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Posted on May 15, 2019 | 0 comments

Stolen Hearts

Stolen Hearts

None of us was prepared to have our hearts stolen. Our goal was to drop off several bags of clothing, toys, and school supplies that fellow boats from the Suzie Too OCC Rally had donated for a local charity in Colombia. My goal, as a portrait photographer, was to capture images of the children and their mothers and give them a photograph to treasure.

FUNDEHUMAC formed initially in the 1990s to support victims of Colombia’s violence and corruption, offering counseling and assistance to access government relief programs. Today, Alba Moreno, founder and president, operates this nonprofit organization from her home in Santa Marta, serving children as young as 3 years old, many of whom are orphans, victims of violence, and/or children of single mothers. In addition to human rights and micro-lending programs, FUNDEHUMAC provides scholarship and community action training for 21 university students and counseling and economic support (e.g., school uniforms and books) for more than 125 displaced primary and secondary school children. As part of the scholarship terms, students must maintain meritorious academic work and provide community service, which includes administrative support for FUNDEHUMAC programs.

Singing and music bellowed from the building as we entered through a narrow hallway decorated with colorful murals, which now boast certification by Colombia’s Network of National Museums. Later we would learn that the artwork represents cathartic expressions of mute victims from the Wiwa and Wayúu indigenous communities. Teenage children dressed in brightly-colored traditional costume entertained us with festive Colombian folk music, while younger children in simple matching shirts sat quietly in front, as curious about these navigators of the world as we were about them. An interpreter presented Ms. Moreno’s welcome and overview of how the various FUNDEHUMAC programs were changing the lives of the children seated before us.

I let my camera lens candidly pan the crowd, delighted to capture both shyness and giggles among the children—a sense of genuine pride resonating from them all. Just as we thought our visit was ending, each child rose with an enormous smile and dashed to take our hands for what would be the true highlight of the morning—a personal tour of the facility and invitation to contribute to its artwork. A member of the second group of Suzie Too OCC Rally boats who had a similar visit to FUNDEHUMAC, recalls the daunting feeling of being led to the art room where he was handed a pot of pink paint. “I was at a loss as to what to do until the children pointed out a stencil of a flamingo that simply needed filling in,” he realized with great relief.

I had the honor of being escorted by a lovely girl who joyfully described the significance of each room and painting with a confidence and maturity well beyond her 11 years. Each of us remained in the firm clutch of a child for the next hour, sharing paintbrushes to complete more paintings and crafting dream catchers. With each strand of yarn woven into this joint craft, we traded dreams and taught each other words in our different languages. It was a brilliant Spanish lesson! I quickly learned that my astute and curious 11-year-old host had clear aspirations of a university education and world travel. A connection formed as I showed her photos from my phone of my family and home in the United States and she introduced me to her mother, brother, and cousins. I looked around the room and noticed young children sitting on the laps of people who just moments earlier were complete strangers. Clearly this morning had gone far beyond simply dropping off donations, and I knew already that I would happily support an 11-year-old’s dream of becoming an independent young woman.

Today’s visit to FUNDEHUMAC exceeded all our expectations. In just a brief visit, we walked away with a true sense of how a community is working hard to fulfill the dreams of their children. We went from merely being a drop-off service for donations to advocates for these children. For me, I captured some great photos and am personally committed to supporting at least one 11-year-old child’s dream of becoming an independent young woman.

Join me in making a difference in the life of one of these amazing children. Click here for more information on the FUNDEHUMAC programs and learn how to donate or sponsor a child’s education.

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Posted on March 13, 2019 | 4 comments

Mountain Sailing

Mountain Sailing

The first thing I noticed about Colombia were the mountains–an endless horizon of flat ocean now distinctly interrupted by valleys and peaks reaching straight up beyond the clouds. New adjectives like Purple Mountain Majesty and Sky Blue replace Ocean Blue and Aquamarine in our color vocabulary. As we enter Colombian waters, Pico Cristóbal Colón gives us a glimpse of its 18,000-foot summit. How I’ve missed the mountains.

