The Quiet Ripple Defines The Pond

Almost exactly 20 years ago, I went to the Campbeltown Folk Festival. The lead bands were Shooglenifty and Flook. I had the opportunity to talk a lot to Brian Finnegan, one of Flook’s flute folk. During the concert he had been playing a bamboo flute in F. I asked where he got it from and he kindly went to find the address of Patrick Olwell. http://www.irishfluteguide.info/patrick-olwell-interview/   

I wrote to Patrick Olwell and a few months later I got a bamboo flute in F.

Patrick is now recognized as the leading flute maker in the world. You wait a minimum of 6 years to get a new flute.

Here it is today. 20 years later. Incredible flute!

What I like about this flute is that it is just a bit of bamboo with some holes in it. It can nevertheless pump out wonderful music, er, in the right hands.

To my amazement, Flook come to Okinawa. Not just Okinawa but to Ginoza, a tiny coastal town on the East.coast.

https://www.google.com/maps/place/Ginoza,+Kunigami+District,+Okinawa+Prefecture/@26.4970997,127.9296808,20856m/data=!3m1!1e3!4m5!3m4!1s0x34e50089239b23db:0x88c347e6bf8c8722!8m2!3d26.4816587!4d127.9755894

Hard to define the strangeness of this. Ginoza is nowhere but some far-sighted folk have started to invite amazing acts to the newly created Farm Club. Thank you.

What a great place to play. All Flook photos thanks to Ginoza Farm Club.

What do you call two flutes playing A? ………. A chord.

Will Cipriani play for England?

So,  Flook:

http://www.flook.co.uk/ 

were incredible and of course the Okinawans danced throughout the concert.

We talk, they remember me, we cry on each others’ shoulders.

John Joe Kelly

I am feeling very proud of myself as I succeeded in getting stuff from Japanese Amazon.

Yes

This what I got.

Solar panel to top up the bilge pump, Gulper, battery. Battery powered LED lights that might work as emergency navigation lights. Pretty pink camo life jacket.

I am nearing completion on my new crown. Today was fitting. It took 90 mins of exquisite adjustment to get it just right.

Akiko san places the crown and then slides red  paper between my teeth. She then says, ” Tap,tap tap ,tap or bite hardu, or grindu.” Analysing the runic traces left on the crown she then adjusts it minutely with an ancestral file. She does this a least 10 times.

The dentist is such good fun

Mori sensei has to check everything is OK and we swap boat typhoon stories. His boat is OK. The crown is finally stuck in place but this is only temporary as I have to come back in a week to make sure everything is OK before they take it off again and apply the permanent glue.  Such care, such precision, such ridiculously low price!

In the boat I find a Sabani boat race T-shirt. You remember that we came last!

https://quietripple.wordpress.com/2018/06/25/a-match-of-two-halves/

The weather has changed. It is grey and blusterly, rain is forecast. I rig the tarpaulin.

It is only 27 degrees

I buy the best Sashimi in the world from my local corner shop.

Parrot fish, 2 different kinds of Tuna, sauce. 500 yen that is $4.45. Today’s catch.

The last 10 days or so have been dominated by typhoon stuff. The first, Trami, was  a mega, ultra typhoon. The second, whose name I have already forgotten, was less kapow but it did rain like crazy.

I was so prepared.

I set up the boat for the typhoons with a focus on her not blowing away into the East China Sea, trailing multi-million yen lawsuits for damage to other boats. I succeeded.

I forgot completely to rig the tarpaulin to fend off heavy rainfall. I failed.

As soon as I can, I scurry down to the boat yard, to find a syphon set-up in the cockpit and suspicious scum lines around the cockpit walls.

See what I mean. Check out the dirty bath lines.

I meet with faithful Kiyuna san who explains that he came down twice  in one day during the rainy typhoon to empty the cockpit.   Thank you.

The risk is that the water level rises to the engine compartment hatch and floods the newly refurbished engine.

I will have to work out some way to drain the cockpit. I will be away from Okinawa for periods of several months and even with covers, there is a high risk that rain will fill up the cockpit. Hmmmm.

Anyway, the typhoons go to Spain and I start re-rigging the boat with the new rope that Sato san has furnished.

I, with help, take down the mast and position it in front of the boat. I have learnt that getting every stay, halyard, topping lift exactly in place prior to raising the mast is essential. I get it wrong in a remarkable variety of ways, very many times.

Is this right?

My left foot as I re-rig the boat

It turns out that two of the halyards are too short. “Pshaw” says Sato san, “No problem, I will extend them when I get back from delivering Lady Luck to  Yonabaru Marina.”

