We left you, totally stuffed from a dinner of 3 conch tossed in some
penne,
with the winds and surge subsiding.

Friday started with our usual conference with Chris Parker. Forecasts
indicated that we're in for blowy weather for the next week or so.
With
that in mind, we reviewed our options for the Raggeds, looking for the
most
protected anchorages. We expect to go to the south hook above the end
of
Hog Cay, which provides nice protection from all but north or west
winds.
Certainly, where we are, while it's been great lately, would be very
rough
with the surge coming around the top of Double Breasted Cay. As
things
constantly change with the forecast being that far out, we'll check
again
before we leave.

As usual, the day was very overcast, but burned off quickly. We set
out for
the southern end of Maycock to explore a reported beach on the ocean
side.
The wind had clocked around to the southeast, at 8-12 knots, and the
waters
over the shallows were a very light chop, so we planed our PortaBote.

However, we were close to low tide, and, despite trying to skirt the
huge
sand bar between Maycock and Margaret Cays which, on the charts,
shows,
sometimes, dry at low water, we quickly started dragging the foot of
the
outboard in sand with some small grassy spots. Putting it up to the
furthest extension by moving the pin which holds the foot of the
engine, we
still grounded, so we got out to walk.

Conch City!! I had to watch carefully where I put my feet or I'd land
on
one of the points of the dozens of immature conch. I quickly found a
large
mature conch, as did Lydia. We put them in our now conch-pen box we'd
found,
and continued searching.

No luck, however, other than the hundreds of immature conch we left in
place. From where we found them, I suspect the better hunting
grounds for
mature conch were slightly north and east of where we found all the
smaller
ones. Certainly, the south of Double Breasted Cay was where we found
our
others earlier in this trip...

Well before we got back into water deep enough to motor, the conch
disappeared, but, soon enough, we were motoring again. As we got to
the
bottom of Maycock, the waves were building, but not breaking. The
PortaBote
lifted and plunged, and as the bow tried to bury itself into the face
of the
oncoming wave, it flexed backward, presenting a wider front to the
wave,
popping back up immediately.

The water was still very shallow, however, as we approached the
southeastern
tip, and we had to walk the dinghy over some rocks and coral to get
around
to the beach on the ocean side. The beach, like every other one we've
been
on, was totally deserted, and, in this case, quite steep, rising to a
dune.
There was a picturesque, very large, tree which had washed ashore on
the
very tip of the beach, making for a great seat and photo opportunity.

Having learned, the hard way, not to leave the PortaBote stern-to in
breaking waves (it takes water over the transom, and, being high-
density
polyethelne, has no practical means for a drain as you'd find in a
hard-bottomed dinghy, making for a bailing nuisance later), we dragged
the
dinghy stern-to, in the breaking waves, up the beach. The bow
shrugged off
the waves as expected, and I put our captives, in their black plastic
pen,
in the water to keep them alive.

Despite it being very exposed to the Atlantic, the trash component on
the
beach and top of the dune - perhaps because of the steep rise? - was
very
minimal. As a result, sea-bean hunting was not productive. I did,
however,
find a net which had washed ashore which yielded some line floats to
my
knife. These will go on the dinghy painter, allowing us not to worry
about
backing down with the line out, as we check the set of our anchor.

We worked our way around further, in the little cut at the end of the
island
between a rock and a hard place, so to speak, walking on the rocks
just
barely submerged. I've been going barefoot as much as possible, to
toughen
up my feet, and it was an easy walk. Unfortunately, other than
cliffs,
there was nothing much to see right in that area, and to proceed
further
would have required dealing with the surf, so we headed back.

On the way, we noticed something which might have been a torpedo, but
on
closer inspection, was a dead nun. No, not the habit-wearing ones :
{)) - a
conical-topped marker bouy which had come adrift. It was wedged
tightly
into some rocks, and, over time, had rusted through in many spots,
settling
into the sand. I wonder where it came from? Nothing in this area has
such
markers...

By this time the tide had risen a bit, so getting off the beach was
very
simple, particularly with the very lightweight PortaBote's bow
beginning to
float. We also succeeded in easing across the reef we'd had to walk
the
'Bote over on the way in, and headed out for Margaret Cay.

Our target had been to go out to the sand bar on the far side, but
with the
length of the island, and the prospect of, perhaps, having to walk the
dinghy around it, given that our objective had been conching, we
decided to
take a pass on that.

