I am tired.
Yesterday, we started at 0730 and made way to Monterey's famous Aquarium. Really worth the visit, but we chose a Monday where home schooled children were in free. Total goat rope, and what should have been a pleasant four hours turned into two hours of pushing, shoving and loudly screaming children.
Hopped into the rental car and headed up Hwy One, stopped by Santa Cruz and Half Moon Bay and wound up at the airport about five hours early. We landed in Jacksonville at 0900, and will turn in for some badly needed rest.
Photo's and descriptions will be coming later on.
Tuesday, October 20, 2009
Saturday, October 10, 2009
OFF to San Francisco and San Diego
Hey there Groovy Guys and Groovy Gals;
Off to Fleet Week at 0400. We will be visiting Wineries and friends in California.
See you back here in ten days.
Barco Sin Vela II
Off to Fleet Week at 0400. We will be visiting Wineries and friends in California.
See you back here in ten days.
Barco Sin Vela II
Friday, October 9, 2009
Brest: A City too far
So the next morning, we check in properly with the Brest Port Officials and get tokens for showers. They were like two bucks apiece!
Note: The French don't care for showers, but don't mind if you pay for them.
We purchased about 20 tokens, to be sure of not running out.We scampered over to the heads and happily stood for our five minute showers. We returned to the boat extra clean and happy to be in France.
Going ashore meant a trip to find the local stores and Boulangerie's. We hopped a bus to the town (Brest is actually quite small!) and took in the sights.
Returning to the Wildebeest, I performed a thorough inspection of the rigging and engine room. All through-hulls were opened and closed and filters cleaned. I noticed a small water leak coming out of the outside water pump. For the first time, I opened the pump and changed an impeller.
Water still leaked. Darn!
Opened it back up, looking if a gasket had become pinched. Nope, water leaking heavier now.
This was when our crewman, Chris N. showed up to the boat.
We welcomed him aboard, had lunch and some wine and beer to celebrate. Chris showing up meant we were that much closer to continuing the mission, heading to Spain.
Except the weather started closing in. The forecast was for winds to pick up to 40 knots for the next week. Some Autumnal low pressure systems were inbound, and our water pump was not right, so decisions had to be made.
1. My passport was expiring on 30 November. That was needing a replacement, and the nearest place to do this was Paris or London.
2. I was still on terminal leave from the Navy. Now, just to annoy me and get in my way, someone in the Personnel Department had ordained that I had to check back in on the 30th of September, only to finally check out on final terminal leave. One can't have more than 60 days of leave in one fell swoop, can they? Rectums.
So I decided to travel to Roscoff, hop a ferry to Plymouth and train to London, and knock it all out. Spousal Unit and Chris can remain on the boat and ready us for the next leg.
I took a train to Roscoff and taxied to the ferry. The ferry wasn't leaving until the next morning, so I had to stay in a hotel for the evening.
Next morning, underway, in first class. Ahh, this was the way to cross the channel!
Once in Plymouth, I walked to the train station, bought a funny looking paperback and settled in for the three hour ride to Waterloo.
On the back of the book;
The cover:
I began reading this book on the train and feel bad for the surrounding passengers... I was in full stitches, trying vainly to repress giggles and guffaws. In no time I was in London and at the end of the book. "Florida Roadkill" became the cruise-crew required reading novel, and I heartily recommend it. Many of the jokes in transit came from this book, such as, "Beer Me". It's a real hoot, trust me!
Back to the mission: So I cabbed over to Oxford street, went to Drugstore that did instant passport photos. Five minutes later, pictures in hand I headed over to Grosvenor Square and to the Embassy.
I still had my "Striped Badge" which identified me as working for the Operations Directorate and identified me as being in special programs. I clipped my badge on and walked in the embassy, noticing a line that headed out the door which terminated at "Passport Services". This was my cue to ask a helpful person at a nearby desk, "I need to renew my passport, and I am from across the street..."
"Oh, yes. Come this way." Said the nice lady as she eyed my ID Badge.
I was led to the Passport Counter, where another nice Embassy employee opened a window for me.