I grew up in the mountains–born in Yellowstone National Park and then attending elementary school in Yosemite Valley. Later in life, I lost track of the mountains. Then, one day they reappeared in a most surprising way. “Want to go for a hike?” he asked. “I would love that, I replied, “I’ve missed the mountains.” Allen and I spent the next 9 years hiking the planet. We would hike for miles—I’d pour out sadness, anger and fear of navigating a traumatic divorce; Allen would listen, restore confidence, and offer heartfelt advice. Little did I know that as I was discovering the fabulous trails of the East Bay Regional Park District in northern California, so too was I forming a life-time friendship. 

Bay Area day hikes turned into backpacking and river running and eventually led to the world of mountaineering. I climbed my first peak in hard-shell mountaineering boots and crampons in 2009 when we summited the 12,000-foot Telescope Peak in Death Valley. Then Mt. Shasta, north of San Francisco, where at an elevation of 14,000 feet, I got a taste of what altitude sickness feels like. Later that year, Allen and I climbed the majestic Mt. Rainier in Washington state. And then the ultimate paradise for the outdoor dreamer–snowshoeing across the Antarctic island of South Georgia southeast of South America. Twelve years later I would land on that same continent…this time in a sailboat.

Punta Gallinas, the northernmost edge of South America at 12°N, came into view early morning after our 24-hour overnight sail from Aruba. Cooler air and water temperatures and a different time zone marked our entry to this new continent. We dropped anchor with other rally boats in Ensenada Huaritcheru—a bay flanked by rocky cliffs and a dusty, red savannah that fades into distant snow-capped mountains. A sandy beach directly in front of us with wood thatch structures hinted at a few signs of civilization. Upon closer examination, we discovered a couple hostels, bars, and even world-class kitesurfing in this small indigenous Wayúu community. Soft-spoken women commuted from a nearby village on the back of mopeds and sat among us weaving brightly-colored tribal designs into bracelets and handbags.

The wind whips through this bay, which makes sleeping a pleasure, but puts everything that isn’t securely tied down at great risk. One afternoon, we noticed our dinghy was missing. It was broad daylight and we had been onboard so it seemed unlikely that a thief would have pinched it—as our British friends would say. In fact, the painter rope that ties the dinghy to Gémeaux was still in tact. And then we saw it—our little gray raft being carried away by the fierce current, quickly becoming another donation to the sea. Naturally the captain’s first instinct was to swim after it so he quickly dove into the water and began a vigorous freestyle out to sea.

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Just then, one of the local world-class kitesurfers—I think he was about 12— swept in, indicated for Allen to grab his harness, and resumed his ride effortlessly with a 220-lb body in tow. In just a few seconds, the two of them successfully navigated to the runaway dinghy, at which point Allen released the harness, propelling the kite surfer about 30 feet up into the air. The kite surfer majestically performed several tricks during the aerial opportunity and Allen returned the dinghy to safety. It was all a very spectacular way to learn that constant wave motion can actually wear a hole through the metal eye of a dinghy. Who knew?

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At noon the following day, after a short hike above the coastline, we picked up anchor and began another overnight sail. We had studied the weather and calculated this specific departure time to coincide with an event not to be missed— sunrise over one of the world’s highest coastal mountain ranges. As much as I hate night passages, I absolutely love sunrises. That alarm clock has rung many many dark mornings to allow us to get to a summit and witness the first glimpse of a day. The shadow of the mountain that is cast across the waking city below. That quiet, peaceful moment that lasts only seconds until the world awakens. While hazy, the sunrise today was indeed spectacular as we watched the sun finally reach the top of the Sierra Nevadas and announce a new day.

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Serenity came to an abrupt end, however, when our famed spinnaker played yet another one of her dirty tricks. (See Aruba: Island Civilization for the story of how the spinnaker became untethered from the halyard.)

