I think I smell bad. After spending three hours in the park then hiking over the hills of Noumea in 30 C heat, how could I be anything but sweaty? I lean away from the woman sitting beside me in French class, hoping that the cool air in our basement room will mitigate my stink before it reaches her. But I know the real answer to my problem: I need a shower. Again. The very thought fills me with despair.
You may have noticed that cruisers are somewhat preoccupied with resource consumption. Obsessed is a better word. But when you carry around all of life’s necessities in what amounts to an oversized backpack, you want to be sure you have absolutely everything you need. Especially water. If you run out of your favorite saltines out on the blue, you’ll live. If you don’t have drinking water, it’s an emergency.
So cruisers learn to conserve. I mean, really conserve. We are a stingy bunch when it comes to H2O. Every guest who comes aboard gets the same lecture. And they all nod and agree and are eager to cooperate – absolutely, we’ll be careful with the water. Be sparing, got it. And then we hear the water pump run, and run, and run, until Erik and I bury our faces in pillows so no one hears us sobbing. Because “being sparing” means something very different to a land-dweller than it does to a cruiser. To them it means: try not to use more than you need. To us it means: use the absolute bare minimum. Land-dweller: don’t forget to turn off the tap when you’re done brushing your teeth. Cruiser: you get two tablespoons of water for brushing your teeth and not a drop more.
Our big awnings are perfect for collecting rainwater.
But now, in deference to cyclone season, we are in the marina. And the marina has water. Beautiful, clean city water from a tap at the end of our dock. We turn on the hose and out it comes – like magic, like a dream. Like something disposable and worthless, because the tiny cost is hidden in our marina fees. Like something not to be conserved or even thought twice about.
At anchor, showers are a luxury. We swim every day, so we are clean and (I hope) non-smelly. Washing hair is reserved for once a week, and we’ll even do that in salt water when we can, capped off by a freshwater rinse. We wash our dishes in salt water when the bay is clean enough, two inches of fresh water when it isn’t, and our toilets use salt water, too. But in the marina, the saltwater wash option is closed. We certainly can’t swim here (take your pick between the risk of electrocution from the many power cables dipping in the salty brew and the risk of an ear infection from its less-than-pristine condition), so that leaves the showers.
And, oh, how we love the showers. It is a long, hot walk to Indy’s school and back – a trip we make three times a day. By the third go-round, it is a pleasure to come home, grab a towel and dance off for a quick rinse. But it still makes me feel guilty, and I do my best to be quick. When I can. But I admit – having a proper shower in a proper bathroom instead of hunched on the floor of the cockpit gripping a garden hose spray nozzle is almost irresistible.
And the laundry. I have washed all of my laundry – even the sheets are clean, for crying out loud. And I feel bad about having clean laundry Under normal circumstances, we don’t use our washing machine at all; we use the laundromat. When we get desperate between ports, I wash a load of underwear on the Quick Wash setting. Or in a bucket, where I can be even stingier. Here, I have caught up on the backlog, and had to face just how much water a washing machine really uses, even on the low-use settings.
Our boat holds about 1000 L of water. That generally lasts us 6-8 weeks. So, at anchor, we use around 18-24 L of water per day, or 4.5-6 L per person each day. (As a yardstick, a low-flush toilet uses 4.8 L per flush.) This week, we used and refilled two of our tanks, or 2/3 of our water supply. That means we used 95 L of water per day, or almost 24 L per person per day – four times our normal usage.
Already I find myself closing half an eye to people rinsing their decks for what seems like hours at a time. To people doing laundry not in a bucket, but under a running hose on the dock. There are days when I wish that water were as expensive as it is really worth. Maybe if we all had to pay for it properly, we wouldn’t leave the tap running in the park, or decide to hose off that almost non-existent layer of dust on our cars.
Years ago, we made friends with another boat family. When they went home for a visit, seven-year-old Manfred helped his grandmother to wash the dishes. When she pulled the plug, he looked under the sink and was shocked to discover the water was draining not into a bucket, but down the pipes and out of their lives forever. When his grandmother didn’t have a good explanation for why she wasn’t saving this “perfectly clean” rinse water for later, he gave her a stern lecture on how much energy it takes to produce city water, and the immorality of wasting it.
Cruisers aren’t better than other people. We are just forced to notice what we use, because when it is gone, it is gone forever.
I won’t make the woman beside me in French class to endure my sweatiness. I won’t insist my family walk around in dirty clothes. But I very much hope we can keep some of our strict rationing habits while we are marina-bound this season. And when I am tempted to use a little extra because I can refill the tanks whenever I want to, I’ll try to remember Manfred and his grandma.
Equally pretty and important.
A big reason for writing this blog was to document work on my own boat. Here are links to all the posts about DIY repair and building things. Keep in mind that the way I did a repair is not necessarily the ‘right’ way to do it! This was especially true early on in the process.
FIBERGLASS AND EPOXY: Building A Cockpit Sole:
(Note: These three posts were early on in the process, and are not necessarily to be taken as good advice.)
Pt. 1: Prepping Old Through-hulls for Filling
Pt. 2: A Few Lessons Learned
Pt. 3: Filling Minor Repair Voids
Pt. 4: Fairing
Dynex Dux Synthetic Rigging:
Solenoid, as an electrical term, covers a lot of ground and can get very complicated, but for boats solenoids are pretty simple. A solenoid, or solenoid relay, is a magnetic switch used for remotely switching power. Anywhere you’ve got a big electrical load that needs to be switched is ripe for a solenoid, especially if the load is in a remote location.
Every engine has a solenoid on the electric starter. This is because the starter requires a lot of amperage, so to actually switch the load to the starter would mean running cables as big as your thumb up to the helm (or the dashboard of your car) where you would have to switch the load with some gigantic knife switch out of a Frankenstein movie. Not very practical.
From the helm or dashboard we actuate a wee switch, the key or starter button, which connects to the starter solenoid with some small wires. The solenoid then does all the heavy connecting for us. Most starter solenoids also engage and disengage the pinion gear, so they do two things at once.
Engine starters. The solenoids are the cylindrical gizmos on the right sides, with the electrical terminals. Incidentally, the solenoid is usually the first thing to give out on a starter, so a faulty starter can often be repaired just by replacing the solenoid. In other words, a starter will usually live through several solenoids. Sometimes you can even replace a solenoid without removing the starter from the engine, but not on typical sailboat installations, where the engine is wedged into a file cabinet.
Another common place for a solenoid is the windlass, which is another big electric motor. We can run all the current for the windlass through the foot switch, but most installations use a solenoid. This is especially true on boats that have remote windlass controls from the cockpit. When we raise the anchor using the windlass we’re not switching the power with our little switch in the cockpit: we’re actuating a solenoid, which is switching the high current.
In this photo of a typical solenoid we see four terminals, the two switching terminals and the two high current terminals. On the two switching terminals we connect positive and negative of ship’s voltage: It doesn’t matter which is which, but one of them, usually the positive, would go to a smaller switch. The two high amperage terminals are our feed and our load. When the solenoid is switched on, the high amperage connection is made. Switch it off and the connection is broken. Or you could connect nothing at all to the high amperage terminals, and just have a little device that goes click-clack-click when you flip the switch.
Starter solenoids and windlass solenoids are probably the two most common uses on boats, but there are many others, and once you know how solenoids work they can solve a lot of problems and save a lot of money by not having to run large gauge wire long distances.
In a recent job on a power boat, the owner had installed the largest stereo system I’ve ever seen on a boat. This system had eight or ten woofers that were each a foot in diameter, plus a whole battery of smaller tweeters and mid-range speakers – in the cockpit, in the cabin, on the bridge – you get the idea. This system was installed by a car stereo guy, not a marine electrician. That’s where I came in.
The installer had wired the whole system directly to one of the ship’s batteries, which was promptly drained because there was no way to turn this system completely off: the gigantic amplifiers drew over three amps, even in sleep mode.
The seamanlike solution would be to power the stereo system from the main distribution panel, where it would be turned on and off with a breaker. A little exploration showed that the entire distribution panel was fed with a couple of ten gauge wires, and the stereo system was fed with four gauge wires (4 gauge is WAY bigger than 10 gauge). I assumed the feed wires to the stereo system actually had to be as big as 4 gauge, and the installer didn’t just use them because they looked cool and blue. To feed the stereo, with its 4 gauge wires, from the main distribution panel, with its 10 gauge wires, would be like trying to supply a water main from a garden hose.
