The geothermally heated outdoor pool at Sudereryi is magnificent so we wallowed there sipping fresh coffee (actually only I tested the free coffee) and staring up, once again, at the misty mountains. A perfect way to ponder our next move. By the second coffee a plan had emerged.
We clambered down the dirty tyres and rusty chains of the dock to get back on board and sprung ourselves out from amongst the fleet of Bobby fishing boats. We motored out through the shallow channel and, once in the bay took a right to escape the approach route of local fishing boats, and dropped the anchor in 7m. We dug the anchor in hard to test the new throttle in reverse which appears to restrict us to 3,700 rpm astern.
The tender was soon in the water and a circumferential waterline scrub dislodged a bit of marine growth. I stuck my head under the water to try and inspect the prop for barnacles but I couldn't see well enough from the surface so an underwater inspection was required.
Tim seems to thrive on such adventures and, quick as a flash he was into his dry suit and snorkelling down to inspect. Many barnacles reported which explained the lacklustre motoring speeds of yesterday. What a shame we had turned off my ultrasound device before we left in May. Previously it had kept the barnacles at bay.
The job couldn't be done without air so on went the cylinder and Tim was once again in the water manicuring SHIMSHAL's nether regions. Although I haven't seen it for myself I'm quite sure her bottom now gleams. Certainly we can now cruise at normal speed. What a difference a few Crustacea make.
Meanwhile, for reasons best known to herself, Sally dropped an onion overboard and it went bobbing off towards a flock of hungry fulmars. I was alerted to this latest crisis by Sally's plaintiff cry and asserting that she could have rescued it should she still have had her fishing net. No need for a net - Tim took on the flock of Fulmars who by now were pecking warily at the floating onion. They gave in without so much as a squark as they must have been as perplexed by Tim's seal like splashing as the were by feeding on a freshly salted onion.
With Tim, the dingy and the onion safely back on board we weighed the anchor, hoisted the sails and motor sailed the 49 miles to Patreksfjordur. Cleared of Crustacea the prop gripped the water and the newly buffed underbelly of Shimshal slid south west. At least we are now going in the right direction for Greenland.