Wednesday, February
25th, 2004
I'm home. I slept in my
own bed last night. Tomorrow I travel
to Alabama to collect my dog Mason and
car. The trip's about 200 miles - after
seven thousand+ miles on the water it
should be a breeze...
Tuesday, February
17th, 2004
...ready? The 27th! We
are 90 nm south of Grand Cayman and we
just voted to bypass the tourist trap
and instead speed home to clean sheets,
long showers, wives and significant others
that smell nice, beds that don't move,
sleeping spaces at least 6 feet long (with
thermostats), washing machines rather
than 5 gallon buckets with warm water
and Tide, abodes that can't sink regardless
of the weather, the list goes on and on.
But I will dearly miss
the things I've seen.
My heartfelt thanks to
all those friends and family that told
me to stop thinking so much and just go.
My grateful thanks also to clients that
helped me (directly and otherwise) make
it possible - I am in your debt.
See you all very soon,
Tom
Tuesday, February
10th, 2004
OK folks, getting close
to the final Panamanian email. Canal transit
reputedly starts Thursday a.m.
Panama has bakeries! Breads
in the morning and tons of interesting
glazed stuff from 3 p.m. until midnight.
I'm really not even sure of what sticky
stuff I'm ordering, but I do love it.
There's a kind of culinary Esperato that
sugarholics innately understand, so specific
language skills aren't needed. Those that
know me know glazed, sugared pastries
have a powerful, hypnotically narcotic
pull on me... just leave me here.
Standard Panama police
patrol vehicle is...a Suziki 250. Before
you start thinking people can push them
around, let me point out that they cruise
with 2 policia to a bike. They both have
side arms and the one in the back has
also an H&K MP5 machine pistol. And
it's not carried stowed on his leg, but
up, out and ready...
Just as visitors new to
an area notice things that are virtually
invisible to the native, so too does the
nature of trivial, inane, mass-manufactured
media present itself to the person who's
been away from it. 29 days at sea quiets
the mind in ways that are hard to fully
explain. 2 days back in civilization with
TV, radio and web connectivity and alarmingly,
I find that a small, but measurable, fraction
of my consciousness is concerned with
simple trash that none of us will remember
or care about in our last moments. Will
Janet and Justin do something more outrageous?
Just how much weight has Anna Nicole really
lost? Why is Dean still running? IS
IT REALLY POSSIBLE THAT MARTHA STEWART
WILL WALK?
Man, if this is 21st century
civilization, point me back into the Deep
Blue. I have to rethink some things when
I get back.
Bakery talk's honestly
made me a little hungry. Gotta go.
Tom
Monday, February
9th, 2004
Hi all again,
The good news just keeps
on coming. Learned today that 2 days liberty
has just turned into 4. I don't have to
be back until Wednesday now. That's more
like it.
I got cool new shoes today
(that don't look too South American.)
Tracy will like them. But just to vex
her, I'm dragging the old smelly one's
she despises home across 2000 miles...
Found an MP3 player, but
I'm gonna wait because I might find a
better one.
OK, I met British Dave
today at 12 o'clock on crowded Central
Avenue. I'd been waiting for him for about
20 minutes when he turned up. Immediately
after we met, a garralous Panamanian named,
of all things, Conrad Grant, walked right
up and started chatting a mile a minute,
and eventually ended up giving us the
alchoholic's 'best of - worst of' tour
of the area. I've learned to expect this
from Pal'ing around with Dave. Interesting
people just gravitate toward him. Just
when I'm sure it's a total mistake, that
this thing's gonna turn bad and murder
or mayhem or some visit to the local Policia's
basement interrogation room's imminent,
the oddballs he connects with turn out
to be gems of one sort or another and
we end up discovering something great
that a traveler might see, but a tourist
would never. I need to consider being
social. Forget it, why start now if I've
got Tracy or Dave to go with.
postscript.. the reason
Conrad said he walked up to us together
and not when he was just watching me ('Yoga'ed'
(cross legged), sitting on an old table),
was that he thought I was Panamanian.
I think it's a complement. And I had my
old shoes on Tracy...
Met a very nice...professional
named Susana. I think she's really sincere
when she says she likes me.
Prospected hotels today.
Hotel Colon frightened even me. Still
staying at the well regarded (well, in
1930) Hotel Internacional...
Will finish up this evening
with a joke from my sister Missy...
A blonde police officer
pulls over a blonde in a convertible sports
car for speeding. She walks over to the
car and asks the blonde driver for some
I.D.
So the blonde driver searches
through her purse in vain. Finally, she
asks, "What does it look like?"
The blonde police officer
tells her, "You know, it's that thing
with your picture on it." The blonde
driver searches for a few more seconds,
pulls out her compact, opens it, and sure
enough she sees her picture. She hands
the compact to the blonde cop.