To make it completely right would mean running new, big feeds to the distribution panel, connectors, buses, breakers…much too involved and expensive for the simple problem of turning off a stereo system. Enter the solenoid.
I kept things as the car installer left them, more or less, with the key installation of a solenoid near the battery. The solenoid is now activated by a switch on the main distribution panel, fed by small wires, rather than running all that heavy cabling all over creation.
The stereo solenoid: The big blue wires are the feeds to the stereo system. The lower one goes directly to the positive terminal on the battery, which is in the foreground. The upper one runs off to the stereo system. The switching terminals have a black wire, which runs directly to the negative terminal on the battery (it was close) and a red wire that runs to a breaker on the main distribution panel that says “Stereo/TV.” The stereo installer put an in-line fuse along the big blue cable. The switching circuit to the solenoid also needs circuit protection, which was provided by the breaker on the panel, in this case.
Coming soon to stretch of horizon near you. The U.S. Navy has just announced that it has successfully launched an aerial surveillance drone from a submerged submarine. The way it works is this: a) the drone is inserted inside a “Sea Robin” launch vehicle, which in turn is inserted into a Tomahawk missile canister; b) the Tomahawk canister is placed inside a torpedo tube and fired off; c) once outside the sub, the Sea Robin is released from the Tomahawk canister and bobs to the surface, where it looks like a common spar buoy; and finally d) the aerial drone (known as an Experimental Fuel Cell Unmanned Aerial System, or XFC UAS, in Navy-speak) shoots off into the air from the floating Sea Robin (as seen in the photo above).
The only reason I’m sharing this with you is so you won’t question your sanity if you’re sailing around somewhere and see a giant mechanical flying bug suddenly shoot out of some harmless-looking buoy you’ve spotted. Or maybe you’ve already seen this and are now gulping down Prozac, as the system was tested recently in the Bahamas. FYI, the drones can stay aloft for six hours and can send video feed to interested recipients.
I had something similar to this happen to me once. I was sailing up to Maine from Bermuda and southeast of Cape Cod found myself surrounded by spouting whales. Then up came a spout a bit larger and more vertical than the others, and out of that spout a solid object shot straight into the air 100 feet or so. The object then took a sharp turn and flew off in a huge arc across the sky in the general direction of Europe.
I’ve always assumed this was an SRI (submarine related incident), but who knows? Maybe the whales have been conducting missile tests of their own.
Bernard Moitessier is remembered primarily for his famous 1968-69 Golden Globe voyage, in which he blew off a chance to win the first non-stop singlehanded round-the-world race and kept on sailing halfway around the world again to Tahiti to “save his soul.” But he is also remembered for wrecking not one, but three different boats during the course of his sailing career. As is documented in his first book, Sailing to the Reefs (Un Vagabond des Mers Sud in the original French), he lost two boats named Marie-Therese sailing on to reefs in the Indian Ocean and in the Caribbean in 1952 and 1958. Much later, in 1982, he lost Joshua, the 40-foot steel ketch that made him famous, on a beach at Cabo San Lucas in Mexico.
Moitessier had sailed to Mexico from San Francisco with Klaus Kinski, the notoriously unstable German actor who at the time was very well known for his roles in films directed by Werner Herzog. Kinski had paid to come along so Moitessier could teach him about ocean sailing. Five days after the pair reached Cabo, on the night of December 8, Joshua and 25 other boats in the anchorage were blown ashore in a freak storm.
Moitessier on the beach with Joshua the morning after the storm
Moitessier wrote a full account of the incident, which was published in the March 1983 issue of Cruising World magazine. In it he gives a detailed description of how he and Kinski were blown on to the beach with the boat:
At sunset, the wind blows from the southeast, not too strong, but I don’t like it. Then it increases. No stars. Then it increases again. I know (I think I know…) that it cannot last in this season but I am pleased with my decision to get the second anchor ready.
Still there is a strange feeling in my guts.
Sometime later in the night, the wind becomes much stronger and there is a big swell. I am on deck, wondering. Then, a strong gust of wind. Now I am seriously worried. This is bad weather.
Suddenly, the 55-pound CQR drags on the coarse, sandy bottom. I let go the second anchor and Joshua faces the wind again. The swell has increased a lot.
Another gust, real strong. It seems that it lasts forever. My God, Joshua is dragging again, fast!
Very soon after this, we are on the beach. The rudder touches first. Then the boat pivots slowly. Now it is laying over, sideways on the beach with heavy seas breaking on the deck, which is canted away from the beach.
My mind still refuses to believe it… but this is the hard, very hard reality. Open your eyes, you monkey, your boat is on the beach; open your eyes, you stupid monkey, and don’t pretend that you did not know that this could happen.
And so on. Moitessier goes on at great length to describe an argument, with much quoted dialogue, wherein he insists that Kinski leave the boat, and Kinski refuses. Finally the quarrelsome actor is persuaded to go ashore, and the story continues, with a detailed description of what it was like for Moitessier being aboard alone as his boat’s rig came down, as other boats piled into her, etc., etc.
All of it gripping stuff, and so the story was passed on. It reappeared in consistent form in Moitessier’s last book, his autobiography, Tamata and the Alliance, published in 1993, and also in a biography, Moitessier: A Sailing Legend, by Jean-Michel Barrault, which was published in 2004.
I heard a very different version, however, from Lin and Larry Pardey, who flew into Cabo to cover the disaster for SAIL magazine immediately afterwards. According to the Pardeys, Moitessier instantly confessed to them that he and Kinski had been up in a hotel room partying their brains out while his beloved boat was driven ashore untended. He urged them at first to share the true story with their readers, so everyone would understand what an idiot he had been–”a monkey,” as he always liked to put it–but then later changed his mind and gave them the fiction that has since been handed down in print.
The Pardeys were good friends with Moitessier, so they went along with this, though obviously they have been willing to share the true story privately. I thought of this again recently, when discussing the Pardeys with Cruising World‘s Herb McCormick, who has just written a biography of the famous cruising duo, As Long As It’s Fun, that is due to be published next month. I urge you to check it out once it’s available, as I expect you’ll find this and many other titillating tales from the golden age of cruising buried in its pages.
Joshua under sail today
And on the hard, waiting for a scrub. Note how very long her keel is
Meanwhile, of course, Joshua didn’t die on that beach in Mexico. Moitessier felt he couldn’t cope with salvaging and refitting the boat, so he gave her away on the spot (technically, he sold her for $20), and she has since landed at the La Rochelle Maritime Museum in France, where since 1990 she has been scrupulously maintained and exercised on a regular basis. Here’s a fine video that gives a good sense of what it’s like sailing aboard her these days:
And here’s another viddy with lots of film footage that Moitessier shot during his great voyage in 1968-69. It’s utterly fantastic stuff, particularly the shots from up the mast, where you can see how much sail he crowded on. What’s particularly impressive is how he laced a big bonnet on to his genoa to maximize area:
Some may recall that Joshua also became the center of a mini-controversy that erupted in 2000 when she was hijacked by a French sailor, Jacques Peignon, who raced her singlehanded in that year’s Europe 1/New Man STAR transatlantic race without the Maritime Museum’s permission.
Peignon finishes the 2000 STAR aboard Joshua in Newport, Rhode Island, after “borrowing” her from her owners
The gutsy singlehander was greeted by angry museum officials when he stepped ashore in Newport and wasn’t allowed to sail the boat back to France. Instead the museum found a delivery crew, which included Moitessier’s son, Stephan, who had never before done an offshore passage.
Stephan Moitessier (second from left) with the crew that sailed Joshua back to France in 2000
I met Stephan, who works as a photographer and videographer, in New York City in 2002, while he was helping Reid Stowe prepare his schooner Anne for his 1,000 Day Voyage. Stephan was reluctant to talk much about his father, but he did say he very much enjoyed his voyage aboard Joshua. At the time he was looking to get aboard other boats to do more passages, but I don’t know if much ever came of that.
