More light - Less Energy - Adios!

Conserving energy is important once Ardea goes off grid and becomes a self-sufficient, floating community. We currently have two 12 volt batteries that act as both our house bank (cabin lights, running lights, water pumps) and our starter battery (for the engine). The batteries are connected to a isolator switch, allowing us to select one battery at a time, essentially giving us two “battery banks.” In theory we should never have two dead batteries. In practice this isnt always the case and, from Connor's previous post, you know we have had two power-less nights. While we need to check the wiring and potentially buy new batteries we are also working on conserving energy via LED light bulbs.

Ardea was built in 1973, pre- LED. While incandescent bulbs provide a nice light for reading, they draw a large amount of power and provide a relatively low amount of light. For example, the overhead light in the cabin before we switched over to an LED version was a 20 watt bulb...

Connor bought new LEDs and a problem presented itself, we wanted to use the old light fixtures for the new bulbs and they didn't fit. Solution: make an adapter for the new LED bulbs that allowed us to screw them into the old fixture and more importantly use the light switches already in place.

Since we no longer needed our incandescent bulbs we decided to use the base of those bulbs as our adapter and modify the wiring to fit the LEDs.

Step 1: Break our old light bulbs:

Step 2: Solder in two new wires, one ground and one hot:

Step 3: Attach the bayonet style fixture to the new wires:

Step 4: Mix an epoxy with a high fill content to make the unit solid:

Step 5: A much brighter cabin!

Adios USA!

Cetacean sensation

By the end of our stay in Morro Bay we had fallen into a pretty comfortable routine. We were blessed with a short row to shore, as the gracious crew of Diane Susan let us tie up our dinghy on their dock so we didn't have to row to the public dock. Actually, they were more generous than that. After we ran into them again at the grocery store, they let us throw our provisions in the back of their truck so we didn't have to haul it back. And the night before we left, they provided some valuable local insight on the weather and the passage around Point Conception in addition to a tour of their awesome fishing trawler. As always, we were happy to make some friends and the folks in Morro Bay were incredibly warm. We'll certainly miss that place and all the sea otters floating about reminding us that it makes no sense to cut down trees to build tables when we have perfectly good tummies.

We pulled the hook at about 1100 on Thursday February 2^nd and motored out to a decent northerly breeze. The forecast was for 10 to 20 knots with gusts to 25 and an 8 to 11 foot swell at 15 seconds off Point Conception. We hoped to be past the point in the late evening when seas were supposed to dissipate. It went swimmingly. The swell was certainly a bit uncomfortable on that stretch with distinct sets coming from the northwest and the west sometimes combining for a bumpy ride. But we had great wind and made around 8 knots for much of the day.

Pelican friend. Reminds us of pal Zac.

That night, our first in Southern California, the wind died and, unbeknownst to us, our batteries followed suit. I tried to start the engine at about 0200 after we'd only made 2 to 3 knots for a couple hours. But no power meant no engine and we had to wait until the solar panels had a chance to give us some juice the next morning before we could get moving. I'm not sure on the exact numbers, but I think we made about 70 nm over the first twelve hours from Morro Bay and then about 20 nm over the next twelve hours. It was a bit annoying, but that's all.

The second day of the passage brought an easterly breeze and we slowly made our way between San Miguel and Santa Cruz islands. The setting among the Channel Islands is quite beautiful and the wildlife was nothing less than stunning. As I took over watch from Chittick at around 0800 we were accompanied by a large pod of dolphins (probably common bottlenose dolphins- Tursiops truncatus).

Bottlenose probably but I am guessing on the marine mammals...

Swarming sea lions

Then, a swarm of seal lions (Zalophus californianus)- literally dozens of them- were following our boat, breaching repeatedly at the top of the swell and diving into the trough. The commotion reminded me of salmon battling their way upstream to spawn, though I'm not sure what their behavior was about. As the morning went on, more dolphins moseyed on by (this time Risso's dolphins- Grampus griseus- I think) and more seals splashed all around Ardea. A pelican landed and swam next to our boat for a few hundred yards as well, staring at us perhaps used to rejoicing as fish guts were strewn from similar vessels. Still no fish for us though.

A pod of Risso's dolphins near San Miguel, Channel Islands.

