SailTales - Dumb & Dumber go foreign

Dumb & Dumber go foreign, or just how bad can a Volvo Agent be?

Since the heroes of the following know where I live it may be necessary to join a witness protection scheme after this.

More of the chaos at the Volvo agent later.

I am constantly reminded in sailing, as in life, we have a plan so that events can force us to change it. But this was a simple plan and seemed flawless. Spend a large part of September off cruising from our present base in the Netherlands. The goal was the Isles of Scilly taking in the south western coast of the UK on the way.

HID got wind of the plan and expressed reservations and reminded me that she'd booked holiday for the first week of my dream cruise.

Some work by the arbitration service of the UN and my plan was lost to a compromise. But I was allowed to sneak back into the house at night.

We would spend one of my planned weeks in the UK visiting family & friends and understanding why we live abroad. And I could go sailing for the last week of the month wherever I wanted.

So, my stalwart crew was decimated and all the fancy crew changes in Falmouth and Dover were thrown out of the window.

It came down to me and 2 others, J & E. Sadly they rapidly gained the title of Dumb & Dumber. They just spent the whole week doing their best to live up to this unfortunate title. They also deployed a large part of their intellectual energy to coming up with catchy titles for others amongst my long suffering crews. If you can recognise yourself amongst Hinge & Bracket or Hansel & Gretel, then take it up with them!

Since they both had lots of time and not too much money they chose to travel to meet the boat with Eurolines. This is a much maligned but generally efficient coach service that spreads students, refugees and the impoverished across the European motorway network in coach sized packages for moderate fees. They post departure and arrival times, adhere to the former with a Germanic thoroughness and treat the later with a Mediterranean abandon.

Timetables meant that J should arrive at 17:00 and E might arrive at 22:00 on Friday evening. Easy, pick up J go home, have a meal, and kick our heels and then go and collect E. Having collected E, head off for the boat and get installed. Arrive about 00:00; get our heads down for an 06:00 rise & shine with 08:00 set for departure.

Somewhere in the Amazonian basin a parrot farted and a chain of events was launched that messed up my weekend. The first manifestation of a world wide conspiracy against me was a fire in the Channel Tunnel. This resulted in all the coaches being diverted to the ferry and incurring extended delays.
J's E.T.A. moved out to about 20:00 and E vanished completely - well he'd switched his phone off!

Belatedly I collect J and head home for a meal and sit around waiting for E to arrive.

Eventually he arrives, is collected from the station and we arrive at the boat and get to bed at about 03:30. Everyone is knackered and the 06:00 call has no effect, so we miss the tide.

But not all it lost the wind has come around to the N and looks like staying there. So we decide to head out off the Westerschelte and head down the Channel Coast, on the foreign, Dutch, Belgian, French side.

Day 1 - Saturday 20/09 Terneuzen to Zeebrugge
An easy start off down the Schelte for Zeebrugge. Lots of boats out enjoying the sunshine and we bumble through the regatta fleet heading for the weekend at Vlissingen [Flushing]
In wonderful sunshine and a gentle 3 we broad reach and run our way down to Zeebrugge. What a huge harbour, you need waypoints to find your way across it.
Arriving at dusk we make our way across the harbour and we drive around for a bit having the usual discussions. This revolves around what possible relevance the map in the almanac has to where we are. The discussion touches on significant questions about the meaning of life - why are we here and branches into the metaphysical realm with questions like, are we where we think we are - is this really Zeebrugge? And why doesn't the HM answer the call on 16?

Eventually with consummate skill we arrive in the old Visserhaven, now a suitably gentrified marina under the management of the Royal Belgian Sailing Club. Experience leads us to believe that every Yacht Club in Belgium includes Royal in its title somewhere. Frequently harbours boast two Royal Yacht Clubs - Oostende is an example of this.

Day 2 - Sunday 21/09 Zeebrugge to Oostende
Another late start occasioned by the impressive capacity of my crew for sleep. They are addicted to it and there is no such thing as too much sleep for these two!

Have a wonderful sunny Sunday cruise with the Gennaker out.
It is worth noting the need for some care when approaching Oostende from the East - best not to cut the corner entering the harbour. The cardinal buoy is there for a very good reason, as we observed when we left at low tide

We arrive in Oostende in the early afternoon, tactically just ahead of the local boats returning from a sail and those who have taken advantage of the weather forecast to venture from further afield.
All this aimed at getting us a good berth for the night. Also it should help the crew get us onto the pontoon with the minimum of fuss, and spectators.