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I like to tell these stories so our readers get the full scope of this gorgeous sail’s schizophrenic personalities. And you must trust my writing because we only photograph the sail when it’s on very good behavior and looks spectacular. When its other stormy, violent, and narcissistic behaviors surface, we are yelling and running around the boat trying to wrestle it into submission. On this particular morning, 30-35k overnight winds settled into a steady 10k and were mostly behind us—perfect conditions to unleash the eager parasail. Jim Moore was still onboard so the three of us worked together to raise the parasail, cautious to avoid the sail backwinding and getting caught in the main sail. Not enough caution apparently and before we knew it, the sail billowed behind the main and a couple of its tee tiny little orange threads caught precisely in a tee tiny crevice in the spreader that supports the mast. We couldn’t do it again if we tried. We once again found ourselves wrestling the big sail onto the deck, but even 6’4” Allen could not reach high enough to untangle the caught threads. Out came the bosun chair and up the mast I went to dislodge the evil sail, all while we were still underway. I gave Allen a brief moment to shed a tear over a tee tiny amount of damage to the sail and then tossed the little shit into a locker for what I hoped would be a very long timeout. 

Calm once again was restored on Gémeaux as we rounded the corner into Santa Marta, Colombia’s oldest city. Different from Huaritcheru, Santa Marta boasts a shoreline of high rises and a population of 450,000. Snowcapped Sierra Nevadas, however, still outline the landscape, assuring us that this new temporary home will give us a chance to explore the mountains.

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Posted on March 12, 2019 | 4 comments

Helia Mainsail Headaches

Helia Mainsail Headaches

One complaint we have with the Helia is the mainsail. It has a square top (the trailing edge of the sail doesn’t meet the top of the mast) and it has a large “roach”. The roach of a sail is the amount of the sail which extends aft of a line drawn from the top of the mast to end of the boom.  The combination of the square top and the roach provide extra sail area for the same mast height but complicates the hoisting of the sail.

The main sail is connected to mast with cars which have plastic ball bearings which allow the cars to slide easily on a track attached to the mast. The Helia has a small number of cars (6) which means there is a large distance (more than 10 feet in some cases) between the cars when raising the sail. Because the square top will kick up as it lowered, the top car must be disconnected from the car to fully lower the sail. The problem is this quite a distance off the deck and is too high for Shiera to reach.

After dealing with this headache for awhile after buying the boat, I found a solution with a part called a Gaffe Lock by Karver. This clever device is attached to the top car and allows the sail to detach from mast when lowered and reattach when raised. It does this using a strap on the halyard which pulls into a hook attaching the sail to the car. While it is expensive, it completely solved the problem.

While the large distances between the lower cars was annoying at times, it wasn’t a huge issue until during a passage to the Bahamas when we were assaulted by a large squall with 45 knots winds. We had numerous squalls during the passage and each had lots of rain but little wind.  I had seen this squall approach and it was very dark and threatening. I decided to get the sails down before it hit. I got the jib rolled up but was in the process of lowering the main sail when the squall blasted us. The sail had large billows where the cars were widely spaced and the wind grabbed the bottom billow and ripped the sail from the car. That made a larger billow which then ripped the next car off, and then rest went except the top two. That only lasted a second until the top of sail torn off with a huge crash.  Now we had a huge mess, with the entire main flapping in the breeze and in the water. Shiera and I managed to tame the beast and get it back deck as son Grant struggled to keep the boat into the wind with the autopilot trying to turn the boat back on course (this was his first sail on Gemeaux).

The rest of trip was mostly motor sailing after that, but the sail was repairable when we returned to Fort Lauderdale. Under closer inspection, the car attachment is a stainless steel pin which is screwed into a plastic end cap for the batten. The failure happened with the steel pin tore out the threads from the plastic. The solution was to replace the plastic batten caps with stainless steel caps. That should prevent the failure from happening again. Another solution that other Helia owners have pursued is adding several extra cars. Each car would go between the existing cars thereby decreasing the amount of sail which will billow out. The problem is because of the roach of the sail, the car cannot be directly attached to the sail, it needs to have slack to allow the sail to move away from the mast when lowered. The additional cars also raise the top of the sail making it becomes more difficult to reach the top car from the deck.

Our other complaint is reefing the sail. The Helia has three winches. One is used by the main sheet and the other two are shared with the rest of the lines. The main halyard uses the right most winch which is also used by the starboard jib sheet. The center winch is used by the reefing lines to tighten the clew of the sail, but also used by the port jib sheet. The upshot is that both winches are necessary for reefing but one of them will also hold a jib sheet if the jib is up. While it is possible to switch lines during the reef, the jib sheets have lots of pressure so it is also a good way to lose some fingers. We have typically rolled up the jib prior to reefing to free up the winches and then redeploy the jib after the reef is completed.

