I'm on the top of the world, looking down on creation and the only explanation ....you can hum the rest.

This blog goes back in time a bit. Sometimes I have to let them bake in the oven for a while...

It’s now been almost four weeks since we first dropped anchor in St. Maarten. The original plan was to stay there for three to five days and then head east to St. Barts and then south west to St. Kitts. In an ordered world, we wouldn’t still be in St. Martin (different spelling, we’re now on the French side). In the sailing world, a plan is something you continually adjust until the result has almost no similarities with its beginning.

While in Simpson Bay, we discovered that our boat had made and offering to Poseidon in the form of our VHF antenna. We’ve had an ongoing issue with the antennae which sits precariously at the very top of the mast. The antenna was a three foot long fiberglass whip attached to a three inch long stainless steel threaded pipe. The pipe sits in a small aluminum fork bracket and then two hex nuts are screwed from the bottom to tighten the whole thing up against the bracket; all at a height of 70 feet. We were having a problem keeping the antennae tight in its bracket. Funny thing is, while making our crossing to St. Maarten, we both heard something clattering across the deck in the middle of the night. We searched for the source of the noise but couldn’t see anything amiss. It wasn’t until we were through the Dutch side drawbridge and trying to use our VHF that we discovered the gift Eyes had made to the Sea God. Apparently we could transmit just fine but were totally deaf to the marina’s responses. After a good dozen transmissions from us of, “Can you hear me now? Can you hear me now?”...which we now know they don’t like so much, they were surely saying back, “Yes, yes, for the love of Christ, yes WE CAN HEAR YOU NOW!” Eventually, for the sake of their own sanity, they sent someone out in a dingy to let us know that they we’re quite aware of our approach. I guess they don’t have the same commercials we do.

We successfully docked the boat in a slip and started our countless trips to and from Budget Marine, a boater’s version of Home Depot. The main similarity between the two is that as soon as you get there, you realize you forgot to bring whatever piece you were trying to match and as soon as you get back, you realize what you forgot to buy. Needless to say, we were not only on a first name basis with our personal customer service agent, Telluthia Cotton, (who weighed as much as a passing thought) we knew the rest of the sales staff and about a half dozen boaters who happened to be caught in the same Budget Marine forgetting cycle we were caught in.

With the new VHF antenna in hand, I strapped myself into our Boson’s chair, clipped myself to the shackle attached to the main halyard and waited for Jim to hoist me up the mast. A Boson’s chair is basically a cloth chair, kind of like a hammock you sit in. Ours was a gift from the Colorado Little’s and is a deluxe version. A deluxe Boson’s chair is one that will hold you in even if you’re turned upside down. I don’t think I’ll try that out. I’m weighing in at around 170 pounds these days so with the aid of a few pulleys and a winch, Jim started cranking me up our 70 foot mast. One of the tasks at hand was to retie the bowline knot at the top of the mast that secures the main halyard. Those of you paying attention will notices that a few sentences ago, I told you I was clipping my Boson’s chair to the shackle attached to the main halyard. Dicey. Jim cranked me up the mast, all the while I was yelling back down, “Come on you wimp, faster, faster.” In retrospect, antagonizing the person in charge of keeping you from falling 70 feet isn’t the smartest idea. My excuse is that I was giddy with the anxiety caused by attaching myself to a line that had a potentially faulty knot. A pint of sweat later, Jim had me to the top of the mast and I began my chores. I immediately secured myself with three separate lines, untied and retied the bowline knot.

We knew that the main halyard had some wear because, like the good sailors we are, we had the foresight to have our rigging inspected before we left Tortola. One of the faults the inspector, Mr. Thomas, found in the rigging while he was at the top of our mast was a worn main halyard cause by chaffing against the topping lift. He was kind enough to move the halyard in order to stop the chaffing. Interestingly enough, while he was in his own Boson’s chair, at the top of our 70 foot mast, you’d have thought he’d remove the chaffed part of the line and tie a new knot…not.

After taking care of the halyard, I installed the new VHF antennae, inspected all of the other lines and electrical equipment and then stopped working and looked at where I was. I was suspended from a 5/8th inch line 70 feet above the deck of our boat. The 360 degree view of the harbor was incredible. From that vantage point, I could appreciate not only the size of the dock in the marina around me but also the size of Simpson Bay. Half of the bay is French and the other half is Dutch. Both sides have their own drawbridge and those two entryways are the only water passage into the lagoon. The eastern shore is met by a sheer slope of the towering mountain ridge. To the south, I could clearly see the whole town and the road leading up the mountain toward Phillipsburg. My western view showed me bay outside of the Dutch drawbridge and to the north I could see the French town of Marigot. It was a beautifully humbling view that once again illustrated for me the true size of the boat we are on. We’re a pretty large boat in the marina, just a spot in the lagoon and I imagine, as you pan out, not even a speck in the ocean.