Anti-Inspirational Poster #002

Le Faux Pas (Première Partie)

Off the western coast of Haiti, south of the Windward Passage

"...OK, we've got Keke and Castro as guides tomorrow, We owe Karma for the courtesy flag and he'll watch the boat while we go to the market..."

"Lole's going to clean the bottom, Makendy's going to make us dinner. What were going to have Pepe do? And we still need something for Harold and Jasmine."

The irony of this is not lost on either one of us. The previous day's log entry starts, "It's hard as hell to get to Haiti." The offshore wind had been on our nose for the last three days of the passage and nearer to the shore, the mountains made the wind shifty and impossible to steer by. Jane tried everything she could think of to get us to Ile a Vache by sail, a goal with which I was more in agreement than usual. Typically, I'm the impatient one, the one who has little tolerance for sailing in ten hours a distance we can cover motoring in two. But we were down to one engine and on top of that, getting diesel onto JOY in Great Inagua turned out to be next to impossible. So for the time being I am a staunch supporter of sail power. Still, on the morning of the third day off the western coast of Haiti, I requested that we strike a bargain: she could try to outmaneuver the wind as long as she wanted so long as that we made Ile a Vache in time to have dinner at the Port Morgan Hotel. She agreed, primarily because there weren't any promising anchorages left between where we were and our destination. Were it necessary for us to tack back and forth all night, neither of us would get any sleep. JOY has her charms, but  sailing singlehanded isn't among them.

We tried long tacks, then short tacks, but we just couldn't get her to point high enough to make any way. Several hours into this endeavor, we replicated exactly the track from our previous outbound tack, meaning an hour's worth of sailing with not a mile, not even a foot to show for it. Jane calculated that we'd made a whole five miles to the good in as many hours. "It really is motorsailing" she said, dismayed, as she turned on the port engine. Yet, if there was disappointment to be endured at the underwhelming performance of our vessel, at least there would be some time to relax and a wonderful meal as compensation once we arrived.

JOY rounded the corner in to the Baie a Feret and entered the harbour just as the afternoon sun's rays slanted a golden light on the hill behind the anchorage. We hadn't quite made it in when a man in a small dugout boat began paddling over to us. "Oh, here we go" I said to myself thinking that he was coming to sell us some fish. Within minutes, there was another and another. They came, one or two to a boat. 

"Creo que tengo un brazo roto." (Primera Parte)

Taxi fare to Clinica El Prada:    4000 pesos ($2.50)
Urgent care consultation:       51,000 pesos ($30)
Medical supplies/equipment:  44,800 pesos ($26)
X-ray:                                   57,100 pesos ($34)
Orthopedic specialist:           370,900 pesos ($218)

Lessons learned during the Haiti-Colombia leg of the Big Joy Sailing School: well, priceless, of course.

I've been asked: What the hell happened?  Words to that effect.  So here are explanations for the non-sailor (1) and the sailor (2).

Shippy

It doesn't look like a downfall, but it was ours

The other day, it occurred to us that we've been live aboards for nine months now and we've been feeling right salty as of late. This, I'm certain, has a great deal to do with having successfully employed a storm tactic for the first time during that blow and very little to do with the fact that we've been anchored less than a mile away from a Morton Salt factory. We've even completed some pretty impressive field repairs. Yes, I think it's safe to say we're finally starting to find our cruiser groove.

I think back to January of 2010. It was at Strictly Sail Chicago. We'd just decided to embark on our little jaunt around the world and were trying to inhale information on all things cruising related. The most beneficial take away from the show for us was a more thorough understanding of profound ignorance. With one aspect only did we feel any sense of familiarity. It was information the seminar organizers hadn't even intend to relay.  We discovered that the way people get around the world on a boat, their "cruising styles" generally sway one way or the other (or maybe I'm just a dualist). On the one end, there're who I will call "randies": very buttoned-up, very organized, very experienced, very do-it-by-the-book. On the other end are bobs: buy a boat and THEN learn how to sail. Learn as you go. What could go wrong? Cruising is, after all, supposed to be about having fun. And (and there's always an "and") for the randies, it's about "fun and safety"; for the "bobs" it's about "fun and adventure". Safety and adventure, Felix and Oscar. 

Strictly on a Need to Know Basis

We are here in Great Inagua, the southernmost island in the Bahamas chain.  It's a 215 nautical mile trip from George Town, Exumas, our last port of call, on a direct route. It can be considerably longer (413 in our case) if the tradewinds are against you, which they guaranteeably are at this time of year.

