We are hopping slowly down the coast towards Rio stopping at
delightful anchorage after delightful anchorage and at each one my heart breaks
a little more.
First we sail a mere ten miles across the bay to stop by an
island at a popular anchorage where there is a marina, a small village nearby,
and a resort reputed to have an excellent restaurant. The purpose of this small
jaunt is to test a new jury-rigged auto pilot system but that is a different
story. Even on this, a weekday, there are a couple dozen other boats here. It
is lovely. As we sit out in the cockpit to have a beer and watch the sun go
down we comment more than once on how very pleasant it all is, the heat of the
day has passed and the view is idyllic, on one side a brilliant sunset, on the
other a picturesque scene with a brightly painted tourist boat and a church
beyond.
I instinctively reach for my camera only to remember, of
course, that I gave it away. (See previous post.) As time goes by I am getting
more and more angry with myself for not having done anything – why didn’t I
jump out onto the road, yell for help, kick and scream and make a fuss? Why
didn’t I do… anything?
It is in the morning, however, that my heart breaks.
As I
stand on deck in the clear early light a small traditional dug-out canoe laden
with fishing nets and sporting a bright orange sail comes out of the marina and
heads to sea. Though I know it is pointless I snap a shot of it as it passes by
with my small underwater camera, which has no focus and no zoom, then wave at
the men and am rewarded with return waves and big grins. I ought to have waved
first. I watch the boat as it slowly heads out until (sob) it has behind it a
backdrop of dark blue sea dotted with islands and pale blue sky strewn with white
clouds flying. The sun is still lighting its sail to a brilliant orange. My
little camera is useless. Here is my dream photo opportunity. Here is my ‘Postcard
from Brazil’. Here is the shot I have been waiting for all these weeks. It is
perfect; the colours, the angle of the light, the sea, the sky, the men still eeking
out a living by traditional means, the fact that there is a sail boat in it, the
whole flavour of the shot. I don’t even bother to take a picture with my little
camera, I know full well that given its lack of focus and zoom capabilities all
I would get would be a smudged orange dot on the horizon.
Why, I think for the hundredth time, did I so passively let
them take my camera. I have acquired a whistle to wear around my neck. I figure
in a similar situation I could at least blow that. But this does not bring my
camera back to me right now. I watch the small boat until it disappears out of
sight, trying to appreciate being in the moment, trying to tell myself that I
have been here, seen this, and that that is good enough. But I cannot actually
convince myself that this is so.
I came here bound and determined to fall in love with an old
red boat, ended up falling in love with my little red camera, and then just
gave it away. I am sure that there is a moral in there somewhere but I’m darned
if I can figure out what it is.
After one night we continue on south and sail for three days
or so during which the wind is a mixed bag. It comes, it goes, there are
breezes and good blows and patches with no wind at all. When the wind comes up
we put the sails up, when it blows harder we reef them, and then when it dies
completely we take them down and motor. And, two hours later, we repeat the
whole dance. Each of these steps require both of us working together and so,
though we are theoretically working shifts of three hours on, three hours off,
it is actually more like four hours on, two hours off, round the clock, and we
are both getting tired. Huge flocks of birds circle us at times, and fish,
regular fish, not flying fish, jump out of the ocean to heights of 3 metres or
more as we pass by. HS gets stuck in one fishing net and then another one. He
is furious, “Stupid assholes, fishing at sea!” he yells as he cuts their line.
‘Where do you want them to fish, on land?’ I think. But I dare not make this
comment aloud. I am sure that their opinion of him is not complimentary either,
but I also keep this thought to myself. Our current jury-rigged auto-pilot, in
which a tiller auto-pilot is attached to a wind-vane paddle which it attached
to lines that wrap around the wheel, works but is testy. It needs constant
attention and a certain amount of babying.
It is WAY better than hand-steering, but, still, a pain in the neck. Eventually,
after having negotiated a long and tricky path weaving for hours between
endless reefs and shoals, we motor up a narrow mangrove lined river as the sun falls and drop
anchor in perfectly calm water just as it dips below the horizon.
Again we sit in the cockpit and enjoy a cold beer. Again we
comment on the loveliness of the surroundings. Here we are in a completely
different ecological environment, fresh water to start with, and lush green
vegetation encroaching in on us.
And again in the morning a couple fishermen break my heart.
This time it is two younger men fishing with a net. The one in
the back of the boat is paddling slowly along with a bizarre spear shaped
paddle while the one in the front throws his net out, waits a couple of
minutes, and then collects it up. Again I pull out my underwater camera, no
focus, no zoom, and take a shot that I know will be marginal at best.
I am so angry with myself I could spit nails. Even my little
lipstick camera, despite being red, could get such a much better photo. Why,
why, why, did I give it away? What, on earth, was I thinking?
I could, I suppose, buy a new camera here, but I don’t really
want to. I want to go home, talk to people I know who know things, make a more
informed choice, get something that will do me for several years…
Bitch, bitch, bitch. OK. I am disappointed with myself but
decide it is time to get over it. Move on. Survive without a camera. Stop
whining. I lived almost half a century without a camera, have only had one for
a couple of months, it really should be no big deal. But then a couple of
different birds land on the muddy shore in the intertidal zone between the
mangroves and the river, a very large grey sandpiper and a type of heron I have
never seen before, and, oh, oh, I so want to take a photo of them, but, without
zoom, I can’t. Stop. I tell myself. Just stop.
We will be here a few days. HS has to find and fix an oil leak
in the engine and do something to the generator which spontaneously combusted
last night. I will have time to wander the picturesque town. Perhaps, since I
won’t have my camera to keep me company, I will take up smoking so that my
hands have something to do!
Next we will head to Archipelago de Abrolhos – literally
translated as ‘keep your eyes open’ – a group of small islands offshore where
the snorkeling is reputed to be fantastic…
It is good. It is all good. Even, without a camera, it is all
good.
