Travel Reference
In-Depth Information
Nimbus series of racing boats (of which several were scattered about the local marinas and
clubs). Manten Marine also boasted a well-stocked chandlery store which was to come in
very handy in the not too distant future. The marina also had, to its everlasting advantage, a
winch and a slip that could haul out large boats for working on. I was to become intimately
aware of this slip, its surrounding container walls, and slick surface.
After an uneventful journey down to the Vaal with Jude and I following proudly behind it,
the truck finally pulled up outside the Manten's Marina with a loud snort and a hiss from
the air brakes, with Big Al jumping down from the cab to stretch his legs. Dick soon ap-
peared with his two sons and greeted us warmly, “Hellows, velcome to the Faal; yus' pulls
the truck up closer and reverse down to the slip. I don't know if there is enough water to
float you off the truck, but let's yust try hey!” Dick had a charming way of pronouncing his
“J” as a “Y,” yumping yimminy springs to mind, and along with his thick Dutch accent, it
was all we could do at times to understand him or laugh out loud.
Al expertly reversed the truck around and lined up with the slip, backing down somewhat
cautiously with the loud reverse bell ringing across the bay, attracting all and sundry to the
new launching. Jude and I were breathless in anticipation, and I was doubly nervous of
Déjà vu floating on her water line as I had taken some serious liberties with her design. I
had built her of fiberglass as opposed to the Ferrocement that the designer had called for.
I had changed the cabin layout completely, compromising weight considerations at various
stations, and had even placed her diesel engine under the cockpit sole (as opposed to in the
main salon), and I voiced my concerns. Dick could see our trepidation, and he knew we
were first timers. I could sense an air of sympathetic respect at least for our game attempt;
after all, the Dutch had invented yachts or jagting or chasing or racing, as it's now called
today. “Yonathan, don't worry,” he said, casting a professional eye at the hull. “She will
yust be fine, man.” I prayed he was right.
Slowly the truck went down the slip, and soon it became alarmingly apparent to us all that
there was not going to be enough depth in the water to float her off the truck bed. Our
next option was to launch her at a neighboring club called Aeolians, and again Déjà vu
was trundled off down the road to a new and, hopefully, final launching site. The spectators
slipped off in the gathering dusk, and Jude's bottle of champagne was put away until the
next day. The truck was parked at the new site, and Jude and I spent the night in the boat,
retiring early to our bunks, wearied by the events of the day.
We had all night to sweat about what would happen if the level of the dam wasn't up to
accepting our hard-earned offering. The authorities in charge of the Vaal Dam had an ob-
ligation to keep the water levels at a safe margin. In the rainy season, it was expected to
drop down to accommodate the predicted level rise while the opposite was effected in the
dry, winter months with the water being discharged at the huge barrage where it was repor-