We are denied, the Royal North Sea Yacht Club has no space for boats less than 50 feet and any mooring would be at the whim of every passing ferry or speed boat.

The Mercator, through a lock and in the centre of town is our next call. Eventually the lock master or the marina office answers the phone - they seem to be the same person.
In that universe that exists between two languages, the lockkeepers English and the captains Dutch we learn that they cannot help us. The lock is too full of water, there is 2 hours to go before HW and the lock keeper does not expect to be able to open the gates for 2 hours after that!
Other boats are arriving and the radio gets really busy with the lock keeper getting rattled over having to repeat the details of the situation. Also there are more and more boats circling in a faintly predatory way waiting for the lock to open. An ‘incident' is only a moment away - especially since there are French boats here!

The prospect of 4 hours of this marine dodgems is too much to face and we leave to find an alternative.

The Royal Yacht Club of Oostende seems worth a try - a call on the mobile to the marina gives the impression there is space. We motor to the end of the harbour to the RYCO and find a mooring. A wonderful place, boasting just the right amount of dereliction to suit our simple needs. The crew are suddenly revived by our attachment to dry land, well the pontoon anyway. A discrete rush finds one crew member quickly on the pontoon for a smoke and we are all off to the bar and to find the HM. The bar has a pleasant lady serving beer on a sunny terrace in return for money and that's all we might reasonably ask. Sadly we had not grasped the full import of the HM instructions - he arrives and asks us to relocate to another pontoon. The owner of our present berth is expected to return this evening.

We wander into to town and savour the delights of Oostende. Has an odd charm that it's difficult to put a finger on. Also has an odd smell occasioned by the innumerable stalls selling various parts of fish and sea creatures in ready to eat packages.

We amble along the harbour side and remark that it was only then that the lock to the Mercator was opening - we feel slightly pleased that for once we seem to have made the right choice.

We take the tram back and discover that the stop is only about 150 yards from the entrance to the marina

During the trip one of the crew members was paranoid about water in the bilges. His constant checking revealed that water was getting into the bilges, in small quantities, from somewhere. Applying the time honoured tests we determined that it was salt water. This left us with the choice of a dicky sea cock somewhere or that nudge off the French Coast in the summer had been more than we thought it was. Anyway as a diligent captain I chose to ignore it, well to monitor the situation.

Day 3 - Monday 22/09 - Oostende to Dunkerque
This was a great sail; we were into our third country on this trip already. The plan was to get down to Dunkerque and take Tuesday as a rest day and then plan our return to the Netherlands

Day 4 - Tuesday 23/09 - Dunkerque - rest day
If sleeping was an Olympic sport I have just sailed with two contenders for the national team - they have serious medal winning form. So eventually they rose from their slumbers and after a trip to the facilities we got around to brunch.

We also had a bit of a clear up, this involved emptying Gwylan's cavernous cockpit locker. This revealed water on the floor of the locker. I had previously passed this off as water that had got in there when stowing or retrieving mooring lines and things. With the water in the bilges this gave cause for concern.

Removing all the stuff in the locker then gave access to the inspection hatch for the starboard side of the engine. Armed with a head lamp and bent double a brief inspection revealed that at least one seal on the heat exchanger was leaking. From the rust and rubbish around it was clear that it had been going on for some time. Skinned knuckles and half an hour of expletives deleted and spanners lost into the bilges and the heat exchanger is in pieces on the deck and the problems clear.
All the seals were shot, the heat exchanger was full of hard water deposits and the seals and pipes were in less than excellent condition.

Also the servicing that was paid for in the UK had not been done - I'll be taking that up personally with a certain gentleman in Portishead in the near future!

What was clear was that we needed new seals and the pipe from the heat exchanger that took salt water and injected it into the exhaust needed replacing.

No problem, pop to the nearest Volvo agent and pick up the bits. Place the size of Dunkerque may even have a choice. Now we come up against a little understood and less appreciated continental custom - the two hour lunch. The marina office, where I can get any information on local agents is closed until 14:00.
We dine, it being several minutes since we had brunch, and wait for the office to open. The HM obliges with the details of the agent and easy to follow directions. With the bits in a carrier bag we set off for the agent.
Very impressive hangar like structure with an enticing sales counter. All very neat, with rows of filters, belts, oil and sundry other spares. The display includes a selection of new engines still with that characteristic Volvo coloured paint and not a hint of rust. The one that looked like a replacement for our 2003 bore a price tag of €6,5000 [£5,200] plus tax and installation. Better be able to fix mine then!

