Barter Skills

January 29, 2010

After a delicious sleep we woke bright and early with the warm sun. Despite the fatigue from disturbed circadian rhythms in the last four nights, I feel refreshed and content. The boat is back into shape within two minutes. A Mexican fisherman on a panga (small fish boat) came alongside IO offering to fetch us fuel and water. After breakfast, Antonio was back with our goodies and aboard for a chat. We conversed about family, weather and any other necessities we might need using our broken but quickly-improving Spanish. The diesel cost us 200 pesos for 20 liters and the water was exchanged for some tradesies. Antonio made off with two shirts for his daughters and some crayons for the village kids. Let the bartering begin. We had expected this was a common occurrence and had come somewhat prepared, but we now have a new list of common items that we could use for trading with the locals. Perhaps we'll try to organize a care package to be sent down of used goodies that we can distribute to the fishing villages.

Man of War anchorage, Magdalena bay

January 28, 2010

Five days at sea: 99 hours, 39 minutes, 461 nautical miles, average speed 4.6 knots, max speed 10.1 knots. The best part: All but one of those hours involved turning on the engine. It's the best sailing we've done on IO so far. There was some routine to the days instead of just suffering and waiting to get somewhere: numerous sail changes, adjusting the windvane, learning weather patterns, navigation, reading, eating, and hoping for a good catch.
Sailing seems to be all about doing nothing for hours or days and then having everything happen all at once. Racing through the relatively narrow, mountain-bordered entrance to Mag Bay, we found the wind blowing about 20 knots on our nose. I could see the numerous spouts of at least a dozen grey whales that would provide moving targets for us to avoid. We were just discussing the plan to drop the drifter and raise the yankee (the sail we use for beating to windward) when I heard a hit on the line we were towing. I could see several gulls diving and jittering behind us and knew that we were dragging something large. I started to grind in the 250 lbs test line on our big Peetz reel that was mounted to the stern railing. Within about four minutes, we had a 30 lbs yellowtail (Seriola lalandei) clubbed in the cockpit, the drifter down and stowed, and the yankee up and pulling hard in the 20 knot headwind, all in a bucking chop that was rolling out of the bay. I mean seriously, I had been dragging a line for five days, and besides the two hits that broke my 80 lbs test line and lost me two hooks three days ago, we have not had even a nibble! But I'm not really complaining. I wish you could taste this; it's far more delicate than the bonito but delicious nonetheless.We spent the last remaining hours of the day tacking back and forth into the headwind when we heard our name being called out over the radio. "IO, IO, IO, this is Ceilydh". What a treat, to be welcomed to the big warm bay by our friends Evan, Diane, and Maia. Not long after the hook was dropped we were chatting over snacks and sharing huge fillets of yellowtail.

Life Raft

January 27, 2010
N26 21.67 W113 54.738

Day 4 at sea. It has been a fine couple of days sailing. Two days ago we had good wind and pushed our haul speed most of the day and well into the night. 121 miles noon-to-noon. Yesterday saw some light air and even calms for a few hours ruining our average speed and our 24-hour mileage count. Thanks to our good speed the night before we still managed over 100 miles.
We saw our first two sea turtles yesterday. Still no fish though!
Yesterday we also had a small incident that reminded us of how precarious our lives aboard IO really are. She really is a life raft.
During a calm spell, we were barely moving and making less than 1 knot. It was really sunny and warm and Hyo stood up and managed to drop her hat overboard. It slowly meandered away from the boat, too fast to grab but seemingly very slowly. I quickly stripped down and dove into the cold but not freezing water and swam the 50 meters to the hat. When I arrived that the hat and turned around I managed to inhale some water and began to cough. At the same time a little breeze just happened to pick up and I could see IO slowly begin to move away. There was no trouble as Hyo was standing right there on deck and abruptly dropped the drifter while is swam back to the boat, which was now about 75-100 meters away. We have always said "if you fall off the boat, you're dead" and held this as our working principle on this voyage. Yesterdays swim reminded us that even at such slow speeds one could never catch up to a sailing boat. Of course it does not help that I am negatively buoyant and without swimming I sink like a rock! I was also abruptly obvious how out of shape I am as I huffed and puffed my way back. We were at a depth of about 3000 feet and while swimming, the image of my ghostly-white naked body sinking to the depths below sent a chill up my spine.
This past leg has also been the first time that we have been able to relax on a passage. We are getting used to our routine aboard IO. The weather has been great and there are no adverse weather warnings for the foreseeable future. The nights have been warm and the waxing moon has accompanied our night shifts with its luminous presence. We have not run the engine in 4 days now. I have not felt the stress associated with sailing when there has been a rush or urgency (weather, timelines, etc.) to reach the next port by a certain date. As we had hoped and predicted, sailing in warmer climates is so nice. I have begun to enjoy the shifts and have even been daydreaming about the longer passages that we may undertake in the future.