Like most cruising crews, we've developed a hierarchy of policies concerning passage making. They are predicated on the relative probability of events occurring to us and the consequences thereof.  Our default policy is to sail, rather than motor, regardless of wind direction because we are, after all, on a sailboat. However, this policy can be and is superseded by a number of factors.  Time of year is one.  We're in what is known as the "hurricane box," a set of longitudes and latitudes that is especially prone to hurricane activity in the months of June through November.  Hurricanes are not nice to boats generally and our insurance company, who isn't in the business of being nice to boaters doubles our deductible for any damage caused by a named storm, let alone a hurricane.  So our default policy gets supplanted by Amendment #3: Unless It Is Hurricane Season.  (Amendment #1: Unless There Is No Wind, is the default amendment to our default policy.  Regardless of what season it is, if there is so little wind that we lose steerage when under sail alone, we fire up the engines.)

Part 2: Escape from Marathon and Hurricanes

A quick recap from Part 1.  Assuming (hoping, really) that we can eventually overcome the inertia that is keeping us here in Marathon, we will spend the hurricane season south and west of the "hurricane box."  We're thinking to visit Cartagena, Colombia; Guna Yala, Panama (aka the San Blas Islands); and Rio Dulce, Guatamala.  Mas o menos.  We will aim for Cartagena first, then let the winds and currents push us to Panama and then to Guatamala.

If we could plot a course straight to Cartagena from here, it would be just a squooch east of south.  We would sail about 900 nautical miles, and Bob's your uncle.  But we must contend with Cuba.  Okay, we don't really have to contend with it, we just gotta go around it.

The Art of Slow Sailing

As we made our way from Great Harbour Cay to Bimini, and from Bimini to Key West, we had some Light Winds.  Also, some No Wind.  Ean has been playing a new game.  Let's call it How Long, and here's what one round looks like.  First he looks on the chartplotter to find out our SOG, or speed over ground, and then he uses the "ruler" function to measure distance.  Next, some quick mental calculations.   He says, "At our current speed, it will take us 122 hours to get to Key West."  Then he starts wondering how long our water will hold out.  Will we run out of food?  "You know, this isn't even normal walking speed," he reminds me.  "This is wandering-through-an-art-museum speed."   Gazing toward land, he asks if I will dinghy him ashore, so he can walk down Key Largo.   "Then," he explains, "you can pick me up at the end of the key, and oh by the way I'll have plenty of time to stop for lunch.  I'll bring you something!"

We have been practicing the Art of Slow Sailing.

Sailing School...and Other Misadventures

By now you must be wondering, as are we, what we do from day to day as "live-aboards."  The short answer to this is: learn.  There are an endless amount of things--no, strike that--there are an endless number of areas of knowledge that we need to absorb in order to be safe mariners. It is necessary to have, for instance, a working knowledge of marine diesel engines, two or four stroke (largely depending on what you have), outboard motors, diesel generators (similar, but not identical to engines), refrigeration, air conditioning, 12 and 120 volt electrical systems, and plumbing.  The successful sailor will also know proper sail handling techniques, including storm tactics, and vessel handling especially in emergencies such as crew overboard, how to make accurate weather forecasts, or at least make prudent decisions based on forecasts obtained elsewhere.  On the subject of obtaining weather forecasts, there are a number of ways that vessels at sea communicate including, VHF radio for short distances, SSB (Single Side Band) radio for very long range communication, iridium phones, satellite phones, etc.  Then, of course, there is the whole subject of navigation, coastal and off-shore, including chart reading, course plotting, ded reckoning, etc., etc. And maintenance of every part having anything to do with all of the above plus the parts that are counterparts of houses.

Land Ho, Ho, Ho!

JOY proudly flies her Bahamian courtesy flag

Two pieces of cloth have forced wind to move us 467 miles over an ocean.  How is that even possible?  Fairly easy to understand; impossibly difficult to comprehend.  Days (3 of them) of nothing but water and sky, nights of water and starlight and not another ship in sight.

We make our way, aiming at a microscopic point on the face of the earth, trusting our instruments to "see" where we are in this featureless world and to point JOY where we want to go.

Jane is in her element, her reflexes honed to supple precision; I am dumb with awe, dimly able at best to assess situations in real time.  Jane periodically records Things of Significance in her iPad; I ponder continually and unsuccessfully how to relate this voyage, this event without resorting to hackneyed metaphors, unsure of whether there is anything to say at all since nothing is going wrong, but knowing that to describe it as "perfect" is to do it an injustice and to make for a short and boring tale.  All I can say is that we set our sights on making it back for the one year anniversary of this amazing, insane, life changing idea and wonder of wonders, we have!  I think if it and weep with disbelief and, yes, joy.

Beyond that, I give, I resign.  I try, but I can't.  I can't differentiate context from content, can't distinguish between the story and its events, the forest and the trees (for you hackneyed metaphor buffs).  This is not my tale to tell, clearly.  Jane?  This one's all you.  Take it away.