That was partly in response to my checking of the fuel level in the
dinghy
tank. It's under a third, already, what with the long distances we
travel
in these areas, and gasoline is impossible to find other than in
Duncantown,
for the entire trip back up the chain, which we hope to explore before
returning to Long Island. However, what gasoline one may find is just
by
begging from a local, who'll decant it from a 55-gallon drum from his
own
personal supply. As they rely on it for their livelihoods, we'd only
do
that as a very last resort.

Instead, we headed back to one of our very productive search areas, on
the
south end of Double Breasted cay. The beach there has benches and
tables
made from driftwood lumber, and a very clever arrangement of various
sized
bottles hung with strings and ropes, making a very large wind chime.
It
made for a nice lunch spot :{)) The water here was completely calm, so
we
pulled the 'Bote nose-in onto the shore and put our cage in the water
for
the conchs' comfort.

The path to the ocean side was a bit further up the beach, well
marked, and,
improved by some other additions I made. The entrance had just a
bamboo
stick originally, but I put the top of a large blue water barrel
(about the
top foot or so) over the stake by puttng the stake through the pouring
opening, making a base, and then jammed a large empty conch shell on
the
tip, making it far more visible.

During our exploration of the beach, I found one of the ubiquitous
marker
floats which had a post through it. On the way back, I stuck it in
the
other side of the path entrance, and put a bottle on the top. The way
to the
beach was marked with various plastic bottles and some of the
thousands of
flip-flops and sandals which wash up on the beach, all done by prior
cruisers, so it was easy to follow as we'd done before, but now, much
easier
to spot the entrance from a distance.

Lydia had headed out immediately, but I stayed on the protected side
and
thrashed through the shallows in case there might be conch to be found
there. By this time, the sun was directly overhead, and the wind was
still
light, so it was a refreshing walk in nearly-waist deep water. No
luck on
the conch, however, despite the bottom looking promising.

Coming back to the beach and wandering in the area of sand which
extended
deep and wide from that area, however, I found 20+ heart beans, sure
to warm
Lydia's heart (pardon the expression). She's starting to run out of
containers for them. Worse, from my perspective, those are the ones
we use
to put our trail mix concoction in; we'll not be able to make large
batches
any more. As we eat from those as snacks under way, I'll miss that!

The beach side is very rocky, but mostly (I say advisedly, as not all
of it
was!) flat, making my barefoot walk tolerable. There's a thousand-
foot or
so walk on the rocks north before getting to the beach, and some of it
was
very uncomfortable for my bare feet, including, I discovered later, a
small
gash and several small punctures :{/) However, I came upon Lydia in
her
hunt, and told her I'd head to the end of the beach and work back to
her.

At the far end there was a household refrigerator, totally beaten up,
along
with the usual piles of trash. Unlike last year, where Lydia had to
dig
through piles of seaweed to find even the very few she did, our
experience
in the Jumentos has been that they're right on the surface or
projecting
from the sand. In addition to the float which I took back for the
entrance,
I got several very nice shells and so many beans that I had to find
another
container big enough to hold them.

Meeting in the middle, we walked back together, and Lydia showed me a
humorous shrine that prior cruisers had made. A plastic doll,
complete with
(unmatched, of course) little flip-flop and sandal, a binky and other
accoutrements lay in the sand. On its chest, there was a small bottle
with
a nipple. Next to her, in sand to the waist, was a Barbie with a bad
sunburn - her face, on one side, was pocked with blisters of the
appropriate
size to the head!

Little shells made a 3-foot circle around it, a safety-warning-striped
reflective stake was at the top, and various little kid-toys were
placed
randomly around the doll. At the bottom, in offering, I guess, were a
dozen
or so heart beans.

Heart bean hunters are fairly picky, what with the proliferation of
them in
the area, so these were cast-offs. Some had opened, some had cracked
on
their undersides, some were very checked from sun exposure, but the
total
effect of the display was touching and humorous at the same time.
After
adding a few tokens ourselves, we headed back to the dinghy.

By this time, I was sweating pretty hard, despite the (not enough!)
sea
breeze on the ocean side, so I immediately went for a swim in the
totally-flat area where we'd beached the dinghy. Thus refreshed, we
sat and
had our lunch (Zone bars - a very effective, filling, nutritionally
complete, diet-conscious, meal) and the water we'd brought along.
Before
heading home, I rinsed the sand out of the conch pen, wiped off the
foot
area of each to minimize the sand we'd bring into the dinghy, and
restored
them to their paddy-wagon ride in the stern of the PortaBote.