"Here, fill in this form, hand me your passport and pictures".
Moving quickly, and feeling the heat from the glare of forty eyes on my neck, I filled out the info on the application and passed it over. There was a "thanks" sound followed by a wait over there instruction.
Five minutes of innocently looking around, and my name was called. My passport was warm and more importantly, good til 29 Sept of 2009!
My day was progressing my way, and it was only 2:00 PM!
Passed through the Marine Guards at the Headquarters, I walked up to the fifth floor for the final time. I turned in my leave papers and received my final papers. They told me that I could turn in my Green ID card when I got to Jacksonville, and replace it with a Blue one after my terminal leave was up on 30 October.
"Have a safe trip home!" Was the final words I heard from the nice Personnelman Third Class to me as an Active Duty Serviceman.
It was now 2:30 PM, civilian time. I walked down the stairs slowly, soaking in the final smells and sounds of a Naval Force Command that I had spent four years of my life as a part of, and now was just a stranger. My valuable Striped Badge which identified me as a person cleared to view vital Intelligence was turned in to a bored Marine Lance Corporal, who called the ID clerk over to dispose of it properly. I was signed out of the building for the final time.
Walked out the doors and caught a cab for the Little Ship Club.
I stayed with Simon and Wendy Phillips, great friends from the club. Wendy made a sack of sandwiches the next day for the train ride to Plymouth, which I consumed over the three hour trip.
Cheese and Onion sandwiches.
In the UK, they eat a great many foods that they consider "comfort foods". Like a yeast paste known as Marmite. Also known as "Bovril" and "Vegemite".
Some people adore the taste, some detest it. In fact, there are television commercials in the UK showing people trying to run away from a Supermarket Sample of the hideous product.
No, Wendy knew not to give me sandwiches of Marmite. She kindly made Cheese and Onion sandwiches. You shred cheddar cheese, the very sharp variety, not that yellow stuff you get in America. Mix with a healthy amount of chopped yellow onion and use mayonnaise as a binding agent, spread on on white bread and you have a lunchtime treat.
Never in my life had I eaten such a thing. "Onions, front and center. Attack the breath; GO!"
I was grateful to have something to eat. Oh, was it tough to endure. I think the first two sandwiches were ok, but the third and fourth were literally like the "Pork Chop Hill" of luncheon dining.
Thanks to Wendy that there were apples to dessert upon. It was a very kind thing for her to have made me a lunch to snack on while watching the rainy British Countryside whiz by.
Soon I was back on the ferry and back in the hotel at Roscoff. The next morning I was on a train to Brest and back on the Wildebeest III.
The weather was still bad, and we would not be able to depart until at least five days had passed. Plus the water pump was needing attention.
I pulled the pump off the engine, and Chris looked through the English to French phrase book for the term; "Le Pompe de Eau".
We hiked to the local Perkins shop to order the pump. The clerk pointed to the English word, "Tomorrow" and wrote out the Franc amount equivalent to $350.00.
Ouch.
We stopped by the wine shop and purchased ten bucks of pain killer, and slogged back to the 'Beest.
The next morning, the winds were still howling at about 35 knots, and rain clouds kept washing us down. We were enjoyng the second pot of coffee when a feeble sounding knock was heard on the coach roof.
"Hello?" "Hellooo!"
Spousal Unit opened the hatch and leaned out, "Yes? What can we do for you?"
An attractive, tired looking and wet young lady with a Dutch accent introduced her self as "Magritte", and said, "I knew you could speak english, because of the American flag, could you tell me where the showers are?"
I jumped in, "Where'd ya just come from, which one is your boat?"
She pointed to a little 25 foot aluminum boat and said she just got in from the Azores. "It's been a seven day passage..." And she started to cry.
Man, the Azores, in the weather we are enjoying?
She said she needed a shower desperately, and she hadn't eaten much in a week.
We gave her two shower tokens and told her the code and where to go. We also invited her to lunch when she was ready.
About an hour later, looking infinitely better, Magritte came back to the boat to tell us her tale.
Spousal Unit asked what she would like for lunch, we had three kinds of leftovers and a microwave.
