r2ak go/no go…

07 Tuesday May 2019

Posted by shemaya in How Does This Work, Race to Alaska/r2ak

[Photo: Shemaya Laurel]

Well, the sad report is that as our go/no go decision date of May 1st approached, I did a serious evaluation of the prospect of the cross-country car trip. There were benchmarks that I needed to reach, to pull this off, as far as so very many hours – and days – of car riding that would be involved in crossing the country. I’m sad to say that those benchmarks were so very far off that the conclusion was unequivocal, and I pulled the plug on AUKLET’s 2019 r2ak run, a couple of days before the 1st.

This has been sad for so many reasons: the sailing itself, through such wild countryside, and even more the tremendous community that is such a big part of the race. The contact with other racers is a treasure, and the enthusiasm of everybody – from marina staff and B&B operators to friends and family – when one says that one is signed up for the race is so incredibly much fun. I know for sure that all of this would be multiplied many times over, being actually there to do the race, and as it unfolds. I miss going forward with this, so much.

It was always a long shot, the possibility of pulling this off. The absolute miracle is how far it got: boat transport arranged; a full crew of dear friends signed on to help with my own travel; the boat, trailer, and minivan all in order enough that we could have completed it in time for the various departures. Crew for the first part of the race, and help with getting the boat rigged and in order in Port Townsend. All of these things fell into place, one by one, making this possibility very real.

On the bright side, in spite of this change, the organization for all of this is not lost. The boat is ready to go, and the trailer as well, with only small items still on the list. Unknowns have been resolved, in everything from where the boat would arrive in Port Townsend, to where it would stay before I got there, and where it and I would stay once it was floating. Huge questionmarks about requirements for meetings, and the pesky stairs, were all beautifully resolved with Daniel, the Race Boss, in a way that only added to the feeling of welcome and possibility. Transportation questions for folks coming and going, as part of helping with the team effort, were almost entirely clarified, as well as great headway being made on places for everybody to stay. If this gets tried again, so much is now sorted out.

It’s a good rehab goal, the prospect of riding across the country with enough comfort and stamina to make it doable. Although it was not possible to meet that goal in this timeframe, headway was made, and much fun has been had in the effort. With more time, I am not ruling it out. The r2ak organizers have said that they will make an announcement in September about changes to the race, going forward. For now they are not saying more than that… Who knows if the race will be significantly changed, slightly changed, or if this fifth year, in 2019, will have been its last. This uncertainty is what made it worth trying to do the race this year, even though it seemed improbable. And I am so glad we did.

It has been a perfect treasure, to get this far toward this goal that has been simmering for years. It will be enormously sad to not actually be there when the race sets out in June – but it would have been even sadder to have never applied. I thank every single one of the many people who made this possible:

Luke Tanner started it, when he said, early last September, “I could haul the boat to Washington – that would be easy.” And later when his schedule changed, he continued to say that if nothing else worked out, he would still do it.

Janine Georgette came forward and said, “I’ll drive you to Washington.” Our plan shifted over time, coming to include crewing on the boat, and some rearrangements in the driving piece. But like what Luke said, Janine also made the whole concept realistic, and, in fact, possible.

Chris Shelton, who I knew from fun in the Junk Rig Association, saw my note on Facebook about all this, asked if we had enough ground crew, and then volunteered. When I mentioned that leads on a person with a truck would be great, he responded with a photo, of his own truck.

Kate Fahey, early in the whole discussion, said she would be happy to come meet me – perhaps in Alaska – to be a “ferry buddy” for perhaps returning to Port Townsend that way, and then driving back across the country with me to Maine. “Ferry buddy” could just as well be “fairy buddy” – magic.

Suzanne Jean, when the westbound driving schedule became a little complicated, somewhere along the way had an epiphany to do with the prospect of this trip. Where it had previously looked to her like the worst idea in the world, and we had together completely rejected the idea of her doing it, she decided that actually it could work out just fine, and we went ahead modifying the minivan for both of us to camp in it, studying routes and making plans for fun places to stop along the way, and how we would meet Janine in Washington, where Suzanne would catch a plane home.

Suzanne did so much to make this possibility real. Working together on the boat, sorting out food plans, going for practice car rides, including whenever our icy, snowy road in the middle of the winter seemed reasonably passable. And so much more. None of this would have happened without her enthusiasm and generosity of time and effort. And we had fun!

So many other people helped with this project too: Dave McDermott did drawings, both whimsical, and a fantastic chart key. Chubba Kane was over here helping bolt parts on the boat in the late fall chill, and Chipper Daley brought his woodworking skills. Suzanne’s parents, Doris and Henri Jean, got out their pressure canners, and helped make boat food. Kate Fahey opened her home to be the first pitstop in western Massachusetts, where Suzanne and I would spend the night, including hosting a visit with Suzanne’s parents, so I could see them on the way through. Susan, Cuiee, and Aveour Masters said they would bring Doris and Henri over to Kate’s, for that visit, and I was so looking forward to seeing the three of them as well.

Judith-Kate Friedman, in Port Townsend, invited us to stay when we landed on that coast. Joanne Moesswilde offered enthusiasm and support, with ideas of coming to Port Townsend to help get the boat organized, and see us off. Tim Pfeiffer told me in September, “Let me know when you are accepted, and I’ll make a reservation in the RV park in Port Townsend, and be there for the days before the start.” Driving from Arizona! More friends offered enthusiasm and encouragement, from this continent, and from halfway around the world. As did folks I didn’t even know, who, after seeing the notice about Team AUKLET being entered in the race, wrote to offer everything from driving information for crossing the Rockies, to a friendly welcome in a harbor halfway up Vancouver Island. Junk rig sailors in the Pacific Northwest developed a plan to sail together, at the beginning of the race, with the fun of a junk rig boat being entered.

It has been such an incredible, unbelievable gift, to be the recipient of so much goodwill, and such generosity. I am so very touched. I would so love to be reporting in with pictures, a few weeks from now, of AUKLET with those snow-covered mountains on the BC coast in the background.

And what a ride it has been, just getting this far. I so thank you all.

Safety Tethers Update

16 Wednesday Mar 2016

Posted by shemaya in How Does This Work, Sailing/Boat Handling

≈ 8 Comments

The bear is clowning around, but the issues are serious.

Some time back, I put a post on this blog about safety tethers and harnesses (http://sailingauklet.com/2014/03/23/safety-tethers/ ). Following is an update on what I actually did, after all that pondering, and how it has worked out so far.

As far as the harness question, in the end I settled on a two-part approach. For time in the cockpit in rough weather, an upper body harness marketed to sailors has felt the most doable. For going forward in the kind of conditions that feel truly worrisome, I have started carrying a climbers full body harness on the boat. I chose this one, for being relatively lightweight, and for the good support across one’s back: http://www.rocknrescue.com/cgi-bin/sh000001.pl?WD=petzl%20harness%20avao%20bod&PN=Petzl-Avao-Bod-Harness.html#SID=206 (yup, it costs a fortune, and no, I’m not getting anything for including the link. But I do like this store, and they had a significant sale that took about $70 off the price.) Trying this harness on, it does indeed feel like one is extremely well supported, and much less likely to be injured by falling into it. If I were to do this again, I would get the optional opening leg straps. This would make it much easier to get into the harness while wearing foul weather gear. I had chosen not to get the opening straps because of possible added weight, added complexity, and more bits that could catch along the way on the boat; in practice, it feels like the benefits of those opening straps would outweigh the downsides. Either way, it’s a workable piece of equipment that packs relatively small, and it’s been relaxing to have it on the boat.