A mile or so later, we were back aboard, and I set to cleaning and
cracking
the conch.. I've not yet succeeded in barking (removing the outer
skin with
your teeth, usually very effective) these, as I just bite through it
before
it comes off, so I skinned them instead with the fish knife. In short
order, we had another dinner's worth ready to chop and bag up.

Once finished with my cleaning, and, still sweating, I treated myself
to a
salt-water bath. The water here, being deeper, was much more
refreshing than
the swim off the beach had been, and I badly needed a scrub. I
followed
that with a fresh-water head rinse from our stern shower hose, over a
dishwashing bucket, and then used my bathing suit, which I'd used as
my
scrubbie, to give myself a sponge-bath cleaning with the fresh water
which
had run off my head into the bucket. While we really don't expect any
difficulties, as we have a lot of water aboard, since we last filled
before
we left Georgetown, and because I have to ferry it in 5-gallon
containers,
we're very conscious of water conservation...

Thus refreshed, I enjoyed an air-dry in the light breeze. While Lydia
went
in to scrub our reveal line, the last bits not done in our bottom
cleaning,
I went below and chopped the conch. We'd planned chicken sandwiches
for
dinner, aided by the wind dropping to 4 knots or less.

I've learned that my grill won't stay lit reliably in more than 12
knots,
and this was the first time since we'd arrived that we'd had such
conditions, so the conch went in the refrigerator for later use. As
we were
going to be making sandwiches, I took the culinary tenderizing hammer
that
I'd used to "crack" the conch to the chicken, flattening the breasts
for
quick cooking.

As it was still relatively early, we reveled in the mild conditions
and the
shade of our bimini to read a while, but shortly I fired up the grill
to get
hot. A couple of minutes on a side, and they were ready. Unlike most
of
our dinners, this one was still in broad daylight, so we retired to
the
cockpit to read some more before heading to bed.

Cruiser's midnight, as it's humorously refrerred to, is about 8PM, but
we
headed inside just before sundown, the air becoming a bit cool for our
starkers reading. What a wonderful existence - light breeze, bright
sun,
great explorations, and a good book!

Saturday came, and because we'd retired early, I was up in time to
catch
Chris on 4045 during his 6:30AM broadcast for a quick update. When we
got
up, the winds were still very light, and very close to north at 30 or
less
degrees and under 6 knots.

That wasn't what was in the prior forecasts, which had expected more
on the
level of winds to build overnight to 13-18 knots from 070-080 degrees.
4045, for Chris' location, is better in propagation very early, and,
accordingly, he was crystal clear. While I was up early, I wasn't
there in
time for the forecasts and synopsis, but got to hear others'
comments and his forecasts for them. It still looked pretty blowy...

After he'd finished with the vessels under way or in the Caribbean
(urgency
and propagation coming first for those), I got on with him just before
he
switched to his second frequency for the day.

The report was even more severe than before, with, as I'd listened,
lots of
cruisers in the general area being warned about conditions for their
passages. In our case, instead of the next-week 25-30, there were now
mid-to-late week squalls to 40 knots.

Thus forewarned, after reviewing our charts, we changed our original
plan of
an anchorage in the south end of Hog Cay, near Lobster Hole Point.
Instead,
we'll head to the south end of Ragged Cay, very protected from the
070-080
expected direction, and, with the narrow channel and reefs on the
ocean side
for protection and knocking down the waves, likely not having surge or
fetch
(the buildup of waves by wind over a distance) to deal with.

The downside to that location is that, if the report we heard from
another
cruiser is correct, and Duncantown has a free (for the community, of
course)
WiFi station, there are a couple of substantial hills between that
anchorage
and the town which will make reception, even with our very superior
rig,
impossible, WiFi being line-of-sight.

However, the south end of Ragged island has a dinghy access at the
Eagle's
Nest restaurant. We're told that there's ethernet-connection internet
available, and it's only a mile's walk to town, for our explorations,
if
not. As noted in past reports, "stuff" of any sort gets to the
Bahamian
outposts via mail boat and various transfers. This is no exception
other
than in its severity, due to the location and nature of access to the
town.

On the north end, there's a 4-mile long channel cut for dinghies and
small
boats. The supplies and passengers are ferried on lighters (smaller
but
substantial motorized boats) to the town in that channel. Indeed, the
mail
boat had called, and last night we could see her lights as she stood
off in
the anchorage on the very south end of Hog Cay.

The day dawned with the aforementioned very light winds and brilliant
sunshine. Due to tide considerations, we'd not be able to leave until
after
noon, so I took advantage of the time available to run the Honda, not
only
to top up our batteries, but to try my hand at making horns from some
of our
salvaged shells.

