This is a happy and sad phase of our story. We left us last having completed our courses and about to have a little holiday preparing to receive our new family member (Blu Emu!) from the shippers. A warning to the boaters reading this, there’s little nautical but many holiday photos and some stories….
In part zero and one I explained why you would find us in the UK in May-June. The UK, in this case, means the Cornish town of Falmouth. Falmouth has the third deepest natural harbour in the world and the deepest in Western Europe. It’s name is also derived from the river Fal. It is claimed that an earlier Celtic name for the place was Peny-cwm-cuic (which translates as ‘head of the creek’) which is anglicised as “Pennycomequick”. Isn’t language fun!
While we didn’t get to see it, there is lots to see that is more than 50 years old which is the average age of most things in Australia. For example, at the entrance to the Carrick Roads, Pendennis Castle was strengthened to resist the Spanish Armada and was the second to last fort to surrender to the Parliamentary Army in the English civil war. Hmm….
Cornish Cruising do numerous RYA courses and, run by Nick, we had two fantastic teachers in Phil and Bob, and were joined by local lad Jack who already knew the area better than most since he was on the water since he was four years old and his father ran a local boat charter and fishing business!
Here are a set of photos from the four days of course. We didn’t get any chance to look around on land much as the course often went until 7 or 8 at night.
Blu Emu was resting on her laurels, or at least her hulls, in Saint Martin (abbreviated incidentally as SXM for some reason) in the Caribbean. Peters and May, who happen to be an international shipping company and not, as it appears, a Sydney clothing store or firm of slightly dodgy lawyers, needed the boat in Antigua. Antigua (with a much more boring abbreviation of ANT, although somewhat sort after as an Internet location by the Providers Internationale Soft Suede), was only about 100 nautical miles away as the pirates fly but that was a long long way when you are sitting in Australia wondering how your boat is going to get there!
Fortunately, we made contact with a Captain – yes, the capitalised honorific was appropriate – Greg who had skippered our new boat in previous times for the likes of the National Geographic while whale filming, and the Death In Paradise crew for episode 1, series 5. I’m not sure how the boat felt about being the “millionaire’s yacht” but she carried out her role with quiet aplomb worthy of aluminium. Stoic perhaps, or even Metallic.
Captain Greg agreed to pilot her on her last (for now!) Caribbean escapade to Antigua, righting all the wrongs that could be fixed and providing a manual simple enough for even idiots (that’s us folks, although it is less idiocy that lack of experience). He even said that he was going to buy her if we had not already done so, such was his love of her. Our trust and hope built high, bedded even more when we found that his family happened to own an entire island in Guadeloupe and was thus less than likely to “do a runner”.
Prepared, victualled (look it up… did you find it means buying food and water for a voyage?) and with a zarpe she was ready. I’m pretty sure you had to lookup “zarpe” too. Google fortunately provides us with a clear explanation:
Zarpe: first person singular (Eu) present subjunctive of zarpar.
Zarpe: third person singular (Elle and Ella, also used with voice and other) present subjunctive of zarpar.
Such is the wonder of information on the Internet… A zarpe is a customs clearance for vessels. You clear out of one country and receive a zarpe, and you must provide it to the next country you enter as proof of where you have just been and that you cleared out correctly, rather than clearing out quickly such as when being chased by irate husbands (wives are never irate of course… remember the honeymoon!).
After some tribulations, like a leaking shaft seal and 30kn and 3m swells, she arrived in Antigua and joined the Peters and May hired Zea Bremen. Modern ships have something called AIS, or Automatic Identification System, which allows anyone to track larger vessels throughout the world. You can see where Zea Bremen is right now if you want.
Lifted aboard, they kindly gave her the entire hold to herself, while the other 15 boats had to endure the “outside” above her.