Finally the foot of the sail is loose, so it only is attached at the mast to the foot and the clew of the sail is attached with a large strap near the end of the boom. This strap creaks a lot when under pressure making Shiera very unhappy. I haven’t figured a good solution for eliminating the creak.

So while we mostly have made peace with the mainsail, we still have complaints we haven’t solved.

 

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Posted on February 26, 2019 | 4 comments

Aruba: Island Civilization

Aruba: Island Civilization

“OH SHIT!” Allen exclaimed just as I was just starting to doze off beside him at the helm. I immediately snapped up and dittoed “OH SHIT!” The entire spinnaker sail had disconnected from the top of the mast and was rapidly settling into the sea. Amazingly, the two of us were able to grab hold of the sail’s remaining tether and wrestle the 1000-square foot drenched heap onto the swim step. Slipping and sliding over the slick parachute-like fabric, we stuffed the sail outside underneath the cockpit table to avoid any more temptations from the wind to carry it away. Later, we would discover no damage at all to the sail, the shackle securing the sail, or the props underneath where the sail was settling in the water. A mystery, but all in all, lucky. We motored the final 2 hours of our 6-hour passage to Aruba without further incident, playing the event over and over in our heads. Customs and Immigration pined for the day’s calamity, requiring 3 hours to clear through all the bureaucracy at a hot industrial cruise ship dock with gummy creosote pilings and rusty nails.

Photo: airlines.net

It was quite a sight jockeying 40 sailboats into a single anchorage off the coast of Aruba’s capital city of Oranjestad. Pity the poor boat who just hours earlier had the entire anchorage to himself:( Our first clue that we were in a very civilized and westernized island was the constant air traffic overhead. We could nearly see the faces of arriving passengers flying over our Airport Anchorage  situated just at the end of Aruba’s Queen Beatrix airport. Can’t beat ’em? Join ’em. We put on our fancy clothes, i.e., shoes, and collected about 20 people from our rally for a fantastic dinner in one of the eight restaurants at the nearby Renaissance Hotel. On this Thanksgiving Day I was thankful we averted a catastrophe earlier during our sail. Mostly, however, I was thankful for the shrimp bar and the best Caipirinha cocktail ever.

We spent Black Friday drying out the spinnaker—my least favorite project dragging this enormous sail all over the boat, flailing my body over the sail like a game of Whak-a-Mole each time the wind caught a corner and threatened to pull the entire mass overboard again.

A lovely end to the day, however, dragging the Captain to the local movie theater where our rally bought every seat in the house. Typically thriving on the respite of deserted islands, I thoroughly enjoyed this little bit of civilization—Bohemian Rhapsody on the big screen…with popcorn and Caipirinhas! The captain thoroughly enjoyed his little bit of civilization the next morning when we discovered a Starbucks right near the anchorage.

Civilization continued the following day as we joined several rally friends on an ATV self-guided tour of the island. Yes Dad, I did wear a helmet:) Once off the main roads, it was great fun and a fabulous way to see Aruba since so many of the sights are accessible only by dirt road.

Two days were sufficient to feed our need for civilization so we pulled up anchor and headed to the northern end of the island for a little peace. We passed hotel after hotel with busy beaches and jet skis, parasails, and kite surfers crowding the water front. Yikes-where are the quiet little bays?! Not in Aruba. We settled off Arashi Beach in an anchorage with a few other rally boats, staving off the occasional tour boat by swimming nude off the stern. Sorry, no photo available:)

Snorkeling highlights included enormous parrotfish and two shipwrecks. I don’t know what was more interesting—looking at the wrecks or watching the passengers investigate the wreck through the portholes of a submarine-like tour boat. Overlooking our anchorage was the scenic California Light House so we hiked up the road with rally friends, anxious for a history lesson and a cold drink.

We learned that the lighthouse was named for the 1891 steamship California and we learned the restaurant was closed for the week:( Now parched, we short-cutted our return trip through prickly acaçia trees and cactus to reach icy cold beers at a beach palapa.

