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Cleaning the propeller had paid big dividends. In the calm waters and inconsequential wind immediately after departure we were making 3.9 kt at 1500 rpm, and later we made 5.1 kt at 2000 rpm. At we approached Gipioa I gave the engine full throttle and was pleased to see that it had reached 3000 rpm. I had not mentioned it earlier (to not distress Mark in Port Townsend), but on departure from MdP I had been able to get a maximum of only 2300 rpm from the engine, a good indication that the propeller was badly furred up. This propeller lesson was learned from reality rather than theory, and it would be highly unlikely that I would make the same mistake again.
I approached the the anchorage in my usual "jumping bean" mode: a constant cycle of checking, cross checking, and rechecking. When navigating I like to cross check and validate everything, if possible. We crept into the small bay slowly and soon I could see two yellow floats near the beach and a modern and official looking building with a flag pole on the right. When we got closer I saw that the yellow floats had big X's on top of them, which in any language means don't stray beyond the line between them and, to be sure, don't stray to the right or left of the pair. That was fine with me because between the markers was the central portion of the sandy beach. We crept closer toward the beach exactly between the markers and when the depth got to 7 meters I reversed our travel then went forward and lowered the anchor at 9.15 AM. The boat settled over 7.2 meters of water and from the color it appeared that we were over sand.
I then checked out the scene with binoculars and I must say that it exceeded my expectations and hopes. I was surrounded on 3 sides by high hills covered in tropical vegetation. I could see birds that I figured would have excited Brenda so much that I would have had to restrain her from jumping over the side to get to the beach for a closer look. Who knows what exotic birds would be found in that thick vegetation. We had wind protection on an arc from N to E to S and to almost SW. In the exposed sector I could expect some protection from nearby islands and shoals.
The official building at the right turned out to be a modern floating commercial establishment. The deck chairs and umbrellas suggested that they might serve refreshments and possibly food. Otherwise there appeared to be no private dwellings on the island. The intriguing jungle around me and the floating commercial operation made a good case for launching the Zodiac and rowing ashore.
Our position was 23S03.809, 044W21.321 and we were 150 meters off a sandy beach.
I felt so pleased with the outcome of the morning's effort that I cracked open my first bottle of ice cold Heineken in 3 days, even though it was still morning.
At 10.30 I had a look outside and saw how fortunate I was in arriving so early. I had arrived at an empty bay but now there were 6 "stink pot" motor boats of various sizes and a sailboat was coming in. The sail boat dropped anchor between Pachuca and the beach. It was flying a Brazilian courtesy flag with an Argentinean flag at its stern. On board was a nuclear family of 3, and we gave each other a wave. - and oops, there was a ketch approaching the anchorage. I call myself "fortunate" because I get pretty freaky about entering an anchorage where there are already boats present. The stink pots present no problem because they anchor very close to shore, but to sail boats I allow much more space than is necessary, usually to my detriment. (That wasn't a ketch coming in. It turned out to be a tourist boat named the "Alto Austral" with two short vestigial masts for show.)
At lunchtime I counted 54 power boats with 4 more on the way and I decided to put off going shore and decided instead to do more diving under the boat. The wire brush didn't make a mark on the remaining spots of growth on the propeller so I finished the job with the paint scraper, which did and excellent job. I then started on the propeller shaft and while I was at it my head hit a lot of heavy growth on the hull. I had a look at it trying to figure out why that one patch was so overgrown then I remembered that it was the ground plate (Dynaplate) for the HF radio that I had installed in La Paz. I immediately redirected my efforts to clean the Dynaplate thinking that it might help with its grounding qualities, bearing in mind that I had been having a lot of Sailmail communications problems lately. After cleaning the Dynaplate I cleaned the propeller shaft and the cutlass bearing support, and after an hour of work I was satisfied with the state of those underwater areas. There would be no more maintenance diving by me for the foreseeable future.
While I was still in the water the ingress of boats got really serious and I found myself being surrounded by power boats moving close to Pachuca and dropping anchor nearby. 40 meters off my starboard quarter were four power boats rafted together. Astern were two catamarans. 30 meters off the port beam was a gigantic power boat with two large communications domes. Thankfully nobody dropped anchor ahead of Pachuca, which was pointing away from the beach and was the only cruiser and sailboat in the group. (The Argentinean boat had left.) I had a cockpit bath, complete with hair shampoo, under the glare of the surrounding boats. I washed the fluffy bits under the underpants that I had used for diving, so nobody could complain. The atmosphere for me had changed from that of wary solo sailor always on the lookout for danger to participant (sort of) in floating community of party makers falsely insulated from the realities of boating. (You know, anchors magically going down and up with no visible human, and not a safety harness or PFD in sight.) I stated "falsely" because the sad fact was that a sudden 30 knot wind would put half of those boats on the beach. And of course there were of course expensive water toys zipping around all over the place. I looked at the calendar and saw that it was Saturday, which explained everything. I would have plenty of company all night and if that boat to my starboard didn't shut down that blaring music I would mount a night time commando raid to silence it. ("Cocaine", "Rocket Man", Isaac Hayes? What happened to the genius of Carlos Jobim and the Bosa Nova?) Not that I was complaining about the company. My visit to the island had morphed from a solitary communion with nature to a sociological happening of the Brazilian weekend boating scene, a worthy experience in itself. (Western Australians can think of it as Rottnest Island in Portuguese, but Wow, those skimpy bikinis would land you in jail in most of the world that I know.) There was no longer a feathered bird in sight, and who could blame them, but hopefully there would be time for nature later.
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