Cathy's Birthday Stuck in a Bay

Not sure if the poetry is related to Robbie Burns Day, but here it is.... unedited, uncensored!

Jan 21, 2010

A poem for Cathy on Nordic V who celebrated her birthday while we were stuck in bahia de San Quintin:

Our time here at bahia San Quintin
Too soon for us, we'll not be forgittin'

Pitching and yawing, we're in for a ride
Itching to go, our boats wait to glide

Our ships are attached with anchors and plows
The grinding of chains, in my spine I feel now

Drips of water catch my attention
While tension takes turn with much apprehension

Each in our vessel, we incubate
There's seven of us, counts "Uncle Blake"

If it weren't for your birthday, on this day, oh Cathy,
Alone we'd have sat, miserable and unhappy

From Misty Moonlight came songs of delight
The three lovely girls made memories of pearls

Here in our bay, fond memories did form
To carry us in our way, to the land of the warm.

hyo-jung

Big Fish

January 25, 2010

N28 52.840 W115 36.553
At sea. Yesterday we said good bye to all the gray whales of Bahia de San Quintin. We enjoyed their constant presence but will not miss the stinky fart breath that we experienced with regularity. We have had good wind all night (10-13 kts) and it looks to keep up.
This morning at the end of her shift Hyo found her first squid on deck (Loligo sp.) and when I put the fishing lines in the water my first strike broke the 80 lbs test on the first hit; big fish! The sun is shining and the weather is pleasant and getting warmer. We are back to the sunglasses and sunscreen at 6-am routine.

m

Freezing is Bunk!

Its COLD here! We can see snow on the mountains and have used so many blankets last night and the heater was on. This is bunk. Now we have a good weather window, and are going heading as far south as the wind will allow! We have been getting good weather reports so we should have good wind for the next 3 days. We are planning on going strait for Mag bay.

m

Storm

January 22, 2010
Yesterday we were hit with sustained gale force winds, with even stronger gusting winds, and pelting rain here in the anchorage. During the height of the gale, one of the boats broke or lost its anchor and started drifting towards shore. Luckily, Simon from the Ozzy boat was able to get another anchor to it in time to save it from going on the beach. We spent the day inside hanging on trying to be comfortable. During lulls we had to go out to check the chafing gear on the anchor line or rearranging the backup anchors. I have never worked so hard just so we could stay in one place! The winds diminished to a mere 25 knots in the afternoon until about 10:30 pm when the squally lightning storms started up. When the wind hit from the first one, it had enough strength to lay the boat over 45 degrees. Rockaby baby, slosh around and be afraid...Lightning flashed and thunder roared but barely anything could be heard of the driving wind and pelting rain.
Today the storm is supposed to subside and hopefully our cabin fever along with it.

m

At Anchor in a Real Blow

January 21, 2010 9:35 AM Anchored in Bahia de San Quintin. Rain, heavy at times. Wind: 35 knots gusting to 40 or above. Breaking waves coming over the bow at times. We're pitching and yawing. I just paid out an extra 60 feet of chain, making the total chain length ~220 feet. Depth: 40 feet at high tide. Scope 5.5 of 5/16ths high test on the 35lbs Delta plough anchor. The CQR anchor is at the ready. According to the GPS, we did not move last night but the brunt of the 3rd low is expected tonight. We are anchored in a long narrow channel. When the tide rises, the water floods in a strong (4-5 knot) current heading up the channel. The wind is also coming from the same direction as the flood. When wind and tide are moving in the same direction, it has a noticeably calming effect on the water and life becomes more comfortable. However, when the opposite is occurs, when the tide falls and the ebbing current flows against the wind, a large and choppy sea builds and the boat rides uneasily. So twice a day we get a smooth ride and the other half, errr! Due to this current effect and howling wind, we slept intermittently last night, I want more tonight but that is very doubtful. This wind howling through the rigging has quite an un-nerving effect. It sounds louder than it should be and when IO is temporarily pitched to one side and a sea breaks against her haul, the sound is alarming, especially for the dozing skipper. In the darkness, I found myself awakened several times to a startle followed by a surge of adrenalin. I could hear my heart beat hard as I listen for any telltale noises that may indicate problems. I would usually get up and look at our position on the GPS, then take a line-of-sight on the other boats at anchor to make sure we were in the same relative position, that is, no one's anchor is dragging.