Stephan Moitessier aboard the schooner Anne in New York Harbor
As for the famous Bernard, what are we to make of the fact that he flat-out lied to the world about what really happened that night in Mexico? I really think age had a great deal to do with it. If you read Sailing to the Reefs, you’ll see he was perfectly honest (or at least appears to be) about the mistakes he made that led to his first two shipwrecks. What was truly remarkable about those losses was how quickly he rebounded from them and rebuilt again from nothing. By the time he lost Joshua, however, he didn’t have nearly as much energy (he said as much in his story in Cruising World), and I think he knew, consciously or not, that all he had left really was the fame he had earned when he was younger.
Bernard Moitessier alone aboard Joshua during the Golden Globe Race
He didn’t care what others thought when he decided to save his soul during the Golden Globe Race. But he obviously cared a great deal about his reputation when he spoke with Lin and Larry Pardey in Mexico, and he was willing to sell his soul to preserve it.
BONUS VIDEO: This features an interview with Moitessier in English aboard Joshua, with several highlights from his life. You’ll see towards the end several glimpses of Stephan as a boy:
Mia and I are back in St. Lucia for the 5th straight year, working the finish of the ARC Rally. I’ll be posting regular updates from here, but this one is pretty big news. What follows is the official press release from WCC HQ in Cowes. And don’t miss my dad’s Sojourner in the background – he was on the finish line this morning when they crossed! Photos by Kieran Higgs and Tim Wright.
Crossing the finish line in Rodney Bay, Saint Lucia this morning at 10:10:10 UTC (06:10:10 Local time) Max Klink’s Knierim 65 Caro has earned a place in the history books, smashing the ARC course record by 08 hours 07 minutes and 20 seconds.
Sailing across the Atlantic from Las Palmas de Gran Canaria to Rodney Bay, Saint Lucia in 10 days, 21 hours, 25 minutes and 10 seconds, the eight man crew were delighted to have beaten the ARC record which previously stood at 11 days, 5 hours, 32 minutes and 30 seconds, set by Italian Maxi Capricorno in 2006. Opting for a longer route north of the rhumb line, Caro covered approximately 2985NM, but benefitted from stronger winds produced by a mid-Atlantic low pressure system, to drive them south. Their average speed 11.45kts, with a top speed of around 25kts.
‘She’s a very fast boat,’ said Skipper and Owner Max Klink as they arrived, ‘We did not set out to win the ARC we just wanted to have a good passage across the Atlantic. The boat was amazing and with an elite crew like this we had hoped for a quick crossing. Huge thanks goes to out to our navigator on board, Tom Addis, he was on the money every time.’
Tactics pay off for the elite racing crew
Opting for the northern route, the crew were planning that the light-weight carbon-fibre “racer-cruiser”, launched this year, would be able to sail over the top of a developing mid-Atlantic low. This was a risky strategy, as the low could have moved north faster than predicted and could have deepened into a sub-tropical storm. Despite a frustrating first few days early on, sailing north in light winds, the gamble paid off, as Caro was able to reach south, hitting speeds of over 20 knots at times.
The elite crew have previously been involved with some of the world’s top racing programmes and included Volvo Ocean Race veterans Tom Addis, Mark Bartlett, Michi Mueller, Jonathan Swain and Justin Ferris. Jens Langwasser, a designer from the boat’s Kiel-based builders Knierim Yacht-bau was also on board, along with Alexander Hilbich and Skipper Max Klink. Max has taken part in the ARC once before, in 2010, with his previous boat, a Knierim 50 also named Caro.
A warm welcome to Saint Lucia
The ARC race committee and the management team of IGY Rodney Bay Marina headed out to the ARC finish line to welcome in the new arrival to Rodney Bay. As Caro powered across the finish line at 10kts, the sun was just beginning to rise over the bay making for an impressive sight.
Once sails were downed and the 4.8m keel was lifted enabling them to navigate through the marina entrance channel, Caro proceeded to their berth where local dignitaries and press team waited excitedly for their arrival. Chairman of the Saint Lucia Tourist Board, Matthew Beaubrun and Sean Compton, the Chairman of the ARC planning committee congratulated all onboard on their achievement. Owner & Skipper Max Klink received a welcome hamper form the Saint Lucia Tourist Board and admitted he was delighted to have returned to the Caribbean island, “It feels great to be back in Saint Lucia again – I am looking forward to enjoying some more of the islands refreshments.” as he sipped an ice-cold rum punch.
ARC and ARC+ Fleet update
Celebrations are likely to continue for much of the day around Rodney Bay. Caro’s nearest ARC rivals, Volvo 70 Monster Project, are still some way off reaching their berth in the Marina, and are currently expected to arrive around 15:00 local time on Friday 6th December. In the ARC Multihull division, Gunboat 62 Zenyatta has consistently led the fleet and is expected to arrive on the 8th December if conditions hold, whilst boats in the Cruising Division will enjoy life at sea for a while longer with the current first arrival, Oyster 665 Archeron, due to arrive on the 10th December.
However the Caro crew will no doubt be embraced by their fellow arrivals from the ARC+ fleet. Departing from their stopover in Mindelo, Cape Verdes four days earlier than the ARC fleet left Las Palmas, and with a shorter distance to sail to Rodney Bay, 20 of the 43 ARC+ boats have made land fall so far.
It’s been said that the definition of cruising is performing maintenance in exotic locations. We recently hauled Totem for new anti-fouling paint, four through hull replacements, and a few other projects. Living the definition, propped high and dry on the hard.
We had not hauled Totem since April 2008. Five and a half years is a pretty phenomenal stretch without new bottom paint, but we did a lot of barnacle scraping in the last year. Definitely overdue.
Cruising generally comes with the gift (the luxury) of time, which is a good idea when hauling out. It’s all too easy for “project creep” to set in, especially when presented with the opportunity for quality work at bargain rates. However, in this instance, we had a schedule. Our friend Dan, who visited us in Raja Ampat earlier this year, was coming back! We had a date to meet him when he landed in Phuket, and that date gave us just a week to be out of the water.
Project creep aside, a timeline is not a good starting point for going into a shipyard in a developing country where few of the management and hardly any of the staff speak English. But we had our one week…and we had our fingers crossed. Since luck favors the prepared, we focused on the prep.
Part of the prep was physical work. Jamie wanted to improve the way the through hulls were installed. This required fabricating doughnut shaped bases from fiberglass, which would be turned into a club sandwich with 5200 and 4200 in layers between the seacock and hull. This was partly to spread the load, and partly to better accommodate the difference between the curved hull and the very flat bronze base. We found fiberglass roving at bargain rates in Langkawi, and he prepared a layered rectangle built up to the desired thickness from which to cut out the round shaped bases, with a hole in the middle sized to the diameter of the fitting.
He’d love a shop on Totem. Maybe when we are “empty nest” cruisers? For now, the cockpit and the side decks are the shop areas. Thanks goodness for an accommodating climate…not to mention, a really nice view. I guess that’s the “exotic locations” part.
The other side of the prep was having all the materials for the job on hand. Most items, and maybe all, would be available at the shipyard- but it wasn’t a sure thing. If we needed to order any supplies in, the resulting delay would blow up timeline. So we had a gallon two-part primer, three gallons of anti fouling paint, and a selection of brushes, gloves, and protective union suit- not to mention the sandpaper, and epoxy for getting the hull prepped and faired.
We were ready: now, just a short hop from Malaysia to Thailand, with maze of fish traps and tidal navigation to get up the river to the shipyard.
Written by Ben Ellison on Dec 4, 2013 for Panbo, The Marine Electronics Hub
That’s a darn impressive photo, I think. When Gizmo was hauled on November 22, she hadn’t been out of the water since May 2012, and most of that copper-free Interlux Pacifica Plus bottom paint had already endured a seven-month test in 2011, as I wrote about then. So, after more than three seasons, most of the running surfaces are still slick (and probably still self-cleaning when the boat occasionally goes fast). I did use the remains of the original two gallons to repaint the belly band before the 2012 launch; Gizmo lay in cleansing South Carolina fresh water from November that year through March of this year, and I scrubbed the belly band from the tender last July. But notice how almost no barnacles or mussels — the critters that can really slow a boat down — adhered to the Pacifica Plus…
Gizmo’s port side, which gets more sun at her Camden home float, did have more slimy weed on it, but I don’t think it hurts the boat’s performance much. I don’t like how the slime looks, but I could have scrubbed it off easily as the ablative paint was still very soft. That’s a finger swipe near the aft waterline in the photo below, and you can see how the pressure hose is sending blue paint into Wayfarer Marine’s catch basin (it’s a certified “Clean Marina”). Of course, if I’d done more scrubbing, I might have stripped off all the active paint — a rationale for sloth? — but overall it seems like I got a whole lot of value from two gallons of Pacifica Plus that cost about $400. It also seemed good not to ablate cuprous oxide into the water (and boatyard workers), though I realize that the jury is still out on the environmental and health effects of the paint’s Biolux and Econea biocides.