The blonde cop stares
at the compact for a few seconds, rolls
her eyes, hands the compact back to the
blonde driver and says, "You know,
if you had just told me you were a police
officer when I first pulled you over,
we could have avoided this whole thing!
Sunday, February
8th, 2004
OK, I'm writing this in
Panama City. We got in yesterday and British
Dave and I just about burst blood vessels
waiting to clear customs. 29 days. 29
days without stop from San Diego to Panama.
29 days without stepping on dry land.
29 days without tomatoes or lettuce or
fresh milk. 29 days with the same people
in 4 rooms (OK, well one of those rooms
had low stainless steel guardrail for
walls, a great view, and a really high
ceiling...) but really, think about it.
The transit agent that
ran the skiff out to get the 2 malcontents
gave us some pointers vis-a-vis where
to stay/eat in Panama City. It ran to
the TGI Fridays / Hilton variety. The
place I was particularly interested in
is called Casco Viejo. He looked blankly
at me. He thought I was crazy. It's apparently
the old part of the city and it either
rates pretty far below the radar in his
book, or it's got a horrible reputation.
In any case it was not in the Sperry Docksider
- American powerboater set's guidebook...
I'm writing this from
an internet cafe in the Casco Viejo.
Panama City is a fascinating
place. It meets a lot of my criteria for
a good destination - foremost being it's
not a destination kind of place. The people
are most friendly, costs are cheap, and
the weather's wonderful. I wish I could
properly describe the boiling masses of
different types of people on the streets
and the smells, but I'm too tired to do
it justice just now.
They start the day late
here and end it late as well. It feels
like NYC (actually, it really feels like
NYC when I think about it)
The exception is the restaurants.
They, at first, seem to have bad service.
The waitresses or waiters take not so
much time to get you a menu, but therafter,
the experience is well... rather paced.
I think it's an explict, intended cultural
adaptation though. These people expect
to take time to talk and reflect when
they take their meals. Civilization still
lives.
The Lonely Planet guidebook
has some wonderful stories about Panamanian
history from 1500 to 1800. Interracial
lust, gold, religon gone bad, betrayal,
furtive murder, and public beheadings
figure prominently. My kinda place.
I keep daydreaming about
spending a month here a year, just web
working from a laptop by day (My hotel
room tonight was $17) and doing...research
for my new book in the evening...
As usual, the universal
rules apply for not getting accosted on
the street, adopt the 1000 yard stare.
Conversely, the certain way to quickly
get sold something brightly colored, probably
useless and plastic, is to stop on a busy
sidewalk, look up, and start gawking at
buildings... Like street cats to milk,
vendors, taxi drivers, etc converge...
Taxis will take you anywhere
for 2 to $4US. The Balboa and the US Dollar
are directly linked here. This means US
currency is interchangable. Same for the
penny-centavo, nickels, dimes and quarters.
It's all the same. Whatever cash you have
when you arrive can be spent anywhere
with absolutely no translational difficulties.
Do NOT decide to step
off the sidewalk casually. If you elect
to cross the street, keep your head on
a fast swivel, stay loose and keep moving.
Life is fast and cheap here, Yeehahh!!
Internet Cafe density
in Panama City is, seriously now, 5 times
as great as San Francisco. The 2001 version
of the guide notes 2 Internet Cafes, now
they must number in the hundreds. It's
probably changed their whole lives. An
hour of internet time costs generally
US$1. All of the Internet Cafes have VIOP
phone connections for international calls.
Panama to United States costs 10 cents
a minute in most of them.
The coffee's great. I
had a great Pealla and 2 Cervesas last
night for 8 bucks. Oddly, a great Spanish
omlet and coffee in a wonderful recessed
indoor/outdoor cafe this a.m. cost almost
as much.
Tomorrow I'm looking for:
An Admiralty map office
to get a map of at least part of the trip.
The British are apparently known for having
charts that transcend merely being tools
of the professional freighter/tanker captain.
The gravature approaches that of fine
currency, so SINCE I AM ALMOST HOME (well,
a couple thousand miles) I thought I would
frame something from the experience.
The next 'Master and Commander'
book in the series (Post Captain). I read
the first and now I'm hooked. The film
is almost cartoon-like compared to the
book. Tad, I know what you mean now. I'm
saving the 1st one now for my dad. He'll
love it.
Replacement MP3 player.
A NY Times (probably not)
Tired now. Write more
later.
Friday, February
6th, 2004
Just a quick note. Spent
windy, cool night 100 nm from Panama City,
Panama beside a turtle sanctuary. Beautiful,
saw Pelicans, birds, fish in the water.
Also....cows wandering the deserted white
beaches.