Digging out my grinder and cutoff wheel, I quickly had one of the ones
with
a hole in it (from the group which had come adrift from some
fisherman's
loops through, presumably, many others) and the biggest, still
colorful,
shell which had died a natural death, cut off to the appropriate size
for a
mouthpiece.

Down to the workbench, I got out my battery powered drill and grinding
stones and chose a conical one of the appropriate size. I was pleased
to
see that it made quick work of the curlicue shell inside, so that my
lips
(embouchure in the days I used to play; now they're just lips!)
wouldn't
impact on them as they vibrated. A quick lick around the inside of
the ring
with the grinding stone made a soft edge, and I went to the sink to
clean
them up from the grinding dust.

A quick try showed that the one with the hole in it did, in fact, when
I had
my finger over it, allow me to change the tone when I removed my
finger.
Ordinarily, something very few conch players know about, you could
change
the tone similarly to what french horn players do, by putting your
hand
inside the shell. Counter-intuitively, that deepens the tone, but as
you
withdraw your fingers, the sound gets higher in pitch.

Thus encouraged, and with a "throwaway" (these were very well
weathered and
not very pretty), I drilled another hole above the first. Sure
enough, a
small change in tone. Hm... So, I set to drilling another, just
under a
point. Bad mistake. That's a very thick area, and I was making very
little
headway. I dug out my wood rasp bits and used a sharply conical one
to make
the hole, finally.

A quick rinse later I proved that one could make different tones by
uncovering the holes, but not enough difference to make it worthwhile,
especially since the resonance of the tone suffered from it. As I
learned
that the hole in the bottom of the shell, unless covered, also
diminished
the resonance/purity of the tone, I tossed it and the other 4 which
had
holes in
the bottoms.

Since the large colorful one was still encrusted with lots of white
leftovers from the grass which typically accumulates, the next stop
was the
closet where I keep my bench grinder. One side has a wire wheel on
it, and,
set on the platform with the wheel over the water, the better to
minimize
stray strands which caught our feet from the last time I used it back
there,
the wire wheel made short work of cleaning it up beautifully.

Thus emboldened, I cleaned up the rest of the "keepers" and at the
same time
trimmed the feather edge, usually with some small breaks in them, of
the
part which eventually, had they matured, flared out. They'll make nice
gifts
once we apply some polish and buff them out :{))

Enough work! We had to secure stuff for our brief passage, so I
stowed all
the tools, cleaned up the workbench, and stowed the Honda and fuel can
from
the stern, back in the cockpit, clipped in. Retrieving the power cord
was
the last step, and we were ready to go.

However, having changed our destination, after lunch (Zone bars,
again),
Lydia put in our new waypoints as I wrote this and put away our bridle
snubber, which we'd left topsides in case we wanted to use it, after
all
(recall that our surge was at right angles to the boat, and our use of
the
bridle wasn't effective).

As the tide was low close to noon, and we'd be passing over some
shallow
(for us) water on the way, we wouldn't get under way until close to
2PM, to
allow not only more depth, but to have a rising tide in case the sands
had
shifted from what our charts showed, on the way down. I did my
startup
1-2-3's (check the oil, check the belts, pour the coolant in the
overflow
bottle back into the heat exchanger) and shortened our anchor scope.

Just before we pulled up the anchor, however, we were visited by a
very
large nurse shark. It swam directly at the starboard stern, and, just
before going under the boat, wandered off in nearly the same direction
he'd
come. As far out as he was when I first saw him, I thought it was a
ray, as
his length wasn't apparent. As he got closer, it was clear that it
was a
nurse shark. Great sightseeing in the Jumentos!

We thought about sailing off our anchor, but all we'd seen for wind at
the
moment suggested that this would be an ideal day to fly the spinnaker,
coming from 030 at 5-7 knots. So, we motored off at 1:30PM, for the
short
leg which would begin our journey over some very shallow spots. While
we
motored the short way, I prepared the spinnaker, getting the hoist
lines in
place, and running the sheets back to the turning blocks on the stern.

Once up to our first waypoint, however, it was apparent that the wind
was
even further north than had been expected, so, instead of a starboard
fly,
on a port tack, I had to change everything over to a starboard tack
for the
first hour's travel. We had the spinnaker up by 1:45, and were
rewarded by
3.7-4.2 knots SOG (speed over ground) with 0 apparent knots at 20*
true
(which resulted in a 140-160* aft wind). The spinnaker set
beautifully,
with the tack harness around the rolled-in genoa mounted 9' above
deck,
acting more like a true spinnaker other than that the tack didn't have
a
pole out in front.