I would like better protection against our aggressive local slime, though, and may get to test Pettit Hydrocoat Eco next. It’s copper-free and water-based, uses the same apparently effective Econea to discourage critter settlement, but contains what may be a different zinc-based, slime-blocking biocide (the product and safety sheets for these paints are informative but also confusing to someone who is not a chemist). I’m pretty sure that Hydrocoat Eco — which I learned about when we gave it an IBEX Innovation Award – is the same as the West Marine CFA Eco that was honored as a… um… West Marine Green Product of 2013.
I’d be happy to see if ECO is as effective as claimed (the safe, green aspects are hard to quantify) and the Gizmo plan is to stay in the water from at least May 2014 until late 2015. But, let’s all note that an anti-fouling paint works differently in different environmental conditions and on different boats. For instance, I saw a Practical Sailor comparison in which Pacifica Plus didn’t do well, but then it occurred to me that their fixed panel testing misses the ability of some paints to easily slough off growth while underway at a speed. Or am I missing something?
The long test of the Torqeedo Travel 1003 electric outboard also started in May 2011 and has gone equally as well in my view, though the story is more complicated. I declared my love for the Torqeedo soon after I got it, but if you read through the 80 comments to that thread, you’ll learn that some owners were frustrated by various issues. While my test motor ran fine, fairly early on I realized that if I cranked it to top speed, I’d hear a nasty lower unit whine and sometimes experience a protective shut-down with the E45 (“battery overcurrent”) error message showing on the display. However, it always restarted very easily — turn off, then turn on — and I rarely use the motor at max speed anyway.
But this spring — when I was using the 1003 on the little tender down south — the “noise” seemed to be getting worse and I’d also managed to drop the battery onto the tiller handle, which tore the clear plastic over the LCD display (see photo above). So after getting home, I sent it in for servicing, which is when I learned that early production units (like mine) had a problem with badly fastened magnets in the “motor bell.” The loose magnets were causing the noise and also straining the motor enough to cause the protective E45 shut down. Torqeedo had fixed the problem in design and assembly a long time ago, and Torqeedo USA fixes it for free even when the motor is past the two year warranty – so all good.
Torqeedo also replaced the display cover and sent the repaired components back to me where the 1003 ran like a top, even at high speed, for about one day! That’s when I experienced true Torqeedo frustration. Sometimes the motor ran fine, but other times it would give me E45 or E21 (“tiller calibration defective”) errors and refuse to start no matter what I did. I figured out what was going on when I turned the tiller over and saw water collecting inside the display cover. I couldn’t really blame Torqeedo as it was me who used the broken tiller for a month, some of it quite wet, and obviously the water that got itself inside the sealed display box didn’t cause an issue until after the darn tiller came back to Maine. Plus once the new tiller arrived, the motor ran flawlessly until I put the big tender away last month.
Now here’s the really good news… During all this I learned that Torqeedo parts and estimated labor are quite reasonable. A whole new tiller is $199 and the Motor Bell would have cost $86 and an hour labor (rate depends on which Torqeedo service location you use). The prop is $80 and the skeg is $30. I’ve been advised to have the main seal checked because I’ve left the motor in the water for three seasons (see photo below), but that’s estimated at 1 hour labor plus a new $22 gearbox cover. And even if I manage to ruin the submerged electric motor, a replacement “pylon” (see parts book) only cost $749, which seems about right given the whole motor’s $2,000 retail price. These numbers look especially good to a guy who’s used to engine parts that seem vastly inflated (I’m looking at you, Volvo Penta).
Besides the relatively high price, possible Torqeedo owners may be put off by the idea of an unusual outboard that uses parts imported from Germany, but now I don’t think that’s a real worry. In fact, I’m still in Torqeedo love and hopefully not nearly done testing this Travel 1003.
Yowza! You don’t see something like this every day. This was shot in May, when a team of divers went down 30 meters to a sunken oil-rig service tug that capsized off the coast of Nigeria. The mission was to recover bodies, but it turned out one body wasn’t dead yet. The ship’s cook, Harrison Okene, who had gone to the head and was wearing only his boxer shorts when his world turned upside down, survived three days in an air bubble and found some Coca-Cola to drink to keep himself alive. Harrison heard the divers when they came into the tug and grabbed one, scaring the bejesus out of him. The close encounter starts at about 5:30.
One interesting audio effect: the dive coordinator, who I assume is topside, sounds like a normal person, but the divers all sound like Mickey Mouse. It adds a nice sense of the comic to the proceedings.
What blows my mind is imagining Harrison’s plight–three days immersed in water in just his skivvies, in absolute pitch darkness on the seabed, and somehow he kept it together. The divers estimated he had another two days of oxygen to breathe in his bubble before asphyxiating. After being extracted from the tug, he then had to spend two and a half days in a decompression chamber before being released into reality again.
Harrison was the only survivor. The other 11 crewmembers onboard were all lost when the tug went down. Here’s a BBC report you can watch for more details:
Stylish was hard at work on her math when the light mist turned into a pelting rainstorm. She dropped her pencil and looked out of the cockpit. “Mom, it’s raining. Can I go outside and have recess?”
“Sure. Put on a bathing suit first.”
It is a pleasure to say those words again. The bathing suit part, of course. I’ve never been a don’t-get-wet kind of person. But, for so long, going out in the rain meant a pile of gear, drippy wool socks, and demands for hot chocolate at the end of it. Sending the kids out to play in the rain is much more fun when they don’t come back hypothermic.
Stylish collected rain from the awnings in a Tupperware pot. Lacking anyone else to dump her buckets on – her sister was at school – she poured them over her own head. Fifteen minutes later, she was toweled off and back at her math. And life was good.
A fresh drink, straight from the awning.
At eleven o’clock, we walked over to Indy’s school to pick her up for lunch. The kids get a long lunch hour here – an hour and a half – and you only have two choices: a) sign up for the school cantine program, or b) take them home and feed them. You may not send a bagged lunch to school. (Don’t ask me why.) We have signed up for the cantine for the new year, but the program is currently full. That means we have to hike over the hill every day at lunch to get Indy. Unfortunately, the walk is a little too far to go home again, eat, and hoof it back to school in time for the afternoon session. Luckily, there is a lovely park a block away from the school. So, every day, Erik and I take turns on the lunch run, and have a picnic in the park with the girls.
Inevitably, this rainy day was my turn. I had hoped things would ease by lunchtime, but no such luck. Out came the rain pants, rain coats and boots.
When Stylish and I arrived at school, Indy jumped off the “waiting bench” and gave me a hug. She immediately started pulling on the rain gear we had brought.
“How was school this morning?” I asked. “Did you have fun?”
Indy grimaced. “They made us stay inside at recess.”
Stylish gave her a smug smile. “I played in the rain at recess.”
Indy just shook her head in disgust. She could not understand why they had been forced to stay indoors on such a beautiful day. And while I can appreciate that her teacher shouldn’t have to deal with thirty soaking-wet children all day long, I do wish the school didn’t have to resort to indoor recess. It isn’t as though it were 5 C outside, with icy sleet blowing down from the nearest Pole.
We walked down to the park. Usually there are several other families there, eating lunch and playing on the swings. Office workers arrive, alone or in pairs, to eat a croque monsieur and enjoy the mild weather. But today, unsurprisingly, we had the park to ourselves. It was raining so hard that I almost wore my foulies – a white, hooded, waterproof onesie that makes me look like a giant condom. (Out of kindness to my family, I spared them that humiliation in favour of a thigh-length yellow slicker. Not much better, but better all the same.)
