Talkin’ Story

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Distractions abound on board, but don’t let things lapse... even when your crew wants to “help.”.

You’ve checked the rigging, applied your last coat of antifouling, and gotten your o shore insurance sorted. e cruising life awaits, and you are ready to head out to sea… aren’t you? Almost. Before you set sail, there are a few administrative details to take care of. Don’t make that face; you’ll thank me when someone spoofs your ATM card and drains your account dry. Because I’ve been there. Before you begin, you must understand that you will be harder to reach now. You won’t have a consistent phone number or mailing address. You won’t have constant internet. You can’t wander into your local bank branch to change the PIN on your card. is will confound the corporations you deal with; they expect you to be both local and available. So, what do you do? Step one is assigning a trusted friend or relative to manage matters back home. is person will check your post and deal with the various administrata of your life on land. Arrange for regular updates, either by email or telephone. Don’t count on receiving scanned documents unless you know you will have access to broadband internet; a quarterly bundle of mail might get you just as far. If you have business, a rental property or other dealings to

maintain, your support person might need a limited Power of Attorney. ink through your needs carefully, and talk to a lawyer if need be. Whomever you choose, it must be someone you trust to take care of your needs consistently and faithfully. Step two is talking to your bank. Unless you plan on squirrelling your savings under your bunk, you will need to keep drawing funds from your nancial institution. Sit down with your bank manager and explain your situation. Talk about where you plan to travel, your expected spending patterns, and how best to contact you, especially if you plan to make long passages or stay in remote areas. (Sometimes single sideband radio is our only contact with the outside world.) Ask your manager to assign you a contact person; when something crops up, you do not want to have to explain to the nice lady on the help line who is enduring a January winter in New Jersey that you live on a yacht in St Maarten. Even the kindest among us can only be pushed so far. Similarly, your credit card company may block your card as you start moving around. Again, call ahead of time and explain your intended travel destinations and spending patterns. Step three is get organized. Time behaves in strange ways aboard; one moment you are drinking your morning co ee, and before you know it, it is dinner time two months later. Get yourself a calendar and mark down critical items, like tax time and passport expiry dates. Make a regular, monthly date to check your bank accounts. Do you have items like frequent ier miles that will expire without your action? Write those dates down, too. And leave yourself

Time to haul out? Keep notes in your calendar regarding regular maintenance.

A cheap cell phone can be very useful. Keep SIM cards labelled with the phone number and country of use, and trade with other cruisers on a different route.

lots of extra time to get those jobs done. You can’t count on connecting when you need to connect; what would be a ten-minute job back home can turn into a months-long pain in the rear at sea. View this as one of your regularmaintenance boat jobs. You wouldn’t forget to check your stays and shrouds, so don’t forget to review your monthly statements. While we were in the Tuamotus, someone in Cancun emptied out our bank account. When we reached Tonga (and reliable internet) I did my regular account check, discovered the fraud, and immediately got in touch with my bank. We resolved the problem quickly and efficiently, but if I hadn’t been checking regularly, we wouldn’t have known until we were in a real pinch. Stay on top of it. Finally, learn your tools. Invest in a local cell phone number. SIM cards are very cheap nowadays; we have quite the collection from Central America and the South Paci c. is will be far less expensive than paying the roaming charges on your mobile phone from back home. During those golden times when the internet cooperates, Skype is another inexpensive option. Get comfortable with internet banking. And, if you are going o shore, get an oldfashioned SSB or sat-phone email account. Cruising, like life, is mostly about fun. If you take the time to think through your needs and constraints, you can set sail with a smile on your face, certain that those background jobs are under control. And when you need that new windlass, your money will still be where it belongs.

The best plans leave room for the unexpected – like bringing down a broken mizzen. Make sure you keep a fl exible schedule.

Takes Practice!

It takes a little practice to land a dinghy safely on a beach in the tropics. This was something I learned early in our travels on Black Dog II, our CT41 ketch.