As we made our way back to the world of civilization the next day, Allen stopped for a kiteboarding lesson, while I played photographer. We refueled and came to rest at a slip in the Renaissance Marina where we made good use of air conditioning and fresh water and scrubbed Gémeaux until she was sparkly and we earned another Caipirinha at the Renaissance! We skipped the Scorpion at Lucy’s restaurant next door but ate their very yummy ceviche.

Last minute chores before getting underway to Colombia—Allen hosting an electronics therapy session for rally friends, marina checkout, fill sodastream bottles, and provision…after Starbucks of course. An absolute delight meeting Marcus from fellow rally boat, Island Kea, who enjoys perusing the aisles of a foreign grocery store as much as I do. We shared an expensive $15 cab ride to the nearby market and happily provisioned with all the Dutch delicacies, including every variety of Gouda cheese. Santa Claus Jim Moore arrived at 11pm with 4 loaves of Dave’s bread, turkey jerky, enough gluten-free pretzels to feed a flotilla, and boat bits and pieces to delight the captain. We were ready for Colombia!

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Posted on January 23, 2019 | 2 comments

Escape Hatches – Recipe for Disaster

Escape Hatches – Recipe for Disaster

A catamaran unlike a monohull has the possibility of overturning and not coming back rightside up. A monohull can turn over too, but it will always right itself as long as the keel is still attached. A catamaran has two stable positions, right side up and upside down. Because it is possible for the boat to turn in the inverted position with people inside the hull, European boat manufacturers have required the inclusion of escape hatches which can be used to exit an upside down boat. To insure the hatch is as high above the water as possible when the boat is inverted, the hatch is placed at the waterline when the boat is in the rightside up position. All this is well and good, but for most cruising catamarans it is very unlikely the boat will turn over.

The hatch used on the Fountaine Pajot boats is manufactured by Goiot (another French company). It is specifically designed for use as an escape hatch and is rated to be used at the waterline. When we purchased Gemeaux, the marine survey highlighted that escape hatches leaked. It was also noted in the survey that these hatches often leak. I assumed the leak was between the seal and the lens of the hatch. While it is likely that many hatches leak there, I was soon to find out there is a much more serious leak potential.

After about 8 months of owning Gemeaux, we were in the Chesapeake Bay and the port hatch was leaking more than usual. Trying to pin down the leaks was difficult until I pushed slightly on the lens of the hatch and it moved outward. It was then I realized the hatch was not leaking at the seal but was leaking between the lens and frame of the hatch. This would require the hatch to be replaced.

After some work tracking down a US supplier for the hatch and having sticker shock of over $2000 for the hatch, I ordered the hatch and had the boat hauled out of the water to replace it (another $500 to get it out of the water). I carefully inspected the starboard hatch but it seemed fine, no movement between the frame and the lens on that side. Now, I felt prepared to brave the Atlantic on the way to Antigua, no more leaking hatches… or so I thought.

During our crossing all went well until about 500 miles from Antigua when at 8PM, Shiera noticed water on the floor in the starboard bathroom. It was then she saw water spraying across the companionway when Gemeaux hit a wave. The problem was the lens had become detached from the upper part of the frame and now was threatening to exit the boat altogether. If the lens did fall out, Gemeaux would be lost. It wouldn’t sink but it was very unlikely that we could do anything to fix a 3ft square hole at the waterline.

First order of business was to try to get the lens back into the frame. We had a 2-inch glass suction puller for lifting floor panels but couldn’t pull hard enough to get the lens back into the frame. The only viable option was to go in the dingy under the hull and try to knock the panel back in. How scary was that—to be in 6 ft seas at night under the boat? Each wave would drive the dinghy into the bottom of the boat. I was able to time the waves to get a fist on the lens and pound it back in place. Now we needed a more secure fix to finish our sail to Antigua.