Gorgeous morning, up alone
on deck at 6 a.m. after having a wonderful
dream about Dustin gleafully chasing cat-like
creatures on a deserted savannah somewhere.
Panama Cty tomorrow. Hard
sailing today. Bye.
Tom
Tuesday, February
3rd, 2004
We're now well EAST of
Atlanta, but still in the Pacific Heading
So'SE. How messed up is that? Landfall
at Panama City, Panama this Friday. It
will be 28 continuous days at sea. First
order of business a cold hotel room, an
actual cold shower, and maybe a cold local
beer. Followed by a meal of anything containing
fresh produce. 2 days liberty, 2 days
boat repair/refit, 2 days canal transit,
and then EVERYDAY THEREAFTER BRINGS ME
DUE NORTH AND CLOSER TO HOME! So tired,
so hot, so brown/burnt.
Sunday, February
1st, 2004
OK, everyday brings something
new. Paul, one of the crew, has been throwing
fishing lines off the back of the boat
for several days now. Last night at dusk,
He thought he had something. We pulled
up the lightly loaded line, until it was
only a hundred feet or so from the boat
and then were totally taken by a terrific,
violent fight from the line. We'd hooked
a 6 foot plus sailfish. It was gorgeous.
Irridescent, with a 'needle' more than
2 1/2 feet long. It escaped, but not before
they had gaffed it in the gill. I hope
it's OK. It was a magnificent creature.
Tonight, he's just caught a tuna that
looks to be about 5 to 7 lbs. I had to
go below and write this, because it's
hard for me to watch what must happen
next. If it were up to me, we'd catch,
release, and minister to every sick/wounded
creature in the ocean. I'm an Hebert.
We took advantage of the
lull late this afternoon to stop in a
glass smooth Pacific ocean and go for
a swim. Actually, only Dave and I wanted
to go in. The others are apparently not
at ease with the whole ocean thing. Maybe
last night's 6 foot predator made an unfavorable
impression... The water was perfect. You
can see clearly about a hundred feet down
(chart says 3400 fathoms at this co-ord).
I'd brought some fins with me, but British
Dave really, really wanted to use them,
so I just dived in w/trunks only. It was
glorious. I swam away from the boat about
60 feet to get the feeling of it. I'm
now dead serious about being ready for
the Dolphin troupe's next appearance.
Everyone's nervous about that.
In water like this, in
the evening, you can actually see the
huge sail fins of the sailfish loitering
on the surface. Generally it's 2 or 3
of them lazily, very slowly doing little
pirouettes. It's almost like they're courting.
I dropped my MP3 player.
It's gone. I am now an essayist until
I can find a replacement in Panama.
That's it.
Thursday, January
29th, 2004
Hey all, we're in Guatemalan
waters now. Made it through the gale well
yesterday, 8+ knots for 20 hours straight.
Now nearly becalmed. I swear, if the Dolphins
show up again I'm getting the scuba fins
out and jumping in. I've found no recorded
evidence of Dolphin attacks in ship's
library.
Wynn Parker's: Send me
some [very] short messages via Nancy!
I should be back in early March. I'm really
starting to miss things: Vindaloo ('Yes,
we can do that 'medium hot''), Cantelopes
(don't read, well, yes and no...), Burritos
from 'Ragin Burritos'. Having dinner out
with someone who smells nice... afterwards
going out into a freezing, dark parking
lot. Petting anything with paws and fur
and a sloppy tongue (A Frigate bird let
me touch it a few days ago)
Panama City, Panama in
10 days. 2 days R&R without the crew.
Nancy, I read 'The Alchemist'
- thank you so much. Great book selections.
Wish you'd given me more. My Personal
Legend's unclear as of yet.
As ever, Tom
Tuesday, January
27th, 2004
Hi all,
Days now regularly filled
with hundreds of Dolphins and nights filled
with thousands of stars. Days stay at
85 degrees. Nights so hot you just lay
in bed with no covers. Going into a gale
tomorrow. Only a hundred miles from Mexican
coast. Way tanned. Cut my hair off today.
Water 4000 meters deep. I think I can
see the far end, maybe 1st/2nd week March?
Tom
Supplemental Entry
OK, "So what music
should I bring when I go to the ocean,
Tom?"
Answer: I really recommend
acoustic guitar or piano with whomever.
Tony Bennett works way well, Indigo Girls,
Yes, Shawn Colvin, Yes. Sade, double yes.
Friday, January
23rd, 2004
OK, where are we? Dunno.
400 miles from Acapulco and in water 3
miles deep - but sailing *northeast* to
grab some o'dat good Panamanian wind mon!
ETA Atlanta March 5th? I want to put the
voyage on 'pause' and go home now, Seriously.
