October 31, 2009 - Departure from Madagascar

Our first morning in Baly Bay we were lingering over breakfast and coffee when I asked Sten if there was anything he needed to do before we set off on the run to South Africa. I volunteered that I thought I should cook some passage food and restitch the latest seam failure in the dodger. Sten was like, "Oh, I'm sure there are some things I should do."

After nearly three years of passagemaking, our predeparture preparations are a now familiar drill for us and those of you following along at home. It is so familiar that we've become a bit blase. However, this leg has the potential for some rough stuff (wind against the current, cold fronts, and whatnot), so blase is not a good idea in this instance. So we broke out pen and paper and soon had a long to do list. We've spent the past four days checking things off that list.

Before we set off on a long passage Sten checks fuel, oil and water levels, changes filters and fixes any nagging or new problems. Along the way, he usually makes a few improvements and modifications. I prepare enough meals to get us through at least three days without having to cook underway. We both analyze GRIB files and any other weather information we can get our hands on, looking for the best window. And we both work on shifting Mata'irea's stores from the loose stowage we usually live with to a more secure arrangement (in other words, we put away our crap).

Choosing a date and time to depart Madagascar has proved to be trickier than in most places. Once we leave Baly Bay, we still have fifty-some miles to go before we clear the western cape and can start heading south. There is a strong current wrapping around the cape; so, we need to time our departure to keep us away from the cape when the onshore breeze is at full force. Looking at the GRIB files, we've decided that the best time of day to depart Baly Bay for the run to the cape is actually around 9pm at night. So we'll be leaving tonight after dinner. With any luck, by the morning after next we'll be anchored up at Juan de Nova, an atoll in the middle of the Mozambique Channel. We plan to spend a day there before pushing west to try to pick up the Northerly winds that should be developing on the backside of the Indian Ocean High. If the weather forecasts hold true, we should be able to ride those Northerlies right down the Channel to Richard's Bay, South Africa. That's the plan. Stay tuned to see how well it all works out.

October 27, 2009 - Baly Bay, Madagascar

We were sad to leave Moramba Bay, as there was still so much to explore. However, the heat and murky water, combined with a need to get ourselves to a good jumping off spot for South Africa, drove us to continue further down the coast. That first day out of Moramba we had an exhilarating sail. Along the way Sten caught a big Talang Queenfish, also known as a Giant Leatherskin, which is certainly an unappetizing name for what turned out to be one of the best tasting fish we have caught on this trip.

As the strong offshore winds continued unabated, we would have had to anchor deep inside a bay to get decent protection. Instead, we chose to anchor along the coast, thereby saving ourselves the miles getting in and out of a deep bay. Around lunch time we were passing by a beautiful beach and a series of large homes when we decided to drop anchor and see how comfortable it would be. It turns out that the buildings on the hillside above us were affiliated with the Lodge des Terres Blances, one of Madagascar's swanky fly-in resorts. Apparently they don't often get yachts out front as not one, but two powerboats came out from the lodge to ask if we were okay. With a comfortable spot to anchor, a long, empty beach to walk, and clear water to swim in, we were more than okay.

The onshore breeze never really developed that afternoon. There was a brief period just before sunset when the offshore was pretty weak. We rolled for a bit in the light swell until the offshore filled back in smoothing things out for a great night of sleeping.

The second day of the run southwest from Moramba provided us with some spectacular scenery. We cruised down the coast, along 50 miles of uninterrupted cloud white beach in milky turquoise water. The landscape behind the beach alternated between arid scrub and fantastic red, pink, and blush cliffs, which had eroded to expose pyramids of harder stone that looked like they could have been the set of an unreleased Indian Jones movie (working title: Raiders of The Lost Makeup Kit). Keeping us company were a fleet of local working boats that have huge sails and long narrow hulls. We struggled to keep up with them as we all flew downwind at 8+ knots, but when the afternoon onshore filled in and the wind came forward, we leaped ahead of the pack. Finally, boats that are less successful to weather than we are!

