Leaving the boat

	Chris on the winning Hobie.

As a rule, we NEVER leave the boat! But we broke this rule once. Chris had won the Hobie six hours endurance regatta, and one of the many prizes was a weekend on a House Boat up the Kaw River (untouched virgin rainforest, caiman hunting--eco-hunting, that is). And so it was decided that MALAIKA could be left alone for one weekend.

MALAIKA was anchored half a mile up the Kourou River (French Guiana, South America), which is subject to 10-15ft tides, either washing you up or sucking you out, and on low tide we would touch the bottom, digging a hole in the nutrient-rich mud. When the tide pushes we suck and slurp up and down till we are free floating and violently washed in the opposite direction. Spinning circles all day.

So we took extra precautions with our anchor gear. Two anchors on one chain. Big Bertha, a homemade 50kg anchor on 50ft of 1-inch chain then a 40kg Delta with 150ft 3/8th chain. Didn't think we would drag, but to be safe, left another ready to go anchor on the deck. Topped up the battery water. Of the four solar panels, disconnected three and left one on to trickle charge the house batteries, as they run the automatic bilge pump. Disconnected the wind generator and all other charging devices. Closed all sea cocks. Locked the hatches and companionway and gave Barry (fellow S.A. on the makeshift hard) the key.

The weekend was memorable. Eco-Caiman-Hunting is done after dark. A torch is used to scan the surface of the water in search for two red glowing eyes--the further apart the red dots, the bigger the caiman.

Kaw River.

Patrick, our hunter/guide, called himself Crocodile Dundee. Yeah, right, we thought, got to love the French--until we saw two dots about 20cm apart. "That's a big one", said Patrick, "Hard to Starboard. Chris, you hold the torch and keep it in his eyes!" I was still looking around for a gaff, or a rope, or some way of catching this here caiman, when Patrick launched himself into the black water. The red glows appeared and disappeared as Patrick and the caiman wrestled and rolled. In less than 30 sec the caiman was on the deck upside down, lifeless it seemed, and Patrick, whom we now called Crocodile Dundee, calmly presented his eco-speech and the caiman was released unperturbed...Wow!

Back on the houseboat, we sipped T-Punch (Rum + lime), feeding the fish breadcrumbs and watching the bats pick the fish off one by one. Marvelled at the lightshow presented by the electric eels. Oh what fun we had, but the weekend was swiftly over and we returned to Kourou on sunset. Barry had the Braai (Barbeque) going and was keen to hear about our excursions. "Any problem this weekend Barry?," I asked.

"No, none at all."

"So what is with our mast?," which was now leaning over a lot more than any of the other boats.

"Oh, the tide is out," said Barry, "Don't worry! What do you want to put on the fire?"

Fifteen minutes later, the mast was way over, looked like a 30 degree angle. Something was wrong. By now it was dark and as luck would have it, Dark Moon. We jumped into the dinghy to inspect. We approached from the stern, shining the torch. "What is that?"

It was the rudder. 4ft above my head was the propeller. The port vow was down, water coming over the deck.

MALAIKA was lying bow down and stern skyward.

It was so dark. Hearts racing, we mountaineered aboard. Could only move about on all fours. Needed to block the air vents in the cabin. "Where are the plugs?," he asked, dropping through the companionway in search of 2x dorado air vent caps, which have a thread, and screw down watertight.

"Starboard side behind the cd's, stuck on the wall with duct tape", I yelled.

Chris turned on the lights. Time froze with the surreal picture I was presented.

For the first time we could see that we were tilted over at least 40 degrees.

Chris was standing on the port cabin walls with the cd's scattered at his feet, the only things to fall. Recently having crossed the Atlantic, the boat was pretty well stowed. The starboard contents hanging in nets were perfectly suspended, and the 2x dorado vent covers were dangling from the duct tape in the now empty cd locker.

We closed the vents, turned off the batteries and slid into the dinghy.

"What are we going to do?," I asked.

"Well, we are stuck on something, let's go and look." We moved around to the starboard side and the outboard hit something hard, spluttered and died. The dinghy was now also stuck. Shinning the torch didn't help as the river water was black.

"Stick your hand in and feel," I instructed Chris.

"Pass the paddle," he said.

Hmmm...it's wood, I thought. Must be a tree.

A tree! It turned out to be a giant rainforest grandfather.

"What are we going to do now?," I asked, with justifiable panic, the tears streaming down my face.

Chris pushed off with the paddle, started the outboard, and we headed for the shore."Have to wait for the tide to push, may as well go and have a braai with Barry and the Frogs."

As the tide pushed, we watched MALAIKA's mast upright herself, ever so gently. And on the full tide we saw the giant tree burst to the surface and drift off to sea.

So...you can plan to leave your boat unattended, but always expect the unexpected.