On the tether subject, I made up two adjustable Purcell prusik tethers (see previous post on this, linked above), one somewhat shorter, one somewhat longer, out of 7/16″ braided nylon. The shorter one adjusts between about 18″ and 28″ long, and the longer one adjusts between about 22″ and 38″ long.

Clipped onto a dedicated pad eye low in the cockpit, whichever one I’m using can be adjusted for wherever I will be working or resting, such that it is not possible to move beyond the edge of the boat. The longer tether has gotten more use in the cockpit, and the shorter one for trips forward, clipped to the jackline over the cabin. Technically, 7/16″ braided nylon does not have the breaking strength that one is supposed to have for this job. Thicker line seemed unwieldy, and the 7/16″ line feels strong; using it is a chance I’m willing to take, especially given that the entire point is to NOT fall a distance, creating those high loads.

After spending some time fiddling with attachment hardware marketed to sailors for tethers, it seemed that climbers’ aluminum locking carabiners would be more workable. The sailboat tether clips were incredibly stiff to open, and required a good bit of combined strength and dexterity in order to operate the double latch. Aluminum carabiners with a threaded locking collar, on the other hand, have been much easier, and are lightweight, and strong. Though I had been concerned about possible difficulties opening these, so far they have not been a problem – the threads are very smooth, and they work easily, including in the cold. Carrying a survival-style knife is my escape-strategy, since a carabiner can be impossible to unclip under load. Testing the halyard-clip style of tether attachment, generally used at the harness connection for release under load, it felt like it was perfectly possible that it would not open either, because of having such stiff action, and in an emergency I’d be back to the knife anyway. Here’s an example of the carabiners (nope, not receiving anything): https://www.rei.com/product/737862/petzl-amd-screwgate-carabiner
In this picture, you can see the very clear red stripe that shows when the lock is not fastened, and that disappears when the lock is completely closed.

In thinking about the elasticity question, I looked into shock absorbers used by climbers, but when deployed in a fall, all of the ones that I found extend to at least 42 inches. On my boat, this would put me over the side, and is thus not workable. For now I’m counting on the nylon for a little bit of stretch, and am paying very close attention to adjusting the tether length for only a few inches distance-of-fall. I would like to be able to add something like a rubber connector, that would provide stretch but would be too strong to break. This could perhaps be combined with climbers’ webbing, so that after full extension and a good bit of shock-absorption, if the rubber did break the webbing would be the backup. I hope to be able to figure this out in the future.

As described in the original post, the jackline is run down the top of the cabin, slightly to the starboard side, which is the side of the boat that I use for going forward. So far, this line has been rope. I never walk on the cabin top when the boat is in the water, so rolling underfoot is not an issue; otherwise, webbing would be important. I’ve been using polyester, to avoid stretch when it’s not wanted, but I’d feel better about this if I already had the stretchy section for the tether itself worked out.

In actual practice, after experimenting with being tethered in more moderate conditions, I felt very aware that psychologically it contributed to “losing my edge” as far as vigilance about not falling off the boat. It actually felt safer to not use the tether in moderate conditions, and so to keep that full-time vigilance properly in order. In the end I opted for using the harness and tether only when conditions were such that I felt there was a danger of being thrown off the boat even though I was vigilant, because of wave action. Further, in those kind of more feisty conditions, it could be possible that a wave could sweep across the cockpit. In that case the tether would be far stronger than any grip one might have on the boat, and the possibility of that kind of wave became my other criterion for using a harness in the cockpit.

It’s extremely rare that I go forward while underway in this boat; all the normal tasks of sailing are set up to be managed from the cockpit. But it does happen occasionally, and I’ve been quite happy to have the harness/tether arrangement in better order. It’s far more common that I am in the cockpit, and in more boisterous weather I’ve been very happy to have a workable tether that adjusts snugly to wherever I am.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Recent references on the subject of tethers include the following very sad story, and resulting efforts to test tethering arrangements and retrieval of crew who are overboard while on a tether. Adjustable tethers are not mentioned; it is my fervent hope that the sailing community will start to consider adjustable tethers, inboard jacklines, and appropriately supportive harnesses.

Is it safe to use a tether?

Ashore for the Winter

03 Tuesday Nov 2015

Posted by shemaya in How Does This Work, the boat

≈ 2 Comments

Just over a week ago both the boat and I came off the water for the winter. The timing was good – a few days later a storm came by that blew at about 40 knots, not all that far out to sea from here. It was lovely to watch the rain, and the wind in the trees, from the snug side of a cozy window on land.

The boat was also snug,
happily inside the mostly-completed boat shed, entirely out of the weather for the first time since it left the shipyard where it was built, in 2008. It’s feeling very luxurious to not have to worry about the PVC frame and tarp process. It’s feeling even more luxurious to be able to climb into the boat without wriggling around under the driveway winter arrangement just to make a foray into the cabin.

Hauling the boat out of the water was interesting, in this new and different location. The ramp that was nicely out of the wind and waves, just a mile by water from the new house, is not as steep as the ones we’ve used before (steep is good, when it comes to ramps for boats with keels). There aren’t photos of how this went, as every single person was completely involved in trying to make things work, but we’ll try for that next time. For years a webbing tow strap has been part of the boat towing kit that has ridden around in the van, with all the other boat hauling paraphernalia, from hitch balls to tiedowns and wheel chocks. The tow strap was still in its wrapper, up until this past week. Finally it got put to use.

This tow strap procedure was quite theoretical, being something that I had read about and thought through, but never tried. When a ramp is too gradual to allow the trailer into water deep enough to float the boat without dousing the tow vehicle, it’s possible to unhitch the trailer from the vehicle (with the little jack wheel on the trailer tongue in its down, load-bearing position), attach the tow strap to the trailer hitch, and let the trailer farther down into the water. It helps to take a turn with the tow strap around the hitch ball on the vehicle, so the trailer doesn’t just pull the person holding the tow strap right into the drink along with the trailer. Once the trailer is in far enough for the boat to float onto it, the wheels are chocked; somebody has to do some rather serious wading to manage this. Melissa brought her wetsuit, which was a good thing because there was frost on everything the morning of the day we did this maneuver, and we were out there at about 8 AM to catch the tide.

(Getting back to the story… )
Once the trailer is securely chocked and the boat pulled into place and secured on the trailer, then the tow strap can be hooked onto the tow vehicle, and up you come, out of the water. We had some suspense about the plastic chocks, and what would happen to them next when the trailer wasn’t there anymore, but they floated neatly up to the surface and were easily retrieved. Once out of the water, the trailer is chocked again, and then reattached to the tow vehicle.

