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Yesterday marked our arrival in Porto Petro, yet the day unfolded without the leisure for strolls and photo expeditions. As we navigated towards the port, the captain, unfortunately, encountered a head injury \u2013 the second instance of such mishap for him, a repeatable misfortune that could have been averted.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The captain had shared his saga upon my initial embarkation on Legato in August. On the stern, two folding seats, lifted and secured with clevis pins, beckoned for convenience. Positioned above cockpit hatches granting access to voluminous lockers, one housing an inflatable life raft and emergency supplies, the other cradling mooring lines \u2013 essential ropes for securing the boat during halts.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
About a year prior, the captain, in the process of retrieving mooring lines, overlooked the disengagement of the clevis pin securing the seat. A sudden wave tipped the boat, causing the seat to plummet, striking him on the head. Crafted from fiberglass, akin to the hull, it proved to be a substantial, unwieldy obstacle. A natural exchange of energies unfolded, favoring the forehead. Fortuitously, the incident occurred near the port, prompt assistance alleviating the ordeal.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
This anecdote had been the captain’s inaugural briefing when Bruno joined us. It was a shared understanding \u2013 prior to delving into the lockers, confirm the seat’s secure fastening to avert a collision with one’s forehead. As we approached Mallorca, Porto Petro beckoning, Bruno likely unpacking in Italy, mooring duties now shared between the captain and me, relaxation inadvertently set in.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
In the throes of preparation and channel navigation towards the marina, a last-minute recollection seized the captain \u2013 an additional mooring line was required, nestled in the locker beneath the seat. Swiftly delving into the locker, he reenacted his ordeal from a year ago! The clevis pin faltered, the seat broke free, colliding with the captain’s forehead. A distressing tableau \u2013 a mooring line entwined with a bleeding forehead. Post-securing, hospitalization beckoned. The captain resisted, assuming the cessation of bleeding marked safety, neglecting the need for professional attention. A disparity in opinions arose, and I, adorned with my own forehead stitches from assorted encounters, advocated for caution.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
A brief debate ensued, opting to locate the nearest pharmacy before determining whether hydrogen peroxide and a band-aid would suffice or if the emergency room beckoned. The compassionate pharmacist, upon our arrival, urged an immediate hospital visit. A taxi, promised in five minutes, detained us for an hour, an unforeseen temporal labyrinth. Our time in limbo was spent productively \u2013 weather checks, passage planning, task delineation for the stopover. The decision crystallized \u2013 the captain would mend his forehead at the hospital, while I undertook boat care, including laundry, cleaning, provisioning, and more.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The captain returned with five stitches, adorning his forehead with a star-like pattern, inexplicably stitched with black thread. A laundromat soothed the vessel’s attire, tidying endeavors ensued, and provisions for breakfast were procured. The collective resolution nudged us towards an early dinner in the nearest restaurant, fortifying ourselves for a restful night. Serendipity graced us with an exceptional find \u2013 Rafael y Flora N\u00e0utic<\/a>. The chef’s creation, an epitome of paella, became a culinary ode. A genuine pilgrimage to Mallorca’s shores, solely for this gastronomic masterpiece, seemed a journey worthwhile.<\/p>\n\n\n\n