bits of frozen lord knows what but genuine Fraserburgh prawns landed the day before less than 100 yards from the boat is and carefully dipped in batter. Beautiful and so different to what you usually get.
Eating in Pizza Hut for the first time in about 10 years.
Seeing seagulls walk on a translucent roof above you - little orange feets.