Now That's More Like it

Low on water, concerned about fuel, turning our consumables into recyclables (for which we have extremely limited and awkward space) at an alarming rate, we had only one thought: Beaufort by the end of the day--a very long day with only one engine.  50 (statute) miles with one engine meant about a 10+ hour day.  We questioned whether the marina where we planned to stay would even be open by the time we got there.  There was one possible solution.  A last ditch effort, you might say.  The kind of stunt you only pull when you're desperate, which we were.  If it worked, we stood a good chance of making it to Beaufort in time.  If not, there might be yelling and screaming and hurt feelings all around.  Desperate times call for desperate measures.  Should we choose to take it, an opportunity would present itself when we reached the Neuse River.  We knew it was then or not at all.

"This is why we wanted this boat," I said to Jane.

She agreed.  It was time.

Hello, North Carolina!

We stayed in Mill Creek near Fort Monroe for three days until a mechanic could come out and look at our port engine.  By then the generator had konked out on us, too.  It turns our that they were related problems.  Without going into details, suffice it to say that low fuel plus churning waters equals crud in the fuel lines.  Crud in the fuel lines equals no go.  Good news, all in all. Our engine (and generator) are both fine and I got quite a lesson in fuel system diagnosis and repair.

Our backyard du nuit

Portsmouth, VA and mile marker "0" of the Intracoastal Waterway, finally, on Wednesday afternoon.  First stop: Tidewater Marina where we took on water and fuel and emptied our holding tank and garbage--all badly needed.  I remarked to Jane that the purpose of our boat is to convert fresh water and diesel into waste water.  "And miles," she added.  "Yes," I agreed, "waste water and miles."  The temperature reached 75 degrees and I got to wear a T-shirt and shorts for the first time since getting underway.  Got all our laundry done and had lunch at the marina's restaurant.  As the sun went down, with a beautiful view of the Norfolk skyline, we sat in the cockpit sipping champagne to celebrate having making it to the ICW.  It was one of those moments, still countable on the fingers of one hand so far, that reminded us of the point to all this madness.

Yesterday, not so much...

It Was a Helluva Night

Jane is sleeping, comfortably, I hope.  She is probably warm, at least, what with a down comforter and an electric throw.  I think she'll sleep in late.  I slept well for a few hours and fitfully for another one or two.  We may not even get underway today at all and that would be fine with me.  We are exhausted, sore, shaken and deeply chastened.  We came far too close to doing severe damage to Joy several times last night.  Our misadventure was the perfect storm of naivete, hubris, and bad luck.  A combination that costs people their ways of life if not their very lives.  We are lucky to have gotten off as easily as we did.

L-l-livin' th-th-the D-d-d-dream

We have SO got to get out of here!

...I betcha Milwaukee didn't have a snowstorm on Saturday.

We hired another boat yard to take care of our repair/upgrade list.  To that end, we had to do a bit of shopping, which is the only reason we were out and about in this (we don't even own clothing for this kind of weather anymore).

It wasn't all bad, though.  We did start of the day with donuts and coffee at Carlson's Donuts and Thai Kitchen--not kidding.

I never had a potato donut before...interesting concept, weird texture.  Jane reports that her apple fritter was the best one she's ever had.

The big news is that we made our first passage yesterday.  On our own, in our boat, we made the nearly 10 (statute) mile trip from our Marina on the South River to the Hartge's Yacht Yard on Tenthouse Creek.  And I'm happy to report that it was technically hitch free.  It was rather ironic having to navigate our way to the yacht yard where our gps will be installed.  One of us was sure we could manage it by going from buoy to buoy as listed on a paper chart.  The other one of us was sure that that was a recipe for disaster.  Not that we wouldn't get here eventually, but that it would be dark and even colder and we would be divorce court ready by the time we did.  We were just about to purchase a hand-held gps unit for over $500 when One of Us had an inspiration: There must be an app for that.  And sure enough, thanks to our $9.99 Navionics chart plotter and gps program for Android, it was smooth "sailing" (with only 1.9 knots at best, raising the sails would have been pointless) all the way.

On top of this victory, we managed to dock--at pilings, no less--on the first try, partly thanks to a guy who saw us coming in from his boat and ran to grab one of our lines.  Either we look amateurish even from afar, or else sailors are always just there to help. (The Slacks tell us it's the latter.)  So there we were, basking in the glory of our fledgling competence when no more than two minutes after I shut down the engines, a good quart of fuel spewed out of a through-hull in the starboard engine compartment (I'd wondered where that through-hull went to.)  I felt a little foolish opening the hatch and jumping down to see what was wrong as I was sure I wouldn't know what to look for once I got there.  But in fact I did figure it out...at least I think so.  A hose had come unclamped and the fuel was trickling out of it.  Given that it stopped gushing out of the through hull after an initial burst, I suspect it was a connection in the fuel return line (not its technical name).  I reclamped the hose, but now we have about a pint of diesel in our engine compartment bilge and the fuel system will need to be bled.  But, hey, we're in a boat yard.  No problem, well, not for me--this time.