Just as the sun set into the Mozambique Channel, and shortly after narrowly dodging three very unexpected and very large ship moorings, we put the anchor down. Ordinarily, with a protected anchorage nearby we would have continued past nightfall. However the anchorage in question was Majunga, made infamous by violent nighttime attacks on yachts in previous years. So we stopped a few miles short of Majunga. The beach community we anchored along was humming, literally. We could see electric lights on the shore and hear the sound of a diesel generator in the background - quite a change from the isolated bays we've been haunting lately. While we listened to the Peri Peri Net on the SSB (8101mhZ - 1500UTC), looking for a weather window for the run to South Africa, Sten made a delicious dinner of pan baked fish in a tomato, onion, garlic and caper sauce. It was so good that I asked him to do it again the next night.

The offshore breeze had died that day by midafternoon. An onshore wind chop, coupled with a short, steep swell wrapping around the point and some anxiety about our proximity to Majunga, and we had the perfect recipe for an excruciating, sleepless night. Although we could use some diesel, and a meal in a restaurant would be much appreciated at this point, we decided not to push our luck with the Majunga port authorities since we've been cleared out of the country for two weeks now. So we upped anchor at 4:45 am (we were awake anyway) and set off for the final 60 miles of the run from Moramba to Baly Bay.

Raising the anchor before dawn was more exciting than expected. As it rode in over the stainless steel bow roller, it threw off sparks. Now, this is the first time I've raised or lowered the anchor in the dark in quite a while, so who knows if this was an isolated occurrence, a new problem, or something that has been going on for a while. Just another item for the work list when we get to South Africa.

The wind slowly built during the day. By the time we closed on Baly Bay the onshore breeze had filled in and we were close hauled as we entered the bay just before 5pm. After three days of coastal sailing, which is somehow much more exhausting than the offshore work, and the rough night last night, we were very happy to set the hook. We are planning to spend a few days here recuperating and preparing for the trip to South Africa.

October 24, 2009 - Moramba Bay, Madagascar

We've been traveling along the Northwest coast of Madagascar for five weeks now and we're still loving it as much as when we first arrived. Between the diverse landscapes, the wonderful people, and unique plants and animals, Madagascar continues to be one of the most interesting places we've ever been. In a country of fascinating places, the bay that we've spent the past few days in has been a real highlight.

Three days ago we sailed forty miles down to Moramba Bay from Nosy Saba. It was late afternoon by the time we arrived in this large bay. As we sailed deep into a protected corner, we feasted our eyes on limestone islands dotted with giant baobab trees. There are eight species of baobab in the world, six of which are found only in Madagascar and seven of which are found in this bay. Baobabs are some of the slowest growing trees in the world. They take all their nutrients from water, which they store in their bulbous trunks. Because they are not dependent on soil for nutrients, they grow in environments where other trees could not survive, like straight out of the razor sharp limestone outcrops that dot Moramba Bay.

Shortly after we anchored, a weatherbeaten man paddled up to us in a dugout, offering us manioc. He seemed to have as little French as we did. Communicating mostly in hand gestures, we declined the manioc (as tasteless starches that rely a lot of processing to become edible do not feature highly in our diet - thank god) and gave him a bag of sugar. Well, his face lit up like a kid on Christmas morning. Then he asked if we had any "cafe," and I was happy to pass along half a bag of Starbuck's French Roast (which is a little darker than we like our coffee). Man, this guy was so happy. Little did he know the caffeine rush he was in for the next morning.

The next afternoon our weatherbeaten friend and his wife returned with a gift for us of ten large white eggs and three crabs. We tried to ask what he wanted in exchange, but he gestured that nothing was wanted. We couldn't let him go without giving him a few more things. We tried to give him batteries for a flashlight (which were a big hit up north) but he seemed to not know what batteries were. In this rural region, rope and crackers were much better gifts than batteries. We weren't that surprised, given how empty this section of Madagascar is. There are no roads connecting the isolated coastal villages. The only way to get around here is by boat, and I'm not talking about power boats. Yes indeed, the Age of Sail is truly alive and well in Madagascar.

A few minutes after our friend's second visit another canoe paddled up. This time, there was a man and an absolutely beautiful little girl on board. He offered us three crabs and a dozen limes, which we were happy to exchange for some cord and a t-shirt for his daughter. Then he asked if we had any balloons. We didn't, but I found a string of beads that seemed to go over well.

Since we now had six crabs for the pot, I had to make one last round of Mata'irea's Madagascar Maki, which are sushi rolls, filled with a delicious mixture of picked steamed crab, betsa-betsa (fermented sugar cane juice), and sakay (crushed red chili mixed with garlic and ginger). If we ever open a restaurant, these are going on the menu just so that I can sit at the bar and eat them at the end of the dinner rush. Every night.

