26 June 2021
After a couple of variable Seychelles days, cloudy mornings preceding afternoon sunshine interspersed with slight dashes of what really wouldn’t be considered rain, at least not where we come from, our water collection system had only nudged a hair upwards from “E” for empty. It’s dry season now, or at least moving into it. Consequently, as we’re anchored out and couldn’t just turn on a marina berth tap, we needed to make water and as the locals’ houses back onto and possibly flush into the lagoon we’re parked in, it’s best to head out into clear ocean waters to make clean, fresh H2O rather than stay in port and sieve the local water.
And so, having walked the town from left to right and top to bottom, a stunningly informative video available at the end of this woffle, we actually pulled out some sails and had a bit of a skoosh round the top of the island to the tourist beach at Beau Vallon. Not only did we need water, but I’d the vain hope that if we could get up some speed, the sponges, muscles, mushrooms and stuff growing on the hulls would magically wash off. One reef, Code 0, ten plus knots and ....... not a thing moved. Two days it’s taken so far to scrub one hull.
An hour later we anchored up in the bay, apparently, although we’ve yet to see it, right opposite the giant, red, Do Not Anchor sign.
It’s a picturesque bay sitting under the forested slopes of the surrounding peaks, with an expanse of white sand fringing the bay, as do the hotels, tourist bars and hawker stands. The tourists walk the beach and do what most folk do on a beach on holiday - fry in the tropical sun. Some swim in the water taking their lives in their hands as JetSki riders do what JetSki riders do....... all around them and us. Ahh..... the fun you could have with an appropriate weapon. And perform a public service at the same time.
Anchored off this beach, watching the holidaymakers frolic in the surf, it was on our conscience that our holding tank was out of action and perhaps a better public service than knocking off a few JetSki riders would be to fix it, (apologies if you’re reading this as you eat).
Like all boat jobs, what I had expected to be a simple fix of a jammed Y-valve, turned out to be a mammoth, two day project demanding the acquisition of a rental car, new hoses and a one inch gash in my palm where the screw driver slipped through the valve as I attempted to clear the arteries of our loo, chipping away five years of man made limestone build up. Just as well my Tetanus is up to date.
This whole blocked-hoses-in-the-bog thing is one of yachtings great mysteries. I mean, how does the digestive tract keep working for decades, stuff in, stuff out yet in a couple of years, the same process can completely block a one inch diameter hose with solid rock in a couple of years? Just another thing for me to ponder as we while away another lock down, or rather, lock out, as our plan to park the boat and fly home for a couple of months is Covid scuppered right now.
Maybe I should check the hoses on the other bog.
Or maybe not. Why do today what you can leave ‘till tomorrow.