Pacific Pete – Page 2 – derrickjknight

How Did Pacific Pete Gatecrash?

On a dull, drizzly, day, I scanned the rest of the rediscovered negatives from December 2003. Therein lay the mystery.

Yesterday, I had put pictures of snow in Sherwood Forest into my iMac.

Today, I began with frost on leaves in our garden at Lindum House in Newark.

Every morning, at 6.30 a.m. or thereabouts, before dawn at that time of the year, I crept out through the garden ‘unwillingly to’

Newark Northgate Railway Station to join commuters on the down platform to Kings Cross. By the time the train was due to arrive on this particular day the sun was casting long shadows. Most people in this shot were looking in my direction for our conveyance. Like me, the man in the foreground had learned that one received an earlier alert by watching the signal. Those trains not stopping at the station travel at 120 m.p.h. Prospective passengers are warned to stand behind the yellow line in order to avoid being drawn into the path of the Intercity conveyance. I won’t describe what happens to those who ignore the precaution.

That December, Sam was not at home in Newark. He was out basking in the Canary Islands, where the boat he was to row across the Atlantic had been delivered, and he was becoming accustomed to both it and the ocean. So, how come, on the same roll of film, sandwiched between the images above and those of ‘Oddie Aloft’, were

Sam in Pacific Pete at La Gomera

and on the wide open sea?

I was not there. Had I lent my son the camera? Maybe he will elucidate.

This evening we enjoyed further portions of yesterday’s superb paprika pork, followed by Magnum ice creams. Jackie drank Hoegaarden and I finished the Costieres de Nimes.

Port St Charles

Following the recent death of Ken Crutchlow, charismatic founder of The Ocean Rowing Society, Sam asked me to send him this photograph that first featured on 29th August last year. Alongside Jessica and Louisa, Ken stands between Sam, who has just disembarked after 59 days at sea, and me.

This took me back to the task of scanning the colour slides made in March 2004.

Wandering around outside Port St Charles, I speculated about why this Police station sign displayed a mirror image. I swear it has not been reproduced the wrong way round.

These are views of the luxurious development, that is the holiday resort where the race was completed, that can be seen by those poorer folk outside.

Frangipani is one of the colourful shrubs that surround the walls.

Overlooked by luxury apartments, the rowing boats lie among others in the docking area.

Pavel Rezvoy, who came second in the solo race, in the black T-shirt, stands beside Tatiana, the blue-clad wife of Ken. Sam’s boat, Pacific Pete, is on the right. Workers on the roofs in the distance demonstrate that building continues.

Here, Sam is interviewed by Dixie Dean for the official film of the race.

I cannot identify these waders on the shore.

This evening we dined on Mr Pink’s fish and chips, with cornichons and pickled onions from jars, followed by profiteroles. Jackie drank Hoegaarden and I didn’t.

The Official Welcome

It is clear that William Shakespeare was an Englishman if only because of his song, ‘When That I Was And a Little Tiny Boy’ from ‘Twelfth Night’, the refrain of which is: ‘For the rain it raineth every day’. He knew our weather.

Becky and Ian returned home this afternoon, managing safely to negotiate the still disrupted A27.

Afterwards I scanned more slides from Barbados, March 2004.

Sam successfully brings his boat into dock.

He sits aboard for a while, preparing himself for his first touch of land for two months.

Then comes the official welcome of Ken Crutchlow, Secretary of the Ocean Rowing Society, filmed by Dixie,

Before doing anything else Sam was required to report to border control. This involved walking along a narrow quayside to present his passport to a man in a little office. As he was rather wobbly, he needed my assistance to reach this point. It was, of course, a great privilege to be selected to provide such support.

After this we lined up for group photographs. Here Jessica, Louisa, and I join Sam and Ken.

Before repairing to the bar, Sam caught up with me, his mother and his sister.

Here he is in the beach bar.

Each evening for the rest of our stay, we began with potent rum punches in the main dining area upstairs. After a few of these, Ken would always cry: ‘Samson Knight. Who named that boy?’

This evening there was plenty of last night’s Spice of India takeaway left over to feed Jackie and me. I finished the cabernet sauvignon, and Jackie abstained.

Crossing The Line

Our new granddaughter’s name is Poppy, which we rather like.

Although the weather was warmer and sunnier today, Becky’s photograph of Scooby sunning himself in my chair, illustrated the general lack-lustre mood of the still recovering party.

It was therefore another good day for scanning colour slides from May 2004, and incidentally reducing the tension with which readers were left by the cliffhanging ending of yesterday’s post. That first rate storyteller Bruce Goodman ( Weave a Web ), for example, was forced to speculate about whether Sam ‘made it’, or was foiled at the last minute.

Sam continued along the western shore of Barbados, on his route to the finishing line,

which was an imaginary one stretching from port and starboard markers.

Of the reception committee Chris wears a blue shirt; Fiona a white T-shirt and black trousers; Jessica, a blue and white sun dress; Louisa, a dark top and grey mini skirt; and Frances waves the flags. Dixie records a video for the Ocean Rowing Society.

Having crossed the line Sam aims for the Port St Charles dock into which he is required to manoevre his boat. I imagine this must be rather like coming off motorway and finding a berth in a municipal car park.

This afternoon, Helen and Bill visited with a bottle of prosecco, with which to celebrate Poppy’s birth, and a sweet little outfit for us to take when we make her acquaintance.

For our evening meal Spice of India delivered another excellent takeaway. I drank Lion’s Gate cabernet sauvignon shiraz 2014. As for the others, Jackie says ‘we’ll all drink whatever we like. It’s none of your nosey business’. Naturally this was received in the jocular spirit in which it was intended. Given that everyone knows what she drinks, I don’t think that really matters.

Eyes Peeled

As I attempted, last night, to photograph an interesting moth in the Print Room, the creature flew off. This afternoon, Becky produced this image. When I confessed my failure, a certain amount of hilarity ensued. There is, you see, a family myth that whenever I attempt to photograph anything possessing wings, it disappears.

Once more the rain hammered down all day. I retreated to my slide files and scanned more of those from the May 2004 Barbados trip.

There was great excitement when the day of Sam’s arrival dawned. Jessica, Louisa, Chris, Frances, Fiona, and I boarded the splendid yacht belonging to Stein and Diana. After 59 days alone at sea, our son was coming in ahead of the field. all he had to do was hug the northern tip of Barbados, not too tightly, so he neither crashed on the rocks, nor sped out to Cuba on the prevailing current. Not as simple as it sounds.

As we reached the open waters of the Caribbean Sea, Jessica, Louisa, and Diana dived overboard for an invigorating swim. Although bright blue and bracing, I am told the water was somewhat colder than it looked.

Soon, Stein scaled his rigging and took up the role of advance scout, as he scanned the horizon for the small red speck that would be Sam’s boat, Pacific Pete.

Suddenly a sighting was announced, and, eyes peeled, we all peered into the distance. This, as it emerged, is what we saw. Sam is in each picture. Getting nearer all the time.

Could the heightened emotions on our boat possibly have matched those of our son?

As he approached, only the long camera lens could discern details which escaped the naked eye.

Eventually, as Sam reached the island, alongside which he had more rowing to do to arrive at the quay at Port St Charles, we could greet each other across the waves.

This evening we dined on Mr Pink’s fish and chips, mushy peas, pickled onions, and gherkins. Becky and I finished the white Cotes du Rhone, Ian drank San miguel, and Jackie drank Hoegaarden.