The girls immediately ran for the playground equipment. Wearing their rain pants helped the girls shoot a good four feet off the ends of the slides.
Do you think we can make it all the way to the concrete?
We ate lunch under one of the play structures, then it was back to splashing and stomping and sliding until the lunch hour was over.
I dropped Indy off at her classroom, and hung her rain things on a hook.
“Take those home,” she grumped. “I won’t need them here.“
“We’ll let them dry,” I said. “Maybe you can use them on the way home.”
She brightened. “Okay. If it is still raining when I get home, can I go out in my bathing suit?”
I may have outgrown it, but it is still fun to watch.
Written by Ben Ellison on Dec 3, 2013 for Panbo, The Marine Electronics Hub
While it looks and works very much like the Matrix AIS GX2100 that caused quite a splash here in 2009, Standard Horizon’s just announced Matrix AIS/GPS GX2200 very usefully includes a built-in 66 channel GPS. And it still has the same $400 MAP (minimum advertised price) as the evolved Matrix AIS+ GX2150, which will now get a $350 MAP. Two years ago Standard introduced the Explorer GX1700 — the first fixed VHF with GPS built in, and still the only one (I think) – and while I haven’t tried one myself, I think that front panel satellite antenna bump works pretty well even when installed under a fiberglass deck or top…
I can’t count the number of times I’ve heard search and rescue professionals lament about how well DSC VHF distress alerts can work but how few boats are set up to send a proper one. All it takes with almost every VHF already installed is an MMSI number programmed in and a GPS connection, but even yours truly is guilty. The first season I had a Matrix AIS 2150 installed on Gizmo I wired in a Simrad AT10 to feed it GPS from the NMEA 2000 network. That worked fine, so I had AIS plotting (backup), direct DSC to AIS target calling, and a functional DSC distress button. But when I moved the Matrix up to the flying bridge before heading south last fall, I never quite got around to the GPS wiring. The Matrix is a very able VHF radio, and the RAM3 Mic I’ve been using at the lower helm also works well, but a bit of laziness meant that Gizmo’s only working DSC distress button was on the otherwise redundant Garmin VHF 200.
When I first installed the Garmin in 2009, it was the only VHF that could receive GPS over NMEA 2000 and also use that same connection to plot DSC calls and set up AIS target calls (on a Garmin MFD). That didn’t change significantly until the 2012 intro of the Simrad RS35 and Lowrance Link 8, which put both N2K and an AIS receiver into a VHF. Those radios had a rocky entry due to software glitches and still don’t offer AIS target calling, but several recent comments on that same entry were written by satisfied users. I’m hoping that we’ll now also hear from commenters who are using the premium Ray260 modular VHF system, which Raymarine rolled out last summer.
The Ray260 interfaces to GPS and MFDs via SeaTalkNG (aka NMEA 2000) as well as NMEA 0183, and the Ray260 AIS model includes a two channel receiver. There’s no AIS display on the handset, but obviously this black box system is designed for integration with Raymarine screens. I think the remote speakers even match the size and trim of the i70 instruments and pilot heads. Again I don’t see AIS target calling from an MFD, which seems like an oversight (that could be fixed with a software update), but I like that the Ray260 can simultaneously track up to 5 vessels via DSC and can also record 90 seconds of VHF audio you might have missed.
Has anyone out there tried a Ray260? Also of interest would be experience with the Standard Horizon GX1700, which likely has the same GPS performance as the Matrix GX2200 coming out in January.
PS: Thanks to commenter Carsten, I just happily read about the new Icom IC-M506 AIS VHF, which seems to combine just about every feature discussed in this entry, including a NMEA 2000 interface, direct AIS target calling, and even 2 minutes of audio playback. Bear in mind that there is no pricing or ship date yet, and the info is only at Icom UK, but here’s hoping that Icom America is planning a nice early 2014 surprise.Click here to read comments about this Panbo entry, or add your own.
Living with a lighter footprint is one of our motivating factors to choose the cruising life. Helping our children learn about risks and realities of the global effects of climate change and is connected to this environmental sensibility. A great way to bring these together is to participate in citizen scientist programs, where our nomadic lifestyle can offer unique opportunities to collect data and contribute to active research. Anyone can do this: anyone can share from their experiences to help inform and direct decisions to improve life for all of us on planet earth.
The individual burden of effort is generally very small, but cumulative impact can be tremendous as more citizen scientists on the oceans of the world and in our Salish Sea waterways at home take the time to contribute.
Jellywatch – www.jellywatch.org
box jellyfish floats with garbage- Labuan, Malaysia
There are increasing reports of jellyfish blooms and other disruptions, but little organized data to connect observations and make global inferences. Jellywatch, a project of the Monterey Bay Aquarium’s research institute, seeks to improve the body of knowledge by gathering observations from around the world. Their handy app makes it easy to submit a sighting: not just of jellyfish, but of other ocean conditions like algal blooms. We have seen a large number of jellyfish in Southeast Asia the last few months, from the highly toxic box jellies to more benign edible varieties, and are excited to be connected enough in Malaysia to start actively contributing.
Adventurers and Scientists for Conservation – www.adventureandscience.org
ASC is dedicated to building partnerships between outdoor enthusiasts and scientists, and will match interested volunteers with an appropriate project. They have projects that are well suited to cruisers, but many for those who are still tied to land as well. On Totem, we’re really excited to be able to contribute to a project on microplastic contamination by gathering water samples along our route. The samples will help scientists to better understand the sources and toxicity, and are helpful to gather from less-traveled waters we sail.
Sea Bird Count – www.facebook.com/birding.aboard
Have you had a feathered visitor or stowaway on a passage? We’ve hosted a few, like the barn swallow sitting on our son Niall’s book in the photograph above. Sharing what, where, and when you see these birds can help. SeaBC seeks to benefit seabird conservation by gathering information from boaters about their ocean-going bird sightings. Surprisingly, this area is considered a frontier science: little is known about breeding and wintering areas for many species, which are often vulnerable or endangered. You don’t need to be a birding expert to log sea bird sightings that can add important information to the base of knowledge. All you need to do is take digital photos of seabirds, record basic data in a downloadable logging form, and report the sightings. Members on the group’s Facebook page offer support to identify and submit sightings and facilitate submission. SeaBC data goes to Cornell University’s Lab of Ornithology’s eBird database, where it’s a permanent resource for scientists and conservation efforts worldwide.
Secchi Disk – www.secchidisk.org
Secchi Disk is the world’s biggest plankton survey. These microscopic plants and animals are an essential link in the food chain of the sea and the earth’s ecology, but there’s a lot we don’t actually know about them. By measuring water clarity and uploading the data, you can contribute to a global database of measurements that’s building knowledge about plankton presence in different seasons and different geographies. All you need to participate in this project is a GPS enabled phone or tablet, and a simple measuring device: the Secchi disk. You can buy one online, but they are easily made at home with instructions on the site. You sink the disk, measure the depth at which it is no longer visible, and submit this and a few other bits of information to the database. Plankton may be tiny, but these organisms are critical to the livelihood of other (much larger) species, and they are harbingers of the effect of climate change on the ocean.hawksbill turtle, Tioman Island, Malaysia
Seaturtle.org seeks to organizing the world’s sea turtle information, making it universally accessible and useful. Founded out of a desire to support research and conservation efforts in the sea turtle community, they also offer an easy opportunity for the cruiser to give back and contribute to their database. It’s also a great way to learn about issue facing the turtles, as well as forcing you to get smart about identification (which was not as simple as I first thought!). Collect information on the turtles you see- get a photo if you can- and save the details about your location, and submit it online. Easy!
Written by Ben Ellison on Nov 30, 2013 for Panbo, The Marine Electronics Hub
This is different! While the new Argonaut A615 Smart Monitor has several of the marine display features the company is known for, it can also serve as a large Android tablet. So with its 360° waterproof enclosure, bonded Tflex transflective LED-backlit LCD, and Quad Core ARM processor you can have fast standalone chart plotting on a 15-inch screen in your cockpit or on your flying bridge using only 20 Watts of 12 or 24 volt DC power. And of course that’s not all…
If the A615 Smart Monitor can reach the Internet with its own WiFi, or via your boat’s WiFi router, you can get real time weather, check e-mail, download more apps, watch Netflix, etc. It also has a DVI and analog video inputs so the screen can alternately display onboard cameras, MFD output, and more. The A615 can be surface mounted, bracket mounted or set up with a more flexible RAM mount; I’d favor the latter as transflective displays are especially sensitive to sunlight angle.
