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.