Splicing ropes to me is a magical skill but it is bread and butter to Sato san.

The weather is incredible!  Slightly less hot and blue.

Picnic time!

Back to normal

I was hopelessly unprepared for the reality of no power. I had no water, little food, no lamp nor candles. Of course all the shops were shut as they were in the same boat with no power.

Okinawan post typhoon roadside garbage.

I lived a very primitive life for 2 days. Water is pumped around the building  and with no electricity the pump stops. This mean the toilet does not flush, the shower does not work, you cannot wash up. Wise maidens have filled their bathtubs with water prior to the typhoon. I am not  a wise maiden but definitely will be in the future. You also need a bucket.

As soon as the wind allows, I go down to see if the boat is OK.

The next day

Lots of birds sheltering from the wind.

Black Backed Stilt.

Grey Tailed Tattler

Lots of this.

An inappropriate name.

A few boats blown off their cradles, some masts broken but not too bad considering the strength of the wind. The Norfolk Gypsy is fine – hooray!

Guess what? Another typhoon is coming on Friday. I have  a bucket.

Pretty bucket.

The importance of last Saturday’s election for the Governor of Okinawa was underlined by God sending a mega typhoon.

The election is fought essentially on, do the Okinawans want another US base? Denny Tamaki, bottom right, won, with the help of Nature demonstrating that she was fed up with environmental damage in Okinawa by doing quite a lot of environmental damage!

https://japantoday.com/category/politics/Denny-Tamaki-critic-of-U.S.-bases-elected-Okinawa-governor

Typhoon Trami went right over us on Saturday, which was polling day. It was the real thing! Go out and vote!

How low will she go?

Power goes off at 11:30 am – no electricity, no AC, no water, no internet. The wind is crazy, howling and roaring with very heavy rain until about 2:00 when everything goes quiet as the eye of the storm passes over.

It goes crazy again about 6:00 and it also gets dark. I have no light to read by so I just sit there listening to the wind and hoping to sleep eventually.

Totally off scale.

Looks like a Category 4 typhoon, named  Trami, will, to use the verb much favored by journalists, slam into Okinawa tomorrow. This is always exciting, but not much good for the advancement of the project.

Hail Trami! Actually probably more like Rain Trami!

Trami means tram in Japanese.

Kiyuna san prepares for the typhoon.

I have mentioned Sato san before. He is renowned throughout Japan for setting up rigging and sails on racing yachts to squeeze out maximum speed. His advice is much sought after. He is a really good bloke and remarkably he has offered to rig my Norfolk Gypsy. He wants to make her sail er, um, really fast. This is a wonderful thing as he is a true expert.

He was very clear on the uselessness of the rope I had bought and insists on a complete change to much higher quality rope.

Sato san with replacement halyards.

This morning we were intending to start the rigging but it is no good as the wind is already high. I have to lash everything down and generally prepare for wind so strong that it moves cars from one side of a parking lot to the other. No problem says Sato san, we will set up the boat when the typhoon has strutted and fretted its hour upon the stage. Or something like that.

Before I went down to the yard, I had my usual Thursday morning dentist hour.

Who is the fairest of them all?

Going to the dentist is such fun.

Mori sensei and Yoko san. Mori sensei has been on holiday.

Bring it on Trami!

Remarkably, I have been able to buy Springbank, arguably the greatest whisky, from a corner shop nearby. https://quietripple.wordpress.com/2013/08/18/globalization/

I would like to give a bottle to Kiyuna san but when I get to the shop there is no more Springbank!  Adorable Yoshi san explains that they cannot get anymore Springbank no matter how they try.

“Neil sensei, I knew that you would come to buy a bottle, so I kept the last one for you.”

I have not been in the shop for 3 months.

The last bottle. Thank you Yoshi san.

This act of kindness is a great antidote for a difficult couple of days.

My beautiful handmade reefing block support plate does not fit.

It is too big.

My fault.

I spend probably the worst hours of the project trying to fit the fuel tank filler pipe. This connects the nozzle on the combing with the tank. You have to push the pipe onto the nozzle from below. The nozzle is only accessible from a locker. It is totally out of reach.

I make many attempts and fail each time.

A great test of character.

I finally succeed, with the help of a heat gun and washing up liquid, but suffer severe bruising to my right arm and my left ribcage as I force myself into the locker and upwards to the the nozzle. It is very hot and I nearly pass out.