Here is Misty Moonlight, the boat anchored nearest to us, while you can still see it before the blow. This is the bay before the storm. Notice the Grey whale between us and the Trimaran.

Assured that all is well for the time being, I would crawl over the lee-cloth (canvas sheet that holds you in bed) into the bunk for another hour of restless dozing. There are seven boats holed up in here and several have formed a radio net to discuss weather and anchoring issues and to offer general help if needed. The three cheerful girls on Misty Moonlight sang "Happy Birthday" for Kathy on Nordic IV over the VHF radio. Time for the precious popcorn to cheer us up. We all wait.

Physis: the way of the world

January 17, 2010

Today, we felt life.
Underway at dawn, we motored on a calm sea. As always, the race is on, 10 miles to cover before high tide, before the entrance is blocked, before the storm arrives and threatens our precious IO. This coast is unforgiving; there are not many all-weather anchorages. We will need to be tucked away safely as we are about to be faced with a great storm. Approaching us are three successive depressions, each deeper and stronger than the last. We have one day before the first arrives. Turtle bay, which is considered the next safe harbor is over 2 days away, not enough time. The plan, to enter Bahia San Quinten, which should afford adequate shelter provided we can get past the entrance which is blocked by an ever moving shallow sand bar that cannot be charted and only the local fisherman (in shallow draft boats) know the correct channel through.
We arrived at high tide and began the approach. When waves enter shallow water they begin to rise and eventually break in crashing surf. We could see breakers in what looks like normal, deep water that was well over 2 km to sea, far from any beach. These breakers indicated shoaling sandbars that we must ovoid.
As our depth sounder began loose digits rapidly, my blood pressure increased steadily. 15 feet, now 12 feet, 10, 8, 7, 6, 5 feet of water beneath our keel. The old chart indicates there should be a channel, if only we could find it! The clock is ticking, we are currently at high tide and soon it will begin to ebb and if we get caught here, we could lose IO. To make matters worse, there are gray whales everywhere! They surface only meters from the boat, and of course directly in our path, rolling slowly, carelessly waving their fins. We wonder how thick a grey whale could be, and reason that if it can completely disappear under water, then it must be at least be deep enough for the boat, right? Three feet, 2.6, 2.1, 1.8 feet of water under our keel, shit I can't believe this, we are in a bad way here! To make matters worse, a current is beginning to run out of the bay, meaning the ebb has started and we are losing water! I tell Hyo to drop the anchor, I jump in the dingy with the boat hook. It's 10 feet long; the bottom of the keel is 5 feet deep. The water is murky so you cannot see depth. I madly row around, probing for the channel. The current is getting stronger. I pull with all my might on the oars and frantically probe. I paddle directly towards a whale in hopes she knows where the channel is, but it only gets shallower towards it. I back track and try closer to shore. With each probe the handle of the hook is still way too far out of the water. As I approach within several boat lengths of shore the handle plunges under. I take several more test probes and then dash back to IO, up comes the anchor and we slowly skim are way towards shore. 1.8, 1.7, 1.7, . 1.9, 2.1, 2.5, 4, 6, 9-feet. Huge sigh of relief. Stupid whales, what the hell?
With a very comfortable 35 feet of water under us we drop 125' of chain and feel the anchor bite in solid.
After lunch we rowed the dingy to shore and walked 2 km barefoot down the deserted beach to Punta Entrada (entrance point). As the tide receded we found many invertebrates and fish trapped in the tide pools. The highlight, in some exposed sea grass, we found numerous giant sea hares, (seaslugs, Aplysia californica) which were actually about the size of a rabbit! I think they are particularly interesting because much of the neurobiology of learning and memory was demonstrated on this species.
As we rowed back to the boat we were approached by a gray whale. Now I mean a 40-45 foot whale swam within ten feet of us while we bobbed around in our 9-foot dingy! Unbelievable!
We ate super and have spent the evening listening to the whales, at least 3, swim around spouting within meters of our 30-foot IO.