There is nothing like a normal, relaxing and fun honeymoon. Concentrating on each other to the exclusiveness of anyone and anything else… which is why we decided not to do that, and instead our honeymoon consists of firstly, getting our RYA Day Skipper and ICC; secondly to look around what and where we will do with and leave our boat; and thirdly to spend time aboard our boat – which I have never seen with my own eyes! It is likely to be anything but relaxing, only a little time to concentrate on each other, and…well… it hopefully is fun.
Let me explain a little.
In case it isn’t obvious, Eraine and I bought a boat in 2018. To summarise, it’s the right boat for us, just at not the best time (years before we retire) and not in the right place (the Caribbean). But the price was good (in case you thought about that question). The blog gives some points along that purchase path.
We also were married in December 2018, but what with everything else happening we decided to postpone the nuptials until a more appropriate date. With some bloody mindedness worthy of a Darwin Award winner, we decided to incorporate the honeymoon and driving our new boat across the Atlantic on her way to the antipodes. After some snags, including some odd doubting of our own abilities to make the trip given our years in boats of 10-20 feet on placid lakes being preparation for our new boat of 50 feet across one of the most treacherous and long ocean passages on the planet. We instead found a willing shipping company and bravely paid them.
This ruined the quiet honeymoon Transat (sailor talk for trans-Atlantic crossing) plans, so we were forced to make things harder in other ways. Fortunately, this presented itself in the problem of, once our new baby arrived in Europe we didn’t actually have the requisite accreditation to touch her. In the same manner as sitting behind the wheel of a car while over the limit can get one in trouble, we couldn’t actually take ownership until we completed some training that wasn’t need in Australia. Strangely, in Australia one can go on a 2 day boating course to qualify for any boat upto, say, 20m (60 feet) long and then head off around the world in the sure knowledge that the Australian accreditation will, while absolute rubbish, allow one to transit through every country in the maritime world (I’m unsure whether it would work in Mongolia or Nepal, but no doubt some intrepid unmarried twit has got the Guinness record for trying it).
So in Australia we couldn’t find anyone who could appropriately train us in the manner that Europe has become accustomed. That is the International Certificate of Competency, or ICC. Oddly, the title manages to suggest ability without saying in what – basket weaving? Nose hair dying? Hmm…. Anyway, the French put great store on the ICC, as do the Dutch and sometimes the other EU member states. To get an ICC, you just have to complete the training in the country you want to visit, in their language only, get a local licence and pay money to turn it into an ICC.
Our French, Dutch, Belgium and German are shiite. Fortunately, most of the United Kingdom are also shiite at that, so the Royal Yachting Association has kindly agreed to give you an ICC if you complete one of their Day Skipper courses. Four fun-filled days on a motor yacht (in our case; you can choose the sheet/rope-twiddling version if you are a sailor).
Hence our plans morphed into: do our RYA Day Skipper in the sunny windless and tideless UK (you can tell where this is going, can’t you…), do some research across France about just how high their bridges are (to the nearest centimetre please – we need it!), and collect our baby from the clutches of the shipping company and drink champagne in, well, Champagne. Vive la France!
Oh, and we’ll be on our honeymoon so it will just be a normal, relaxing and fun time like everyone has…
Blu Emu is on the move! Thanks to our wonderful delivery skipper, Greg Petrelluzzi, Blu Emu has thrown off the shackles of Saint Martin and has headed out into the wild sea… well, into the Caribbean at least. AND the forecast was 19knots and 1.6m seas, so not a millpond!
The naming of a child – or boat or pet or anything that becomes a part of the family (yes, I know this is purposely provocative!) is a momentous decision for the owner, the thing and is part of a long-standing tradition in many cultures. Re-naming is variously seen as something that shouldn’t ever occur, to being ok if done “correctly”, through to not mattering at all.
