20th August 2024
Apia, Samoa
We’re used to entering new countries. New countries give us the opportunity to explore new cultures, discover amazing landscapes, and, as usual for Ruffian, fix the boat in exotic locations. Usually that change is gradual, but the difference between French Polynesia with its endless beaches, uninhabited islands, and lack of commerce compared to Samoa has been a shock, and we’ve loved the shock.
The first big shock for Ruffian was not being at anchor; for the first time this year we were tied to a dock. This allowed us to play the afloat, ashore, afloat, ashore, game! Where we could effortlessly hop from one medium to the other, and with this change we set for the bright lights of a city.*
Weaving our bikes through the fast cars and trucks that had been imported from America and which owned the roads; we took in sketchy street food, markets full of plump fresh produce, historic sights, sweet-smelling laundries, and finally, a luxury that would turn into a staple in Samoa, the ice cream stand. The ice cream came in portion sizes akin to the trucks, in vivid colours and with names that seemed made up, but they cooled our palates like nothing in the whole of French Polynesia.
Deciding that bikes with tiny wheels, ineffective brakes, and a lot of broken spokes were not the best way to explore the island, we relented, swallowed our environmental credentials, climbed into a giant truck for the day and set off in true Ruffian style. The map was covered in POI’s and we relentlessly ticked them off, swimming in caves, through tidal surges, to precipitous drops with views, waterfalls and along wild volcanic coastlines that defended the ravages of the southern ocean swell.
The final POI was what Iain thought would be a sanitised touristy overrated attraction: the giant clam sanctuary. With our standards so high after months of diving with aquatic wildlife of every form, over corals of every conceivable colour, and in water that had been gin clear, he thought we were in for a world of disappointment; Fiona, however, had other ideas.
As we swam out through murky water and over sad dead coral, Iain was assured in his thoughts. Slowly the ground cleared, and the clams grew larger and larger. They radiated the most otherworldly colours and pulsated as they sucked and blew water, pulling out nutrients that allowed them to grow to gargantuan proportions. With every stroke they grew bigger until they were the size of small cars and their bivalves big enough to reach inside. Those last clams very much proved Iain wrong, and Fiona right (no shock there then!!).
In true Ruffian style, there was a dawn adventure on the cards. Iain had spied the perfect viewpoint to take in the rising sun, and with the town not even starting to stir, we headed high into the hills. As the roads grew bumpier and more impassable we quickly decided that the hill was off the cards, but Iain, as Fiona had come to expect, had a bigger stretch goal in mind; a high mountain lake.
With the sun still nowhere near the horizon, we set out over grazed pastures and into the forest following a narrow, slippery trail. As time went on the trail became thinner, muddier and more slippery, but Iain was not to be taken from his quarry. With every step he glanced at his watch working out when we had to turn around, and finally just minutes late we arrived at the lake. Coffee was hastily poured, Larry was posed and photographs taken, and then it was a race back to the car to return it before the late fees kicked in.
Even with all the culture, ice cream and sightseeing, there was always an undercurrent of needing to get Ruffian fixed. Once again, the steering was taken to bits and the autopilot drives removed, and it quickly became obvious what had happened. The new bracket, because it wasn’t perfectly aligned, was causing friction in the system which in turn was loading the autopilots, and they were then burning through their gears. The autopilots needed fixing, the new bracket retiring, and the old bracket required some serious fettling.
As the autopilot drives came to bits, the problems were obvious. Gear teeth had been worn smooth, screws pulled from their housings and bent, and dust from the gears had been turned into a perfect grinding paste that covered every surface. After decimating our stores of autopilot spares, sending the housings away to have new mounting holes drilled and rebuilding the drives, they ran so smoothly they put ‘smoo into smooth’**.
Even with the rams fixed, we still hadn’t got to the root of the problem and that was the mounting bracket. Thankfully we’d not butchered the old bracket, and to get it operational again all we had to do was reinforce the holes, fix the failed welds and build a backing plate. What could possibly go wrong?
Digging through the depths of Ruffian we happened upon some left over 5mm aluminium angle, some 5mm aluminium plate and stainless nuts and bolts of just the right size and grade. Bit by bit the bracket was tuned into Frankenstein’s monster. Every bolt hole was backed with plate, every weld was shrouded in angle and every surface cleaned and polished. As you’d expect with the original Westerly build, the re-fettled bracket slotted perfectly into place, everything lined up, and we celebrated with lashings of ice cream.
In Samoa, we have explored a new culture, discovered amazing landscapes and once again fixed Ruffian. The weather is dictating that we’re going to be here a little while longer, and so we’ll continue to be shocked at how different Samoa is to French Polynesia, and we continue to love the shock.
* Apia was actually more of a small town, but in our eyes it felt like a huge thriving metropolis.
** Bonus points if you can name the 90’s comedy show this is lifted from.
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