The charting app that comes with the A615 appears to be the worthy Memory-Map, but there are several interesting choices on Android now. Jeppesen’s Plan2Nav offers global C-Map coverage plus ActiveCaptain, for instance, and if you have a current Raymarine MFD or Navico GoFree setup there are free android apps that will make the Smart Monitor a nice second station over WiFi. But note that the A615 does not have touch screen, and I’m not yet sure what Argonaut means by an “All Weather Touch Pad” control. Is that something built onto the monitor or…
Maybe the A615 Smart Monitor comes with Argonaut’s OneTouch waterproof touch pad mouse? I’m sure I can get more details after the weekend, but some boaters who already have exposed monitors might want to know about this touch pad anyway.
Besides, I wanted to put up a weekend entry in the hope that relaxed readers will take a short survey. Actually, it only takes a few minutes, you might get a laugh, and you could also win a famed Panbo long-billed lightweight cap. Plus, you’ll get a chance to deliver anonymous feedback on how Panbo can be improved — don’t hold back! — and/or impress potential advertisers with details of your electronics addiction (or influence over buyers). Please be completely candid, but please do take the 2013 Panbo Reader Survey.Click here to read comments about this Panbo entry, or add your own.
What kind of field guides should you bring cruising? The question of on board references came from a reader recently. It’s a good one, and it made me think about how we flubbed it and didn’t have enough on board when we cut the docklines. Of course, everyone has different needs: some may not want any at all, and we probably skew above average. Here are the field guides that have earned their shelf space on Totem.
The National Audubon Society’s Guide to Marine Mammals of the World has helped us ID animals from Puget Sound to Malaysia. From understanding the differences between oceanic dolphins and whales, to cataloging our identifications (we add a date and a note on the species information page) with successive sightings, this is one of the most frequently used guides on board.
Collecting shells while beach combing is one of the simple pleasures of the cruising life. It’s not something that interested me previously, but that first season in the Sea of Cortez hooked me forever! Smithsonian Handbooks: Shells is a thorough guide with clear photographs that make identification easy. For accessible information about mollusc life cycles and more, we prefer the classic Golden Guide to Seashells of the World (ours is from the 60s, but there’s much newer edition available). I’m happy to have both.
Despite the alarmist title, Dangerous Marine Animals: That Bite, Sting, Shock, or Are Non-Ediblehas helpful information about less savory sea life you might encounter, and was an early favorite on Totem. Our son borrowed it from his friend on another boat, fascinated by all the ways the ocean could kill you. Thankfully, it did not daunt his fascination with the sea: he was engrossed, and we all learned from it.
In Mexico, The Baja Catch is aimed at trailer-boaters or campers, but hands down the best guide we found for fishing in Mexico. It details locations along Baja, but the species information and tips are relevant all along Mexico’s Pacific coast. It’s harder to find (well, harder to find affordably) but worth stalking. Sport Fish of the Pacific(Vic Dunaway) finally answered the question almost every other fish guide seemed to neglect: “but how good is it to eat?” Thank you, Vic, for the quick reference to help decide if a catch is a keeper, or a quick release! A copy of Goodson’s Fishes of the Pacific Coast picked up opportunistically at a swap meet turned out to have some of the best readable information about Pacific fish. With a coverage area from Alaska to Peru and the Galapagos, it doesn’t try to cover every species you might see, but it does an excellent job of describing behaviors and distinguishing characteristics- something I find really interesting. It’s nice to get beyond the pretty pictures and identification to learn more about what we’re seeing underwater.
Birds Peter Harrison’s Seabirds of the World is a great reference that’s helped us ID many of our sightings. While regionally specific guides for are best, the limitation to sea birds keeps this global guide useful- we can almost always make an identification.Just like fish guides, non-seabird bird guides really should be sourced by region. It was incredibly disappointing to realize in the USA that when most field guides described themselves as “North American”, they invariably meant “USA and Canada, and only cursory coverage of Mexico based on migratory patterns.” Ugh. That didn’t help the coming year and a half we were going to spend based in Mexico very much! We ended up with Princeton Guide of Birds of Mexico and Central America, and found it more helpful than any of the “North American” guides.
I was surprised to find very few birds in the Pacific islands. Somehow I had the impression that they’d be rich with bird life: it just wasn’t like that, unfortunately. We only rarely had occasion to even wish for a guide. That all changed once we reached Australia: there, PNG, and now Southeast Asia have rich and colorful bird life. I really wish we’d picked up Birds of Southeast Asia (Princeton Field Guides) before we left Australia.Other critters
When we reached Australia, friends who were ending their cruising days gifted us with a couple of field guides from their on-board library. We’ve gotten a lot of use out of the Smithsonian Handbooks Reptiles and Amphibians and another Smithsonian Guide, Insects- Spiders and Other Terrestrial Arthropods has been similarly helpful. Maybe I was in denial about the number of creepy crawly and reptilian things we’d have the opportunity to identify (because, ew!) but it turns out… well, it turns out we do have plenty of those opportunities along our path through the tropical Pacific and into Southeast Asia, and now Mama knows just how poisonous some of them are. Jungle hike anyone? Landscape
Sourcing guides for regional fauna has been much simpler than guides for landscape and flora. It’s a gap (I’d love to hear any recommendations!). In general this is covered in regional guides, but often not very well: it’s simply easier to find commentary in a country guide about the flora than a book on the subject intended for the casual visitor.
Every time we looked at the stunning geography of Baja, I wished we had a geologist on board! This has been a recurring theme ever since. Lacking a geologist in our crew, we brought a copy of Simon & Schuster’s Guide to Rocks and Minerals after our first year in Mexico. It helps, but a basic geology book would still be a good addition. The forms around us are sometimes so striking, they beg to be explained, yet we don’t always have the information available- and you can’t just “google it” from the middle of nowhere.
Our first year in Mexico, we really missed having good field guides. Somehow I manage to be continually late at getting the right books on board, but I’m getting better. Our global library grows over time, and we’ve shared regional books with those that followed us. Hopefully this helps others be more prepared than we were!
The links in this post to Amazon listings for each book include a referral from Totem. If you click through a link and subsequently make a purchase from Amazon, it throws a little change in our cruising kitty. Thank you for taking this into consideration, and helping to keep our family cruising!
This one was written by hand on November 18. This was my first chance to get it published on the blog…
Mia and my dad are sleeping. A rain squall just blew in from over the hills. I was sitting at the nav. table reading TIME magazine and sipping on my second glass of savignon blanc. I felt something itching on my calf. It took me two moments to realize it was drizzle. Rain!
It came down just enough to cause me to close the hatches and bring in the cushion cover we’d been drying on the lifelines. And my t-shirt. The rain soaked the boat just enough to remove the salt. And that was enough.
Well that was a lousy night. It started well enough. After the morning packing up the last of the C1500 stuff from Nanny Cay and saying our last goodbyes to the few folks still around – namely Paul & Monica and Jim from Moonshadow - we moved onto Sojourner to begin the two-week sail south to St. Lucia.
At the fuel dock I was complimented by one of the Salty Dawg Rally crew on my boat-handling skills coming alongside to fill up. I said ‘thanks.’ What I wanted to say was, ‘I’m an effing good boat driver, Mister. There’s a reason you know.’ I only thought that though. I was a better boat driver than diesel attendant.
‘How much do you expect we’ll take?’ I asked my Dad. He was going to wander down to the chandlery to get a few last-minute items while Mia and I refuled.
‘I’d guess probably 35 gallons or so,’ he replied.
Okay. Now the nozzle was fast. But not that fast. Five gallons in and the vent was overflowing. Into the cockpit. Six gallons in and the fill hose was gurgled over.
Don, the guy who’d complemented me on my maneuvering skills, was not distracting me by conversing on subjects I was actually interested in. I lost focus, and 1/2 a gallon of diesel ended up in the cockpit.