"You have a microwave???"
Turns out that Magritte's boat had engine problems and the sails had been blown out. Because her boat was so light in weight, she had to strap her self in the cockpit while the boat was thrown around in the Biscay gale driven seas. When she could get below for a minute to find food, she would start her alcohol stove and set a can on the flame until the can exploded. Then she would scrape out what was left and eat.
I guess she had lost her can opener.
I would have used a knife (I showed her how to take a heavy knife to pop open a can) and ate the food cold. Europeans always seemed to think that canned food has to be cooked.
Remember that little nugget. Canned foods and cooking. You will hear of this problem again...
Anyway; the motor would run on Magritte's boat about five minutes, then shut down from overheating.
Sounds like an impeller problem to me! (This blog is all about meeee, Right?)
More importantly, she pulled her little boat on the outside of the dock, facing the bay and the increasing winds. We needed to get her inside the break water ASAP, and secure her boat before the coming storm beat her boat more.
Only problem was that it was only Chris and myself who could do this. The winds were increasing and consequently, so was the waves. We needed more manpower.
There was a large wooden sailboat, about two boats down.
It looked ominous and there was a crew of about six onboard. They looked like "skinheads", violent European youth who enjoyed fighting and drinking. The uniform of such youngsters is Levi jeans, Doc Marten Boots and shaved heads.
I nervously approached "Aida" and knocked. I asked if anyone spoke english? The skipper came up and answered that he did, what do I want?
The explanation of a young Dutch lady needing their assistance, and that we would give them a dinner of Chili and a Keglet of Heineken if they would kindly help pull the small boat about a hundred yards.
There was a moment as the skipper went below to consult with his friends. I wondered if I was crazy to ask.
About ten seconds went by when a rumbling came up from the inside of "Aida"! Six strong and tall Norse Vikings came on deck in a rush.
What, a Damsel in distress??? "We don't need beer and food, we do this for free!"
And with that they ran to the boat, practically picked it up (I'm exaggerating!) and dragged the ailing sailboat past the jetty and brought her around behind the Wildebeest.
We all exchanged names and made new friends. The offer for chili was still there and was they accepted and asked to host a celebration party on "Aida". Magritte offered to buy a case of beer, so the plans were set in motion; Dinner will be at Six PM on Aida.
Chili was made on Wildebeest in the homemade method we enjoyed. We chilled our keglet of beer and at the appointed time we made our way to "Aida".
We learned from Horvath and Per that the boat had been built by the six friends from Norway. The plan was to sail to Trinidad for Carnival, where they would bring their bongo drums to the shore and play.
Very gentle and very fun loving Vikings, were they. And hurt feelings they had, indeed, when I said that we were afraid of them before!
Magritte is in the background talking to Horvath. Dig that hanging table! Chris is the grey haired chap on the right.
More party shots:
We can put a hurtin' on some beer!
After chili and beer? Bongo's must be played!
The Spousal Unit's handwritten log of the party:
We ran out of beer and steam about eleven o'clock. Great new friends and great party.
Our pump came in the next day and was installed without problem. We loaded up with wine and food, filled up the tanks and were underway for LaCoruna three days later.
Note: The French don't care for showers, but don't mind if you pay for them.
We purchased about 20 tokens, to be sure of not running out.We scampered over to the heads and happily stood for our five minute showers. We returned to the boat extra clean and happy to be in France.
Going ashore meant a trip to find the local stores and Boulangerie's. We hopped a bus to the town (Brest is actually quite small!) and took in the sights.
Returning to the Wildebeest, I performed a thorough inspection of the rigging and engine room. All through-hulls were opened and closed and filters cleaned. I noticed a small water leak coming out of the outside water pump. For the first time, I opened the pump and changed an impeller.
Water still leaked. Darn!
Opened it back up, looking if a gasket had become pinched. Nope, water leaking heavier now.
This was when our crewman, Chris N. showed up to the boat.
We welcomed him aboard, had lunch and some wine and beer to celebrate. Chris showing up meant we were that much closer to continuing the mission, heading to Spain.