Perhaps the most fantastic though slightly nerve-wracking wildlife encounter of the passage came just between the two aforementioned islands. I happened to be steering at the time, which is rare as the windvane does the vast majority of the steering, and Dana was just about to go forward to put a reef in the mainsail. Suddenly, maybe about two boat-lengths in front of us, two humpback whales surfaced and spouted. Normally this would be a majestic experience. One might stare in awe at the girth and grace of these creatures or note the intricate patterns of scars and barnacles that lace their bodies. But for us on this occasion, the initial reaction included an Ahab-like scream of “Whaaaaaale!” combined with a steering maneuver like the Titanic trying to avoid that infamous iceberg. Yeah, maybe it was a bit of an over-reaction. But they were so huge and so close that I threw the wheel all the way to port and rounded the boat up. We spent the next several minutes smacking the side of the boat so they might know we were around and trying to spot them before they re-surfaced. I guess we were loud enough though, as we didn't see that pair again.

I'm fascinated by the similarity that can be found in photos of
landscapes from disparate climates or regions. I imagine I'll end up
with lots like this. I'm pretty sure this is Santa Catalina, though.

The following evening went much as the previous had gone. The wind became light and we tried and failed to start the engine due to low batteries. We made better progress than the prior night though, and the slightly better wind meant fewer sounds of flopping sails and crashing blocks. In the morning we sailed a southwest course with about 15 knots of pressure from the east. As we came upon Santa Catalina Island, the wind dropped and we began to motor toward Newport Beach Harbor. We spotted numerous fascinating jelly fish and a group of ocean sunfish flopping around on the surface near a kelp bed. It was otherwise uneventful on a gorgeous SoCal day until we were only about 7 nm from the harbor and ran out of fuel. The engine took a big gulp of air and we ended up having to bleed the system again, this time while underway. It only took about half an hour this time and we putted into Newport Harbor at about 2030 on Saturday February 4^th after using up another jerry can of diesel.

Ardea sits now at a pretty swanky dock in Newport Harbor where friends were kind enough to let us rest for a few days. We've got some boat work to take care of here, not least of which is figuring out if user error, wiring or declining batteries is the cause of our power failures over the last 2.5 day passage. But mainly we've got some hanging out to do. Rounding Point Conception was a landmark for us geographically, climatically and mentally all the same. We've already had a blast catching up with old friends of the south coast and I imagine we'll hang here for a few more days as the northerly is supposed to build later in the week.

Our next stop is Bahia de Tortugas, about another 2.5 days' sail from Newport. Quite soon we'll be in warm water, hopefully eating fish tacos. Lots of fish tacos.

A Couple Days in Morro Bay

We left Half Moon Bay a little bit nervous. But we were rested and well fed. The seas were smaller and there was a nice breeze from the north. We set a west-southwest course to gain some sea room and we all felt much better. None of us was nauseated and we were able to get into a good groove with our watch schedule (three hour shifts during the day, two hours at night). Those who weren't on watch could actually settle in and relax. It was a different experience entirely from two days prior.

The windvane steered beautifully even in light breeze. The swell and wind direction made it easiest to set a course that led us pretty far offshore, but that was welcome. It was more consistent and clear out there with nothing to run in to. Night watches were much more pleasant- the stars are pretty bright 50 nm off the coast. All in all, it was a great sail. We gybed and set a course for Morro Bay (near San Luis Obispo) when we were about 60 nm west of Carmel.

Sunset offshore.

Sheri's no-knead bread. Going to be a staple, I think.

The second day of our passage to Morro Bay brought very light winds and small seas. Thankfully, the engine started cleanly and ran very well for about 20 hours straight. Though noisy, it was a great day. It was warm out and the seas were so small that we could move about and cook very easily. We've managed to bake some honey dinner rolls, some flat bread and a loaf Sheri's no-knead bread since we left Half Moon Bay. We played chess, read books and hung out during that long motor. It was really pretty nice to be able to relax. And sleeping came pretty easy to all of us.

At about 0430 on Monday 1/30/12, we dropped the hook in Morro Bay. When we got up in the morning, we moved the boat to a better spot in the harbor and, after eating and cleaning a bit, we went ashore and wandered around town doing errands. We managed to do some laundry, play some basketball, get some wire for a project and buy groceries. The town of Morro Bay is quiet and incredibly walkable.