In a more orderly world, meaning one in which you had not first tried to get the boat onto the trailer without this process, with various complications related to falling tide and a boat half on the trailer, it would make more sense to chock the trailer before it’s in the water. Then you could unhitch, hook the tow strap onto the trailer, move the tow vehicle farther up the ramp, hook the other end of the tow strap to the vehicle, and let the vehicle ease the trailer into the deeper water, where it would be chocked again. Next time! That could’ve been done this time also, if we had thought it up, but as it was things worked out okay regardless, thanks largely to the seriously-strong member of our boat-hauling team, Richard (seen this past spring).

The AUKLET trailer also has a telescoping tongue extension, and at steeper ramps that’s enough to do the trick for floating the boat on or off, even with the long shallow keel that requires somewhat deeper water. It’s nice to know that the tow strap arrangement actually works, for when the tongue extension is not enough to keep the tow vehicle’s wheels out of the water. Tires in the water are okay, but nobody wanted to see the hubs and brakes of a good truck down there in the salt.

The concrete ramp that we used, at the head of Joy Bay in Steuben, has narrow horizontal grooves for traction. The small trailer jack wheel rolled over these grooves easily. Some concrete ramps, such as the nice new one on the Connecticut River in Holyoke, Mass, are made of individual concrete slabs with a more substantial horizontal gap between the concrete sections. I would have concern in trying this tow strap arrangement on that ramp, probably wanting something to put under that small tongue-jack wheel as a runway across those gaps. Otherwise, if the wheel were to turn sideways and fall in a gap while the tow vehicle and trailer were still moving, that could be the end of the tongue jack, with much breaking, falling and scraping and difficulty getting the tongue both up the ramp and lifted back onto the tow hitch. It was with great relief that I first saw our concrete ramp on Joy Bay with its narrow indented traction grooves, when I went to look a couple of days ahead of time. I’m not perfectly sure what I would use, on the other kind of concrete ramp. A simple board, plywood or one by something, would want to float rather than stay in place. A couple of convenient pieces of stiff sheet metal, leapfrogging one in front of the other, might be nice, or perhaps a weighted board… If anybody has experience with this and would like to comment, I’d love to hear.

As it was, the trailer cooperated nicely, the boat came out of the water, the rig came down (okay, that took a little while), and off we went. It was a treat to go only 3 miles or so by road from the ramp to the house, rather than the long drive from somewhere near the ocean back to Holyoke. Moving to Maine is lovely on so many levels.

Many thanks to everybody who made this haul-out work: Melissa and Richard, again with their truck, Suzanne, who does so much to organize the land side of this whole operation, and our new neighbor in Gouldsboro, Chubba, who came out so early in the morning to help.

This all took place on Saturday, October 24, somewhat more than 5 1/2 months after the spring launch, on May 2, in the Connecticut River. During these months I was on shore in the new house for a total of nine nights, over three different visits; all those other nights, and most of those days, I was aboard AUKLET. It’s a special thing to live on the boat for so many months, and it’s special again to move back onto land. Many thanks, once more, to everybody who helped to make all of this possible.

Dealing with Insects

19 Monday Oct 2015

Posted by shemaya in How Does This Work, the boat

≈ 2 Comments

Summer sailing, besides being beautiful and warm, is full of bugs… I have never been more bug-bitten than I have on a boat with ineffective insect strategies. As a result, a lot of thought, and some preparation, have gone into avoiding further repetitions of those experiences. Being averse to chemicals, this mostly involves netting, in a variety of applications.

Where I’ve been sailing, the primary insect issues are mosquitoes, and “no-see-ums,” those tiny black midges that are especially thick in the vicinity of wetlands and marsh grasses. “Black flies,” or gnats, have not been a big problem the way they are in the woods, at least so far in my experience. Since they breed in moving fresh water, I guess this is not such a surprise. Then there are biting flies, including horseflies and deer flies, and smaller ones that look like houseflies but are determined biters, that I have only encountered on the water, and can be quite a pest. I’ve taken to keeping a flyswatter on the boat, which handles them nicely; netting hung loosely over the companionway also keeps most of them out.

Bug netting comes in a couple of varieties. Some has a more open weave, and will stop mosquitoes, but nothing else, and is sold as “mosquito netting.” The other kind has a tighter weave and will keep out both no-see-ums and gnats/blackflies, with the trade-off that air does not move through it as easily, which is noticeable on a hot summer night. Either kind is often available by the yard, in 6 foot widths, generally from camping supply places. I get no-see-um proof netting from Campmor (nope, not receiving anything for this reference): https://www.campmor.com/c/72-in-tight-weave-no-see-um-mosquito-netting-61001

The first year that we launched AUKLET involved a tremendous amount of completing rigging, as well as finishing other aspects of the boat, after the boat went into the water in the spring. This was in the Connecticut River, and nearby on the north shore of Long Island sound. There were a lot of no-see-ums! Having gone through a terrible time with bugs in the trips in the Peep Hen, AUKLET was prepared with a giant, 12′ x 12′, piece of no-see-um proof netting that Suzanne and Theo and I had sewn together, with loops for attaching the netting to line strung over the cockpit. We had also made a screen for the forward window using this same material, and had an arrangement for attaching another piece of no-see-um netting over the companionway (more on that later).

Nowadays I mostly use the forward window screen and the companionway netting. When there are too many bugs in the cockpit, lately I’m inclined to just go inside the cabin. Sometimes I have waited too long, enjoying a pretty evening sitting outside, before sealing off the companionway netting. This has resulted in mosquitoes in the cabin, with nighttime coming on enough that you cannot see them properly to catch them. Oh no!

This year when that happened it occurred to me that I already had the perfect solution on board. Out came the giant cockpit netting, and up it went over my berth, neatly tucked, especially around the head and sides.

I could then hear the mosquitoes in the cabin, but somehow knowing that they were not about to be biting me made the sound completely unproblematic. Several times this summer I have slept with this indoor tent. Sometimes the weather has been cool, and it’s been a pleasant surprise to find that it is significantly warmer underneath the indoor tent. Sailing north, excessive heat has not been such a problem.

Early this summer, on an evening when the companionway was carefully closed off well before mosquito-time, as it started to get dark there were still new mosquitoes. Out came the berth netting, but the situation was a puzzle. First I thought that I had not quite perfectly taken care of the companionway. When it happened a second time, the next morning with full light I carefully checked the companionway and found not a single spot where a mosquito could wriggle through. Thinking on this, it finally occurred to me that there are plenty of mosquito-sized openings between the starboard cockpit locker and the cabin, and noticeable cracks where the anchor chain goes through the chainpipe and its cover.

The chainpipe allows the anchor chain and line to be dropped down through the deck into a bin in the starboard cockpit locker. Blocking that gap with a rag has made all the difference in nighttime peace.