Except the weather started closing in. The forecast was for winds to pick up to 40 knots for the next week. Some Autumnal low pressure systems were inbound, and our water pump was not right, so decisions had to be made.
1. My passport was expiring on 30 November. That was needing a replacement, and the nearest place to do this was Paris or London.
2. I was still on terminal leave from the Navy. Now, just to annoy me and get in my way, someone in the Personnel Department had ordained that I had to check back in on the 30th of September, only to finally check out on final terminal leave. One can't have more than 60 days of leave in one fell swoop, can they? Rectums.
So I decided to travel to Roscoff, hop a ferry to Plymouth and train to London, and knock it all out. Spousal Unit and Chris can remain on the boat and ready us for the next leg.
I took a train to Roscoff and taxied to the ferry. The ferry wasn't leaving until the next morning, so I had to stay in a hotel for the evening.
Next morning, underway, in first class. Ahh, this was the way to cross the channel!
Once in Plymouth, I walked to the train station, bought a funny looking paperback and settled in for the three hour ride to Waterloo.
On the back of the book;
What the publisher is saying ...
"Just when you thought the south Florida crime novel was played out and gasping for fresh air, along comes Tim Dorsey to give it a hot spike of pure adrenaline called Florida Roadkill. Think Hunter Thompson leaving Las Vegas and taking Fear and Loathing through the Everglades on the Tamiami Trail. Think Thomas Pynchon on a psychotic break. Think Elmore Leonard mainlining speedballs, or James W. Hall tripping on Ecstasy. Think Quentin Tarantino whispering in Carl Hiaasen’s ear, “You don’t go far enough -- out!” This is a wild-at-heart, pinball-machine of a novel, teeming with oddball kooks. crazies and maniacs as they careen through Florida on a kaleidoscopic crime-and-violent-mayhem spree, with stops in Tampa, Palm Beach, Cocoa Beach, Miami Beach, Key West and the Dry Tortugas. Ultra-sex, mondo-drugs, Satanic rock ’n’ roll. Lap-dancing coke whores, money-laundering life insurers, ruthless retirement-village scammers. Five million bucks in a suitcase dropped in the trunk of the wrong car, with a whole convoy of homicidal wackos in pursuit – and every damn one of them stops in Miami to take in the last game of the World Series. The dumb bad guy is hooked on cocaine and cartoons; the smart one is obsessed with Sunshine State lore; the babe is a walking wet dream who’s twice as deadly as the men. And get this: There are two good guys, and one of them is a lawyer. This is Florida in all its decadence, corruption, dysfunction, cupidity, stupidity and bizarro violence. But native Floridian Tim Dorsey still loves his home state – the pure Florida that hasn’t been completely paved over – and he eloquently communicates his abiding passion for its beauty and history. But mainly, Florida Roadkill is a hyperkinetic, ultraviolent, crazily lyrical and hysterically funny crime fiction with a post-modern spin. From murder by Levis 501s to the Running of the Hemingways in Key West, this novel is overdosed, overdriven and over-over-the-top.”
The cover:
I began reading this book on the train and feel bad for the surrounding passengers... I was in full stitches, trying vainly to repress giggles and guffaws. In no time I was in London and at the end of the book. "Florida Roadkill" became the cruise-crew required reading novel, and I heartily recommend it. Many of the jokes in transit came from this book, such as, "Beer Me". It's a real hoot, trust me!
Back to the mission: So I cabbed over to Oxford street, went to Drugstore that did instant passport photos. Five minutes later, pictures in hand I headed over to Grosvenor Square and to the Embassy.
I still had my "Striped Badge" which identified me as working for the Operations Directorate and identified me as being in special programs. I clipped my badge on and walked in the embassy, noticing a line that headed out the door which terminated at "Passport Services". This was my cue to ask a helpful person at a nearby desk, "I need to renew my passport, and I am from across the street..."
"Oh, yes. Come this way." Said the nice lady as she eyed my ID Badge.
I was led to the Passport Counter, where another nice Embassy employee opened a window for me.
"Here, fill in this form, hand me your passport and pictures".
