What happened you say? Did the bad surprises stopped, or Pablo is still rolling out punch after punch at me while my bank account self-immolated?
“One day Cass, we’ll have a dry boat”, I say when going down inside Sputnik. That was 8 years ago, and I was yet again welcomed by pools of water over the floor. A mix of rain water coming from the mast, condensation from the cold weather in Quebec and millions of undiscovered leaks. I was set to have a dry boat. A boat without water in the bilge. Which isn’t a small feat, given the fact that Sputnik was 27 years old. And that it was, you know, a boat.