The morning after our arrival in Moramba a beautiful dark blue sailboat with classic New England lines arrived in the anchorage. We assumed they were South Africans (it turns out they assumed the same of us) and were just tickled to discover that they were also from Rhode Island. In the past nine months we have only seen two other American cruising boats, and both of those started their trips from the west coast, so imagine how surprised we were to find ourselves sharing an isolated anchorage in Madagascar with another boat from Rhode Island, an Alden 54 Ketch, s/v Someday Came with a family of four on board.

During the two days that we spent in Moramba Bay, we tried to see as much of it as possible. The first morning we explored the limestone islands at the mouth of the bay. As the tide receded we could see that the bases of the islands have been eroded to create huge overhangs, like those we saw in Phang Nga Bay, Thailand. One of the islands here looks exactly like a mushroom, as the base is only 10% of the diameter of island it is supporting.

Sten scrambled up into a cave in one of the islands where he found a human skull (just in time for Halloween). The locals here bury their important dead out on the islands. We had heard that there were two bone caves in the bay, but we only found this one.

On our way back to the boat for lunch I spotted a small group of lemurs with white, black and brown coats and long white tails munching on young leaves in the trees near the beach. It was a family of three Coquerel's Sifaka, known to little tykes with TV's as Zaboomafoo.

We went ashore and tried to coax them over to us with an offering of bananas. But these fantastic jumpers were not as used to humans as the black lemurs we had met at Nosy Komba. They bounded away from us, using their long legs and arms to propel themselves seemingly impossible distances through the canopy above. It was a brief encounter, but an amazing experience to interact with such a rare animal in the wild.

That afternoon we dinghied upwind across the bay to another island where we visited a huge old Baobab tree, which is believed to have been planted by Arab traders around the time of Christ. We were humbled to be standing in front of a living thing that had been around for 2000 years. To think, when the remains of Magellan's scurvy-ridden fleet sailed below Madagascar some 500 years ago, this tree and its fruit had been providing critical vitamin C to Arab traders for more than a millennium. Simply amazing. Anything this old deserves our respect, so we obeyed local custom and walked around it counter-clockwise, looking at the offerings left around its base. It was a Friday, so we weren't in danger of violating the prohibition against visiting the tree on a Thursday. And thanks to our young, healthy colons we were able to avoid violating the third rule of visiting the tree.

The following day we went out in search of more lemurs (I'm a bit obsessed with lemurs . . . their human little hands, intelligent expressions and wonderful smell, like a cat that has been sleeping in the sun, just get me). So after a few hours, I was getting a little despondent that we hadn't had any additional sightings. We'd seen a Madagascar Kingfisher, a stunning little bird with iridescent blue and orange plumage, a Greater Vasa Parrot, a large black parrot, plenty of Dimorphic Egrets, both the black and the white versions, and even a giant Madagascar Fish Eagle. Sten had even scrambled through the thorny undergrowth of the dry deciduous forest to get up close and personal with a baobab with a crazy and apparently natural psychedelic pattern on its trunk. But who cares about birds and trees? I had my heart set on another encounter with lemurs, but I was starting to fear that I'd scared them off by my attempt to feed them the day before.

After cruising several more beaches I managed to spot a lone Coquerel's Sifaka in a tree, several hundred meters away. We pulled the dinghy up to the beach and approached it, both cameras going. Sten spotted another in a tree further back from the beach. They didn't seem too bothered by us, at first, and continued with a afternoon snack of fresh buds. But we couldn't keep our find to ourselves, and called over Someday Came to check them out too. Well, two humans might have been okay, but five proved to be a bit much (particularly when one is a toddler waving a long stick). After ignoring us studiously for a good 25 minutes, the closest lemur finally had enough of us and looked set to move away by leaping from tree to tree. But the other lemur seemed to be blocking his escape route through the canopy. With the high road closed, he switched tactics and hit the ground, bounding through the underbrush on his hind legs, swinging his arms for propulsion, a movement as ungraceful as his flight through the trees had been poetry in motion. We laughed so hard and thanked the stick waving little girl for making it happen.