This leg was relatively short, and we jibed the huge sail at 2:45PM,
heading
156*M (magnetic). The wind was now at 70-80* apparent, at about 10
knots,
due to our forward speed of, now, well over 6 knots. So, I pulled the
tack
all the way down until the sail touched the pulpit, and sheeted it in
tightly. Again, and still, it performed marvelously.

In the meantime, because of the nervous-making winds forecast, and our
Navionics chart chip in the chartplotter having little to no depth
information for the anchorage at the south end of Ragged island, along
with
the paper Explorer charts having too small a scale to give true
detail, I'd
pulled up the Cap'n charts which we have on the computer, and had a
very
close look.

Not so good - too many rocks, too much shallow water - so, despite the
likley better shelter it would afford, we reversed our reversal and
instead
decided to head for Lobster Hole off the southwest edge of Hog Cay.
Fortunately for our navigation, our line of travel was nearly the
same,
other than that we'd turn in sooner.

However, about that time, apparently, the front started to arrive,
well
behind schedule, as the wind kept moving futher south, making the
apparent
wind move forward, and increasing to the point where the luff was
flapping
in on itself. Reluctantly, at 3:15PM, we took it down by turning on
the
engine and motoring full speed downwind, which took most of the wind
out of
the sail, allowing the sock to come down easily. By this time it was
about
time to come about, and, with our new arrival point being nearly dead
upwind, while I stowed and secured the spinnaker, Lydia set our
course, into
the wind, for the cove.

This cove would still provide us good shelter from the fetch, but it's
not
as well protected from the forecasted winds, having much lower
elevation
getting in the way of the wind. It should, however, being wrapped
fully
around the point and in somewhat, be protected from the surge which is
likely to come around the south end of Hog Cay.

In short order we were there, with one cruiser in this location and a
ketch
further north in the next cove up. Not entirely isolated, but
certainly not
the least bit crowded! As we were expecting up to 40 knot gusts in
the
middle of the week, I put out a severe amount of chain for the 8-9' we
were
anchored in.

As has been our experience for every time we've anchored in the
Jumentos,
once I had the anchor (which I could see very clearly, as it landed,
and
then swung) straightened to our pull-line, I quickly let out about 30
feet.
It bit reassuringly, so I let out enough that, on the tug, there was
still
50' of chain in the water. Each successive 25' produced a nice firm
yank as
the bow came back into the wind after it had fallen off (moved
downwind) as
I let out the chain.

At 125', I had Lydia back down, and again at 150 and 175' of chain.
Each
time brought us up sharply, so, by now, the anchor was well and truly
dug
in. I finished with enough to leave 200' in the water at the normal
pull,
attaching our snubber. The final pull of 2500 RPM in reverse did
nothing
other than exercise Perky, as the chain went bar-tight, pulling all
but 150'
out of the water.

With over 200# of chain in the water, and our snubber, even very
strong
winds aren't likely to make Flying Pig yank on its chain. Here at
anchor,
the wind is from about 45-50* and has picked up to 9-14 knots. We'll
swing,
some, as it clocks around to the forecasted 70-80*, but that will put
our
keel in slightly deeper water, always a good thing, if you're cutting
the
bottom close!

Unfortunately, despite my checking from 5 or so miles out, and here,
once at
anchor, there were no WiFi signals visible. So, either the
intelligence I
received regarding locally-distributed WiFi in Duncantown is mistaken,
or
there are hills in the way, as the distance is easily within the
ability of
our setup to see even household routers, let alone one designed to
serve the
entire town. That will mean that unless you're a subscriber, you're
not
seeing this until some time well after it's been posted to The Flying
Pig
Log, as that will go out over our Ham email link to my son, who's
posting
them from my regular email account...

So, here we are, across from an immensely long (though not very deep)
beach,
at 22* 14.452'N / 75* 45.274'W, after a short but wonderful spinnaker
run
and a brief motoring experience. Yes, we could have put up the sails
and
tacked our way to the anchorage, but as short as the distance
remaining was
(there's no two places in the Jumentos which are very far away from
each
other!), we just motored.

In return, between the sun and the alternator, our batteries are as
full as
they've ever been, other than during equalizing, showing -0.16 in
cumulative
amp hours. Of course, that will increase (or decrease, depending on
how you
look at it) as our time on the Ham radio, as well as logs requiring
use of
the computer and screen eat electrons.

