Some might stay in port on Friday, 13th. Not us, we're not superstitious. We're going back to hang out in Les Saintes.
It was a tight squeeze to get Jackster between two boats on the way in and now the wind is pushing us hard onto the blue painted steel boat with a prominent steel rub rail which we don't want to scrape down our gel coat. There are line handlers on each of the stern lines and the dock master takes a line from our bow to keep us pulled across. David gives the motor a nudge and we move forward as lines are released from the stern. And just like that we are away clean. Nothing touched and the channel ahead of us. But.
OMG Polly's not on board! I look back and there she is on the steel boat watching us leave. She must have hopped off while we were looking the other way. What are we going to do? I get on the radio and call the dock master who still close. He collects me and a large towel while David holds station and I go back for her. She's not happy to be man handled into a strange boat with a strange man, but she copes. As soon as the dock boat touches Jackster's stern Polly leaps for safety. Disaster averted. We never done that before – left the cat on the dock.
Now it's easy and we're motoring out of the channel and to open water. We've cleared the channel markers, looking for the next marker and the headsail is out. That's when David smells burning rubber coming from the engine room. The impeller has shredded and we have an over heated engine. We go to full sails on close reach to give us headway and steerage. I helm while David pulls out a spare and sets about fitting it, not a lot of fun in a hot engine, but he does it and now we have sufficient wind to sail the rest of the way to the Saints.
By tea time we are safely on a mooring and reflecting that we were lucky that nothing bad happened on Friday 13th.
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