Again, today we lived.

P.S. the sunset was beautiful and the toilet is working just fine.
P.P.S I was just out on deck taking a leak under the starry sky, and a whale spouted so close that I felt the spray! It scared the crap out me and consequently I think I got a few drops on deck. I'm actually quite worried that one might hit the anchor chain, which would suck for all kinds of reasons.

m

Zen and the Art of Boat Maintenance

Zen and the Art of Boat Maintenance: It is your choice, so deal with it.

Simplify, simplify, .. the words of Thoreau have no weight today. In order to simplify our lives, look at what we have consumed! Hello irony, I live on a boat and I'm here to befriend you.

After about the third or fourth time provisioning, I think we have a system in place. Much less time is taken to put away $400 worth of groceries into appropriate spaces. I'm slightly overwhelmed, but the boat manages to gulp it up somehow. Still, towels have to be stowed in a certain way, computer cables and battery chargers in their designated containers, and I can never seem to get a handle on the miscellaneous toiletry items. Sometimes, it is satisfactory to squish a new loaf of bread in the cupboard and close the door. But I'm afraid it is not the same quick fix as force-shutting an overhead compartment full of luggage for a two-hour flight.

My days seem to be filled with the details of arranging and tidying the boat. Whether it is for safety or functional living, the boat and its contents have to be in immaculate shape. Every day, the inside has to be swept. Every few months, all contents have to come out and the inside walls need to be wiped down with vinegar or bleach or whatever. That is, if you have the luxury of having plenty of freshwater. The Japanese have the small space living pretty much dialed. I have not mastered it at all. So far, figuring out where to put all the books has offered more challenge to me than the book contents themselves have.

Our friends on S. V. Estrellita called it "the boat moment". A small example: After removing about eight items, I struggle to take out the compact portable printer from the cubby hole because it fits in there without an inch of moving room. My blood starts to boil, foul language starts spraying, and I look like a lunatic yanking on plastic or clawing on cardboard. "That's it, I'm tossing the bloody thing overboard!" But later I calm down and contemplate on the bulk, weight, and frequency of use for this item. I coil the cord in a certain way, place the printer in the dry bag, then stow it away in the reverse five-step order. You choose to keep the printer, then deal with it.

Despite Mike's enormous effort on preparing our boat for cruising, the boat keeps demanding more. The sink drain needed to be replaced. The toilet exploded. Apparently, we need a working temperature gauge for the engine. Forget it, we're sick of spending money.

When boat moments accumulate and frustrations build, I feel as though I'm consumed by the boat. Truly, how can you be such high maintenance? Aren't you supposed to serve us? Remember the friendly message from the sticker on a rental video tape, "Please be kind, rewind"? Please be kind, sweep me every day, oil me every three months, maintain me until your bones turn to dust.. There's something wrong here. How do I make peace with this? Because it is a lifestyle that we have chosen again, for now, we can't let it get to us. Otherwise, our already dirty temperaments might get worse. Key word: we have "chosen", so deal with it.

In Ensenada, I was struck again with the familiar scene of several old men working non-stop on numerous projects on their boats. Every port is full of these people and their to-do lists for their precious boats. I might as well start calling them Golem and their boats "your Precious". Anyway, they did not seem to accomplish much, but just tinkering away was the goal of the game. It was not the end product, but truly the process that seemed to matter for them. Then it occurred to me that the boat is their friend. Stories are told as though the boat is a living entity. Even when the man uttered, "The projects never stop", there was not a hint of complaint in his tone.

Perhaps I have been deaf to the breathing of our Io. Our friendship may be relatively new as we have renamed her not too long ago. I mean, we (we, as in, Mike) got to know her very well in the physical preparation of Io. But it seems as though we are now just starting to befriend her and get to know her. I have noticed this especially when we are sailing. She seems to become animated, safely carrying us, and seems to enjoy her movements in the element that she is destined to be. She is very tough.. a lot tougher that I am. She is intimidating and sometimes induces pain. But she is patient like Buddha. I feel proud when people repeatedly tell us that she is strong and seaworthy. If this is a friendship, then it is truly a unique one. She demands a lot. But I suppose we demand a lot from her, too. If this is a friendship, then I shall learn about it.