Different boats have a variety of strategies for putting companionway netting in place. Some use frames with netting, instead of the ordinary drop boards for closing the companionway completely, with the netting frames sliding into the same slots. Others folks use netting with Velcro on the edges. The frames seemed like too much trouble, especially for quick exits in a serious situation, and my experience with Velcro and netting is that the Velcro grabs the netting when it shouldn’t, and worse, opens up gaps in the weave when you pull it apart. But there were those handy slots, for drop boards that were not in place. It turns out that you can hang netting on a string fastened inside, across the top of the companionway hatch, put a flexible weight, in this case a coil of spare line, over the extra material at the bottom of the netting to pin it down, and then fill the slots on the side with pieces of foam “backer rod” to pinch the netting into the slots.

Backer rod comes from hardware stores, in a variety of diameters. It is made of soft foam, and is ordinarily used for filling gaps that are going to be caulked, so that you don’t need so much actual caulk for the job. It’s cheap, flexible, and easy to work with. With a bit of netting bunched up on the sides, and a little experimenting to find the perfect diameter of backer rod, it makes a very handy closure for the netting. It’s not much trouble to put in, and comes out instantly for quick exits.

On this boat, the top 6 inches of the vertical sides of the companionway have no slot. This was initially a problem, but Suzanne took a trip to the local department store and found oversized plastic clips that close onto the existing strip of wood. Voilà, a complete netting seal all the way around the perimeter of the companionway.

This whole routine might be too fussy for some folks, but it has seemed worth describing, in case some part of it is the perfect fit for somebody puzzling over this issue. I’ve found it easier than the alternatives, having tried several over time.

The forward window screen is a plastic frame that Theo made from scraps that had to do with the borders for plastic lattices, like those used to close off crawlspaces underneath porches and houses. Foam weatherstripping is attached around the outside edge, and makes a snug fit into the frame of the window, where it stays without any additional attachment.

The screen presses into place, and there is an eye strap screwed onto the inside face (hidden behind the rolled up curtain in the photo), to make a handle so it’s possible to get it back out of the window. It uses regular fabric no-see-um netting. I was worried about that being too fragile, especially when the screen is out of the window, being stored somewhere inside the boat. But it turns out that with moderate care it’s been fine, and the original netting is still holding up in this fourth year of sailing.

Then there is the question of mosquitoes while actually sailing. I’ve been pretty bitten in this situation also, especially coming late into a harbor, just as it gets dark. Footwear is good, as are pants and long sleeves, but sometimes this really isn’t enough. Last winter, browsing a stray catalog that showed up in the mail, I came across the perfect thing: a bug shirt! Marketed to people who go canoeing in the Boundary Waters of Minnesota – where they really know mosquitoes – it has netting for coolness along the sides, and a full hood with a netting front and zipper access, to cover one’s head and face. You wear a brimmed hat inside the hood, to hold the netting away from your face and neck (so the bugs can’t bite right through the netting), and gloves for your hands, and laugh at the mosquitoes.

One morning about a month ago I left a Gouldsboro Bay anchorage early, when it was still dark enough to need navigation lights. There was barely a breeze, and the mosquitoes knew it. The shirt was a fine thing – easier to manage than a mosquito headnet, with no worries about gaps at the collar. I’m an absolute convert. This is the one I got, but the same company has another one, and I’m sure there are others to be found elsewhere. As always, I’m not receiving anything for including this link… http://www.boundarywaterscatalog.com/all-products/browse/keyword/bug-shirt

So that’s about it for what I’ve learned about bug avoidance. I do like early spring and late fall sailing, for that time with no bugs, no netting, and neither bug-vigilance, nor itching. But since working out the various systems, that middle time of the sailing year has also been quite nice.

[Posted now in October, but mostly written sometime in August.]

Raincatching Revisited

18 Friday Sep 2015

Posted by shemaya in How Does This Work, Sailing the Farm

≈ 4 Comments

Raincatching arrangements on AUKLET have developed further since the last post on this subject, that went up a couple of years ago (http://sailingauklet.com/2013/06/28/sailing-the-farm-rain-catching/ ). Mainly, the process has become simpler, and in the average but not extreme rainstorm that we had last night and this morning it was very easy to collect about 5 gallons of water for drinking, washing, and plants. Here’s how it went:

A clean sheet of sturdy plastic, originally sold for putting underneath backpacking tents, was tied to the bulwarks in the cockpit, arranged to drain toward a low spot in the edge near the cabin. Sliding plastic tarp clips are really helpful with this – I’ve gotten them from Sailrite and also from a local “job lot” store in Holyoke. (Here’s an example, included for readers’ convenience. As always, I’m not receiving anything for sharing the reference: http://www.sailrite.com/EasyKlip-Midi-Black-Pkg-4#) Without clips, it’s easy enough to scrunch a corner of the plastic around a small something, like a pebble or a bottlecap, and then to tie a loop of string where the plastic gathers.

Still, the clips are easier if you can get them, especially for adding tension along a side edge.

Some tarp clips require poking a hole in the tarp and using significant pressure to close the clip, which is then hard to remove. That kind is good for high strain situations, like winter covers for a boat. These others slide closed, requiring no holes, and can be slid open to move or use elsewhere.

The sheet of plastic in this system is about 4′ x 3′. You would think that it would be too small to do much, but in this past storm when the rain really dumped for a little while, the arrangement collected 1/2 gallon of water in about 10 minutes. This piece of plastic was in fact left over from other uses, but it was not dirty, and is now dedicated specifically for raincatching, carefully dried and stored between uses so that it’s clean when needed. Being on the small side has made it a lot easier to manage, especially because it can be pulled taut between the bulwarks.

In setting up the plastic it’s helpful to put a small carabiner on each string that ties off to the bulwarks, so the carabiner attaches to the tarp clip, or to the loop of string tied to a corner. This way the whole business can be set up while everything is still dry, and then part of it can be unclipped for access to the cockpit, without messing up the fussy adjustments that will make the plastic drain correctly. In the spot on this boat where the plastic sets well, the forward end of the mizzen sail would ordinarily overhang and drip into the raincatching project, complete with salt from spray and whatever else is in the sail and all its parts. That would be bad! Fortunately, the position of the sail and its lower reefed bundle is adjustable, so the sail can be shifted back and clear of the water operation. The small size of the plastic sheet also helps with sorting this out.

Originally I had the idea that it would be useful to have a drain fitting in the plastic sheet, which could have tubing attached that could then be led directly into a container or tank. A 1/2 inch plastic mushroom through-hull fitting from one of the boat catalogs worked easily for doing this. However, as it turns out it’s much simpler to just let the water run off the edge of the plastic into a bucket, and then to transfer the water from the bucket into storage containers. One reason for this is that it’s a good thing if the plastic sheet is low, so that it doesn’t catch the wind. Being low also means that tying to the bulwarks works out just fine. In the end, this brings the drain too far down to be convenient for much of anything. Having the drain in the plastic, without any tubing, has been useful for a little bit of weight, and for keeping the plastic oriented over the bucket – but I don’t think I’d put one in just for that!

Another reason for guiding the water into a bucket and then transferring to containers is that there are are inevitably little specks of who knows what that end up in the water. Using a white bucket, it’s easy to see these. They generally settle to the bottom, and it’s possible to dip the water out, or to carefully pour it off. Either way this leaves the specks at the bottom of the bucket, with that last bit of water that gets poured out or saved aside for washing or for watering plants.