On Tuesday morning, Taylor and I went for a surf. We spent the afternoon taking care of some projects (broken toilet gasket, inverter wiring, etc.). I snapped a few pictures of this Brandt's cormorant (Phalacrocorax penicillatus) struggling to toss back a flatfish bigger than its face.

Originally we were going to leave Tuesday night, but the forecast is now looking better later in the week. It's looking like we'll depart Thursday morning early enough to take a safe angle and knock out the 50 nm or so to Point Conception before nightfall. From there we'll head for Newport Beach Harbor with a possible stop at Santa Cruz or Catalina Island if needed. We'll spend a few days around Newport hanging out with friends, picking up some parts and maybe finding some surf. Then it's off to Mexico. We'll make a quick stop at Bahia de Tortugas to check in on Jeff's juggernaut cruiser, Elsewhere, and then make haste for Cabo and the warmer waters of the Sea of Cortez.

Amid all the grandeur, humbled again.

As we celebrated the conclusion of our preparations, three days after our first intended departure date, the sun fell to the southwest behind a fog that enshrined the Bridge and surrounding landscape. It was just as we were used to seeing it. The sky was tinted light red- the resemblance of this winter view of home to its typical summer likeness was not lost on us. We sipped beers nestled in s/v Ardea coozies and pondered...

On Thursday we awoke to more summer weather. There was a decent breeze early and fog all over the Bay. Dana managed to finagle some breakfast buffet tickets for himself, his super-employed girlfriend, Robin, Taylor and me, so we ate in style at the Doubletree. The morning went by quickly. Friends and family came down to the docks around noon to see how similar our vessel looked to the Merry Prankster's schoolbus. And to say goodbye of course.

It was emotional for all of us. I already miss my wonderful family and all my dockmates and friends at the marina. Despite the anticipation, all the time and effort, and the excitement for what lay in store, I found myself struggling with the thought of leaving my family for so long. Our trip is open-ended though, and I reminded myself that we meant to include the possibility of shortening it and that we respected the fact that we really don't know how we will feel about cruising sailboats even a month from now. So we take it slow and remain open.

We pushed off around 1300 waving goodbyes and following Eventide who carried some of the incredible people from Berkeley Marina out with Ardea. The fog broke and we had a great sail out to Angel Island. Eventide with a reef in her mainsail was doing laps around Ardea.

After Eventide turned back, we sailed up Raccoon Straights and got a visit from our SFYC friends, Rob and Forrest. They drove alongside and we all joked about the obvious hilarity and excitement regarding three large dudes on one little boat loaded down with everything you could imagine and embarking. Spirits were high, but once they left we didn't have much time to mess around. The Bridge was again covered by a heavy fog bank and the sun was getting pretty low. It would be nearly dark before we made it to Mile Rock and our pleasant afternoon sail was going to get cold pretty quick. Before we hit the fog bank, we were all in foulies and harnessed.

Though visibility wasn't great, we didn't have a problem navigating out to the Ocean. We could see the commercial traffic on our plotter using AIS and we had radar and charts to keep us out of the shipping lanes and away from the rocks. We tacked a narrow beat up the North side of the waterway with the outbound shipping lane to port and the Marin headlands to starboard. The fog dissipated gradually while we made our way West. As it coasted from within the clouds, we gauged our visibility from an incoming tanker's position on the plotter; we could see to about 1 nautical mile. We tacked as the tanker passed to port and headed southwest.

Golden Gate Bridge barely visible.

The seas were rather large- about 15 feet every 15-20 seconds. None of us has ever been seasick, but all of us were close. Nobody wanted to go below. More than a minute or two in the cabin meant growing nausea for Ardea's crew. Internal conflicts plagued us quietly; I waited an inordinate amount of time before getting another layer to combat the cold that settles in with night and the sedentary act of sailing 14,000 pounds of displacement hull. Chittick decided to wait on getting the next chart out. Dana became much less motivated to make coffee. We were all feeling it...

Then the waves got steeper. About 3.5 nm west of Ocean Beach (naturally). It was uncomfortable for a bit. Enough so that we fired up the engine and made a faster and more westerly course. It was a bit disconcerting at the time, but it's all relative.

Night settled and we decided to have two-man watches for the time being. It was our first day- an emotional and exhausting one- and we were still in fairly heavy fog. Dana and I sat the first watch. We sat silently in the cockpit for a long time, each of us living in our own heads. There was a lot to process. And our bones shook.

