Friday, March 2, 2012

A thousand miles of wisdom.


There have been a great many moments of doubt among us; not just the crew of Ardea, but many of those close to us. The latter sometimes implicit but more often duly expressed. Quite understandable. Experience we lacked. But now, at anchor in Bahia Magdalena, having sailed over a thousand nautical miles from Ardea's old slip at Berkeley Marina, we have a bit more of that magical stuff. As with most of my exploits to date, to learn more has meant to accept that the process of uncovering new knowledge, asking new questions, solving new problems has only just begun. With this in mind, and humbly, we reflect on the experience that we all now possess and look back on what went well and what did not.

It will come as no surprise to those who have read our earlier posts to this blog when I say that things began on the rougher side. The challenges of preparing the boat were great but were only a portion of the tasks that beleaguered the crew prior to departure. Each of us had our own things to attend to as well- cars to sell (or, in Dana's case, cars to park on family members' lawns), bills to pay. The uprooting of one's life is a heavily involved process. Then there was time to spend with family and friends that are like family. None of us left much time for the preparation of our own minds. As much as I would like to think that I had been working on that for years, the adjustment period, when it finally came, was tangible to say the least. Combine all of that with poor weather and engine trouble on our first day out... like I said- there were a great many moments of doubt in those first days.

With each trial came triumph as we meandered down the coast. Certainly a great many of those issues could have been avoided had we performed our engine service earlier and had more sea-time before our actual departure. Our shake-down sail to Drake's Bay went all too well but we modified the boat significantly since then and we would have benefited from more sailing before we left. Little things like figuring out just how much of our stuff would fly across the cabin when we heel and getting ahead on the constant re-configuration of our cabin to find the optimal arrangement of the things we access most.

It took a while to get our dinghy and ditch bag situated properly. I might also add in that vein that after sailing so much with the inflated dinghy on the cabin top, I am considering looking into a canister life raft in La Paz or Puerto Vallerta. It would be much nicer to have our dinghy rolled up. It would still have to be out for lack of space elsewhere, but when we're in port and the dinghy is in the water, the boat feels much bigger outside. I think we all agree that it would be a great improvement to have more open space on the cabin top while under way, especially as the weather gets warmer.

We have all been challenged to find ways to pass the time under way as well. We anticipated this one and brought some games, art supplies, many books (some paper, but we have two kindles on board and, thanks to our friend Joe, an extensive electronic library, which as been wonderful) and instruments. But even with these at our disposal, it has taken time to determine how and when they are best utilized while sailing. The weather- mainly the swell- dictates a great deal about what can be accomplished with reasonable comfort, so it was not trivial to figure out what to do with the sudden abundance of free time that we all have. The most difficult thing for me was to slow down my whole being. Coming from the urban environment, the lifestyle of the full-time job with innumerable hobbies to upkeep, it was tough to adjust at first to being confined to a thirty-one foot boat that is itself moving no more than about ten miles per hour. But once that slow-down happened, and we ceased to consider running the engine, even if sail power forced us to be content with three or four knots for hours on end, it became easier to pass time. Above all else, we read books. For me it is a mix of novels, old textbooks and books pertinent to cruising. And it has been fantastic. So, sure, we sometimes get a little too aware of the ticking of the clock on passages, but for the most part, we make do. As one might imagine, to sit and watch the sun or the stars or the luminous trail of angry plankton in the bow wake or astern is therapeutic.

Goodnight, old friend. The sunsets don't get old...
All of this comes more naturally as one learns to live at sea. And, thankfully, general living at sea quickly becomes easier. One learns to move with the swell without much thought and to sleep whenever Ardea will allow it. Waking up in the middle of the night for watch is really not very taxing after a while. In addition to finding entertainment, we've become better at cooking, cleaning and fixing things as we sail. We also learn to appreciate things that we might not have thought would be so glorified.

Perhaps the top of that list is adorned with Purple Drink. My older brother was kind enough to set us up with a hefty ration of Clif products. Our ditch bag is well stocked with Clif bars of many kinds- a very compact source of calories in the event of an emergency- but, our favorite of these things has been the drink powder. I would never have thought how quickly we would pour through the Clif shot electrolyte mix, but having a flavorful drink is highly appreciated and it's surprising how useful the electrolytes have been. We've all by now read Kon-Tiki by Thor Heyerdahl- a fantastic story of six men who sail a traditional balsa raft from Peru to French Polynesia half a century ago- and recall how in the book they talk about mixing a bit of sea water in their drinking water to better quench their thirst. To them, too, it was hard to believe that their bodies needed more salt given the crusty layer covering their skin. Of course, we're quite on the fancy side of the spectrum, with a prime mix of various salts with a glorious berry flavoring- a welcome change from water and coffee. It works quite nicely. We have lemonade flavor, too, which is pretty good, but we prefer the “Razzmatazz”. We decided that by naming it lemonade and thus setting up the mind to expect something that tastes like lemonade, it's hard not to be a bit disappointed. Whereas Razzmatazz tastes exactly like razzmatazzberries. Even so, Yellow Drink and Purple Drink are the preferred nomenclature on Ardea.

Sporting sweet new shades and, finally legal in
 Mexican waters, flying Old Glory proud.
I must also thank my brother, Tyler, for the sunglasses. I broke my old Kaenons under a haphazardly placed bootstep last spring in the desert and it was heartbreaking. They had given me many years of good service and I wore them constantly. Alas, just before we left, he gifted two new pairs of the top dollar sunglasses. I really cannot describe how critical they are. I suppose it has been a long time since I wore any other brand, but the polarization on Kaenons is amazing. It makes a huge difference on the water. Dana and I were practicing the art of calling puffs (gusts of wind...) from the cabintop and it was ridiculous how superior the view of the wind on the water was with the glare taken out by those lenses. I will take very good care of these. Thanks, Tyler!