I’ve been using square three gallon buckets made of food-grade plastic, found on the Internet. It’s helpful that they are white (for keeping clean), and also that they are square (for easier storage and positioning for water catching), but one could of course use anything, so long as it had not previously been used for chemicals. Tofu buckets from a local tofu maker come to mind as another possibility… It’s helpful that the rain catching container is not too tall, and that it holds a few gallons. One could use a cooking pot, but the tiny pot that I carry on the boat would involve a lot more tending. As it is, I slept through two or three hours of last night’s rain, and during that time the 3 gallon bucket filled to overflowing – I probably lost quite a bit of water, but since I got more than enough as it was, this was not a problem.

Then there’s the issue of getting the water from the bucket into containers. During the night I transferred a half a gallon of water into a gallon jug, and a little while after that completely filled a two liter drinking water bottle, both done by pouring the water out of the bucket, using a plastic funnel to get it into the jugs. Later, snug in my berth and listening to the rain, I was thinking about how to add a drain to the side of a bucket, with a tube for filling containers. This was to avoid lifting the heavy bucket when it was completely full. In the morning, with the overflowing 3 gallons and no such arrangement, it worked to use a small cooking bowl to dip the water out and into the funnel, and it was surprisingly easy to fill each bottle. I’ve now completely discarded the drain and tubing idea, because the simple version with the bowl was so easy and quick.

It’s been interesting to note the difference between using the plastic sheet, and simply setting out buckets. There are three of these square buckets on the boat, dedicated to rain catching. In an absolute dumping rain that goes on and on, it’s possible to collect about four liters (1 gallon plus) of water just by setting out the three buckets. In the storm that had that kind of haul, it turned out that nearby measurements said that there had been 4 1/2 inches of rain! On the other hand, I’m guessing that this recent storm had something along the lines of a half inch to maybe an inch of rainfall, and with the plastic sheet, not counting the probably substantial overflow that was lost in the night, I ended up with 5 gallons of water. This has convinced me to no longer bother with setting out three buckets, with the fuss of drying and storing them afterwards. From now on I’ll go with the plastic sheet with the one bucket, knowing that it will quickly gather a lot more water.

Following up on the post from a couple of years ago, the outcome of the fabric raincatching sheet, with the special funnel sewn into it, was that it was not practical, at least on this small boat, and in use in the damp north. Hung high enough to stay off the cockpit benches it caught the wind badly, flogging like a sail and needing to be taken down, and it was a production to set up, with a boathook set crossways as a spreader and tied to the mizzen mast. Being larger, the arrangement did collect tremendous amounts of rain – 12 (twelve!) gallons in the big storm where I first used it, and that in the time before the wind made it necessary to stop. The fabric funnel worked beautifully, but it was fussy to keep the attached plastic tubing where it belonged, as the fabric lifted in the wind. In lighter rainfall, a good bit of water went into soaking the fabric, before any was actually collected. In either case, afterwards it was hard to dry the fabric properly, and even once dry, because it was cotton it tended to collect the dampness while stored. In the end, mildew was a problem, and I started working with the plastic sheet.

The other thing I’ve learned in the intervening time has to do with using rainwater for drinking. Basically, rainwater is distilled, with no minerals. Although there are holistic healthcare practitioners who recommend drinking only distilled water, there are also reports that doing this, whether from mechanical distillation and bought at the store, or from rainwater, can lead to health problems. Supposedly these issues mostly involve loss of calcium and other bone and teeth minerals.

The permaculture folks who are raincatching for drinking water suggest that putting crushed oyster shells in the bottom of the water container will take care of this issue, as the water will leach minerals from the shells, rather than later from one’s body. I’m looking toward doing something with shells, but haven’t yet. I’m assuming that broken up clamshells would work just fine, but I’m waiting for the opportunity to collect some from a clean beach. Lately I seem to be spending a tremendous amount of time in areas where the water is working-harbor brown, which has hindered this particular task. Since the boat water supplies alternate between rainwater and wellwater from shore, and I ordinarily take calcium/magnesium supplements, I’m hoping for the best, sans shells. In the meantime, the rainwater tastes great, and definitely feels better than anything from a chlorinated municipal supply.

So that’s the latest on raincatching. This recent effort is the easiest it’s ever been, and it feels like the system is a keeper. It’s a great thing to have the water supplies all in order, without any outside assistance. Now I’m inspired to get back to growing more vegetables…

[Written about a week ago; now it’s been sunny and hot for days…]

Report

04 Tuesday Aug 2015

Posted by shemaya in How Does This Work, Trips

≈ 11 Comments

Well, I’m here to say that, in case anybody wondered, having a first and in-depth experience of shingles while cruising singlehanded on a small boat is an absolutely terrible idea! On the other hand, having that experience present itself in the neighborhood of a friendly and supportive harbor and community really helps a lot.

Shingles is a follow-up to childhood chickenpox, endured by some of the people who had chickenpox, generally sometime after they get to the age of perhaps starting to think about reading glasses. It is something to do with herpes, affecting nerves and skin, as well as muscles associated with nerves. It’s not a nice time, but you get a lot of sympathy. In all the assorted health experiences I’ve had, in telling people this or that I have never heard so many emphatic exclamations of “OH NO!” as I have during the last two weeks, followed by complete understanding of whatever is going on to try to make it better, and offers to help. Though it’s been a difficult time, it’s also been very heartwarming, and the kindness from everybody, from total strangers to an assortment of friends, has made the whole process easier than it might have been.

This event got into gear just as I arrived in Belfast, planning to be here for three days or so, meeting up with Suzanne on her way to and then from Gouldsboro. It’s now been two weeks, and thoughts of departure are becoming more realistic. For a person who prefers holistic medecine, Belfast is ideal as a place to land during a healthcare situation. There are quite a number of holistic healthcare practitioners, as well as folks with thoughts on whom to recommend. Two of those practitioners came to the dock to make boat calls, for which I am enormously grateful; those visits resulted in a nice range of possible treatments in addition to what I was already doing.

All of this brings to mind the larger subject of illness or injury while solo cruising. I still have thoughts of Newfoundland, and this issue of possible incapacity is the one that slows that idea down the most. The bottom line is, would I be willing to live somewhere for an extended amount of time during a recovery process, far from people who know and care about me and my well-being? Two or three weeks is not such a big awful deal, but what if it was a few months? A year? My new long-term residence? Being a person who does not travel easily at the best of times, other than in one or another rather unique boat, the question is real. How much am I willing to risk, in order to go sailing? To sail far?

Risk is inherent to everything – to life itself, as well as to any venture in a boat. But one measures, holding the possibilities alongside one another. Having shingles on a small boat can make a person really wish to be at home on land, being taken care of, with all of the comfort that both of those imply. During the worst of it, I seriously considered that we could take the boat out of the water right here on the adjacent ramp, and I could ride home by road to our new place in Gouldsboro, an hour and a half away, and say “enough.” The situation eased, and I’m glad to still be on the boat, but it does get you thinking.