Basically, Dad had screwed up. He’d estimated that they’d used up nearly 50 gallons of fuel during the passage south. Including the 15 they dumped into the tank from the jerry cans, plus the six I added, they’d only used 21. Nice math.
Mia hosed out the cockpit, Dad returned and we were off. First stop, Road Town, for customs clearance and smoothies. Next stop – Ile Fourche and the Caribbean Mia and I had come to love during Broadreach.
Sojourner sailed out of the Virgin Islands as the full moon rose in the east behind a bank of clouds. The island to port had vertical striations of rock piled up (apparently) by millennia of tectonic plate movement on the sea floor. To starboard, a boat was wrecked on Ginger Island. Then, we were offshore.
I took the first watch, 6-9pm. The moon rising behind the clouds illuminated their edges and the horizon in that magical glow. I anticipated a wonderful evenings sail – just enough breeze to make hull speed on a close reach under full sail and keep the decks dry.
Typically I’ll make coffee and get my book on a night watch. I hate steering – that’s why God invented autopilots. On this night I skipped the coffee and the book and just watched the evening.
The moon got higher and brighter off the port bow. Venus was dazzling in the West, though starting to fade over the horizon.
I did get my book after a while. Nassim Nicholas Taleb’s Fooled by Randomness, an intellectually compelling read, something that’s been missing from my life lately.
Then it got windy. As my 3 hours neared the end, I thought that Mia would appreciate if I reefed down before she came up. She’d be comfortable and I’d sleep better. I called my Dad. By then it was very windy. We knew they had chafed through the jib furling line on the way south – the drum wasn’t aligned properly and we hadn’t fixed it in Nanny Cay, expecting a light wind passage overnight.
I scurried to the foredeck to attached another block to change the lead on the furling line, and we took in half the genoa. Then I took two reefs in the mainsail. The night had begun in earnest.
To keep a long story short, this continued throughout our ‘pleasant’ evening. We sailed 75 of the 95 miles to St. Barts under double-reefed main and half the genoa, close-reaching in windy, squally and lumpy conditions. Mia was hopelessly seasick. She managed to hand-steer her first 3-hour watch (which she took the authority to shorten to 2-hours), and finished that soaked and sick. She spent the next 12 hours in the cockpit, covered with a towel and vomiting every hour or so while my Dad and I traded 3-on 3-off.
Water cascaded into the companionway. Dad had warned me this had happened on the way south, but I didn’t take him seriously enough. I awoke at one point sleeping on the starboard (low) settee – to the feeling that someone had dumped a glass of saltwater on my face. The galley was flooded. I moved to the high side to sleep. The lee side was drenched.
So it was that we spent the better part of today cleaning salt off every surface inside Sojourner. The cushion covers were removed to soak in fresh water and hang out to dry. Mia and I swam a few times to beat the heat. I organized the nav. table. We had coffee and hurricane eggs for breakfast. Mia was cured when we reached flat water at Ile Fourche.
Now they nap. I write. And drink wine. And listen to the Smashing Pumpkins.
Celebrating Thanksgiving on Totem this week, we sat around the table to talk about all the things we’re grateful for. Earlier in the day, the children had each made a list to share- going around the table, there were many overlaps.
We’re all so thankful for our floating home. Totem might be cozy living, but it’s more than enough. It keeps the water out, and the love in.
I’m thankful that we’ve kept the spirit of our holidays. The cruising life lends itself to a more distilled, less commercial celebration.
That also makes me thankful I have yet to hear a Christmas carol this year. I don’t miss the consumer crush around holidays back in the states. Mairen added that she’s not thankful for skipping holidays, and reminded me it’s Hanukkah this week, so…well, I guess we’ll do some more celebrating soon.lighting a menorah with friends in La Cruz, 2011
Siobhan says she’s thankful for apple pie. This was probably prompted by one in the oven on Thanksgiving afternoon. Pumpkins are actually easy to get around here, and as a result we’ve had quite a few pumpkin pies in the last month- it lost the “special for Thanksgiving” edge, so apple pie it was.
I’m thankful we can still create the essence of the feast-centered holiday, even if it looks a little different. Although I am now accustomed to buying poultry with the head and feet still attached, did not count on our Thanksgiving turkey chicken from the market requiring gutting at home. We also had cranberry sauce (last stashed jar, purchased before we left Australia), cornbread, gravy for the bird, and I made my grandmother’s candied sweet potatoes- following the recipe written in her hand, a collection of favorites she wrote and gifted when Jamie and I got married.no turkeys, but plenty of chicken at the weekly market
Mairen brought it up a level said she’s thankful for food. We are so fortunate not to go wanting. We eat simply, but we eat, and they’ve seen the harsh reality of malnutrition along our travels.
We’re thankful for the sea. Siobhan was the first one to read this from her list, but it came up repeatedly. The incredible oceans that we cherish, respect, enjoy, and despair.lungs of the earth
The children all said they were thankful for dogs. I guess we’re dog people.Siobhan loving up one of the shipyard dogs in Satun
Niall said he’s thankful for the universe, because otherwise, we wouldn’t be here. Can’t argue with that!
I’m thankful for our family: family born to, family created, family chosen- from old friends to cruising comrades. We are so very rich with people to love, and be loved by in return.
As we wound down our discussion on gratitude, and the many things we’re thankful for, Jamie called out the most obvious one. It was so plain none of us had thought to articulate it, but immediately rallied around. We are so thankful to be cruising: to have the opportunity to live differently and follow our dreams.Happy Thanksgiving, from Totem!
“So, what did you do at school today?”
I know better than to ask this question. There isn’t a child alive who has ever replied with actual facts when their mother asks about school. But it was Indy’s first day at her new école in Noumea, and I was hoping that she would throw me a crumb. After all, she is a boat kid; she might not realize that it is her duty as a child is to withhold school-related news at all costs.
“Nothing,” she said.
Darn. Someone must have tipped her off.
“Le poisson, le poisson, le poisson,” sang Indy as she skipped along the path.
I raised my eyebrows. She picked up a word already! We had been a little concerned that Indy would find the first few weeks of school difficult, being an anglophone in a francophone world, but she emerged from class unfazed by any communication difficulties she might have encountered.
“Le poisson,” I repeated. “Fish. That’s a good word.”
She stopped skipping. “No, Mom. Not like that. You draw it out. Le poiiiisssssson.” She slowly drew her hands apart.
“Le poisson,” I said again.
She shook her head and resumed skipping. Six hours of school, and Indy’s French was already better than mine. Whose idea was it to send this kid to school, anyway?
Now that we are here for the season, it is time to put down roots. Our days of tootling off to nearby islands and swimming with dugongs have become a “jam tomorrow, jam yesterday” endeavor. This season, we are a family with a purpose: to learn French. Only Erik is off the hook because, like the goody-two-shoes he is, he learned French back in school when he was supposed to, and then went one step further and actually solidified his skills by using the rotten stuff during his working life. It makes me sick to think of him reaping the benefits of being such a dedicated keener.
Because I, of course, did not learn French when I should have. I took it in school. I even, for one golden year, had an exceptional teacher. But for reasons murky at this distance, I decided early I was bad at French. Inevitably, that opinion ensured that I was, indeed, bad at French. And by the time I decided I didn’t really want to be bad at French any longer, I had too big a mountain to climb to fix the problem before my formal education ended.
We all like crepes. Does that give us francophone points?
But, hey, who needs foreign languages anyway? Not me. It isn’t as though I moved to Germany when Erik got transferred there. Or lived in Montreal for a year. Or spent ages in Central America. Or French Polynesia. Yes, drop third period Spanish as soon as you can, kids. Trust me: your future won’t contain any surprises and you will never need it. Oh, wait a minute…
I thought I was mentally prepared to start classes here. After all, I’ve been down this road before auf Deutsch. It took moving to Germany and living day after day in a bubble of incomprehension to really destroy my innate reluctance to speak if I couldn’t do it perfectly. Learning a language is all about trying and being wrong and wrong and wrong until finally you are right.
My German class was in the heart of Frankfurt’s red light district, so learning French in a well-lit whitewashed basement already felt like a step up. No more tripping over junkies crouched behind the dumpsters for this étudiante! But I’ve been attending classes in Noumea for a couple of weeks now, and I have to say it is getting me down.