We have really enjoyed Moramba Bay. However, it has been very hot here for the past two days because the gradient offshore wind has been so strong that the cooling afternoon onshore wind has not developed. By midday the strong offshore is carrying some extremely hot dry air as it blows across the arid interior to the coast. It is like hanging out inside a blast furnace. Today it was almost debilitating at times. The water is not clear in these mangrove fringed bays, so swimming is not appealing. Tomorrow morning we're going to pick up and head down the coast. We've got a theory that that anchoring along the coast could be reasonably comfortable as long as the strong offshore persists. With a long way to next protected spot, maybe we will put this theory to the test.

October 21, 2009 - Nosy Saba, Madagascar

Hopping down the Madagascar coast has been some of the best sailing we've done in the past three years. In the lee of the world's fourth largest island, we are cruising along in comfort in flat water and good wind.

We left the Honey River midmorning, just as the wind started to build, for the run to Nosy Kalakajoro, where we stopped for lunch and a snorkel. The anchorage at Nosy K was a bit exposed, so we headed a few miles east to the deep sheltered bay at Berangomaina Point for a good night's sleep. Along the way Sten caught a really big barracuda, which we released. We also saw whales breaching and spouting in the distance. They moved on before we could get close, but it was nice to know they were still around.

We dropped anchor deep in the bay known as Paradise Hole (a bit of a stretch) just as the sun was dropping into the sea. Before I could get the sundowners on the cockpit table, Sten noticed that the depthsounder was reporting shallower numbers than we expected, so we decided to re-anchor further out. We are being very cautious about where we anchor here. Between the big tide range (currently 14 feet, but it varies depending on the phase of the moon) and the diurnal winds, anchoring is more challenging in Madagascar than most places. You could drop anchor in 30 feet of water and the next morning find yourself sitting on a sandbar or a reef because the wind shifted 180 degrees in the night or the tide fell. That scenario wouldn't be so bad in a catamaran (just climb out and clean the bottom while you wait for the tide to rise), but in a monohull, it would be more dramatic (rolling out of bed as your home falls over on her side would be a bit shocking). Once we were happily anchored we enjoyed our drinks while watching the drama of another magnificent Madagascar sunset. Afterwards, we tucked into a dinner of crab cakes. After wiping his plate clean, Sten announced "I could eat 10 more of these. I might just have to figure out how to catch crabs myself." I might just have to hold him to that.

In the hope of seeing the whales again, we set off early the next morning for Nosy Saba before the wind rose. We motored along for a while looking for whales as we waited for the wind to fill in. After another beautiful sail, we anchored off of a perfect white sand beach. We spent the afternoon snorkeling from the boat and exploring the beach.

Just as the sun was setting Sten noticed a few swirls and the occasional chug in the water next to Mata'irea. A particularly large swirl close to the boat was enough to drag him away from the sunset (and his cocktail). He grabbed a rod and made a cast with a diamond jig that he keeps rigged for passages. The fish followed with a big turn away at the boat but even after several casts, would not take the lure.

He was pretty pumped up at this point, so he ran down below to retrieve a surface lure. After struggling with the leader for a minute he managed to get it re-rigged. First cast with the pencil popper and another big follow with several swipes thrown in. Second cast was a long toss in towards the reef. As soon as it landed the water exploded. Fish on and a good one. Sten had cast from the aft deck and immediately the fish started arching down the starboard side of the boat towards the bow and the anchor chain. Then the fish swam over the anchor chain. Sten had to pass the rod around the front of the forestay to follow it. Then the fish started a dogfight down deep over the drop off and above the sandy bottom.

Sten was on the port side of the bow when the fish decided to dive under the anchor line and back to the starboard side of the hull. Watching him struggle to pass the loaded rod over the bow pulpit, under the snubber and anchor chain, and then back up the other side of the pulpit was high comedy. The fish was leading Sten on a merry chase around the boat. Finally, the fish was coming to heed and Sten managed to work his way back to the transom. As the fish surfaced I stopped laughing long enough to take the rod from Sten and pass him the gaff so that he could stick the fish just aft of its gill plate. A beautiful 12-15lb bluefin trevally came onto the deck and posed for pictures with Sten in the fading light before being filleted for our supper.

The following day was Sten's 36th birthday. The anchorage was starting to get a little rolly, but we decided to stay in this lovely spot for another day and night to make the most of his day. After breakfast, we launched the dinghy and set off to explore the rest of the island. We passed white cliffs and small bays dotted with surreal limestone islands, undercut like the ones we had seen in Thailand. There was no sign of the village mentioned in the pilot, but a large resort sprawled across the north coast of the island. Four pillars on the top of the island's highest hill beckoned us to come check them out, so we went for a walk. Returning to the beach hot and dusty, we were more than ready to get back in the water.