As it is, I am now close enough to seaworthy to be ready to give it a try. With luck I will go across to Holbrook Island, outside of Castine, and continue recovering in the peaceful stillness of the surrounding woods and rocks. Sometime after that I hope to be working my way east, back toward Gouldsboro.

In the meantime, my heartfelt thanks go to each one of the many people who have helped during this extraordinary time.

[Posted from the cove at Holbrook Island, a few days after the initial writing.]

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Following are some of the strategies for shingles that I’ve found. It is important to note that I am not a healthcare practitioner, and these are not recommendations; what I have done, or thought about doing, or learned along the way, are all included as food for thought for readers in doing their own research.

Clay packs – In my experience, clay packs both help the blisters to dry up, and are soothing for that bizarre skin nerve pain that is part of shingles. I put some clay in a container, add enough water so that when it is all absorbed it makes a soft paste, put on skin, cover with plastic so it doesn’t dry out, keep on for 15 minutes to an hour, whatever feels good. It gets removed gently, with water and/or a moist washcloth. It’s messy, but plastic sheets are useful, and the clay cleans up easily. Clay for doing this sort of thing can be found in natural food stores, or ordered online. This one is my personal favorite (I’m including this link for readers’ convenience, and am not receiving anything for posting it or any other references on this blog):
Pascalite Superfine Powder, found by scrolling down on this page: http://www.pascalite.com/Prod.htm (For skin that’s tender, the “superfine” is likely to feel more gentle, and soothing.)

Shingles Rescue Plus, made by Peaceful Mountain
http://store.peacefulmountain.com/products/shingles-rescue-plus (also available from many other suppliers) – this is a water-based gel that includes both homeopathic and herbal ingredients. It is fragrant, which was problematic for me, so I only used it for one day, but it was very soothing.

Lemon balm (Latin name: Melissa officinalis) – there are a number of products available for shingles that include this herb. It is also available as loose, dried leaves, at natural food stores in the bulk herbs section, or online. The loose herb can be made into a tea which can be drunk, and/or applied to the skin. The plant is in the mint family, so it’s a question whether it is appropriate for use at the same time as homeopathic remedies. Anybody considering using this herb might want to do some in-depth research – there are mentions of thyroid considerations, perhaps among others.

Homeopathy – I like homeopathy best; for many reasons it suits me well. Choice of particular homeopathic remedies depends upon the characteristics of the individual. For intense problems, for example shingles, I believe it’s best to find a skilled homeopath for guidance.

Magnesium oil – this is magnesium chloride in water, called “oil” because it feels oily, like the greasy feeling of sea salt that has dried on the surfaces of a boat. Magnesium is important to a wide array of cellular functions, and can be absorbed through the skin. I ordinarily use this stuff to help with muscle cramps. One aspect of shingles can be what feels like intense muscle pain, quite similar to the feeling of having pulled or otherwise strained a muscle. According to the medical folks, this is actually a nerve problem and not the muscle itself, but since I usually use magnesium oil for muscle strains, I used it for this and it seemed to help. Later, when the blisters got going, it was too irritating, but it was good in the early part of the overall process. This is my personal favorite, but there are others available too: http://www.amazon.com/Ancient-Minerals-Magnesium-Oil-oz/dp/B001AD0HL8

Seawater – especially as a cool compress using a washcloth. This feels outstanding at the time, including where there are blisters, and seems to help with reducing skin discomfort later on in the day or evening – I’ve tried for doing it twice a day. There’s a lot of magnesium in seawater, along with many other minerals. There are also microscopic bits in seawater that I’ve been learning about recently, called phages, that apparently go after bacteria and viruses. Nothing but good, if it’s true!

Raw honey, applied topically, is mentioned for shingles in a number of online sources – I didn’t do this, because it’s messy, and would have been difficult to manage over such a wide skin area while on the boat. Otherwise I would have tried it, using Manuka honey, which is said to be particularly good for treating wounds and burns. Honey is completely liquid at body temperature, so when used for a skin treatment it needs to be contained somehow, either with bandages, or maybe plastic.

EFT (Emotional Freedom Techniques), brain retraining exercises, and basic breath work – each of these has also been very helpful. Resources on everything except the breath work are described and referenced elsewhere in this blog, and can be found by using the search box in the upper right part of the page.

There are of course mainstream Western medicine approaches to shingles, including antiviral medication, and now a vaccine to increase chances of preventing it in the first place. There are also other holistic treatments not discussed here (acupuncture comes to mind). As everybody says: check with your doctor!

Shingles is a wild experience, and a wide array of approaches for getting through it can be helpful… I wish anybody who needs this information the very, very best in a speedy recovery.

Solar Hot Water

21 Tuesday Jul 2015

Posted by shemaya in How Does This Work, the boat

≈ 2 Comments

The boat carries a propane camp stove, but I hardly ever use it. If the charcoal heater stove runs to warm up the cabin, it works just as well to heat water, or food. When the weather is warm enough that the heater stove doesn’t run, I still like to drink hot water when I can get it. This is along the lines of tea, but without the teabag. Typically I’ve missed this treat, once the weather warms up in the summer. Then along came the solar hot water heater…

Some time ago somebody figured out how to make glass cylinders that are useful for heating water using sunlight. The cylinders are long and thin, with an inner wall and an outer wall, with a vacuum space between the walls, like for a thermos. The inner wall of the glass is colored dark red, with the coloring in the glass itself, for better heat absorption in sunlight. These plain glass tubes are available on their own, for those inclined to start from scratch. But there is also a commercial version of solar hot water heater that uses these tubes, and already has a plastic support/storage housing, a screw on cap with a soft plug that fits into the top of the glass tube, and reflector panels on hinges, neatly arranged with a stiff wire stand. The plastic bits aren’t the most well-made things in the world, but they work, which is quite good enough.

The glass tube holds about 16 ounces of water, and in a good summer sun it’ll have water scalding hot in two hours. I haven’t bothered to fiddle with a thermometer on this, but there is serious steam, and the water is hot enough that you have to worry about a significant burn, if you were to spill it on yourself. It’s good to be careful, when opening the lid!

My experience with this gadget has been between Connecticut and Maine, covering latitudes in the low 40s, from mid-spring through mid-fall. For folks closer to the equator I expect it would be even faster, and for those farther north it would be interesting to see what the limits might be. With occasional clouds, or high, thin cloud cover, it still works. It helps to adjust the angle, early or late in the day (or season), by propping the wire stand on a cushion, so that the cylinder is not at such a broad angle to the sun. It also helps to fiddle with the position side to side, so the sun has a good angle that way. But really, it’s not that particular – I’ve forgotten about it, and come back some time later, and had good, hot water, in spite of less than perfect orientation. After four hours, the water is much too hot to drink, but would probably make quite good tea.

I’ve now bought two of these – being glass, I’ve wanted to have a backup, in case of the inevitable. With the first one, the soft rubbery stuff in the plug arrived with quite a strong smell, and I was not hopeful. We left it to sit, open, for several months and it improved quite a bit. Then, after some use, it stopped leaving a bad taste in the water. This settling-in time is one of the reasons that I got the second one, so that it would have time to air out, in case the glass in the first one came to a bad end. From the same company, the second one did not smell nearly as bad, so perhaps they received feedback and changed the material. At any rate, it seems better.

