Run to the Hills

Yesterday, I'd been told that Jean-Pierre decided that this was Valentina's last stop. Certainly in present condition. The remainder of the journey to Gran Canaria is another fourty-eight hours, but with the engine as it is and distrurbing noises from the steering cables, he didn't believed we could go any further. Thomas, on the other hand, is still hell bent on finishing his delivery.

With the exception of those few moments of excruciating recklessness, and the brutally irresponsible lack of safety gear, I've absolutely enjoyed this adventure. After five years in front a computer for eleven hours a day, I've found all the hands-dirty adventure and sexy danger that I could possibly have hoped for. But, logic is prevailing. I'd promised myself after Asilah that if we crash landed into Casablanca to refuel, as anticipated, I would cut and run. I didn't get the chance then, but at least it's over now.

But apparently, it's not over. Apparently, Thomas has convinced our French skipper to finish the job, leaving today.

I'm walking into the central marina with David. I'm insisting that I'm not going any further, and desperately hunting for another boat to sail with. He's trying to convince me otherwise. I want him to convince me. It's only forty-eight hours, it's true, in theory, but just two days ago we were only four hours away from here. As much as I want to stay with my beloved crew, the reality is a titanic, colossal affront to logic. There's only so long that I can fly in the face of glaring common sense.

I've explained to Thomas and the gang that I'm leaving  for the need to get back to London sooner than later to get a job before end of year budgets slam shut. That's true, but the more pertinent actuality is that I don't want lose a finger and have to learn to play guitar left-handed. Granted, Tony Iommi manages just fine, but I don't fancy it.

I wander up from the marina and quietly watch Valentina sail out of sight. I'm still scared and seriously concerned for their safety.

Hoping to feel better about my decision, I start scrawling a list on my arm of all of the broken and missing parts on Valentina.

(Broken:)

main sheet (replaced)
main sail (torn, replaced, torn, abandoned)
fuel tank (rusted & contaminated)
engine
-fresh water pump (repaired)
-salt water pump (repaired)
-fuel pump (repaired)
-oil leak (largely repaired)
-various (repaired, broken, repaired)
alternator (live wire)  (repaired)
left gas hob
mast winch
port quarter winch
jib sheet (repaired)
draws
floors
door latches
ceiling (leaking)
fridge
nav lights
windvane light
spinnaker boom
bilge pump
heads
front head seacock
starboard quarter fairlead
swim ladder & rear frame (crushed)
port-side cockpit frame
top deck-window seals

(Tenuously functional:)

steering cables
wheel (helm)
rudder
GPS
radio (tried once, no answer)

(Missing:)

lifejackets
jackstays + teathers
EPIRB
dan buoy
hinged cooker or holders
Autohelm
cockpit light
cockpit electronics - wind, speed, course

Brilliant. A brilliant fucking death trap, but brilliant.