From the top of the hill we had looked down on the anchorage and seen Mata'irea's mast swinging back and forth like a metronome. By midday the swell was really rolling into the anchorage. Sten had been wanting to try using our dinghy anchor as a stern anchor for the big boat, so that afternoon, he rigged it up. Coupled with 50 ft of chain, it worked well in holding our bow into the swell in the light prevailing conditions. Believe it or not, in three years this is only the second time we have used a stern anchor. If we had a dedicated and easily deployed stern anchor we might use one more often.

When we first saw these pinnacles on Nosy Saba and an altar inscribed with images of cattle in dying postures at their base, we thought that we had stumbled upon some kind of cattle cult. Later we learned that the pinnacles are a hazomanga, a pole symbolizing lineage upon which sacrificial blood is consecrated, which explains the rusty red stains we saw on the alter. Among the Sakalava people of Western and Northern Madagascar, hazomanga are a focal point for prayers, sacrifices and circumcision ceremonies.

That evening the fishing was just as good as the prior night. On Sten's first cast there was an instant explosion in the water. Having learned his lesson about anchor lines and fighting fish, he jumped into the dinghy and I cast off the bow lines. Then I watched as the fish towed him across the anchorage. After another good fight he landed another big trevally, which he released as we already had a fridge full of fish.

A carving on the hazomanga

When he retrieved the lure he discovered that five out of the six hooks were straightened or bent. He decided to just keep fishing as the light faded, just to see the most excellent surface takes without actually having to fight the fish. This worked for a few casts and then something larger came in and slammed the lure. This time there was no stopping the run. The fish went deep into the reef and he felt the line shuddering over the reef. Too late, he dropped the rod tip to find yet another lure donated to the deep. However, he returned to the boat all smiles and pronounced that it was a very fine way to spend the evening of his birthday.

October 18, 2009 - Baramahamay Baie, Madagascar

We had a nice sail south from Nosy Sakatia yesterday. Late afternoon we anchored deep inside a protected, mangrove lined bay. No sooner had we dropped anchor than a dugout pulled up with a young boy paddling while a man about our age rode in the bow. We did the usual introductions and then the man took off his shirt to show off a gaping wound on his back. As our French is pathetic (we'd come to rely on Suzy interpreting for us), we couldn't get a line on what had happened. The wound over 3 inches long and a half inch deep and wide. The flesh around the wound was swollen and red, while the wound itself was yellow and goopy with some dark spots that looked like old coagulated blood. Neither of us had ever seen anything like it.

After some rather comical attempts at communication, Sten came to understand that the wound was four days old. Our offshore medical book assumes that wounds will be treated quickly (such a western notion) so we were unclear on how to proceed. We were tempted to try to close the wound as it was easily large enough to warrant stitches or steristrips. I gave them a Coke to drink while Sten called up his dad who told us it was too late to close it and gave us a rundown on how to treat an infected wound. I ended up cleaning the wound using a large irrigating syringe and iodine sterilized water. Yellow flecks of putrefied flesh were flying everywhere. I had on gloves, but when the flesh started flying, I wished that I'd thought to put on my shades. Then I bandaged him up (making sure his son was watching so that he could replicate the procedure at home), and we sent them on their way with a full complement of oral antibiotics, dressings, tape and antibiotic cream. We really wished that we had some French for this one. Trying to explain with hand signals and drawings that he needed to take 500mg of antibiotics twice a day with food for five days was quite an experience.

Later that evening the son returned, asking first for rum and then for fuel (we think). Sten negotiated (again in broken French and hand signals) an exchange of 1.5L of gasoline in trade for a delivery of crabs today.

After the best night of sleep we've had in Madagascar (no wind + flat calm = good sleep), we woke to find a very long drying sandbar just to the east of our anchored position, which was not on the chart of course (the CMAP charts for Madagascar are the most inaccurate and least detailed of any place we've been). We set out this morning to explore the mud flats and sand bars exposed by the low tide. After running out of navigable water at the east end of the bay we turned around and headed out to the mouth of the bay to explore the beaches. We found one beach strewn with agates released from softer surrounding rock that had eroded away. I filled my pockets with chunks of rose and smoky quartz while Sten hid in the shade of several large palms, shaking his head at my magpie tendencies.