Wildlife report: For several,
several days not much of anything other
than the early morning patrol up on the
foredeck to collect the night's squid
and flying fish mishaps.
Got so bad a couple of
days ago someone found a bug up on deck
(just a small brownish bug) and EVERYONE
mustered on deck to look, poke, prognosticate.
Pretty sad sight, six bored adults blubberingly
excited over nearly nothing amid the splendor
of an unceasingly gorgeous seascape.
Frigate birds do like
us. These appear to be the long rangers
of the seabird world. They got bored,
too, a few days ago and took turns trying
to land on the top of the main mast while
we were at speed, pitching, etc. One actually
made it.
Best moment: Early yesterday
morning we were treated to the amazing
sight of probably a hundred Dolphins bearing
down on us from our port side. You could
see them several hundred yards out blasting
through the waves as they closed on us.
They formed a mass probably a 80 yards
wide and almost as deep. When they got
to us they boiled around the hull and
moved up to the front. I crawled up to
the very tip of the bowsprite, held on,
and simply sat amazed for the next 25
minutes while my perch pitched up as high
as 20 feet in the air and then slammed
down to within inches of those beautiful
creatures. There were even babies (2 feet
long?) in the group, always sandwiched
between a pair of adults. Best part of
best moment: The magical 'wooshing' sound
they all made when they broke the surface.
They were exhaling. Yesterday wasn't Sunday,
but I felt as if God took a moment to
show me something so special I haven't
really taken it all in yet.
Superlatives are beginning
to fail.
I have no idea what's
next.
Tom
Friday, January
16th, 2004
OK, we're 4 or 5, possibly
as much as 9 days out from San Diego (who
knows/cares?) Yesterday, I had the latest/best
experience. The wind vane sender unit
we decided was defective, so, um, *someone*
volunteered to go to the top of the mast
and remove it and bring it down. Read
on...
The day was beautiful,
the sails with the exception of the mainsail,
were up and flying perfectly. Twice that
day I went up to tweak stuff. Kiwi's a
BIG sailboat, so she's got a TALL mainmast
(you see the SD mast pics yet?) I think
I'd thought the in-marina mast experiences
were cool - and they were, but it was
NOTHING like being caught at the very
top of the world, at speed, alone, a hundred
miles from anything. It was so high up,
the overwhelming impression was one of
actually *flying* above the ocean, disconnected
from the boat, the people, the earth.
People flying on the Concorde invariably
commented on seeing the curvature of the
earth... Yesterday was very much like
that. The ocean's blue black surface could
be seen many, many miles out into the
haze. I was flying - I was another creature
for that time in my life. The only thing
that kept me from being mesmerized was
the heart-stopping, utterly terrifying
snap-rolls the mast made every 30 seconds
or so - They became serious business after
the 70 foot mark. The swings were probably
12-20 feet and the moment was probably
2-3 seconds - I don't want to know how
much exceleration that is - I DO know
how much exhileration (Missy spell) it
was. Naturally, there are pictures and
video of this. I haven't looked at it
yet because it can't ever do the experience
justice.
Next log entry can't ever
top this.
T.
Tuesday, January
13th, 2004
3 days out on a 140 degree
track from Ise de Guadeloupe. As in 'Aliens',
we must have drifted through the populated
belt and into the uncharted beyond. We've
seen almost nothing. 140 miles out and
suspended a mile or more above the earth,
it's very serene and blue - cobalt-colored
water and lighter blue above separated
by a thin white interface of clouds (sometime).
Still cold at night - I slept outside
in the cockpit last night. Found a Flying
Fish on the forward deck this a.m.
The Porpoises are with
me on nightwatch sometime, but they are
now nearly silent - they are almost always
below the surface, so you have to look
for them over the side when the moon's
just right. I tried using a flashligh
to attract them at 3 this a.m., but they're
not falling for it. They seem unaffectedly
majestic -they are there when they want
to be, and not, otherwise.
That's it folks. I miss
you all. I miss 'Varsity' hotdogs with
extra mustard, too.
T.
Saturday, January
10th, 2004
Hi all, sorry for the
spotty postings. Well, we jumped off for
Panama from San Diego yesterday - day
2 of 30. The sail from SF to SD was glorious.
Day 1 was a very fast day with great wind.
The remaining 2 days were more sedate,
but still 'so fine' in comparison to the
cold, windy Portland -> SF passage.
Porpoises are pretty much
a given now. They come in groups and in
singles. Last night (well, 1 a.m.) one
kept zooming by the side of the hull.
The moon was so bright I could see him
even when we didn't break the surface.
The SD exit was FREE FROM
SEASICKNESS. Maybe I do have pirate genes
after all.