Fortunately for me, I was able to practice in the warm waters of Mexico’s west coast since I got wet on more than one occasion. Landing a dinghy at a dock or sea wall was not a problem. It was just going over a wave to that pretty sandy beach that proved to be a challenge!

Our first landing was very successful at Bahia Tortuga on the Baja peninsula. My husband and I rode in on a gentle wave and young boys were there to grab our bow line, called a painter, and haul us in. Returning to our boat was easy. We waited for the wave to break and quickly rowed out past the last wave. The motor was tilted down and it started up on the first pull. I thought we had the system down pat!

The gentle waves of Bahia Tortuga were not the slightly larger waves of Chameyla on Mexico’s Costa Allegre! These waves broke onshore, even in the little cove area tucked into the northwest curve of this pretty bay. Nevertheless, we got to the shore without any mishap and walked through the little village of Perulita to shop for a few food items. On our return, we carried a couple of bags of groceries, beer (a major necessity) and a bag of ice. All of

Another little wave pushed the the groceries went into the dinghy fi rst after we dinghy in, spun it a few degrees to rolled it off of the beach into the water. Since we starboard and I went down! did not have wheels on the dinghy, we used plastic pop bottles fi lled with sand to give the dinghy a little momentum. That is how the natives do it. My husband held the dinghy while I tried to get into the front seat just as a small wave came under the bow. I did not see the little wave behind it that hit me in the face as I jumped in, overshot the seat and

landed on the bag of ice! This was probably the only time I was cold as well as wet in Mexico! I quickly recovered, grabbed the oars and rowed out a few feet while my husband jumped into the stern and started the engine. A dinghy full of groceries is a little harder to row.

Our next dinghy landing came in Tenacatita in a lovely bay where at least 20 boats bobbed at anchor. This was where we sat on the deck and watched the Dahl’s porpoises feeding during the morning hours. Later in the day, we motored to the lovely beach. We killed the motor and rode in on a wave. I jumped out and tried to move in front of the dinghy to pull it in. Another little wave pushed the dinghy in, spun it a few degrees to starboard and I went down! I was wearing my bathing suit so getting wet was not a problem but I was quite surprised that my timing was so bad.

From this I learned to stay at the side of the dinghy more towards the center and guide it to shore. A wave, even a small one, can turn or even spin a dinghy in a circle. I have seen dinghies hit the beach with the stern, getting the prop stuck in the sand. Although the bow does not have to come straight up the beach, it is best to land it with the forward part of the craft hitting the sand first.

I have since made many successful landings on Mexico’s white sand beaches. I usually get wet up to my knees which is not a problem. We have added wheels to the dinghy so it is easy to roll it up on shore and tie it off to a tree or rock above the high tide line. Only once did I get off the dinghy too soon and found that I was in waist-high water.

The system my husband and I use for beach landings is to turn the outboard motor off and tilt up the prop just before the last wave carries us to shore. One of us, usually me, jumps out with the bow line and guides the dinghy onto the beach. In Zihautanejo, there is often someone on the beach near the pier to take the dinghy line and help people to shore. On other beaches such as Jaltemba, we are on our own. As a side note, it is nice to tip anyone who helps with landings and usually offers to watch the dinghy. I usually climb carefully into the dinghy and grab the oars when we return from the beach. My husband then climbs in and starts the outboard motor. We have also reversed positions where I pull on the outboard cord and start the engine. Outboards that have an electric starter that requires only a push of a button are ahead of the game!

A cruiser’s dinghy is often the equivalent of an automobile on land. We use them to get around anchorages, bays, coves and rivers. We travel between boats on them. Knowing how to row a dinghy is as important as knowing that the outboard is reliable. Being able to make a beach landing and leaving the beach safely make cruising much more enjoyable!