Anchored to a Volcano

January 16, 2010
Tonight we are anchored to a volcano. Last night's journey was long and loud, stinky motor through mirror calm seas. Yesterday we ran south accompanied by two Gray whales, one surfacing within 2 boat-lengths of our bow to take a peek. We paralleled them all day until dark when we lost their friendly spray in the night. Stars and ships on the horizon passed in the night. We had two shy dolphins ride our wake for hours in the night, reminding us of their presence with an occasional spray or splash back near the cockpit.

The morning light brought with it our first Pacific Bonito, hooked on the starboard line. A beautiful member of the tuna family known for its splendid colors and fighting spirit. It just so happens, it's tasty as well. Breakfast, dinner and breakfast tomorrow are all taken care of. For tonight we have dropped the hook in a small rocky bight on the small extinct volcano Isla San Martin. We attempted to summit but were thoroughly and completely shut down buy the numerous cacti thriving on this desert island, the way was impassible. The weather files that we download through the radio hint of a big storm heading our way in a few days. Contrary winds and big seas are expected. Tomorrow we look for refuge in a shallow and uncertain basin, hopefully a safe and passable spot to hunker down and let the storm pass, on this otherwise barren and inhospitable coast.

Friends in Ensenada

We have been fortunate to spend time with our friends Evan, Diane and Maia since we left San Diego. We had the pleasure of sharing a similar Mexican immigration experience with them. Diane has summed up the experience nicely.

Ensenada

Cheap fish tacos, several Canadian vessels, and Viagra sold cheap at the corner store! We have been told to move out to anchor in the harbor because the surge from the upcoming storm will tear the docks to pieces if there are to many boats tied up. Rickety Mexican style!

Stink Face

See posting below...

Stink Face

January 11, 2010

I got it on my face: a full blown, pressurized, sewage holding-tank explosion!
The sun is about to dip into the inky rollers for the night. We have just passed the US-Mexican border, 10 miles out to sea. IO is stretching her wings after the prolonged rest. We are under full sail in 2-meter rolling swell, 10 knots of wind. The pleasant 18-degree breeze is on the beam and our working jib and main are pulling strong but hardly straining. I go down to take a leak and am utterly affronted with a rank stench that is wholly unique in its vulgarity. When I raise the lid, fumes from the brown gritty water sloshing in the bowl waft my guts into instant turmoil. I was actually enjoying those rollers, but add a little raw sewage to the mix and well.we ain't in Kansas any more! Hell on earth! But wait it gets better.
Certainly if I add a little pressure to the system while pumping out the tank, that should pop the blockage out and I'll get back out to breathing that fresh pacific air. I pump. Nothing. Just a few more. Nope. Ok this is fowl and I am really going to get seasick if I am in here any longer. I can't just leave it now because if I stop pumping the pressure will force more shit-water back into the bowl. I really giver a few good pumps and WHUMP-PHHHHSSSSTTT-SPRAYYYY-GOD-NOOOOOO STOOOOOOP.

hmm hmm-whimper!

The most unholy, anal-ripened, chemically putrefied GNAR blasted out from the holding tank, all over the underside of the starboard bunk, bathroom sink and my face!
Even Davey Jones himself could not drag my morale to lower depths.
I go out to explain the situation to Hyo. We are 15 miles out of San Diego, its just about dark, we have about 12-20 hours of sailing to get to Ensenada Mexico and the entire inside of the boat is not compatible with life.
Hyo-jung, who fortunately had not yet descended into a pit of despair and was not currently wallowing in her own filth (as I was literally), brought reason to bare and argued as such: We had designed and prepared this boat to be unstoppable, We did have the parts aboard to fix it somehow once we got to Ensenada, it was going to be a warm night and was calm enough that the cockpit would be dry, we have sleeping bags and could make due.
We arrived in Ensenada at 8 AM. And after spraying out the head, holding tank area and bilge with the shower, combined with significant airing out, we managed to sleep our off-watch shifts below on the port bunk.