The next thing that we all have found indispensable is our salt-water pump. We do all of our cleaning and at least some of our cooking with sea water, so to be able to pump it out at the galley sink is incredibly useful. That said, this is one of the several features of sailboat cruising that defies Chittick and my upbringing. Call us dinghy sailors, but starboard tack has always been the more emotionally comfortable. Now, though, the virtues of both tacks on Ardea have become more clear.

It is a conflicting set of trade-offs. On port, the thru-hull that picks up salt water for our sink and for the toilet stays more consistently submerged, which makes it much easier to pump. On the other hand, the galley is on port, so a starboard tack means leeward cupboards. Even the most organized cruiser must know the joys of the leeward cupboard. It's also a bit easier to cook when the galley is downhill and things are much more likely to remain inside our port-side closet. But then, back on port tack, the view from the companionway is less obstructed by sails, making those late-night watches, when crawling about the cockpit is undesirable, that much easier. The head is quite a bit more comfortable on a port tack as well. There are many such quirks and subtleties to cruising that have identified themselves this last month. Of course, in the end, those regarding the particular direction of heel are of little consequence, since we aren't going to gybe for their sake. Nevertheless, we've got ample time to note and debate these mutually exclusive virtues, and it's been novel to be sure.

Another interesting adjustment to the cruising life has been learning to identify things in red. At night the cabin is typically very dark. More and more we turn in with the sun and the person on watch uses red light to keep his eyes adjusted to darkness. It can be surprisingly hard to see objects in the cabin when doused in red light- especially in our two gear hammocks, which are veritable black-holes of equipment, food and personal effects. Perhaps the most comical instance of confusion doused in rouge came a few weeks back when I was on a crepuscular watch: I wrote in the log book in red pen at dusk and, after dark, adorned with red head-lamp, I wrote over the previous log in black pen because the red pen was then indistinguishable on the page. None of us noticed until the next day, when it was worth a good laugh.

On a similar note, the day-sailor is much less likely to take note of the various creeks and bangs of their craft. But, with the inherent difficulties of sleeping while pitch and yaw continually impress upon us their complete ranges, it behooves us to seek and destroy as many errant noises as possible. We keep a bottle of WD40 handy (thanks, Dad!) for just such a purpose and more than once have I been roused from inadequate slumber to venture on deck in my britches armed with that sprayer attacking goosenecks and blocks. Spare bungie chords (thanks, Grammy!) are essential to this purpose as well.

It is of paramount importance to reduce chafing and rubbing, not just for the comfort of our auditory environment, but because even the smallest such interactions become amplified under such constant use. The moving parts of our vessel have been exercised since our departure far more than they had in the entire year prior, and I sailed in the Bay as much as I could! At this stage, we have bungies holding sheet blocks up so they don't slap the deck in lulls, lines tied to reduce chafing on cabintop, steering housing and sails.

A few more of our favorites: the pressure cooker has been indispensable. We use it all the time and not only does it save us propane, but its locking lid makes for safer, cleaner cooking. Ah, and of course, our self-steering systems. At long last they have names. The first to be adorned was the electric wheel pilot, Quasimodo. He was so-named mainly because he only quasi-steers, and, while we must use him when under motor power, he bares the brunt of a great deal of criticism. The windvane, keeping with the Hunchback of Notre Dame theme, is called Esmerelda, for she is a great beauty. I'm afraid though, Esmerelda can be a bit vain and must be treated well. Unlike Quasi, Ezzy does not respond well to abusive language, and can throw fits if blamed for what she considers the fault of a lack of breeze or an unruly swell. She also prefers not to work with Quasi out of his storage box, for it upsets her peculiar sensibilities. In the end, we all get along quite nicely though and Ardea, being the wiser and more mild-mannered of the whole of her crew, maintains her course very well in spite of it all.

Land's End at Cabo San Lucas- now a few cruisers
are a bit more seasoned.
As expected, we've traded in our old set of challenges for entirely new ones. We've adjusted surprisingly quickly, though, and are all quite comfortable with our passages at this point. Of course, our longest passage to date has only been about four days, but, with a number of these under our belts, we're gaining that experience slowly but surely. In the coming months, we will no doubt continue to learn and grow as cruisers. After all, if we are to make our goal of reaching New Zealand, we've got about another seven thousand nautical miles over which to practice.

Ardea at anchor in Bahia San Lucas, constantly barraged by wakes,
but only a stone's throw from the ridiculous party that is Cabo San Lucas.

4 comments:

  1. Let me be the first to say, "what a wonderful posting of your journey". We adults do tend to worry about our offspring when they go off on adventuress. This thoughtful post, which describes well your daily life, reminds me of the many, many jaunts I took. Often I was much less prepared than you three, yet I managed to survive.

    Thank you so much for sharing with us, on land, your adventures.
    xoxo
    Leah (Dana's Berkeley Auntie)

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  2. I enjoyed reading your blog post on my boat in the Berkeley Marina. Thanks for posting!

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  3. Thanks to Dana's uncle David for turning me on to your site. My husband and I ended a five-year cruise in June 2011, and most of the cruising blogs I've been following have also landed again, so I'm looking forward to your voyage of discovery. I think it took us a little longer than it did you to discover the joys of flavored tank water. ;)
    Safe passage!
    Shirlee

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