Formation accélerée

Yesterday was spent at the lifeboat station, receiving accelerated training from the cox. A nice guy, ex-navy, now working in the technical services of the local hospital. The training started with a detailed visit to the whole lifeboat, crawling into tiny, airless and cramped spaces, memorising where stopcocks, interruptor switches, emergency lighting, fire-fighting apparatus can be found. A lot to take in, and it was reassuring to hear that I will be hearing it again, and again.

Next followed matelotage, or rope-work. My clove-hitches were judged 'nickel' (super), and my knots for tying sheets (ropes) together were OK, if a little slow. Where I was hopeless was in relearning a different way of tying a bowline. I had done it the summer camp way, which is hopelessly slow and fiddly, if quite entertaining. I would have to learn the fast method, because often that knot is needed in a hurry. Unfortunately, the cox is left-handed, and I found it well nigh impossible to translate the movements into right handed, and neither could he, when demonstrating. Something to practice assiduously at home. Still, by this morning, I had hacked it, but I am probably not up to what they would call a satisfactory speed.

After these rather mixed results, it was on to how to attach a tow. Not just one rope, but three. The main towrope has about the diameter of a broom handle, and is equipped with an eye at the loose end. This is then shackled onto a shorter length of rope, in the shape of a 'Y', with loops at all three extremities, which actually gets fixed to the boat needing towing. All of this is far too heavy to throw, so a third, light line, intriguingly called a touline (towline) is then hitched on to the second rope (using a bowline, what else? holding together the two loops at the top of the 'Y'). This light line has a weighted ball at the other end, which provides the momentum to reach the other craft.

What then happens theoretically (but not often with Italians I am told), is that on the craft needing assistance you haul in the touline, bringing the second rope to the boat, and this you then attach, by opening the 'Y' and looping each branch to a separate cleat. The whole caboodle of boat with second cable is then towed using the first main thick cable. In the case of the Italians, apparently, the light line (like thin washing line with a tennis-ball stuck on the end) is believed to be the tow, and dutifully hitched, with inevitable consequences.

I have been told that the summer is almost non stop towing of boats that have got into difficulties, many crewed by Italians, so it will be a well rehearsed manoeuvre before long.

Then came mooring drill. Here in the Mediterranean, where there is little port space, and no appreciable tide, so boats are moored stern to the key, with four cables at the stern and two at the bow. Quite complicated when a wind is causing the boat to drift out of alignment and you are reversing into a very narrow space between other fragile and expensive boats.

By this time, the deputy cox had arrived. He was smoking a cigar, as he had just come off duty on the charter yacht he captains. That did not prevent us having to do the daily ritual of the peck on both cheeks, this requiring careful three-dimensional positioning so as not to burn our ears on the embers of his favourite smoke. There being three of us, it was time to roll all the firehoses used the day before, and left to dry over night in festoons from the radar mast. Now familiar with the boat, I was told to stow them in the fire locker. But I couldn't open the hatch. Somewhat embarrassed, I called for help, which came in the form of a shout from up on deck "Fous-lui un grand coup!" (F-ing thump it!). Another bit of highly technical accelerated training accomplished...

Still, there are rewards, like a post-training planter's punch made with genuine ingredients from Martinique, courtesy of a civic delegation from St Pierre, who gave a three litre, super-strength rum pack (the kind of wine bag with a collapsible foil container inside and a small tap) to the station, along with Martinique grown limes (even better than the rum in my view).

Today, more of the same, and no doubt a check on my capacity to do a bowline their way.