Moving quickly, and feeling the heat from the glare of forty eyes on my neck, I filled out the info on the application and passed it over. There was a "thanks" sound followed by a wait over there instruction.
Five minutes of innocently looking around, and my name was called. My passport was warm and more importantly, good til 29 Sept of 2009!
My day was progressing my way, and it was only 2:00 PM!
Passed through the Marine Guards at the Headquarters, I walked up to the fifth floor for the final time. I turned in my leave papers and received my final papers. They told me that I could turn in my Green ID card when I got to Jacksonville, and replace it with a Blue one after my terminal leave was up on 30 October.
"Have a safe trip home!" Was the final words I heard from the nice Personnelman Third Class to me as an Active Duty Serviceman.
It was now 2:30 PM, civilian time. I walked down the stairs slowly, soaking in the final smells and sounds of a Naval Force Command that I had spent four years of my life as a part of, and now was just a stranger. My valuable Striped Badge which identified me as a person cleared to view vital Intelligence was turned in to a bored Marine Lance Corporal, who called the ID clerk over to dispose of it properly. I was signed out of the building for the final time.
Walked out the doors and caught a cab for the Little Ship Club.
I stayed with Simon and Wendy Phillips, great friends from the club. Wendy made a sack of sandwiches the next day for the train ride to Plymouth, which I consumed over the three hour trip.
Cheese and Onion sandwiches.
In the UK, they eat a great many foods that they consider "comfort foods". Like a yeast paste known as Marmite. Also known as "Bovril" and "Vegemite".
Some people adore the taste, some detest it. In fact, there are television commercials in the UK showing people trying to run away from a Supermarket Sample of the hideous product.
No, Wendy knew not to give me sandwiches of Marmite. She kindly made Cheese and Onion sandwiches. You shred cheddar cheese, the very sharp variety, not that yellow stuff you get in America. Mix with a healthy amount of chopped yellow onion and use mayonnaise as a binding agent, spread on on white bread and you have a lunchtime treat.
Never in my life had I eaten such a thing. "Onions, front and center. Attack the breath; GO!"
I was grateful to have something to eat. Oh, was it tough to endure. I think the first two sandwiches were ok, but the third and fourth were literally like the "Pork Chop Hill" of luncheon dining.
Thanks to Wendy that there were apples to dessert upon. It was a very kind thing for her to have made me a lunch to snack on while watching the rainy British Countryside whiz by.
Soon I was back on the ferry and back in the hotel at Roscoff. The next morning I was on a train to Brest and back on the Wildebeest III.
The weather was still bad, and we would not be able to depart until at least five days had passed. Plus the water pump was needing attention.
I pulled the pump off the engine, and Chris looked through the English to French phrase book for the term; "Le Pompe de Eau".
We hiked to the local Perkins shop to order the pump. The clerk pointed to the English word, "Tomorrow" and wrote out the Franc amount equivalent to $350.00.
Ouch.
We stopped by the wine shop and purchased ten bucks of pain killer, and slogged back to the 'Beest.
The next morning, the winds were still howling at about 35 knots, and rain clouds kept washing us down. We were enjoyng the second pot of coffee when a feeble sounding knock was heard on the coach roof.
"Hello?" "Hellooo!"
Spousal Unit opened the hatch and leaned out, "Yes? What can we do for you?"
An attractive, tired looking and wet young lady with a Dutch accent introduced her self as "Magritte", and said, "I knew you could speak english, because of the American flag, could you tell me where the showers are?"
I jumped in, "Where'd ya just come from, which one is your boat?"
She pointed to a little 25 foot aluminum boat and said she just got in from the Azores. "It's been a seven day passage..." And she started to cry.
Man, the Azores, in the weather we are enjoying?
She said she needed a shower desperately, and she hadn't eaten much in a week.
We gave her two shower tokens and told her the code and where to go. We also invited her to lunch when she was ready.
About an hour later, looking infinitely better, Magritte came back to the boat to tell us her tale.
Spousal Unit asked what she would like for lunch, we had three kinds of leftovers and a microwave.
"You have a microwave???"