The trip began in my 'winter
of discontent' and has steadily gotten
better and better. I packed my heavy winter
gear away yesterday. Each day seems (is)
a few degrees warmer. I expect to be down
to just shorts in a week.
No whales yet. But we
tracked through a bunch of whale watching
boats yesterday. In foreign waters as
of 2100 last night.
More pictures soon.
T.
Supplemental Entry
We're in San Franciso
for a week fixing the autopilot and freshwater
maker. I'm writing this long entry and
will send it in via CD. These are just
off-line thoughts on the experience thus
far. I'll pick up the short satellite
emails when we get underway again.
Portland's *dreary* in
the winter. Do not come here looking for
an emotional lift from nature. The city
center's pretty Bohemian. Last night there,
we went to Powell's bookstore, billed
as the world's largest independent bookstore.
One or two city blocks in size. Portland's
definitely a trade city. You become aware
of all the low tech type commerce that
America conducts when you're here. Frieghters
(container ships), fishing trawlers, lumber
trucks, etc, are going everywhere at once.
Most of the big wood companies are here.
The Ga Pacific plants along the lower
Columbia were crowded with specialized
carrier ships. I'd expected many of the
ships to be Japanese, but there wasn't
a single "Maru' among them. Almost
all the ships loading finished cargo (Plywood,
etc) were Danish/German/Italian.
The land on either side
of the lower Columbia heading out to the
ocean is pleasantly pretty. Green, hilly,
mossy. While we were taking on approx
1000 gallons of diesel, I got a chance
to talk with the operator. He had the
same questions everyone else had, "That's
a big boat, how long?", "How
far's the Panama Canal?", and consistently
the most unnerving comment/question,"You
goin' across the bar *this* time of year?".
Towards the end of the conversation his
boss drove up and got right to the point,
asking about our intentions to cross the
bar. His final comment was something about
[we should] plan to have the CG made aware
of our exact time of the intended crossing.
This added to my personal tension level.
A CG chopper zoomed up
and down the river as we made our way
to the Pacific. Pretty impressive stuff,
staying low and fast. Hard to believe
they get paid for doing that.
In the end, the crossing
was simply exciting, not particularly
worrying. The fear apparently is that
when the big breaking swells come in,
the departing vessel will get out of position
and not present its bow to the oncoming
wave fronts. When this happens, the waves
might either swamp the boat, capsize it,
or push it into the rocks on either side
of the breakwater. We were as prepped
as we could be, everyone was vested up
(cool Halogen strobes, flares, and flourescent
die). We also had what's called a 'working
Jib' uncovered (it's a small sail up front)
and ready to be deployed if we had lost
Diesel power at exactly the wrong instant.
The seasickness thing
just literally brings you to your knees.
I imagine it's worse than other physical
afflications because you can't run from
it. It's simply with you for the duration.
For each individual, the times are different,
typically 1-3 days. It's got you in it's
sickly green grip and that's that. We
had "shocker bracelets", Dramamine,
Scopamine, "pressure point"
type wristlets, suppositories, etc, and
non of them appeared to have changed the
course of events in the slightest. At
it's nadir, a single shot pistol might
have been welcomed. I can't talk about
it any further. I'm turning green again
just thinking about it. Added bonus, when
we depart SFO (and LA, and San Diego,
the way things have going), because we
will have been in port several days, we're
due to go through it all over again...Dante's
little known 14th ring of nautical hell.
Food is great aboard (in
port - when you can actually hold it down).
Big helpings of meat/potatoes/pasta/rice
every night. Coffee/Hot Tea/Chocolate
always available. Fresh bread 1-2 times
a day. I'm right at 200 lbs. This is hard
to believe, as I've been 185 for 20 years.
I'm not sure where it's all going. Not
in mid section, perhaps the feet, maybe
earlobs. In Portland, where this - this
- this travail started, we purchased,
loaded, cut up, vacuum-packed, and froze
approx $900 worth of meat a day - for
4 solid days. The remaining days we layed
in a lot of cheese, ginger snaps, pasta,
etc, etc, etc. No live Galapogos Tortosioses
were harmed during this voyage (yet).
My hands were sore initially.
They're slowly ceasing to be a keyboarder's
hands. They're getting that callused,
"soaked in tea" look. On deck,
AJ, the Kiwi owner, inexplicably yells
for people to pull sheets (the ropes connected
to the sail panels) through the winches
with their hands, rather the crank the
rope through with the winch handle. I'm
not sure what kind of Swartzneggeren crew
he's used to, but doing it that way is
often next to impossible, though it seems
I'm able to pull more rope through before
resorting to the crank.
Anatomy of a watch with
a functioning autopilot: Wake up. Go up
to the wheelhouse/galley/bridge. Get the
night's history so far and find out the
ideal nav heading.
Assume the watch duty.