When to Leave

Let the Weather Tell You

By Lorraine Atkins

We are coastal cruisers on Black Dog II, our CT 41 pilothouse ketch. We have worked the weather for the past ten years along the Pacific Coast of the U.S., Mexico and Central America. We are now on the Caribbean side of Panama but we have sat out high winds and storms in Barra de Navidad and other Mexican anchorages as well as in El Salvador, Nicaragua, Costa Rica and Panama. We have anchored in the rain and let the squalls pass through before venturing onward. We are never in a hurry to reach our next destination!

We began our journey south from the Seattle area in 2003. The best time to head south from the Pacific Northwest in a sailboat is generally in August. Late summer is the time of year when the North Pacific High, a large high-pressure system, brings relatively dry weather to this area. The winds blow somewhat clockwise giving boaters heading south a little push. The currents move in a southerly flow as well.

August is usually when the Puget Sound area, the British Columbia coast and even Alaska receive the most warmth and sunshine. Since November is considered the end of hurricane season and the beginning of the Mexico sailing season, cruisers leaving Pacific Northwest waters for Mexico in August have two or three months to work their way southeast to San Diego

We planned this trip for two years and made a point of passing the weather class offered by the United States Power Squadron. We had also cruised Puget Sound and the Canadian islands during various weather conditions. This included dense fog in the Strait and a summer storm in Canada which we sat out at a marina. We listened to the NOAA weather and Environment Canada several times a day on the VHF radio for weather information before we left any anchorage.

We continued to listen to the NOAA weather reports prior to our southbound departure. The general prediction for the Strait of Juan de Fuca on the day we left was fair with variable winds. We encountered rough seas off of Port Townsend caused by the northwesterly variable winds meeting the outgoing tide. The seas settled down shortly after we passed Point Wilson light and we motorsailed into a dense fog that did not lift until we approached the marina at Port Angeles. Non-Stop trouble

We met the captain and crew of another boat in Port Angeles also destined for San Diego. We invited them to join us and our buddy boat, Unicorn, as we gunkholed leisurely down the coast stopping at various ports. The boat’s owner insisted that he and his friends on board were heading way out and sailing straight down to San Francisco without stopping. They would provision there and head south to San Diego. His crew consisted of his wife and another couple with limited sailing experience.

We met the owner of this boat a week later in Eureka, California, about 350 miles north of San Francisco. He was waiting for a salvage vessel to tow his sailboat into port! While Black Dog II and Unicorn sat out a 40-knot wind comfortably tied up in Newport, Oregon, this boater in a hurry had found himself and his boat in gale-force winds at least 60 miles offshore. The U.S. Coast Guard rescued him and his crew with the helicopter after receiving his Mayday message. The Coast Guard could not land the rescue basket on the deck of his boat so the crew had to jump into the cold, turgid water and swim to the basket. The rescue took place in the dark around 2230 hours on the Labor Day weekend.

The boat’s captain told us that his 39-foot cutter took a couple of knockdowns before he could take down the sails. This swamped the engine which quit when he needed it most! His life raft washed overboard and he was unable to deploy a sea anchor. He lost his dinghy also and sustained major damage to his rigging but his vessel remained afloat and it was towed into the harbor by a fishing boat two days after he abandoned it.

We asked him if he had heard the weather information on NOAA predicting heavy offshore winds and a small craft advisory. He replied that he had heard it but he thought that he could handle the heavy seas. The sky was clear with no signs of an approaching storm. This is the North Pacific High with winds that can blow clouds inland leaving clear skies on the coast. His crew returned to their home in British Columbia after the rescue and his wife insisted that she would never sail on that boat again! Clear Sailing

We had clear sailing on the overnight run from Eureka to Fort Bragg, Calif. Cape Mendocino often presents a challenge for boaters as Blunt’s Reef, which extends west from the cape, can cause high, irregular waves when the wind is blowing 20 knots or more. North and south currents converge here making for confused seas. Our motorsail around the cape was

smooth and easy in ten knots of wind as we sailed down the coast overnight to Fort Bragg.