Turns out that Magritte's boat had engine problems and the sails had been blown out. Because her boat was so light in weight, she had to strap her self in the cockpit while the boat was thrown around in the Biscay gale driven seas. When she could get below for a minute to find food, she would start her alcohol stove and set a can on the flame until the can exploded. Then she would scrape out what was left and eat.
I guess she had lost her can opener.
I would have used a knife (I showed her how to take a heavy knife to pop open a can) and ate the food cold. Europeans always seemed to think that canned food has to be cooked.
Remember that little nugget. Canned foods and cooking. You will hear of this problem again...
Anyway; the motor would run on Magritte's boat about five minutes, then shut down from overheating.
Sounds like an impeller problem to me! (This blog is all about meeee, Right?)
More importantly, she pulled her little boat on the outside of the dock, facing the bay and the increasing winds. We needed to get her inside the break water ASAP, and secure her boat before the coming storm beat her boat more.
Only problem was that it was only Chris and myself who could do this. The winds were increasing and consequently, so was the waves. We needed more manpower.
There was a large wooden sailboat, about two boats down.
It looked ominous and there was a crew of about six onboard. They looked like "skinheads", violent European youth who enjoyed fighting and drinking. The uniform of such youngsters is Levi jeans, Doc Marten Boots and shaved heads.
I nervously approached "Aida" and knocked. I asked if anyone spoke english? The skipper came up and answered that he did, what do I want?
The explanation of a young Dutch lady needing their assistance, and that we would give them a dinner of Chili and a Keglet of Heineken if they would kindly help pull the small boat about a hundred yards.
There was a moment as the skipper went below to consult with his friends. I wondered if I was crazy to ask.
About ten seconds went by when a rumbling came up from the inside of "Aida"! Six strong and tall Norse Vikings came on deck in a rush.
What, a Damsel in distress??? "We don't need beer and food, we do this for free!"
And with that they ran to the boat, practically picked it up (I'm exaggerating!) and dragged the ailing sailboat past the jetty and brought her around behind the Wildebeest.
We all exchanged names and made new friends. The offer for chili was still there and was they accepted and asked to host a celebration party on "Aida". Magritte offered to buy a case of beer, so the plans were set in motion; Dinner will be at Six PM on Aida.
Chili was made on Wildebeest in the homemade method we enjoyed. We chilled our keglet of beer and at the appointed time we made our way to "Aida".
We learned from Horvath and Per that the boat had been built by the six friends from Norway. The plan was to sail to Trinidad for Carnival, where they would bring their bongo drums to the shore and play.
Very gentle and very fun loving Vikings, were they. And hurt feelings they had, indeed, when I said that we were afraid of them before!
Magritte is in the background talking to Horvath. Dig that hanging table! Chris is the grey haired chap on the right.
More party shots:
We can put a hurtin' on some beer!
After chili and beer? Bongo's must be played!
The Spousal Unit's handwritten log of the party:
We ran out of beer and steam about eleven o'clock. Great new friends and great party.
Our pump came in the next day and was installed without problem. We loaded up with wine and food, filled up the tanks and were underway for LaCoruna three days later.
Thursday, October 8, 2009
Back to our sorta epic voyage;
We had a nice northerly breeze pushing us along at about five knots, the seas were manageable. A helmsman must pay close attention to the passage throught the water, you can be going West on a heading of 270 degrees magnetic, but your passage over the ground could be more like 200 degrees and even though you are looking at unobstructed water in front of you, your boat may be about to hit land on your left!
So this meant hourly positions being marked on the paper chart, each little circle having time, course and speed listed next to the mark. Just in case we lost GPS, we could quickly come up with an estimated position and never be more than a mile or two off.
That rocky coast of Brittany be not your friend, especially at night.
The ferries were zooming in and out of Roscoff, heading to and from the UK. There is nothing like a little action to keep one awake and on the toes avoiding the hazards of being an unseen 43 foot dot with ferry's the size of city buildings approaching, moving at 25 knots. Awake I was!
Finally, the sun began to rise and we were approaching the channel between Ushant and Brittany
View Larger Map
A black sailboat was passing us about a half mile away, to the North. Why, we know those guys from St Katharines Dock! It was a sailboat from New Zealand, and they spotted us, too!