Things start to go down hill, the place has the air of a very up market funeral directors, cool, quiet, composed. No one has ever run or perspired for any reason in this place. They must be on valium, lots of it or something similar. It's so quiet; a youth behind 2 computer screens eventually prises himself away from something more important to help us. I produce my bits from the carrier bag and my heart begins to sink. He looks at them and turns to one of his screens and starts navigating through a Volvo parts book.
We agree that it's a 2003 and I offer him the serial number from the plate on the engine. We move into a kind of ‘Little France' sketch with the computer telling the youth and the youth telling me that this is not the serial number.
Eventually I believe that we have found the part numbers, but they are not stock items but he has ordered them. It was too late for them to be delivered tomorrow but they will be here on Thursday. I leave a deposit and my mobile phone number with them.

In blissful ignorance I leave and join the intrepid crew on their visit to the ‘Operation Dynamo' museum. It's charmingly hosted, well heated and the seats in the cinema are most comfortable. Shame it doesn't sell beer actually. A museum to the best cock up in history, best €3, 70 you can spend - I got in for nothing but that's another story.

Day 5 - Wednesday 24/09 Dunkerque
Anticipating the arrival of the spares on Thursday morning we resign ourselves to another day in Dunkerque. Not an unpleasant prospect. The boys throw themselves into their Olympic training and I hope that they will not peak before 2012.
The weather is less pleasant but we take in the cathedral and incorporate an in depth study of non alcohol beers available in the French catering sector.

Day 6 - Thursday 25/09 & Day 7 - Friday 26/09
We hang around a bit tense waiting for the phone call that the spares have arrived and we can walk over to the agent and pick them up. Eventually I weaken and phone them.
It emerges that there is a problem and they cannot identify the spares that I needed. I move into Victor Meldrew mode and get excited on the phone and ask what they imagine I have been doing and why didn't they phone me.
They maintain that they could not get through to me. I say that I'm going to walk straight over there and get this sorted. ‘But we will be closed for lunch. Come after 2 o'clock'
At this point my French failed me and I just lacked the vocabulary to express my feelings. I fume and shout at the crew until 2 o'clock and set off for the agent.

My file is now being dealt with by M, Jobsworthe. My lads have no chance in the Olympics if this guy is in the French Team. God he looks more asleep than my two when he is awake. He can walk and talk in his sleep.
A virtuoso performance in a double act with the computer reveals a set of part numbers for my engine. What is different from Tuesday is not at all clear to me.

Triumphantly he stirs from his slumbers and announces the parts will be here on Friday! I go ballistic and ask what they think I am going to do. I have a crew booked to travel from Brussels at 07:00 on Saturday morning and we need 24 hours to get the boat back there. ‘You will ‘ave to wait monsieur'

At this point another poor soul has arrived in search of parts and witnesses the increasing temperature and deteriorating nature of this exchange.
My last hope is to get them to make a replacement for the small clip which held 2 of the pipes in place . This is to replace the previous one now a pile of rust dust swept off the cockpit floor. This clip is basically a 2” long piece of steel strip with a hole drilled in the middle. I'd even settle for 5 cms. if that would make the job easier.
M. Jobsworthe twitches in his sleep and is affronted that I could even suggest that any of his skilled artisans could possibly sink so low as to do that. I decide that ice skating will become a sport in hell before I buy anything from this man.

I suggest in my worst French that he would be hard pushed to run a brothel, and I know how he got the blisters on his hands because he is a wanker. The offensive line up in my French vocabulary is somewhat limited by the people I have worked with in the past.

I pay for the motley collection of washers that have arrived and leave wishing him sweet dreams. Because that's where he has the best chance of meeting me as a customer ever again. In my heart I hope it will be a nightmare.

The other customer gives a Gallic shrug and a wincing smiles as I leave...

Back to the boat and the crew sense my mood and put the kettle on. All credit to them, in my absence they have given the decks a good scrubbing and she does look rather better.
We go into creative mode and search the bits box for suitable bits to effect a jury rig. We decide that if we can get the thing back together, run up the engine and get things warmed up and not leaking then we will leave on the evening tide.