While naming/re-naming is fraught with cultural differences (if you care about them), the name itself is an important tradition in many cultures. A warship called “Invincible” is viewed differently to one called “Cheerful” or “Dainty“! Amazingly “Cockchafer” has been attached to four warships, perhaps indicating a change in the use of language over time…
While talking names, it’s important to note the use of a female pronoun (“she”) for boats. There is lots of information about this, but a nice summary is:
Since the beginning of recorded history, man has used water crafts to travel and explore the world. Each civilization has its own traditions regarding naming boats, but they are most often feminine names. While it is not known exactly why ships are named after female figures, there are two prominent theories. One hypothesizes that boats were named after goddesses and other mythical figures, and later shifted to popular feminine names as recognition of gods and goddesses faded. The second major theory focuses on the basis of European languages. A number of languages, such as German and French, have a complex system of gender involving grammatical terms in which objects are assigned specific masculine or feminine tones. Olde English also used this system of naming, with many inanimate objects such as boats referred to in the feminine form. As the English language changed and evolved, the tradition of using this feminine form for ship names continued and is still present today.
Interestingly, Lloyds of London while young at “only” a few hundred years old, decided in 2002 to use “it” for ships rather than she. Media of the time noted though:
[Lloyds said] “However, I don’t think there is anything wrong with calling ships ‘she’ in conversation. It’s a respectable maritime tradition.”…
A spokesman for the Royal Navy said it would continue to refer to ships as female. It traditionally chooses masculine or geographical names, such as Iron Duke or Lancaster, for its vessels – although Andromeda, Penelope and Minerva all served in the Falklands War.
“Lloyd’s List can do what it wants. The Royal Navy will continue to call its ships ‘she’ as we always have done. It’s historic and traditional,” he said.
“Ships have a soul. If I remember my history, they are female because originally the ship was the only woman allowed at sea and was treated with deference and respect – and because they are expensive.”
I could not find much about other cultures’ naming, but one report on Chinese ship naming history shows historical names like “Pure Harmony”, “Bestowing Peace”, “Clear Distance”, “Galloping Horse” and even “Big Ship”. Apparently the ship names were not as important – at least for chroniclers – as in parts of Europe.
Anyway… after quite some time thinking about it, we chose the name Blu Emu for our boat. We chose it because:
- Has two legs (a catamaran has two hulls)
- Is fast (our catamaran has high L:B ratio 12.3:1 and semi-displacement hulls)
- Can travel great distances (we want to go around the world including cold areas)
- It is said that there are up to 12 different color layers in an emu egg making it very unique. There are three primary layers in the shell of an emu egg. The outside is dark green. The middle layer is teal, and the inside layer is nearly white. Occasionally there is a fourth layer, which is thin and rather gray, between the outside layer and the teal layer. The teal and blue are actually as many as seven subtle layers of color, each about the thickness of a sheet of paper. (teal/blue = ocean)
- Is quintessentially Australian – it even appears on the Australian coat of arms [did you know that there are two animals on the Australian coat of arms – the emu and the kangaroo, and that these were chosen as being endemic to Australia and are also the only two animals that cannot go backwards! An even more interesting note is that the Kangaroo is supposed to be demonstrably male – which the logo below does not show…]
- Shortening of Blue, referring to blue water/ocean capable
- Quintessentially Australian slang (meaning red or reddish, esp of hair; but the important part is Australian)
We also like to think “Blu Emu” can be written as “Blue mu”, which leads to:
- Mu was derived from the Egyptian hieroglyphic symbol for water, which had been simplified by the Phoenicians and named after their word for water
- Mu means a reduced mass (light catamaran) in the Two-Body System (a catamaran has two hulls)
- Mu means a magnetic dipole moment (a dipole has 2 pole, like a catamaran’s two hulls)
- Mu is the prefix given in IUPAC nomenclature for a bridging ligand (which is a ligand that connects two or more atoms, usually metal ions – which sounds remarkably like an aluminium catamaran!)
It struck me that I need not be worried about the overall strength of Blu Emu. As for most boats in rough conditions, the human breaks before the boat does – emotionally, mentally or physically. And I reckon she can prove that to me!