We got a VHF call, and they passed on the weather situation and told us we should continue our trip and bypass Brest and make for LaCoruna, Spain. The weather was to be smooth for the next four days making a crossing of the Bay of Biscay a safe and easy passage. "Go, while you have the chance!"
Darn.
Time for digression:
Back in the day, cellphones did not reach the shore. The weather is NOT broadcast on VHF in Europe, like it is here in America. Oh no. The British (Who are not open to change and improvement) still broadcast the "Shipping Forecast" on LW radio. Just what is LW? It is between AM and FM, and you must have a special receiver (Which I did NOT) and tune your radio in at some weird time, like 1212, 1812, 0012, 0612.
I am wrong. I just went to the BBC weather site and here is a quote;
If you miss the forecast especially about your area? Hard Cheese. None for you, and all that.
At those time indicated, every seafaring Englishman has a pencil and pad, and they will transcribe the forecast in their best shorthand. No repeats! Better get it copied right the first time, dirtbag.
The weather is forecasted according to areas, each has a unique name like "Tyne", "Dogger", "Trafalgar", etc. Here is a diagram of the areas:
Evidently, the BBC has caught up with the times and they publish the forecast online.
Awfully nice of them, right? At least today's Mariners can get all the info with no mistakes via computer. Here is a quote for today's weather;
To a European, it all makes sense. To an American who wants it all, now!, not so much.
Sooooo, we get the word to continue our passage to Spain. Only we planned for Brest, and our scheduled crewman, Chris, was supposed to meet us there for the Biscay crossing. Chris was paying for a ferry trip to join us and it would not be nice if we left him standing in the Port with no idea where we were.
Digression off!
On to Brest!
We made the turn to the South and we noticed that we had caught the current flowing towards the Rade de Brest. Hauling the mail, it seemed, we were doing about nine knots over the ground. Whooo hooo, this was fun!
About five miles from the entrance to the Bay, we noticed other boats passing us to the West, heading North. They were waving and trying to get our attention.
"oh, look. How friendly, they are waving to the American boat!" I cheerfully said.
"I wonder what they are trying to say?" the Spousal Unit asked rhetorically.
Just then, our speed dropped to about two knots. The tide had literally switched as we pondered what the situation was.
And we could not turn to the South East without being pushed quickly towards the rocky shore.
We raised up the main and tightened the jib and increased the throttle to the max speed of 2800 RPM, tacked quickly to the West. This made us go on a course of 300 degrees, away from our destination.
There was much head scratching and quiet cursing, we had planned to be at the Rade de Brest for the tide to be flowing IN. That was apparent to us, problem was that there was an offshoot of the tide that was flowing to the NORTH, and into our face!
We headed out to sea, planning our next tack which should bring us further South.
We made the tack and tried to head 150 degrees. We just could not make any Southerly progress, and there was a huge set of rocks blocking the entrance to the Bay.
Frustrating. Now we knew what the people were trying to communicate to us. They were teling us we should have began our approach further out to sea, and not hugging the coastline.
We tried three times to make the course and get to the right of the rocks. No joy.
This was now into the third hour of this and we were both getting fatigued. We tightened the sails on the final tack and ran the motor up to 3000 RPM and went INSIDE the rock, with as much angle as possible, in case there were any shallows.
Slowly we made it to the rocks, slid inside and made it without touching bottom. Too cool, and saved again!
As we passed the rocks the current grabbed us and we flushed into the Rade de Brest like a toilet.
It was about fifteen miles to go, the breezes were right and it was a grand sail. Should have taken us three hours to make the port, but it only took an hour. Hauling the mail, I say!
Once there, I called the port and they directed us inside the visitor dock. We tied up and made the mile and a half walk to check in to the Marina.
They had gone home.
So we walked back to the Beest, gathered up our shower equipment, found a sympathetic Anglais speaker who gave us the lock code to the Showers, and we even brought some Franc coins (Because the French don't believe in "free" showers) so we hoped for hot showers and a warm dinner to help bring us down from the adrenaline rush.
