08 September 2016 | prickly bay, grenada, west indies
sunny and clear
The colorful frangipani worm. Next to the dive shop, there's a large frangipani tree. Earlier this year it was filled with these caterpillars. They're mostly gone now as they're busy in their cocoons changing into moths. Here's an article that describes the caterpillar, moth, and their niche in the ecosystem.
Just finished cleaning the bottom of the boat. Quite a few pissed off crabs, shrimp, and even a small lobster. The bottom cleaned up well, but the paint is getting a bit thin. Of course, if the boat is going to sit on a mooring ball there's no need to paint the bottom.
Yesterday morning the frig quit. It appears that the controller has gone bad, and I've ordered a replacement from my friend Rich at Cruise RO Water. He's been a big help. But there's a chance it's the compressor -- although I've been assured that these compressors are seldom the problem. Oscar from Onboard Refrigeration is coming out later today to check the resistance in the compressor windings which should give an indication of the status of the compressor. Meanwhile, life without refrigeration for the next week. I've got a cooler and, with a bag of ice every other day, it should keep the yogurt, half and half, and a few other things cold. Refrigeration, while not essential, certainly adds to the quality of life on the boat. Keeps life civilized rather than rustic.
I've written before about seeing only the outside when you're traveling and only seldom glimpsing the inside: life behind the wall, behind the gate, inside the door, behind the lit windows at night. When one is "home," one gets to go inside and live those lives. Here's a quote from a column, Here there be Mermaids, by Sarah Tuttle-Singer. She touches on the subject of life as an outsider:
"And there's something else you don't know about me: I AM mermaid. Actually, if you're an immigrant from one place living in another, so are you. It means we are both-things and no-thing - we can't go back to the Old Country and belong as we once did, but we will always be different in our chosen place of living. We are outsiders with shiny scales. We are both sort of familiar and sort of frightening to those around us."
Hurricanes and tropical storms are part of living in the Caribbean. My morning routine always involves coffee and reviewing several weather sites to see if there's anything brewing. Yesterday was the 12th anniversary of Hurricane Ivan's direct hit on Grenada. Thirty-four people died in Grenada and the island was devastated.
And finally, a gorgeous video shot with a drone of three whales and a power boat off New Caledonia (h/t gcaptain).
The boat's name comes from a poem by Robinson Jeffers:
Evening Ebb
The ocean has not been so quiet for a long while; five nightherons
Fly shorelong voiceless in the hush of the air
Over the calm of an ebb that almost mirrors their wings.
The sun has gone down, and the water has gone [...]
down
From the weed-clad rock, but the distant cloud-wall rises. The
ebb whispers.
Great cloud-shadows float in the opal water.
Through rifts in the screen of the world pale gold gleams, and the
evening
Star suddenly glides like a flying torch.
As if we had not been meant to see her; rehearsing behind
The screen of the world for another audience.