31. Shucking oysters

LA FORÊT-FOUESNANT, FINISTÈRE

High tide, four thirty, determined to sail, its been too long.  I'm going to walk down with the boat and go for a high tide two hour sail as the estuary totally empties at low tide.  Really excited though it does mean walking right through the middle of the village, with boat.

My planned walking route with the boat

Impressive range of food

Being Sunday, we stumble onto the market when heading to the patisserie, oneish. It's great and we shop like Seppies.

Concarneau beacons, it's in Tim's circle on Ed's 1970s road atlas - must be worth a look ......... turns out it was a second gear look, didn't need first gear, nothing looked that interesting so we headed back to our beach with all the beach paraphernalia.

Arrived beach, de-car-ed, chose a spot and it was chilly eighteen degrees.  Found ourselves back at the camp within an hour of leaving.  Never mind, all the more time to get set up for a sail, really excited (as previously mentioned).  

While mis-rigging I remember the half dozen rock oysters I had purchased at the market and sensibly get a bread and butter table knife as the last thing I want to do is slash myself like a foreigner on holiday and then spend the rest of the day at AnE!

I happily rig the boat, glad there are no onlookers as I am experienced enough to know that one should always pre-hoist sails so that, in the unlikely event of a miss-rig, things can be organised before hitting the water, better drowned than duffer as they say.  

1. Tried to hoist the jib with the spinnaker halyard
2. With rig tension applied discovered that the forestay was around the mast
3. After jib tensioned, discovered jib halyard was wrapped around forestay
4. Difficult to hoist main, discovered after capsizing boat that halyard had fallen off masthead pulley
5. Difficult to hoist main, discovered that halyard was wrapped around spinnaker pole base
6. Difficult to hoist main, discovered that luff lashing was around spinnaker pole mast clip

The great thing about doing it at camp is that nobody will ever know, apart from me, what a complete duffer I am and better drowned.

On my fifth oyster the knife slipped and, crikey, don't let the kids see, rinse it under the tap, ask for a sticking plaster, there is no bloody way I'm not sailing.  Jeff our neighbour wandered over to admire my Team NZ competence, and suggested I show my finger to Andrea, his wife, who is a nurse. She'll be right mate, I said with a rye smile, and carried on, smirking at his doubtful looks.  For some reason a couple of minutes later Andrea happened to come over for a look and at that point, while re-tensioning the main halyard for the third time, (bloody duffer), it is possible a little blood oozed out of the pathetic sticking plaster wrapped in three circuits of elastotape and smeared the mast and dripped a little - my goose was cooked! 

I don't think I uttered much when the Beterdine was applied, got a twenty minute ride in Andrea's cool Smart car, discovered that Nitrous Oxide is like having about four quick Chardonnays on top of each other and learned that I was not to get my finger wet for a week ! Bloody duffer, should have drowned!