While we were zipping around in our dinghy, we watched the residents of the bay making their way from village to village in their traditional outrigger canoes. For one old man, the current was so strong that gave up paddling. He got out and walked his canoe, which was loaded with children, along the edge of a long sandbar as he could make better progress by pulling the boat by hand than by paddling.

This afternoon the father and son returned, the son still doing all the paddling. The wound looked a bit better today. We would like to have irrigated it again, but Sten's dad and my mom put the fear of god into us about exposing ourselves to something nasty, so we just dressed the wound again and confirmed that he would continue to take his oral antibiotics.

In the absence of better information, we've been speculating about how the wound occurred. Due to the nature of the wound, Sten figures that our patient was in a machete fight with one of his neighbors. Due to the placement of the wound in the center of his back, I've come up with a theory involving our patient, a woman, and a man who was tired of being a cuckold. But this is a family blog, so I won't go into details.

October 16, 2009 - Nosy Sakatia, Madagascar

After completing our last Indian Ocean clearance, I'm happy to report the official score is: Corrupt Officials - 0, Mata'irea - 4. We've made it through this region notorious for corruption and baksheesh without paying a single bribe, despite being hit up in the Andamans, Sri Lanka, Seychelles, and here in Madagascar. In each instance, when asked if we had a gift for the official with whom we were dealing, we usually simply said no (the officials in Sri Lanka required a firmer approach, but even they eventually gave up). This last time I got a little cute and treated the official's request as a joke and turned it back on him, "why no, do you have a gift for me?" Then I quickly backed out of the room, zarpe firmly in hand. We have never had our paperwork held up due to our refusal to pay a bribe.

We don't understand why some cruisers feel they need to grease officials' palms. We know plenty of yachties who expect to pay bribes, especially in places like Sri Lanka. And guess what, they do. Our experience shows that paying bribes is not necessary, even in the most corrupt places. We always approach these situations believing that it isn't necessary to pay officials something extra to do their jobs. By being firm in that belief, we've watched officials, time and again, back down quickly from their requests, with no negative repercussions. In these situations, a little hutzpah goes a long way.

I did our outwards clearance on Sten's mom's last day with us, while she and Sten were off doing some souvenir shopping. Meanwhile, Sakatia Towers John's driver, Anatole, had organized for my fresh provisioning to be done while he and I dealt with the officials. It couldn't have been easier. On our way out of town we stopped at the Chinese shop to spend the last of our local currency on rum and beer. Although we're officially cleared out, we're going to spend the next few weeks cruising our way down the coast of Madagascar, and there is nothing Sten likes so much after a day sail as cracking open a frosty can of the local lager. We decided to do our outwards clearance in Nosy Be, rather than in the next port down the coast as it (Majunga) has a terrible reputation for crime.

We returned to Mata'irea, which was anchored off of Sakatia, and spent the remaining hours before Suzy's flight having a leisurely lunch, reading and playing a few last games of Scrabble. We've had a great visit with Suzy, and it was hard to say good bye. But she left her snorkeling gear on aboard, so we have a sneaking suspicion that she'll be joining us one more time before we get home.

We spent the day after her departure doing boat work. Sten spent the entire day repairing the port running light, which I noticed wasn't working two nights prior when we arrived at Lokobe after sunset. To the landlubber the idea of taking an entire day to repair a light may seem ludicrous, but it is important to remember that on a boat nothing is simple or straightforward. Before Sten could inspect the suspect electrical junction, he had to undo the lifelines so that he could remove the pulpit, the stainless steel protective bars on the bow, through which the running light wires run. Once the pulpit was displaced, he pulled the wire and discovered that culprit was corrosion at a junction where the heat shrink had failed. So he reterminated the wires, and I helped him feed the wires back through the pulpit. Then he had to reinstall the pulpit, reconnect the lifelines, and clean up. That's how fixing a light can take all day. Meanwhile, I spent the day scrubbing the bottom of the hull. It has been 18 months since we last antifouled and our bottom growth shows it. We're looking into hauling and repainting in South Africa. After a long day of boat work we enjoyed spending one last evening on John's porch, swilling Three Horses and Capahrinas, watching his cats covet his new parrots. If you come through this way, be sure to ask him to tell you the story of the rescue of the parrots.