A few minutes later, the holy Sato san passes by. He wants to help me rig the boat for maximum performance. https://quietripple.wordpress.com/2018/05/19/interdeck/

He is a great person, as is his wife Akiko san. They look at the rope that I have used for halyards and come as close as Japanese can politely come to giggling.

” Neil san you can not use this rope. It is pitiful rope. It will stretch and sag. You can not sail with this rope.”

A load of junk. I have 200 meters of the same.

I absolutely respect Sato san’s judgement. In Snakes and Ladders  imagery, I have hit a major snake that slides me right back to the starting line.

Sato san mysteriously suggests that he can find me good rope that has been taken from another yacht, Watch this space, very hush, hush. Notwithstanding, this means lowering the mast and replacing all the rigging. At least a couple of weeks, because Sato san has to go to Ishigaki Jima to tune racing yachts. I am in no hurry.

To end on a happy note, I go back to Nagahama san’s chaotic yard and explain that  the beautiful plate he made me is too big. He makes me another for no charge.

This one is a perfect fit.

I am now also doing a lot of fine tuning.

Tiller retaining pin installed.

.

Refreshed by brief sojourn in the USA, I redouble my boatyard efforts. Um, actually I am very jet-lagged and when things do happen I generally stand around and watch.

The engine! A single cylinder of raw diesel torque. She is ready. You will remember that she had a hard passage through middle age, spending a lot of this period submerged.

Mid life crisis.

She has since gone through a complete rebuild under the hands of Surgeon Kiyuna.

Kiyuna san takes the engine for a stroll. Ritual is important.

Huge flywheel ! Final intimate greasings before the gearbox is finally attached.

Change of tack, notice nautical language, I have attached all the rigging complex to the mast. Next step is to raise the the damn thing. I entice a theoretical physicist to aid. They are the best in a tight corner.

Thanks Nic!

We, or to be truthful, I , make a complete mess of it. There are many ropes, blocks, lifts, associated to the mast.  They tangle, they intertwine, they sulk, thank God for a theoretical  physicist.

Kiyuna san watches politely amused.

Anyway we succeed, after several raisings and lowerings, to get the mast and all rigging in more or less the right place.

Masted

New halyards and topping lift. Notice restored Porta-potty on the left of the cockpit. I have not field tested it yet.

Today I rush down to Ginowan and find the Yanmar nestling in the boat.

Back where she belongs.

“When did you do this Kiyuna san?” I mean you need a crane and stuff.

“When you were sleeping, Neil san.”

The next day I head off to the Burma Grade Trail, another classic adventure through the history of the Gold Rush. The trail is characterized by the first 2 miles, an extremely steep shelf road ascent. On your left is a huge drop, in front a very narrow broken trail. It is a harrowing experience. With a sigh of relief, I get to the top and look forward to a calm drive along the plateau, with stops for graveyards.

Rats! Fire risk I guess.

No option but to turn around and drive back down the harrowing shelf road.

As always, things turn out best when things go against plans.

At the bottom of the shelf road is the Merced River. I drive along a trail beside the river. After a long time I come to a lost camp site.

Sun goes down.

It is Paradise.

My swimming hole. This is where I spend most of my time, up to the neck in clean river water.

Where I shower

My toilet!

My Bear, get out of here box.

Turkeys pass by.

Ground Squirrels  eat my left overs.

There is nobody here.

Yay!

God bless America.

Lightning break from the boatyard, finds  me at a bridge on a forest track just outside Yosemite. I have planned this trip for sometime. I want to drive the Old Coulterville Road, a Gold Rush era trail that passes through  mines and lots of graveyards. You need a serious 4 wheel drive vehicle to get along it. I have the Tacoma.

Such a great truck!

I’ll even kiss the Sunset pig.

How to get there: Okinawa to Tokyo, Tokyo to San Francisco, San Francisco to Coulterville, then 20 miles of back trails until I get to the bridge, which is the start of the Old Coulterville Road.

The bridge is barred. High Fire Risk. Oh. 

Best laid plans etc, etc.

I am not surprised as the country is very, very dry. A steely look would start a fire.

Not to worry, the hills around Yosemite are crisscrossed by trails and I head up one that turns out to be a winner. I set up camp at the top of the mountain and start the meal.

Very camp

Only the beginning.

Sautee de boeuf au champignons, sauce vin rouge. Everything tastes better outside.

Who wants to be a millionaire?

Not what was planned back in Onna son but still amazing. California is wonderful, a few hours drive from San Francisco, I am treading in bear poop.

200 metres from my camp.