The marina at picturesque Fort Bragg is on the Noyo River and the narrow entrance can be difficult to find on a gray morning. Even with the GPS and radar we were unsure of the entrance so we called the Coast Guard who happily escorted us into the harbor in the early morning overcast. They explained that they would rather escort boats into the harbor than pull them off of the surrounding rocks.

We enjoyed four sunny days at friendly Fort Bragg while the wind blew 40 to 50 knots outside of this charming harbor. The small craft advisories were up and the fishing boats were not leaving. We had no plans to leave as long as the fishing fleet was staying home! Meanwhile, we were serenaded by a colony of barking sea lions that are permanent residents in the marina. I called them the “bellicose baritones.”

Our next stop was Bodega Bay on the Sonoma County coast. The weather was cloudy and overcast but the winds were light. We met the crew of another boat heading north. Their captain informed us that he would be in the Bodega Bay Marina for a week until the winds subsided off of the north coast. We were given a weather window by the Coast Guard two days later since we were sailing south.

We timed our departure from Bodega Bay and around Point Reyes so that we came under the Golden Gate Bridge at slack tide. This was the best sailing that we had experienced so far. The weather was clear with 15-20 knots of wind blowing from the west as the bridge came into view.

Although many pleasure boaters who sail in and out of San Francisco Bay may take the beauty of the bridge and the bay for granted, for us it was a magnificent experience and a major milestone in our trip down the coast. We spent a week at the Berkeley Marina making minor repairs and enjoying the bay area. We left San Francisco Bay on the outgoing morning tide headed for Half Moon Bay and then on to Monterey. Monterey Bay, a national marine sanctuary, was alive with gray whales and dolphins. Sea lions were plentiful, too. Boat owners who keep their vessels on moorings in Monterey Bay have to put bright orange plastic netting around their boats to keep the aggressive sea lions from boarding.

We spent a night at anchor in Stillwater Cove in Carmel before leaving early in the morning for a long sail past the mountainous Big Sur coast. The weather

report again called for light and variable winds of 10-20 knots yet we experienced close to 30 knots off of Point Sur. We reduced sail and moved in closer to the shore below the point. Here the wind was lighter and the seas smoother. This was a very clear day and we could see the cars on California Highway One, the ribbon of road carved out of the coastal mountains.

We had learned from our experience on the north coast that sailing in the lee of a point offered some protection. We also took note of the fact that the NOAA weather buoys are often 18 to 20 miles offshore. This does not always give an accurate reading of the winds closer to shore. For our purposes, sailing safely within five to eight miles off of the shore was better for our timing. We wanted to be at our anchorage before dark. We rounded Piedras Blancas and anchored at San Simeon Bay with Hearst Castle in the distance. We had only one major headland left to round – Point Conception. This is another headland where currents collide with

wind and waves. We paid close attention to the weather reports and asked fishermen in Avila Bay for local knowledge in rounding the point. We passed on Morro Bay and anchored in Avila Bay, convenient for boaters rounding the headland in both directions.

I should point out that my husband Roger and I are both from the Los Angeles area although we have lived in the Seattle area for more than 30 years. We learned to sail at different times in Santa Monica Bay and we had both sailed the coast south from Santa Barbara to San Diego in a variety small boats. But we had never rounded the infamous point. Below Point Conception the coast of California turns to a southeasterly direction and the water is warmer.

Following Coast Guard and local recommendations, we set out at 2300 hours accompanied by two other sailboats that were also anchored in Avila Bay. We kept in radio contact throughout the night as we rounded Point Sal and Point Arguello. The charts did not show the oil drilling islands offshore but they were clearly visible at night with their bright lights.

We rounded Point Arguello at 0600 the next morning and I took my watch at the helm at daybreak. The seas had been calm with light winds during the night. The day dawned flat and gray as Black Dog II rounded Point Conception at 0810. It was so gray that I could not see the mountain tops that are San Miguel, Santa Rosa and Santa Cruz islands to the southwest.