An hour later, liberal applications of instant gasket material and problems with one joint, we are there. It's all together, the heat exchanger is doing a great job, water is passing out of the exhaust and the ‘tell tale' is doing fine.

We have a meal and decide to get a couple of hours kip and leave at 21:30.
So, 21:00 finds us thermalled up and ready to go. We know the night will be cold, but do not expect the wind.
We set off and leave the harbour and into a rapidly strengthening 4 and heading for 5 with spray everywhere. It's coming straight onto the nose. We put the main up and get the Genoa out and sail into an increasingly lumpy sea. I put on a brave face and tell the crew it will be better when we get further off the coast - they are really lovely and give the impression of believing me.
We choose to take a course out into the channel and deeper water to have a safer course during the night and also to be able to use the wind and not stress the engine.

My heart sinks even further when I see the indicator lights on the engine control panel are not on. I try and switch them on using the button switch.
No response. But the engine is running, what about the alternator? My mind races, had I moved any wires whilst working on the heat exchanger? Do I have to get all the stuff out of the locker and get in there and try and fix whatever I broke? In this sea? After about 30 seconds I decide I cannot risk blowing the alternator or the engine battery and stop the engine.

We are on a really rotten tack and the wind has come up even more, making 30 knots on the wind indicator - so much for the 3 - 4 forecast. What do they do in the Met Office with all those computers?

Just get the boat sailing and then work through a kind of check list for the engine before trying to check the wiring on this bucking bronco.

Right engine is not running, switch on the power at the controls and try the starter - nothing. Total silence, my heart is going lower still and the waves are getting larger. The prospect of a night without an engine and sailing in these deteriorating conditions does not fill me with enthusiasm. Alternatives are to go back to Dunkerque and try to pick up a pontoon in the dark, under sail with an inexperienced crew and I'm not that good either. Oh shit!

Finally go below to see what the ‘Adverc' is saying. That tells me that the battery is fine and full of charge. By chance I brush my hand over the front of the panel below the nav station seat - the engine battery switch is in the off position!
I suspect Dumber, who has a tendency to fiddle - lost all the waypoints the other day. But I love him, he's my brother

Quickly switch it to on and pop back to the cockpit and try the engine. Bang it fires up immediately and the control panel lights are on again.
Panic over.

Now settle to getting the boat on a reasonable course for home. Which is? North East or near enough. And the wind is coming from? The North East of course.

We spend most of the night motor sailing up the French and Belgian Coast into a brisk F4. Amongst the most unpleasant nights of my sailing career are unravelling around me.
Round midnight Dumb succumbs to the unpleasant movement of the boat and loses his tea.

About 03:00 I'm starting to find it difficult to stay awake. Dumber has already gone below and resumed his training. Hopefully he does not touch anything whilst he is there.

Dumb takes the helm and has instructions on the course to follow, we are now driving into the tide and not making too much progress. I grab half an hour sleep in the cockpit.

Then those awful hours of a night passage when no progress seems to be made and the tide is against every plan you may have. We do not want to strain the engine, or push our luck on the cobbled together seals so battle on slowly.

Eventually the dawn arrives and things get better. Dumber is unscathed by the events of the evening and takes on getting tea on. Dumb looks brighter but is vague about his condition. There is tea, and then there must be hope.

Progress has improved and we are picking our way amongst boats heading for Zeebrugge and Antwerp.

It seems to take forever to reach Breskens and start up the Schelte. But we do get there and carefully take the inside channel, sailing towards Terneuzen and home. Even in my short experience of this area I have learned that the buoys are very near the ‘dry bits' on this corner.

As we sail out of the inside channel and rejoin the main shipping lane a bizarre sight greets us. There on the point of the sand bar is not one boat but two both firmly aground. In the main channel there is a tug, circling like a vulture that has spotted a bit of prey. We sail past and the occupants of both boats wave in a friendly sort of way. I try very hard to imagine what happened in their Amazonian jungle to create the chain of events that managed to put them both onto the sandbank within 20 metres of each other. Then we notice that they are in fact joined by a tow rope and our imaginations go into overload.

A last bit of sailing as the sun sets behind us and illuminates the Dow Chemical works in a rosy beauty. So nearly 24 hours after we set off we are in our home mooring. We are all very tired, but have learned a lot and hopefully our skills will be the better for the experience.

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