Bundaberg Hotels
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Still here...
Entry 15 of 57 | show all | print this entry |
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Well we tried to leave... twice... but the weather is keeping us in port, since the bay has very rough seas but also wind directly out of the direction we want to travel in. Some of the hardier sailors among you readers may ask the question "Why not just tack into the wind the whole way?" Well no thanks buddy- this trip is about comfort, and not breaking the boat, so the only choice is to motor into the wind and waves, not the most comfortable or efficient way to go. So we are still in Bundy- I changed the title location because I was tired of seeing just Bundaberg!
After the first day of attempting to leave, we headed into town to run some errands and had an relaxing day since it continued raining.
After the next escape attempt the next day two guys from other boats borrowed a car and we headed down to Elliot Heads, the local kiting spot when the winds are out of the south or southeast. We spent all afternoon and went with light winds early and really started going as the winds picked up. One of the guys let me try his newer kite, which felt so much better than mine I really need to upgrade.
Stumbled off the beach with worn out legs but had a blast- unfortunately no new pictures, so I selected another of Susan's excellent ones.
Since I don't have much to entertain with, here is some from John: part of the rally was a story contest, which John (who has conjured up some other good tales) submitted the following entry detailing the initial problems with my head (that's a toilet to you landlubbers- not my cranium). He won a free night at a local bed & breakfast, and it may even be published in Cruiser's World, a boating magazine. Enjoy :)
Tale from the Coral Sea
Onboard Silkie
October 2007
The following tale is true although very few details have been changed to protect the reputations of the parties involved. Whereas most sea stories recount terrible encounters with monsters, storms and or mermaids, our tale centers on a talking head. To be specific, the head in the port hull, the personal throne of our erstwhile mate, LCDR Garrett W. Shook, USN, retired. [not entirely accurate- G]
We first became suspicious that something was amiss when we noticed that the previously mentioned mate was making far too many trips to the facility than one would normally assume under normal gastronomical conditions. When asked, the mate assured both the Capt. and Admiral that all was well and that there was no need to initiate an alternate diet or provide prophylactic supplements. How then could we account for the frequent visits to the private chamber?
This mystery continued until by chance the Admiral, in the course of her weekly inspection, had occasion to flush said head. Imagine her surprise when the devise spoke to her. Yes indeed, this was a true talking head. What you ask did it say? Well, believe it or not, as the handle was stroked, the bowl let out a soft, soothing cry of "Yes". In fact, if you pulled the handle at an easy rhythm one could not mistake hearing "Yes, Yes, Yes". So, it seems that Mr. Shook was making the frequent visits to the altar merely to hear (no doubt less heard otherwise) the cry of a very contented damsel.
But what to do? We certainly could not have the mate in frequent dereliction of duty. A cure for the talking head was needed. The Admiral, calling upon her vast experience in the matter of heads, immediately suggested that all that was needed was a good dose of vinegar. For those of you unfamiliar with marine toilets, vinegar is the single most useful treatment. Well, as fate would have it, we last restocked this potent cure-all in French Polynesia. Man the ramparts, French vinegar to the rescue! But wait, after a goodly dose of said ointment, we once again pulled the handle. "Oui, Oui, Oui" was the cry. This was no fix at all, merely a translation. Perhaps, though we will never know for sure, we were now hearing the head in her native tongue.
What next? The Admiral, never one to be out done by a mere porcelain object for the collection of waste, next tried lubricant. Strange you say, is a lubricant really the cure for contentment? But then, you forget we are really talking about a marine toilet, and marine toilets need frequent application of a soothing lubricant, preferably a slippery mineral oil. Well, after a good dose of said oil, the head was once again given a few strong stokes. We can not be sure, but it seemed that the cry had changed, and what was now heard was "Almost, Almost, Almost". This would never do. We could not have the mate making frequent trips below in a vain attempt to recapture the earlier rapture. Something had to be done.
The cure my friend is the joker. Yes, the joker valve. If you know your heads, then you know that the key to a good flush is a properly working joker valve. This nasty little devise decides what goes which way, when. To be more specific, the joker valve, a rubber device of truly demonic origins, will let the bad stuff flow out without letting the ocean flow in. Why you ask is it called a joker valve? While there is a great deal of controversy in the head literature regarding the entomology of this name, most experts agree that the name derives from the unavoidable mess that occurs on the occasion of changing this rubber valve. This ungodly mess can only be the result of a terrible joke being played on the changer by some long gone, sorry-ass, head designer, laughing uncontrollably somewhere off in the distance. This dim witted excuse for a toilet engineer is in all probability jealous of the fact that you (and most assuredly, not him) actually have a boat big enough to have a head in the first place, and in retaliation, has designed this devise to ruin your day. But I digress.
We did indeed change the joker valve, and low and behold, the cry was vanquished. No more was Mr. Shook beguiled below to coax out the plaintive cry of the contented head-mate. No longer was he lured down to the throne of his fantasies to give her a few strokes. No, for now, when he pulled the handle, all that was heard was the customary "gurgle, gurgle, gurgle". And this, my friends, in spite of what you may have personally experienced, is not the same as "Yes, Yes, Yes."
But what you ask became of the extraordinary joker? The valve with the voice of an Angel. The rubber device whose mere presence on board caused mayhem amongst the crew. Fear not. Mr. Shook has kept the object of his fantasy and no doubt, at some time in the future, she will be once again be engaged in her lustful moan on some future vessel of his choosing.
Post Script:
I contacted the manufacturer to complain about the distracting device only to be told that we received this valve by mistake. It was a prototype that was under development and should never have left the factory. They asked us to return her, but I declined, saying that it had been tossed overboard. Keep you eye on the next West Marine catalog. Perhaps there will be a talking head in your future.
John Fisher
S/V Silkie
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