19th April - Rowe's beach - rudder work

Friday 19^th April

First photo today is…scenery.  Townsville, from Rowe’s Beach.  So pretty, in the sunlight, on the flanks of Castle Hill.  Last time we were here Michael drove us to the lookout at the very top.  Then a few days later, when we took him and some of his friends out to Magnetic Island, he looked at Castle Hill, dreamily, and said, “Look, Ma.  There are people up there.  Looking at us…and wishing they were on this boat.”

I don’t think there are people looking at us today and wishing they are on 2XS… We are high and dry on Rowe’s Beach.  We scouted out this position yesterday – Pete carefully measured, on the pole, how far up/down the tide would have to go so that we could beach ourselves and then un-beach ourselves.  So far so good.  We left at dawn and crept up to the beach, waiting for the exact moment to swoop in.  Majestically.

And here we are, causing just a mild bit of interest in passers-by, who walk along the beach, stop, and scurry home to get a camera.  One of the early onlookers was a photographer from the Townsville Bulletin, who was thrilled to bits with what he thought was our plight.  “What HAPPENED??” he asked, wide-eyed, imagining some minor personalised tsunami which had driven this big strong boat out of the peaceful Townsville waters onto Rowe’s Beach.  I think he was a bit disappointed that we were just here for repairs…

Pete got down to business straight away.  He lay in a small salty puddle under the rudder hole which needed to be enlarged by a millimeter or so.  He patiently rasped away, occasionally changing over to another contraption, attached to a drill.  I sat nearby on a milk-crate, idly passing him whatever gadget he needed at any given moment.  Any curious crocodile coming our way would have been swiftly repelled by a smack on the snout with a rasp, or a reamer, whatever seemed most appropriate to the task.

After an hour or so he leapt to his feet and said he had to go back to Garbutt – I think this is his new spiritual home – to find an 85 centimetre pipe.  So I took my turn lying in the small salty puddle, rasping away and listening, quite contentedly, to my iPod, on shuffle.  Some of the songs were weirdly appropriate – Zombie seemed to fit in rather well, for some reason – In your head, in your head, Zombie, Zombie, Zombie-ie-ie.  Why not??  What else would I choose to listen to while lying flat on my back in a gritty puddle, rasping away at an overhead pipe, mostly with closed eyes??  (Eyes closed because…well because all the metal stuff I was rasping was floating delicately straight back down into my eyes and no, sunglasses didn’t offer any protection at all.)

It is now all set for the rudder to go right back where it belongs – McGyver Headlam has triumphed again.