I remembered what I had learned years earlier sailing in Southern California. If you could see Santa Catalina or the other Channel Islands, you would have a wild and windy ride heading toward them. I was now grateful for the gray sky and water off of Point Conception as we motor sailed towards Santa Barbara.

We spent time in Southern California visiting family and old friends before moving on to San Diego and joining the Baja Ha-Ha. Our experience working the weather has made sailing the coast of Mexico and Central America very pleasant.

Law of the Sea

By Paul E. Newell, Navi-Guesser and Sailor-at-Law

As Cruisians, we are expected by our Bitchin Cruiser-in-Chief to know the Law of the Sea that may be applied to our sailing ordeal-adventures. While we may very well know how to trim our sails and ice down greenies, we often know little of the complex legal system that may judge us, particularly in foreign waters.

Probably the most famous of the many “sea laws” is the original promulgation by Eleanor of Aquitaine (which is somewhere in France?). Eleanor had a little island called Oleron,

which today is a fancy yachting destination for the froggish people. Because even in 1266, there were too many Cruisians floating around in various states of disarray and confusion, she decided to make some laws about their activities.

An important concern for seamen and their passengers in that time was the lack of GPS and chartplotters. Bad things happen when we do not have our GPS and chartplotters. Cruisians had to rely on “pilots” who knew the local waters in order to safely bring a vessel into the harbor. These villains demanded great sums of cash for their services, and they often used those funds to purchase wine and other strong spirits. This then resulted in overhangs, which caused aches in the head (“mal a tete” according to Eleanor) and forgetfulness. This naturally led to unexpected contact with large rocks and resultant loss of cargo and passengers. Eleanor did not approve of this conduct.

So, Eleanor’s laws, known as the “Rolls of Oleron,” contained the following article: Article XXIII

If a pilot undertakes the conduct of a vessel, to bring her to St. Malo, or any other port, and fail of his duty therein, so as the vessel miscarry by reason of his ignorance in what he undertook, and the merchants sustain damage thereby, he shall be obliged to make full satisfaction for the same, if he hath wherewithal; and if not, lose his head.

Having witnessed first hand the ability of modern day boaters loaded down with electronic equipment to nonetheless miscarry their vessels, it would seem that adoption of Eleanor’s Article XXIII would be a significant encouragement for modern Cruisians to navigate carefully.

Ready? Hell, I’m Not Even Sure I’m a Sailor!

By Dave Gaspar

It was the second day of a four-day bareboat chartering class where we went from Portland, Oregon, to Astoria, Oregon, made a loop out to sea, then went back to Portland. I was below deck when the instructor came down. He was dedicated to his job and normally fairly serious, and this time was no different. “I know that you are planning to take your own boat south in a few weeks. I don’t think you are ready yet,” were pretty much his words. He went on by offering me chances to crew on some of the boats he would be hired to deliver in the future, or maybe someone he knew would ask him if he knew anybody who wanted to crew on a boat. He even said he would be glad to see if there were good, experienced people who might want to crew on my boat when I left. But all I heard was, “I don’t think you are ready yet,” and I was tempted to give him a right cross to the jaw. The night before I had slept beside one of the other students in the forward berth who, while being a great guy during the day, had a snore like chain link dragging across broken concrete. With only an hour of sleep, my mood wasn’t the greatest. That was late summer 2010, and for five years leading up to it I had taken two other sailing classes (Basic Keelboat and Coastal Cruising), had bought a boat (a Catalina 27), practiced with it, sold it, then bought the boat I now have, a 1978 Hans Christian 34. I had been all over the Columbia River and knew currents well, could dock and leave with a doubleender alone, anchor, and determine the heading of that huge ship that seems to be aiming directly at you coming down the river-- even at night. I had sold my home, moved onto my boat, and was in the process of selling my small business. I lived alone, sailed alone, and to my mind (at the time) no instructor that I imagined had never sailed alone, was ever going to tell me, “I don’t think you are ready yet,” and get me to believe it. It’s a mentality thing, but I was wrong about his intentions. I left Portland shortly afterward. I had jack lines, a drogue, survival suit, radar, a reflector, a small 4” GPS/chartplotter, paper charts (that I knew how to plot a course on, then translate to my digital), depth sounder, and a wheel driven autopilot. Due diligence, right? In Astoria I made my first error. I waited three days for a weather window to head south, but I was antsy, ready to go. So as soon as I heard on the VHF that the Columbia bar was going to be open I