Chittick had been sleeping on and off for about 2.5 hours of his 3 hour break when Dana and I checked the plotter and saw a chance for respite. We were about 10 nm offshore at that point and while the waves weren't nearly as steep, the wind from the southwest was blowing strong enough that we put two reefs in the main and it was a bumpy ride. We were hungry but couldn't eat and tired but couldn't sleep. It didn't take long before we decided to gybe and aim for Half Moon Bay. I said, in a quiet monotone that perhaps only the combination of lingering near-sickness and freezing cold can generate, “just thinking about it makes me happy- we should go.” We figured at 1930 that we could be at anchor by 2130, make some dinner and get a good night's sleep. It sounded real nice.

Pretty soon, Chittick was back on watch and I went below to try to catch a snooze and get warm before we got to Pillar Point Harbor. The rest did me well, though I didn't sleep. Eventually, after encountering an uncharted buoy, Chittick and Dana were on edge. When I got my foulies back on and went topside, I understood why. The fog was thick and the wind was getting lighter. We could see well enough and the approach was simple and well marked, so we decided to press on in the fog. With all three of us on watch, we kept a sharp eye. The seas had dissipated significantly as forecast; we wouldn't have made the approach had they been anywhere near what we had on the way out.

As we got to about 3 nm out and well lined up for the approach, we decided to fire up the Perkins. As usual, it fired up just fine. Then it quit. We turned it over and over and it wouldn't fire again. We couldn't determine what the issue was and we didn't want to run our batteries out cranking it. We figured the engine might be flooded after so much cranking and choking anyway, so we let it rest. The wind was still decent.

About 1 nm from the harbor entrance, the wind dissipated. By now it was about 2100. The swell was still small and periodical gusts kept us making a bit of progress, so we pressed on. We readied the anchor; if we stopped making headway, we could anchor there at a depth of 40 feet or so and wait for Vessel Assist. Eventually, we hailed Vessel Assist and had them on standby to give us a tow into the harbor. Needless to say, the engine still wasn't firing. But when I was talking to Vessel Assist, the harbor patrol at Pillar Point Harbor broke in and advised we keep on sailing. We switched to a side channel on the VHF and he assured us the approach was wide and that we could drop anchor at any point on the way and be fine. So we sailed on, checking in with the Harbor Patrol regularly for the last hour or so.

All in all, it took us about three hours to cover that last mile. At one point, I was on the bow with an oar so that we could maneuver better. Chittick was cursing the 2 knots of breeze that came and went. Dana was trying to work the jib enough to get the boat to tack- even that little swell makes it tough to tack in this boat when you haven't got much momentum. But we made it in and dropped the anchor and were overcome with a sense of relief. Even without an engine, we navigated safely and were prepared for the situation. And we were rewarded for getting on the VHF early, as the guidance and local knowledge of our friend at Pillar Point Marina saved us paying for a tow.

Deeply, deeply exhausted, we ate a small, mediocre meal cooked in a receptacle some of us believe to be a cooking pot and others believe to be a mere metallic storage container. We passed out with some sense of accomplishment, even though we only made it a few miles south of San Francisco.

Easy to understand what's going on when it's a clear day at HMB.

We all awoke slowly Friday morning. The weather was beautiful, but I for one was not excited to find out whether or not Ardea's engine was destroyed. After a good breakfast and two or three hours of tinkering, we got her started up. We had air in the fuel line and due to all of our impatient cranking, we had to bleed the whole system, from the injectors to the secondary fuel pump. It was a pain in the ass, but when it finally fired up, we were all screaming with joy. We suspect the air got into the line through a poorly seated gasket on one of the filters or a loose hose clamp on the fuel line. We had replaced all the filters and the fuel line itself a week or so before leaving. So, we re-checked and re-tightened at all of those spots in the hopes of avoiding the situation in the future.

It's been ups and downs, literally and figuratively, but the first 24 hours of our trip were good for all of us. Though humbled, we're proud of the way we handled the situation and certainly can't complain about an opportunity to learn more about diesel engines. Lessons safely learned, spirits are high again. We spent Friday night relaxing in Half Moon Bay and pushed off again in the morning, this time with smaller seas and a 10-20 knot northerly. After all, it's adventure we wanted...