Last night sucked, and having just explained that experience, I don't even know how to explain what happed at the Mexican customs and immigration. It was utterly beyond my control.

Living the dream!

Update - we were up till 2 AM and have now pitched the entire holding tank. The fiberglass seam had actually split; leaving a 60 cm gash that was effectively a gateway leading directly into Hell. We have cleaned up and put a much simpler system into place.

Off to Mexico

Typical day: Morning, install new alternator. Afternoon, put all the alternator tools away. Take out fridge repair gear. Repair fridge and stow gear. Starving, must eat. Walk 2km off Shelter Island a to find Internet café. Spend all evening reading forums, trying to figure out which drivers I need to use all the old, stolen or otherwise hacked GPS, email and weather programs we need to use with our new “ship's computer”. I somehow got it in my mind that buying a PC would help with all the software incompatibility problems I was having with the Mac. But our new computer complete with the new Windows 7 OS ensured that there was no shortage of incompatibility problems. Brutal.
Next day: repeat with a whole new set of problems.
However, the weather is nice and we have met some great and generous people. We have had total strangers either drive us around to get to hard-to-reach places like alternator shops (thanks Jim) or lend us their own vehicle for the day to drive around and get all our groceries (thanks Matt and Teal, awesome). We have also spent a lot of time with our cruising friends Evan, Diane and Maia whom we first met in Coos Bay and who have been exceedingly generous about sharing their plethora of knowledge about where this is and how to do that. We did take one day to see the famous San Diego Zoo. One caged animal after another. I thought it could have made a better attempt to at least be educational. I guess we are coming from a different perspective, on this trip, we have seen a blue whale, the largest animal on the planet, far out to sea. Perhaps the zoo was not the best use of our time.
Our next stop is Ensenada, which is about 60 NM down the coast to clear customs and then on to the Baja. The wind is a bit light but there is a decent swell rolling in from a storm up north. It should be okay weather to get our sea legs back. I am really looking forward to getting back out to sea, doing some snorkeling and spending some time with the gray whales that migrate to the Baja to give birth next month. In short, some quality time outside.

The Rest of Life

We are back aboard IO. We spent another fall in Bamfield, our minds engaged in medicine and science. For us Canada is filled with friends and opportunity, intellectual stimulation and rest, recovery and organization. My dream job: one month alone with 24 eager minds let loose in Barkley Sound, a TA that knows his stuff and loves to fish, and a fleet of research vessels at our disposal. Brilliant. Of Alberta, snow and traffic, great friends, and snowboarding, scheming and planning of what adventures lay next. The air was filled with the sweet and bitter noises of squealing nieces and nephews, family and very old friends. I met my old companion Shotgun, sway-back with a touch of gray. We reminisced of summer nights under the full moon racing the stars between swaths of hewn grass in the fields. Long in years, short on time, we shared our wisdom and parted little wiser. In a rush of waiting we molded our way amid the masses, ever herded by homeland security until we stood in the humid Southern Californian air next to IO, waiting patiently. The rest of life begins.

Preparing IO and a fun voyage with AL and Tash

Lessons so far

Lessons Learned from the Canadian and US voyage. 1) Sailing is not that fun. I have never “loved boats”. It is simply a tool to get me to hard-to-reach places. I have dreamed of sailing to far off islands exploring and still seek this dream. Simply, this coast is not conducive to this adventure. 2) In our quest for island exploring, we have found that our trip northward to the queen charlottes was far more fulfilling. 3) The usual complaint: The wind here in the coast is ill-favored for sailing - too much or not enough. 4) Traveling is filled with highs and lows and this is no different. Our challenge on this adventure has not been the difficulty of sailing downwind. A cardboard box can do that. Our challenge has been one of crew morale. We found that we could have the most fantastic day - dolphins in the morning, beautiful sunrise, good wind, 100+ miles ticked off at noon, a fish on the line, sunshine, a good book, chasing another pod of dolphins far into the sunset. The next day will be foggy all day while you zigzag through a fleet of oil tankers. Oh, and you puked up your breakfast. The highs are so high and the lows so low.
Now we move on into Mexican waters. While there is not an abundance of remote islands, we have heard of isolated beaches, good food, great fishing and the promise of warmer water to come.