Other guy goes to bed. In the dark, monitor
the spooky rotating green radar display.
It's classic - just like MGM's "The
Enemy Below" (1951) except *you're*
Burt Lancaster this time. Actually, the
wheelhouse is not totally dark, but rather
bathed in low, red light. Instruments
are green. On the Pacific coast, there
are lots of radar contacts in high traffic
lanes. It's a little nerve-wracking because
much of the traffic is of the ocean tug
variety. These guys pull huge barges behind
them with mile long cables. Every 6 minutes
go out on the weather deck and do a visual
scan of the horizon. Try to correlate
the radar contacts with visual sightings.
Big traffic (tankers/freighters) inside
of 10 nautical miles should be visible
at night and generally are. Kiwi's an
all steel boat, pretty big herself, got
reflectors, two masts - one of which is
almost 80 feet high, and has probably
500 feet of stainless steel rigging up,
so I *hope* we're pretty visible on their
radar as well. Monitor 2 radio sets for
weather changes, CG hailings, ship-to-ship
hailings, etc. Every 30 minutes go down
to the engine room and check for smoke,
that bilge water pumps working, generators
that may be doing weird stuff, etc. A
lot of the engine room problems are (should
be) monitorable from the bridge, but when
the water's 1200 deep (1400 max I've seen
so far) and you're 60 miles out, I guess
2 good eyes are still better than 50 remote
sensors. AJ's great about questions. If
there's any doubt about ANYTHING, he wants
people on watch to wake him. There's finally
a special, all-cabin alarm button on the
bridge that can be pushed that serves
as the signal to everyone to wake up,
and get up to the bridge ASAP.
Steering at night in heavy
weather without an autopilot is exhausting.
Changing wind, ocean current, and wave
action conspire to present you with a
problem that can't be solved with a single
solution for very long (maybe 5 secs).
Holding a tight heading requires concentration
that excludes all but the most trivial
thoughts. In bad weather, daydream 10
seconds and you're 25 degrees off course,
stay distracted longer and you may find
yourself going back the way you've just
come. Actually, on the open ocean, this
is not a fatal condition and can be corrected
pretty easily. Closing in on a bay or
a sandbar, or letting your concentration
slip in a busy shipping channel is where
such a mistake may prove irreverisable.
'Real' navigational issues
are vast and varied, and almost 4 weeks
into it, I can safely say I'm vaguely
aware of about 15% of them. Charts variously
specify depths in feet or fathoms. Compass
headings may be magnetic, or absolute.
Magnetic headings may require adjustments
for local mag variations. Bouys are treated
one way in rivers and differently at sea.
Longitude marks reflect consistent units
of distance, while latitude marks vary
with the distance from the equator. Mistakes
come easily at sea. My private thoughts
on the issue are bring a backup GPS, EPIRB
(a distress beacon) and plenty of batteries...
Random observations: In
cooking, isn't it called 'blanching' or
something when you use alternating streams
of very cold and then scaldingly hot water
to remove skin and feathers from a chicken?
Regretably, Kiwi's showers exhibit exactly
this characteristic. This, and other shipboard
peculiarities lead to what one might call
'Tantric Sailing'. This is the art of
learning to hold one's body in specific
positions for long periods of time in
order to achieve exquisite pleasure or
avoid acute, protracted pain. On Kiwi,
it's generally the latter - The aforementioned
shower is one of the times you practice
Tantric sailing. You've got to learn how
to position your body in this narrow,
short (5' 10") bucking/bouncing shower-stall/torture-booth
in such a way as to be ready to insert
your body into the stream when the water's
bearable, and still be able the immediately
flex your torso away and out of the stream
as it turns alternately frigid or scalding.
It's an acquired skill, but necessary
to survive on Kiwi.. If you're tall (more
than 5' 3"), another example is the
odd, stilted walk you develop below decks
in the passageways. Head down, shoulders
shifted with one downward-sloping and
the other as high as your earlob, knees
bent but slightly apart, hands open and
ready to grasp anything likely to break
your fall. The net effect is rather like
Marty Feldman's character Igor in 'Young
Frankenstein', except much more ridiculous
looking.
I found out a few days
ago that Kiwi has a sister ship. She's
called the 'Aga Khan' and is owned by
Jane Fonda. This is pretty rich, as AJ
is politically just to the right of Genghis
Khan. The universe remains in balance.