In a scene right from Apollo 13, we dumped every adhesive we had on the table. After carefully discussing each choice, we decided on a ribbon of underwater 5-minute epoxy between the frame and the lens. Then we would put 5200 adhesive around the joint. Five minutes is not very long, so we carefully rehearsed our plan and then each of the crew prepared a strip of epoxy for a side of the lens while I went back underneath the boat in the dinghy. We pushed the lens back out, lined the epoxy in the joint and then pressed the lens back into the frame. We could see the epoxy had good coverage in the joint, but just didn’t know if was adhered well. Next, we lathered 5200 adhesive onto the joint between the frame and the lens. We decided to hove-to for the night to give the adhesives time to cure.

Completed repair

As I tried to sleep, I keep worrying that the lens would still pop out of the frame. At 4 AM I came up with an idea to adhere two plastic blocks to the lens with flathead screws drilled through. Then a board was fitted completely across the frame and the screws secured to the board. This effectively leveraged the lens into the frame. We tried several different glues (contact adhesive, silicone, superglue), finally settling on superglue to glue the plastic blocks to the lens. The problem is that acrylic doesn’t take very well to any adhesive, but in our testing, superglue seemed to work the best.

The completed fix held until we reached Antigua where I ordered another lens and had the boat hauled out again. We completed the repair on Thanksgiving Day and celebrated with a BBQed turkey dinner while Gemeaux sat on the hard.

Now I realized the severe safety problem of the hatch. It wasn’t just the hatch that could leak, the entire lens could fall out the boat! The irony is the frame of the hatch is secured with 20 bolts that go through the hull, but the lens is only secured with a thin bead of silicone to frame and silicone does not adhere well to acrylic. I sent a strongly-worded email to both the US Fountaine Pajot dealer and Goiot, the maker of the hatch. I explained that a boat could be lost because of this problem. Unfortunately I didn’t get much of a reply. Goiot said they had no knowledge of failures like this and offered to send new glue to adhere the hatch to the frame. That was not very comforting.

Inside view with fix installed in the upper corners

I decided I could rig a permanent fix for the problem along the lines of a temporary fix. I researched how to attach acrylic to acrylic and found that solvent glue would weld two pieces together. It works by effectively melting the surface of each piece allowing the pieces to join as one. Rather than fit a board across, I used 1/8” aluminum stock in the upper corners across the frame. This still allows the hatch to be fully functional but is impossible for the lens to come out of the frame. The specs on the solvent glue are nearly 10,000 lbs for each 2×2” block. I could lift the entire boat up with that!

In the meantime, our hatch failure was reported on the Cruiser Forum by a boat that had been nearby when it failed. On the forum, I documented the failure, the response from Goiot and my fix. A number of people requested drawings for the fix.

Helia with escape hatch failed

All was quiet for the next 6 months until on the Fountaine Pajot Owners Facebook page a Helia like Gemeaux was reported lost at sea off Africa. The speculation was the boat had hit something in the water and had a large hole punctured in the hull. Looking at photos of the boat, it seemed odd there was no damage to the bow of the boat. Pretty hard to hit something sideways. I tracked down the skipper in Norway and determined the problem was his starboard escape hatch had left the boat at 2 AM in rough seas. He tried many things to stop the inflow of water but ended up being rescued by the Moroccan coast guard and abandoning the boat. This was the exact problem we had, but his lens had completely left the boat.

I posted the information that this was another hatch failure like Gemeaux’s but the hatch had actually left the boat. I included the drawings for the fix and strongly suggested that all owners with the hatch immediately apply a fix to their hatch. Two weeks later another owner off the coast of Brazil had their hatch partially leave the frame. This was now three boats in less than a year that I knew about. I notified the Coast Guard of a potential safety problem (never heard back). Within a month, Fountaine Pajot was notifying owners of the problem and a fix Goiot had developed. I’m not a fan of the fix as it relies on an adhesive bond to acrylic rather than solvent glue to hold the lens in place. I would not bet my life on any adhesive bond with acrylic.

Over the past 6 months, I have been contacted by dozens of owners who want the fix. I have sent a dozen or so people a kit to install and the instructions to many others. Hopefully boats are better prepared now to secure a hatch that is very unlikely to be used for its intended purpose, but could be a disaster like the poor boat off of Africa, or what nearly occurred to Gemeaux in the Atlantic.

Escape Hatch Fix

Hatch Fix parts with Solvent Glue

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