headed the boat to sea. NOAA said that the swells were west and 12 feet, wind was 20 knots northwest. But the swells were supposed to lessen by evening and so was the wind. It didn’t turn out that way though. It got worse. The wind went from 25 to 30 knots with higher gusts. Without going into details I can tell you, I got sick for the first few hours, then my autopilot failed, six of the plastic guides going up my main mast got snapped, my roller furling got back-wrapped, jammed, and tore a section of the sacrificial layer flapping in the wind, my propeller shaft broke the shear pin in the coupler, then tore the keeper and spun it between the shaft and the coupler, ruining both. And to literally add insult to injury, while being thrown about on the helm seat, my butt had so many blisters that I had to tape a piece of plastic between it and my underwear to keep them and my pants from sticking to me. I was exhausted and slightly dehydrated. Words cannot express my thanks to the Coast Guard, who towed me the last few miles into the Newport, Oregon Harbor in the darkness of the following night. After they helped tie my boat to the dock, inspected it, then left, I slept fitfully. I had failed in my first attempt! The instructor was right, I wasn’t ready. I looked out through my cabin porthole in the morning thinking, “Everyone out there knows it too.” I was defeated, sad, and mad at myself. Even the constant barking of the sea lions on the breakwater across the bay was no comfort to me. I put on some coffee and cursed as I picked up all of the debris strewn across the floor of the cabin. These were from cabinets opening up and dumping their contents; something that had never happened on the river. I think it was shortly after I had taped the first layer of plastic to me and cinched my belt that a knock sounded on my cabin. It was an older gentleman,

named Ken (not his real name). He worked part time for the marina, had a tanned and weathered look, and a mild, chuckling manner to his voice while he asked me about the condition of my boat... I explained as best I could, feeling very sheepish and embarrassed, especially about the Coast Guard towing me in. His next question really threw me though, “Did you have any fun?” he asked, still mildly amused. “Yeah, actually I did,” I said. I thought about how much of a kick it was that my boat was screaming along faster than it had ever gone before; that I was amazed at the mass of stars at night and how the near-full moon seemed to be touching my shoulder as it passed above me; how the swells tossed by the wind at night made me think of waves on a beach as I drove into them; the awe of being far away from everybody and everything

that I knew; the sprays of light across the water and foam when the sun goes down and up; those transient whitish streaks in the water at night. I related some of that to him. He nodded while I talked. Then he gave me the names and numbers of the local boat yard and sail repair people, directions to the marina office and showers. I thanked him. Then he stunned me again by saying, “So, where you planning on heading from here? Mexico?” Me? The failure? I hadn’t even made a successful first jaunt. I forget exactly what words I used, but it must have been akin to, “After this fiasco, I’m not sure what I’m gonna do.” “Well, you haven’t given up yet, or you would have been asking me if I knew anybody who wanted to buy a boat. Pick yourself up, brush yourself off, and get your boat fixed,” he said and walked away down the dock. He stopped by quite a few times in the following days and told me stories of the places he had gone with the boats he had owned, the really cool things he had seen and done, and he pointed out his boat a few docks away that he lived aboard. He said that during his cruising life he had met his wife in Samoa. He welcomed me to stop by and visit, but to make sure he was there first because, “She’s barely civilized, and never keeps her hand far from her knife to protect our boat.” I did walk down his dock one day and looked at his boat, which seemed a larger and varnished version of mine. I didn’t know if he was there though, so I kept my distance. I’m not a total fool. Hell, I’m not even sure I’m a sailor.