OK, did I tell mention
that on Christmas Eve, just as we were
raising anchor at Ft Bragg/Noyo River
to go to San Francisco, fresh out of the
Pacific, a crab boat looped around Kiwi
and the fisherman aboard asked us how
many souls were aboard? We told them 7,
and they promptly threw us over 7 huge
Dungeness crab, wished us Merry Christmas,
and motored away. Someone aboard who knows
about such things looked at the size of
the crabs and said we'd been given about
$150 worth. We stuck them in big buckets
of seawater, scooted through the breakwater
and set course for SF. Confession: During
the night, as I was on watch, I started
feeling sorry for the crabs. I finally
randomly picked one and tossed it overboard,
reasoning that one of them was distined
for my plate anyway. It was a random pick,
but at some level, I guess it's like that
for us too, right?
Friday, December
26th, 2003
OK, we're in San Francisco
and I've GOT to tell you about the day
we arrived (Christmas day). The prior
day we left from Ft Bragg. I'd been on
watch from 5 that afternoon, till 1:30
that morning, so I got awakened at 7 Christmas
morning for the next watch. 3 people had
been on the 1-7 watch, so they were all
in bed that morning. Just I and another
were on Christmas morning's watch. We
were approx 40 miles from San Francisco.
It had been a bad night, but the weather
was clearing. While up on deck, doing
the first horizon scan, I heard something
off to my right. I looked and was startled
to see 2 or 3 Dolphin (more likely Porpoises)
racing for the boat's hull. They were
30 feet away and closing fast. At the
very last moment they just dove straight
underneath the boat and disappeared, never
to be seen again. But *they were beautiful*.
They were white, black and deep blue.
I miss them - I'd really like to see them
again.
Before AJ went off watch,
he'd given me some co-ordinates he wanted
us to sail to. The position was the entry
point into SF's channel approach structure.
He said we'd probably reach it by noon
and to wake him up when we got there.
He wanted to shoot approach personally,
because he expected lots of shipping traffic
in/out of SF. For the first time this
voyage, a lot of the charting/position/plot
stuff just fell into place for me, and
we sailed/motored into the right place
at the right time. Along the way, the
weather steadily got better, with the
single small blue patch of sky visible
earlier that morning gradually opening
up to fill the sky by noon. The rocks
(and lighthouse) of Point Reyes were quite
visible 8 miles off to the left, looking
so warm and welcoming I wished I could
somehow magically take an hour off to
lay the tall, warm grass of the fields
I knew surrounded it - actually, that's
another story for another time...
OK, here's the great part.
By 1:00 pm we got to the designated way-point
and a fully-wired AJ was awake by then.
He said it was fine, if I felt up to it,
to stay at the wheel. I mumbled a while
later that we really couldn't visually
see that much from the enclosed bridge
because of the 2 skiffs stowed on deck
directly in front of us, and that the
expected heavy traffic would be a pain
to see. He said fine, suit up and go to
the aft position and he'd transfer control
to the exposed rear wheel outside. I got
the wind gear on and went out.
The weather was glorious
that day. If the winds hadn't been gusting
to 25 knots, it might not have been that
particularly cold. I took the wheel, and
AJ finally suited up and joined me with
the portable marine radio on the stern.
It took a couple of hours to shoot the
first part of the approach. Traffic was
very light, so I just stayed at the helm,
while AJ fielded various CG queries about
who we were and where we were headed.
The Golden Gate slowly morphed from blueish
standards barely visible in the mist to
a clearly discernable, beautiful delicate
orange span with gorgeous green hills
on either side, slipped in under a cloudless
blue sky. This is the best part: The final
part of the approach lines up almost directly
between the bridge's towers. This last
chute is a straight 2-3 mile pipe from
out in the ocean. The scary, wonderful
aspect of the approach is that the ocean
swells were coming from almost due west
that day. When the swells transition from
the deep water to relatively shallow waters
of the channel, they turn into serious
waves. AJ called them quartering waves,
because they approached us at an angle
from the rear. The tricky part: you've
got to stay straight and lined up in the
channel, but sets of these waves (cresting
20-25 feet that day) were crashing into
Kiwi at an angle. The task you've got
to accomplish as these huge waves overtake
you, is to quickly steer the boat *with*
the wave as it contacts the stern, and
the smartly steer the *opposite* direction
as it exits the bow. No helm action in
conditions like this can swamp the boat,
wrong actions will swamp it quicker. The
physical actions needed at the wheel that
afternoon were unbelievably strenuous
(at least for me). Over the next hour
or so I'm sure I lost measurable weight...
We just rode those huge swells pushing
the 80 foot hull around like it was a
toy, straight toward a bridge panorama
that looked more like a huge picture-postcard
than real life. Paul, the other crew member
who has off-shore piloting ambitions,
dutifully stood in the companionway probably
hoping I'd be swept overboard or something,
so he'd get a chance at the wheel. About
a half mile from the actual bridge span
I finally gave it up to him. AJ thought
I was crazy to pass up a chance to bring
Kiwi into San Francisco proper. But for
me at least, the approach was the thing.