I am so mad at myself for not doing this when it would have been relatively easy, ie. before my aged and sclerotic mental processes slowed my mastery of new concepts down to a crawl. I know there is no point in blaming Young Amy for dropping the ball. I managed to do a lot of things right back in high school – at least I didn’t decide I was bad at Math or Science. But I still long to throw off a poisson the way Indy does. The best I can hope for now is for classroom topics to ring a distant bell, and for lessons long forgotten to slowly rise to the surface. (Often, these memories are accompanied by a mental echo of: “a lemon peel floating down the Thames has a better grasp of basic grammar!”, and I feel like I am back in high school again.)
My self-loathing isn’t helped by the fact that I am, by far, the most advantaged person in my French course. We are all foreigners, but, of the six of us, I am the only person who is a native speaker of a Latin script language. So not only do my colleagues speak much better French than I do, but they have learned to read an entirely new character set to get there. And there is one woman present who has never been to school. Ever, at all. And while she speaks French, she is now grabbing the chance, in her adulthood, to learn to read and write. I am humbled by these women.
Today, our teacher asked for a volunteer to take down dictation on the board. I was suddenly sixteen again, hating this sort of exercise when Mr B would read to us, and I would write down a phonetic jumble of junk words on my page, wondering why none of it made sense. This class was no different. The typical shifty eyes began. Papers were shuffled, bags were riffled without purpose. No one met the teacher’s eye.
And then the woman who wants to read and write stood up, walked to the board, picked up a whiteboard marker, and waited.
I’m not sure I can adequately convey the shame that washed over me in that moment. I really was sixteen again, weaseling out of a difficult exercise because I knew I’d make mistakes. As though this were about a grade instead of learning.
I have a limited French vocabulary, and my grammar is worse. My pronunciation is so bad that my five-year-old anglophone daughter can call me out on it. But maybe, if I listen to Indy, and my teacher, and my classmates, and everyone else in this town, maybe I’ll actually learn something this time. I might still be bad at it. But, this time, I’m going to be smart enough to let myself try.
I’m not sure what to make of this, but it sure is fun to look at. Click through to this Ocean Surface Currents Map website, and you’ll see this image is actually animated. It just covers areas around the United States, but still gives you a very good idea of just how dynamic the ocean really is.
Off the East and Gulf Coasts anyway. What most surprised me is how little current action there is off the West Coast.
The big question, of course, is whether it’s useful or not, and I’m not sure it is. The map on its face purports to be a real-time forecast of what’s actually going on out there, but when I compare it to official forecasts there seems to be little correlation.
For example, here’s a close-up showing current contours between New England and Bermuda for 0600 hrs on November 22, the day I first stumbled across the site:
You see there’s a nice fat meander in the Gulf Stream, and if you were sailing from Newport to Bermuda you’d want to be very sure you caught a ride on its southbound side.
Compare this, however, to the current forecast from the Ocean Prediction Center for the same time and date, and you see no sign of that huge meander:
These current contours normally don’t change very rapidly, so I should think the two forecasts, if at all accurate, should look fairly similar.
I checked this morning and compared images from the two sources for 0900 hours today, and again they seem to have little to do with each other:
I shot off an e-mail last week to the guys who created the site, but so far they haven’t deigned to respond. My guess is this is still in beta mode, so I wouldn’t use it for passage planning. Hopefully it may become more useful in the future.
Our watermaker is broken, so there are routine shore runs to fill up a jerry can and keep our tanks from running dry. We have a single five-gallon capacity jerry: wwhen it’s full, it’s too heavy for me, so Jamie bears the brunt of the burden. At least potable water that’s readily available from the dinghy dock for the Telaga Harbour Marina, and only a couple of minutes to jet in from the anchorage for another load.
The daily squalls are mostly over, but rainy weather still comes. The seasons here are not so much “rainy” and “dry” as “rainy” and “slightly less rainy.” It’s rarely similar to the spitty Pacific Northwest misty sprinkle. Bucketing down in fat drops is more like it: sometimes we can barely see Love Song, anchored just a few boat lengths away.
It puts a damper on beach time, but it’s great for water collection. Every bit we can catch cuts down on the jerry can runs. We have a very simple system, simply running a line alongside the toe rail as a barrier to channel water, then ringing the end of the line around the deck fills about amidships. When it’s time to initiate, Jamie yells out: “CATERPILLAR DRIVE!” and we all know what to do.
Our system is highly imperfect: the watermaker made it less important to invest time in a better setup. It’s sufficient, though, and we get by for now. When there’s a good daily dump, we can keep our tanks topped off.
We were rich with excellent company for the weeks in Telaga. It was early 2009 the last time we saw our friends on Love Song, but intervening years can simply melt away in cruising friendships. Reunions like these are a happy counterbalance to remember every time we have another goodbye. But for all the goodbyes, there were so many more hellos this time around, and so many great new friends to make.
The big surprise was that these new friends were overwhelmingly American: we haven’t seen so many American boats in a very long time! For all that nationality really doesn’t matter a whit in the scheme of things, it’s still nice to be surrounded by familiar accents, and people with the same context, especially when it’s been a while. There was Cashmere, who we traded messages with many months ago, hoping to intersect “somewhere.” Water Musick hails from our home state, as does Kalalau. Then, just before we were due to leave for Thailand, Utopia returned. More good times and memories to stash. (Notice how these families are all referenced by their boat names? That’s how it works, so choose yours wisely!)
it’s not all beach bonfires: tapas and sangria night!
We checked in at the marina office every few days, looking for packages delivered there but bound for boats in Phuket. Almost every marina seems to have a bulletin board like this, with everything from crew positions sought to boat parts (and even boats) for sale, next to tidier harbour information like tide tables or a published weather forecast.
The marina was also a great source of car rentals, as the staff rent their personal vehicles for RM 10 (about $3) an hour. Perfect for a grocery run! How you’re going to transport the pounds of food a family needs every day is not something that requires any thoughtful planning before cruising. There’s a store not far from your home, and you drive there. Maybe weekly, but if you forget something essential, hey, no problem! Just pop out for a few minutes. It’s a little more complicated when stores are dispersed, you don’t have that car any more, and there’s no public transportation.
In addition to the bargain rentals from the marina office, there are some enterprising folks who rent a car for around RM 50 for 24 hours. We made full use of the novelty of car access to find what we needed. One store had the paint. Another had fittings. Yet another had the gloves and protective suit to wear for applying anti-fouling.buying solar panels and batteries through the back door
Stores are spread out around Langkawi, and finding what you need is typically a scavenger hunt that requires visiting several, but it’s still a great place to find everything from quinoa to anti-fouling paint. Jamie sourced materials we’d need for our coming haulout from around the island so we could leave as few factors as possible to chance and mother nature, and get the work done on time.
We had fun, too.morning trip to the top of Langkawi’s tallest peak going to…a movie theater? in a car?!
Totem’s haulout date in Thailand loomed, and our last days in Langkawi focused on getting prepared. We try hard to avoid schedules, but they happen. In this case, we can’t be more than about a week of out water, or we’ll be late getting to Phuket to pick up our friend Dan!
The problem is not what I see, or even what I don’t see. It’s what I know I could be seeing. These dead and dying reefs are a far cry from the riotous colors and abundant fish of other, healthier reefs I’ve seen in the past. Bob likes to talk about ‘shifting baselines’ and how we can collectively lose track of what a healthy reef once meant. He has a favorite anecdote, about diving in the Dominican Replublic in the company of a boatload of KLM stewardesses on their first dive. Bob came up stunned by the most degraded reef he had ever seen. The stewardesses came up in awe at the sight of such undersea beauty. That is Anguilla and Antigua. It has been wonderful to spend time on reefs again, to dive down and catch blennies peering out of their holes or damselfish protecting their tiny algae farms. But more than anything these sights worry me, leave me wondering if there is any future for coral reefs in the Caribbean. Yes, these are only two islands, and I know there are still places with healthier reefs, but I also know that this is a growing trend. Looking at these grey reefs, drained of life, it’s hard to do more than mourn the loss of these once flourishing ecosystems. On a healthier reef this colorful trumpetfish would have effective camouflage. In this muted scene he is an easy target