My KISS housing and blades have been sent to George Town, so once we
get
back there, perhaps in a couple of weeks, and reassemble and reinstall
the
wind generator, our charging should be easily accomplished by the sun
and
wind. As it is, our solar panels have done a great job in keeping them
topped up :{))

Dinner was a conch-salad (like tuna salad, but made from the conch I
chopped
up yesterday) and coleslaw sandwich. What a great way to finish the
day,
with food we've hunted and prepared ourselves!

As usual, I've gone on more than intended, so, until next time, Stay
Tuned!

L8R

Skip and crew, lying Hog Cay, Jumentos Bahamas

Morgan 461 #2
SV Flying Pig KI4MPC
See our galleries at www.justpickone.org/skip/gallery !
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"You are never given a wish without also being given the power to
make it come true. You may have to work for it however."
(and)
"There is no such thing as a problem without a gift for you in
its hand
(Richard Bach)

Skip Gundlach wrote:
We left you, totally stuffed from a dinner of 3 conch tossed in some
penne,
with the winds and surge subsiding.

Friday started with our usual conference with Chris Parker. Forecasts
indicated that we're in for blowy weather for the next week or so.
With
that in mind, we reviewed our options for the Raggeds, looking for the
most
protected anchorages. We expect to go to the south hook above the end
of
Hog Cay, which provides nice protection from all but north or west
winds.
Certainly, where we are, while it's been great lately, would be very
rough
with the surge coming around the top of Double Breasted Cay. As
things
constantly change with the forecast being that far out, we'll check
again
before we leave.

As usual, the day was very overcast, but burned off quickly. We set
out for
the southern end of Maycock to explore a reported beach on the ocean
side.
The wind had clocked around to the southeast, at 8-12 knots, and the
waters
over the shallows were a very light chop, so we planed our PortaBote.

However, we were close to low tide, and, despite trying to skirt the
huge
sand bar between Maycock and Margaret Cays which, on the charts,
shows,
sometimes, dry at low water, we quickly started dragging the foot of
the
outboard in sand with some small grassy spots. Putting it up to the
furthest extension by moving the pin which holds the foot of the
engine, we
still grounded, so we got out to walk.

Four messages back your word wrap started doing the above. I used to
like reading the stories.

Stephen

On Mon, 12 Apr 2010 07:23:40 -0700, Stephen Trapani
wrote:

However, we were close to low tide, and, despite trying to skirt the
huge
sand bar between Maycock and Margaret Cays which, on the charts,
shows,
sometimes, dry at low water, we quickly started dragging the foot of
the
outboard in sand with some small grassy spots. Putting it up to the
furthest extension by moving the pin which holds the foot of the
engine, we
still grounded, so we got out to walk.


Four messages back your word wrap started doing the above. I used to
like reading the stories.

I think it depends on whether or not he has an internet connection on
the boat. If not, he has to send the info as an EMAIL via HF/SSB
radio to someone else, who reposts it under his name. The line
formatting suffers in translation somewhere along the way. I suspect
there is not much WiFi connectivity available down in the boondocks
where they are hanging out these days.

Wayne.B wrote:
On Mon, 12 Apr 2010 07:23:40 -0700, Stephen Trapani
wrote:

However, we were close to low tide, and, despite trying to skirt the
huge
sand bar between Maycock and Margaret Cays which, on the charts,
shows,
sometimes, dry at low water, we quickly started dragging the foot of
the
outboard in sand with some small grassy spots. Putting it up to the
furthest extension by moving the pin which holds the foot of the
engine, we
still grounded, so we got out to walk.

Four messages back your word wrap started doing the above. I used to
like reading the stories.

I think it depends on whether or not he has an internet connection on
the boat. If not, he has to send the info as an EMAIL via HF/SSB
radio to someone else, who reposts it under his name. The line
formatting suffers in translation somewhere along the way. I suspect
there is not much WiFi connectivity available down in the boondocks
where they are hanging out these days.


Thunderbird can re-wrap it for easy reading. Just do 'Reply' to open a
composition window quoting it and click within the quote and select Edit
Rewrap from the menu. Now its easy to read. Obviously you should
cancel rather than send unless you actually want to reply.

From what he said earlier, he cant see our responses here at the
moment, so you will have to wait till he's back from the boonies to get
him to fix the problem.

--
Ian Malcolm. London, ENGLAND. (NEWSGROUP REPLY PREFERRED)
ianm[at]the[dash]malcolms[dot]freeserve[dot]co[dot]uk
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