The actual bridge crossing was anti-climactic,
as the water had by then turned relatively
calm and I'm glad Paul got the brass ring.
I was more than happy by that time to
sit back and gaze at the almost flourescently
warm (colored) light from the western
setting sun that bathed the spans as we
slipped underneath them. We cleared the
bridge, took a hard left into Sausalito
bay, and dropped anchor not 300 feet from
the rubble-rock shoreline at the base
of the hill that Sausalito's situated
on. That evening we dined on fresh Dungeness
crabs that the crab fisherman at Ft Bragg
had tossed us the previous afternoon (another
story), listened to the passersby walking
on shore, and finally fell asleep, completely
exhausted. I know I'm a romantic, but
I promise this incredible day happened
like this.
Tuesday, December
23rd, 2003
OK, we've reached safe
anchorage at Ft Bragg. We're too big to
fit under a bridge that leds to a marina,
but there's just enough room to fit in
a little safe bay just off of the channel.
At least 300 seals here just looking at
us.
The Coast Guard station's
here and the Cutters look like very serious
craft. Comforting to know they're available.
Skiff stalled on me early
this a.m. while off-loading the passenger
who's going home. Big, cold waves, flopping
around in the heavy chop, green water
closing over the Zodiac, gale building
outside the breakwater, rocks ever closer,
I say again ROCKS-EVER-CLOSER, ironic
potential demise, outboard finally fired,
big grins all around, Jamacian say, "nah
- no problem man"... interesting
final chapter for his book.
Wonderful sleep last night.
Exhausted. Relatively motionless. Didn't
think about the Velcro jumpsuit I'd been
mentally designing. Burritos, decent cold
beer, set the GPS to sound alarm if we
drag anchor, collapsed into bed. Intend
to steal the exiting guy's cabin early
as pos.
T.
Monday, December
22nd, 2003
It's been a tough few
days. The new gale we were racing to beat
to SFO beat us. It's due here today and
we're still slowly (deiseling) plowing
into wind that is exactly against us -
and we're more than 100 miles from the
GG bridge. We've put up all sail and are
now *zooming* to a safe bay next to Fort
Bragg. Our pos is 39 min 38 ' N, and 124
min 42' West.
I'm just now beginning
to get a clue vis-a-vis various sails
on a big boat (just like a 28' Pearson
that I used to sail, only different...)
Realized my fingers still know how to
make a Bowline.
re:the 'SS' word. It's
almost gone for me. However the crew has
awarded me most loud, dramatic, pained
noises made while... ahem, voiding.
Tracy: The Chech circus
jumpsuit is perfect for sail changes on
deck.
We unexp. lose a crew
member in SFO. Large part of me understands
completely - this is really a young man's
game so far. Tough on the constitution
- like a mini astronaut prgm run by a
mad jester. How many bruises can you take/how
long can you stay awake on watch productively/how
much SS can you take and still think lucidly/how
cold can it be and still perform effectively/how
quickly-safely can you handle the sails
on a pitching deck at night in the ocean
at 40 degrees/different personalities
that you [may] want to strangle sometimes/etc/etc...
Pluses: Hot (short Tracy) showers. GPS.
Did I mention that I miss
every single person in my life back there?
It's true, despite my claims of being
a hermitic (sp) misintrope (sp), I find
I'm lonely out here.
We pick up a Britisher
in SFO - maybe that will alter the equation.
It's Christmas right?
I'm thinking of you all.
T.
Saturday, December
20th, 2003
S-E-A-S-I-C-K. The old
joke's punchline about the final phase
of seasickness fearing you WON'T die,
is true.
We punched out into the
Pacific Tuesday. Rough, but very beautiful.
Cruel joke Wednesday a.m. Weather was
gorgeous. "Cobalt Blue" only
really occurs out here I think. This lasted
about 6 hrs. Then we plunged into ever
rougher seas. Culminating in a gale most
of Thursday. So bad we had to TURN AROUND
and run with the wind the waves for 12
hrs. Lost over a day. The waves were huge
20ft swells. Kiwi feels very safe though.
I've decided she's built more like an
ocean rescue craft than a pleasure boat.
Good time to have welded steel, 1/2"
Lexan windows, and a monster diesel (nearly
700 cubic inches).
Change of Plans - the
autopilot just decided to die. Pulling
watches are very tedious when you spent
90% of time steering to a compass. We're
in a race to get to San Francisco before
the next Gale moves up the coast. In SF
we install a new, modern AP.
I guess I'm the designated
rigging monkey, climbing up to the spreaders
on the masts to unfoul lines. Very something
(stupid, insane, exhilerating). Thank
heaven for survival vests with strobes
and Stainless steel safety lines.
SF by Mon, 22nd hopefully.
T.