And for our crowning achievement, we figured out how to use the propane grill.  That is to say, we figured out how to load a can of propane and get it to light.  Steak for dinner as our, may I say, well-deserved reward.

Yesterday's tiny taste of cruising has gotten us more excited about getting underway than ever.  I'm pretty sure we won't last much past Friday in these here parts.

Sailing One-oh-whatever

[Update: This post was actually written by Ean, although Jane's picture would lead you to believe otherwise.]  So we've been on our boat, our new home, our seaworthy vessel for nearly a week now.  We've pretty much figured out where our migraine strength Excedrin should go and our warm weather clothes and our cold weather gear and even the cat scratching post.  All in all, we've gone a long way into settling into our new home.

Tommy, Sail Away Catamarans

Just one major thing left to do...operate our home which is, after all, a boat.

We confess, we hadn't once turned on the engines because, despite my four-day diesel mechanics course, we were, truth be told, afraid of them.  We hadn't done a vhf check, hadn't run the generator, hadn't even raised the sails.  In short, hadn't treated the boat like a boat...until today.

Enter our awesome broker and now also equally awesome instructor, Tommy Smith of Sail Away Catamarans.      Awesome because he spent four hours with us today teaching us about the particulars of our sails and the lazy  jacks/bag that they are set in, and about our rigging (our spreader lights are really tractor headlights--who new?!) and then we took "Joy" out for a spin.

Fast forward three hours...

Our First Days of "JOY"

We did it!  We actually did it!

Yesterday, I figured out how to make flame come out of the burners on the stove.  That is my small victory for the day.  I still don't know how to tell how much water we have in the tanks, or how to "unpickle" the watermaker, or what are all those other objects in the forward locker.  But that's ok, cause

...we have "Joy"!

What ARE all those things!?

Our First Circumnavigation! (Learning to Sail: Part III)

As seen from land - this marks the canal entrance

As seen while entering from Lake Michigan; with Jane in her favorite spot

We have circumnavigated Door County.  We spent a couple of days seeing the sights by car, with our home base at the Holiday Motel in Sturgeon Bay.  (Ean has commented on the funky Holdiay Motel in a previous entry.)  But our primary purpose for the Door County trip was to attend a three-day sailing course, offered by the Hoofers, to earn ASA 103/104 certification.  We sailed aboard Delia, a 1985, 47 foot Jenneau.  We sailed up the west coast of Door County (the Green Bay side), and then down the east coast (the Lake Michigan side).  It was an interesting juxtaposition, to see Door County first by land, and  then by water.  For example, we visited the USCG station at Sturgeon Bay, and took a picture of the entrance to the channel that connects Sturgeon Bay to Lake Michigan.  A few days later, Ean shot the same channel entrance from the water. (Both pictures above.)

But the main thing, of course, was the learning.

Our First Solo Sail! (Learning to Sail: Part II)

Jane before passing ASA 101

Saturday, the 9th was our second attempt at testing-out for our ASA 101 certification and Jane made it.  All the trips back and forth to Madison have paid off.  Her certification means she's rated to take out J24s on her own (well, technically with at least one other person to crew for her--that would be yours truly).  For a highly coveted Hoofer boat, we were lucky to find an open spot the very next Monday (yesterday) afternoon and so we grabbed it.  Finally, a chance to sail on our own, a micro taste of things to come.

Jane after passing ASA 101

Learning to Sail: Part I

Just got home from another sailing lesson, courtesy of the Hoofers.  Knotty Rascal this time - a 27-foot monohull, and the only boat in the Hoofer fleet with a WHEEL instead of a tiller.  We love, love, love Knotty Rascal.  We've decided, though, that we should stop going out on Knotty until we have the tiller-thing down cold, since our ASA 101 test-out will be on a tiller boat (J-24).  The other big (-ish) cruising keelboat in the Hoofer fleet is Spray, which is a tiller-steered 30-footer.  Spray and Knotty have in common the all-important self-furling jib.  Won't leave home without one, we're quite sure.

We've had some fun on Knotty and Spray, but honestly, the best boat for us to practice on is the J-24: our nemesis.

Our Intro to Sailing

Finally, our first sailing lesson.  It seems like a lot longer ago than four months that we decided to embark on this adventure.  And it has not gone by fast, but as Jane said on the way home from Hoofer Sailing Club, we are on our way.