Homeward bound. Part 2

The weekend in Seattle immersed us in politics (the Brazilian runoff elections ! the US midterms! the protests in Iran !), culture (the Space Needle ! Chihuly’s blown glass art ! Frank Gehry !) and a whole lot of family love. Completely satisfied we headed back to the border where snow geese were gathering in the skies before landing on harvested fields. After one last hike in Snow White’s Woods, aka Goldstream Provincial Park, where the chum and coho salmon are performing their own final run, we returned the RV and took the bus back home to O2 in the pouring rain. 

In the higher altitudes, winter has arrived, and the glaciers are finally being fed. It is a comforting thought as we are watching the Netflix documentary “Sea Wolves”, huddled under a fleece with a glass of wine within reach. Here on the protected south-eastern side of Vancouver Island, snow only lightly covers the pine trees as a fleeting thought. But the wind does howl at times. And when it does, trees get knocked over, downing the above-ground power lines, putting out the lights. When this happened a week ago, everything went suddenly pitch black around us. But we could keep O2’s lights running thanks to her 21 kilowatt-hours lithium batteries. The fancy international boarding school across Mill Bay Marina joined us a few minutes later by firing up their emergency generator. Pinpoints of light in the darkest of night.

As the temperature is dropping, blood pressure is rising, and teeth are cracking. High time we took the good old body in for some servicing. But before leaving for our Belgian winter den, we must get O2 in hibernation mode, too. She seems to be enjoying the snow as much as we are. We feel more and more confident that she will take us safely to Alaska next season. But the appliances onboard are giving up the ghost one after the other. Only to be brought back to life by My Ingenious Captain who really knows how to talk to the machines. He also knows how to prevent the shit from hitting the fan. It was in April, 2020 in Guadeloupe that the “crise sanitaire” struck us for the first time in a spectacular way. Since then, it kept happening again and again to the extent that we had become master de-cloggers using a plastic tube and the compressed air of a scuba tank without getting sprayed all over ourselves. Until we recently learned on the Fountiane Pajot Facebook group about “French craftsmanship”: after drilling the necessary outlet hole in the holding tank, they did not remove the cutout piece. Which then occasionally blocked the discharge. And sure enough, one look inside and there it was, the round plastic nuisance that had been bothering us for 3 whole years.

A lot has been accomplished already, but many chores are still screaming for My Captain’s attention. One of the most urgent interventions is the cockpit’s sliding doors. The door is blocked. Crawling out of the window is not so much of a problem. But every time we crawl in again, we fear our actions might be misunderstood by some vigilant citizen as they are walking their dog along the shore. That’s why getting the door out of its frame to clean and lube the rollers has become top priority. Only to realize there are no rollers, but teflon gliders which needed adjustment. So did the frame itself as well as the lock. A good thing the sun is high in the sky again, so, handy man is up & running.