According to reviews, some people have actually put soup and other food into these cookers, but I have not been inclined to do that, because being so long and narrow I think that cleaning up could be difficult. Just using this gadget for hot water has more than earned its place on the boat, and whenever temperatures are too warm for the heater stove, and the weather allows, it can be seen on AUKLET’s deck making quick and easy hot water.

Here are the sources I used for looking at the plain tubes, and to get the finished version (as always, I am not receiving anything for including these references):
complete hot water heater:
http://www.amazon.com/Portable-Water-Heater-SunRocket-Sunlight/dp/B0098IW9JU
plain tube:
http://www.amazon.com/Solar-Evacuated-Vacuum-Prepper-Rand/dp/B00LXB1F36/ref=pd_sim_86_5?ie=UTF8&refRID=0DXSX5177ZRFCWJT69K9

Telltale Compass

25 Thursday Jun 2015

Posted by shemaya in How Does This Work, the boat

≈ 4 Comments

A telltale compass is designed to be mounted overhead, and read from underneath. The idea is to mount it over your berth, so that the heading of the boat can be easily checked, whether at anchor or underway. I gazed at one of these, in a catalog, for years. They’re not cheap, and there seems to be no such thing as a lightweight, less fancy plastic version, at least that I could find.

A couple of years ago, in the middle of the winter with my birthday coming up, I was encouraged to go ahead and get that nice brass version, to put in the Chebacco. That encouragement was all it took, and it was my birthday present to myself, for the grand old age of 55. The next summer we mounted it in the boat, and I’ve been blessing it ever since.

At anchor, it’s nice to be able to look up, and see if the boat has swung to a new direction with the change of tide. This lets you know that it’s a good time to sit up and look out the windows, to check that the anchor is indeed holding in the new direction. Having the telltale compass, there is no need to sit up just to find out whether or not the boat has swung, or to go through contortions to read the kayak compass that I used to set on the head cabinet for the same reason.

Underway it’s even better. When the boat is being steered by the autopilot, or by the adjusted sails, it’s easy to keep tabs on how that’s going, moment to moment. When resting, out to sea, the telltale compass is particularly helpful. If the autopilot is struggling, it’s easy to know way before the characteristic sounds of a wandering course become obvious. Steering with the sails, there are even fewer auditory cues before things go completely to bits, with unintended tacks or gybes. Keeping track by just looking up at the compass goes a long way toward preventing all of that, as well as providing assurance that the boat is generally on course, in a safe direction. One of these days I will be sailing with crew again, and it will be nice to be able to check on progress in that situation in the same way.

It’s important to say here that distance single-handed sailing, involving resting without keeping a proper visual watch on deck or out the windows, is not the best of good seamanship. A telltale compass is no substitute for keeping a proper watch, and neither are the electronics mentioned in the previous post. Compromises are made, in the process of resting while sailing single-handed. One does one’s best to minimize the additional risks, but I’m not here to recommend the practice. There are plenty of other people sailing distances alone, and the benefits are compelling, for those who are drawn to it, but there’s no arguing that it’s really a good idea. Still, good equipment helps. This compass has made a real difference, for me, in this process.

On the practical level, the compass that I’m talking about is this one: https://www.celestaire.com/compasses/dirigo-telltale-compass-detail.html

The one shown in this link has a beautiful black and white card, but the one I received has a blue card with much plainer white printing. I’m aesthetically disappointed, but it works just fine, and perhaps they did it that way because it is indeed easier to read.

The compass comes with no index mark, I assume to provide flexibility with mounting. I tried using it for a little while just trying to line up the degree markers generally, to the gap between the screws in the mounting ring, but the results felt fuzzy indeed. A little while later I cut a triangular pointer out of a piece of masking tape and stuck it on, aiming for a position parallel to the centerline of the boat. It was quite striking, what a difference it made in being able to identify just the heading that the boat was on. The light color of the masking tape shows up fairly well in the dark, and though I had ideas that it was just temporary, to try out the idea, it’s working just fine and is likely to stay.

The black bracket is actually bronze, which we confirmed when drilling larger holes for 1/4 inch screws for mounting. We through-bolted the bracket, using flathead machine screws through the top of the cabin. The originally provided holes in the bracket allow for fasteners that seem rather small, for something so heavy positioned right over your sleeping self.

That’s about it, for this handy piece of equipment. Somebody looking for a business opportunity could probably make out quite well producing a less fancy version of telltale compass. Sailors (and power boaters for that matter) with any kind of sleeping accommodations could make very good use of it. In the meantime, there’s the beautiful brass version, and I’m ever so happy that it’s now part of this boat.

Gone to Sea

21 Sunday Jun 2015

Posted by shemaya in How Does This Work, the boat, Trips

≈ 10 Comments

Lately I’ve become quite fond of “passage making” – going from point A to point B relatively directly, without overnight stops. Just like anything, the more you do it, the more you get adjusted to the process, and the various requirements. Since leaving the Connecticut River this year, I’ve now done this twice (plus a few more passages in previous years), and I’m happy to say that I’m now presently in Penobscot Bay, Maine, after a surprisingly short amount of time.

The first set of overnights in this trip started with a run from the south shore of Cape Cod, where I had been spending some time in Cotuit Bay (hooray for sailing with Amanda and Alaina!)
After that it was off around the outside of the Cape, eventually ending up in Cohasset, which is on the south shore of Boston. Doing this trip around the outside of Cape Cod took three nights and the better part of four days, mostly because I had the idea to start with a north wind. That was ideal for leaving from Cotuit, and for going east, out the channel between Cape Cod and Nantucket, but then there would be a pause, expecting little progress, while waiting for the wind shift. The idea was that the south wind due to arrive on the following day would then be good for the run north. I didn’t count on getting seasick, once outside of Nantucket sound! It was a bit of a strong wind, and there was a bit of a boisterous sea.

A relatively strong wind is a good thing, especially in a tricky passage (“passage” also means a path between assorted obstacles), with shoals nearby. The last thing you want is not enough wind, and a current pushing the boat somewhere it doesn’t belong. As it turned out, given the strong wind and seas, the only viable option on that first night was to go southeast, eventually about 35 miles out. This was away from Nantucket Shoals, but a little far in the wrong direction. Somehow, all that open water, with all those waves, was more disconcerting than usual, and my stomach registered deep protest. Ah well – thank goodness for homeopathic remedies for motion sickness, already on the boat, generally there for crew. And for oyster crackers, which were eventually quite sustaining.

By the next morning the sea had settled down, my stomach was improving, and in that peaceful time between the end of the north wind and the beginning of the one from the south, there were whales, and porpoises, and even a close up visit from two basking sharks! These are enormous, but make their living by eating plankton, swimming slowly with no aggression whatsoever. Still, it does get one’s attention.

There were thoughts of going into Provincetown, but by the time we were around the top enough to turn the corner toward the south, the wind was again rather wild, and tacking against those seas and the tide was yielding no success. Night was coming again, and the alternative, sailing slowly across the 25 miles to Cohasset, would generate plenty of time for rest, with an arrival well after it got light again in the morning. This is indeed what we did, “we” being myself, the boat, and the electronic companions.

Traffic is the biggest worry, when it comes to getting rest as a solo sailor. There is the issue of rocks, and land, but those are fixed, and avoidable, with proper planning and care, and enough distance off. It’s the other boats, that can show up at any moment, that need to be constantly watched for. The electronics now on this boat are great about providing notice well in advance of almost any traffic. Ships and ferries, and high-speed whale watch boats, as well as some commercial fishing boats and some recreational vessels, show up on the AIS (for more on AIS, see this post from last year: http://sailingauklet.com/2014/01/11/ais/ ).

Over this past winter we also installed a Mer Veille radar detector (more in an upcoming post). This gadget uses minimal electricity, and beeps enthusiastically whenever somebody else’s radar signal reaches its antenna. Most any other traffic on the open water, especially at night, or in low-visibility conditions, is running radar, so there is good warning if anybody is out there. Commercial fishing vessels, particularly, are now well-announced.

Between the two of these pieces of equipment, I’ve become much more comfortable with taking naps at sea. Even better, when the weather is rather lousy there’s hardly anybody out there anyway. Going across the north edge of Cape Cod Bay, the ferry to Provincetown appeared a couple of times on the AIS, passing at about 6 miles away, and that was it for the entire night. I’m sure this was aided by the forecast of 4 to 7 foot seas, which was in fact happening for the first part of the night. But the boat did well, oriented at about 50° to the wind, as if hove-to but set up to sail forward at about one knot, going gradually west. I got some rest, and then in the morning, after a somewhat false start trying to get into Scituate, ran downwind to Cohasset. The only complication was my pants trying to fall off, coming into the harbor, because I hadn’t realized just how much weight I had lost in the last few days, and neglected to do something about a belt!

During those days at sea I thought, oh now I’ve probably had about enough of this passage thing. From here on, it’s harbors at night. But of course by a few days after that, and some nice rest, and reflecting on the whales and pelagic seabirds (nevermind the sharks), it all didn’t seem so bad. I started to think that if I would just choose my weather a little more conservatively, I might just like to do it again. From Cohasset it was a day’s ride across Massachusetts Bay to the islands southwest of Gloucester, and crossing Massachusetts Bay I found myself with that itch to just go out to sea. The weather wasn’t right for it, at the time, and I was due for some more rest, but it was interesting to see that that was how it felt. In the meantime, it was nice to be in the islands.

A couple of days later there was another long sailing day around the outside of Cape Ann and up to Portsmouth, New Hampshire, where I met Suzanne for supplies, had some more rest, and waited on the weather.
The approaching wind wasn’t as strong as that last rather wild run (no 25’s in the steady-wind forecast!), and it all seemed like a rather nice idea to head straight for the middle of the Maine coast. First thing Monday morning, off we went.

The only downside of avoiding the strong wind is that sometimes, instead, you get no wind at all. The second day out from Portsmouth, about 15 miles south of Damariscove Island, we spent pretty much the whole day floating around in the fog, in roughly the same spot.

The Coast Guard even came to visit, having seen us out there for so long, to check that everything was okay. They were happy to know that things were fine, asked if I had a float plan, and somebody on shore keeping track of whether I was arriving as expected, and sounded relieved when I said that yes I did, and that I had a satellite phone, and reported in morning and evening. Off they went, and a couple of hours later, just before dark, the breeze started to come up. The fog disappeared, the boat started moving, and the horizon took on that gorgeous sharp edge that comes with newly clear air and the sun getting low.

We sailed through the night, and just before dawn were off of Monhegan Island. There was some more fog, but between the GPS, the compass, and the sounds of the buoys, we found our way, comforted to see the lights on the buoys appear where they were expected, even though the fog hid them until we were pretty close. As the dawn started to barely come up, the wind shifted northwest, and with our goal of Tenants Harbor it was a bit of a slog against the last of the outgoing tide, but very beautiful as the fog again cleared away. There had been quite a bit of rain, in those previous days, and in the dark you could smell the islands, wet evergreens, coming across on the breeze. What a sweet way to arrive home.

Now, here I am, moving to Maine – and landed. There’s still a trip from this harbor here in Penobscot Bay over to Gouldsboro, on the far side of Acadia National Park. With some consistent wind this could be done in about three days, with overnight stops in lovely places. Or one could go straight through, perhaps arriving in about 24 hours, if the wind blew just so. For now it’s resting, and visiting, and waiting for the next bit of weather to go by. It’s been a tremendous trip so far, including all those nights at sea, and I’m enormously pleased, by all of it.

2015 Launch: One more time!

03 Sunday May 2015

Posted by shemaya in How Does This Work, Trips

≈ 4 Comments

Yesterday, May 2, Melissa and Richard came to Holyoke with their truck. Next thing you know, the loaded boat was trailing behind that truck down the street toward Connecticut. A few minutes after that, Suzanne and I, with our wonderful helper Amanda, were off in the van, all of us headed for the boat ramp in Deep River, Connecticut, about an hour’s drive south of Holyoke.

In the parking lot at the Deep River town ramp the last bits of stuff went in the boat, and the masts went up.

Suzanne and Richard, mainmast going up

Richard and Melissa finish stepping the mainmast

Warren had been busy processing honey, and brought one of the frames with the last bits left in it – big treat!

Amanda and I settled in the cockpit, Melissa drove the trailer into the water, and when the boat floated free we used the little electric motor to back out into the Connecticut River. The tide was high around 1100, just before we did this, so the current was slack, and the breeze calm, making it easy to maneuver the 200 yards to our destination. By ten minutes later we were snug at Warren’s dock.

In a couple of days Amanda and her sister will be back to help with the rigging – I expect to be here for a week or so, getting things in order. It’s a beautiful spot, and this early in the season there’s not too much traffic, even with this lovely bit of warm, sunny weather. Leaves are just barely starting to come out, but the flowering bushes and trees in town were beautiful on the way in, farther along than anything at home in Holyoke.

This year’s departure has been different from previous ones. I spent most of the winter sorting, giving away, and making a dent in packing the remainder of the somewhat ridiculous collection of stuff in my apartment. If all goes something like according to plan, this time next year will see a spring launch in Maine. In the meantime, it’s lovely to be floating so early in the season, and I’m looking forward to watching the leaves come out, and gradually working my way north.

The forward rake of the mainmast, especially noticeable in these two pictures, has to do with the junk rig, and helping the mainsail swing out when running downwind.

Many thanks to Amanda and Suzanne for the photos!

Sailing AUKLET

~ Small sailboat cruising and related thoughts

Category Archives: How Does This Work

r2ak go/no go…

Safety Tethers Update

Ashore for the Winter

Dealing with Insects

Raincatching Revisited

Report

Solar Hot Water

Telltale Compass

Gone to Sea

2015 Launch: One more time!