We went into the gender specific bathrooms, found the shower. I hopped inside, took off my clothes and glasses, tried to put the five franc coin into the meter box for the water.
It only took tokens. To keep the thieves at bay.
Put back on the clothes and met the Spousal Unit outside. She had the same experience as me. She was so angry, she began to just cry out of frustration. I do not handle tears very well, I would rather a hot poker stuck in my eye than have She Who Will Be Obeyed cry about anything.
We hobbled our way back to the Wildebeest (Her ankles were giving out and she was in arthritic pain), I pulled the stored gear from our bathtub and filled it with hot water and suds. Our hot water heater only held five gallons, so I had to heat up water with the stove, filled the tub up to chest high, got her a glass of white wine and left her to soak the frustration away.
I made Shipwreck casserole:
One casserole pan, add: Can of potatoes, rinsed. Can of Black Beans, rinsed. Can of roast beef. Can of Campbells Cheese soup to cover. Bake for twenty minutes until steamy.
Dinner was grand!
I took a shower and off to bed. Chris will be here in a day or two.
We were docked on the end, on the long dock to the right.
View Larger Map
There will be fun and disappointment coming right up. Also, more photos.
Stay tuned for more Rock and Roll Radio.
UPDATE: Big hello to Denise, Janice and their Mom. Welcome aboard the Barco Sin Vela! We sail oceans AND rivers around here. Be sure to comment anytime.
In my 1968 Ford Torino Fastback
UPDATE 2: I found a site that explains more fully, the evolution of the UK Met office weather reports on the BBC. I did not realize the popularity of the four weather broadcasts a day on the LW Radio, and how people who didn't have a maritime reason still enjoyed the broadcasts! Read the link if you are interested, or don't. I'm just makin' the info available.
So this meant hourly positions being marked on the paper chart, each little circle having time, course and speed listed next to the mark. Just in case we lost GPS, we could quickly come up with an estimated position and never be more than a mile or two off.
That rocky coast of Brittany be not your friend, especially at night.
The ferries were zooming in and out of Roscoff, heading to and from the UK. There is nothing like a little action to keep one awake and on the toes avoiding the hazards of being an unseen 43 foot dot with ferry's the size of city buildings approaching, moving at 25 knots. Awake I was!
Finally, the sun began to rise and we were approaching the channel between Ushant and Brittany
View Larger Map
A black sailboat was passing us about a half mile away, to the North. Why, we know those guys from St Katharines Dock! It was a sailboat from New Zealand, and they spotted us, too!
We got a VHF call, and they passed on the weather situation and told us we should continue our trip and bypass Brest and make for LaCoruna, Spain. The weather was to be smooth for the next four days making a crossing of the Bay of Biscay a safe and easy passage. "Go, while you have the chance!"
Darn.
Time for digression:
Back in the day, cellphones did not reach the shore. The weather is NOT broadcast on VHF in Europe, like it is here in America. Oh no. The British (Who are not open to change and improvement) still broadcast the "Shipping Forecast" on LW radio. Just what is LW? It is between AM and FM, and you must have a special receiver (Which I did NOT) and tune your radio in at some weird time, like 1212, 1812, 0012, 0612.
I am wrong. I just went to the BBC weather site and here is a quote;
This file is updated 4 times a day at or after approximately 0015, 0505, 1130 and 1725. It is read out on Radio 4 at 0048, 0520, 1201 and 1754 (local time). All broadcasts are on LW on 1515m (198 kHz) and some transmissions are on VHF. You can also listen using the link on our website. It gives a summary of gale warnings in force, a general synopsis and area forecasts for specified sea areas around the UK. The radio bulletin also includes the coastal weather reports (0048 and 0536 only) but these are not currently available on our site.
If you miss the forecast especially about your area? Hard Cheese. None for you, and all that.
At those time indicated, every seafaring Englishman has a pencil and pad, and they will transcribe the forecast in their best shorthand. No repeats! Better get it copied right the first time, dirtbag.
The weather is forecasted according to areas, each has a unique name like "Tyne", "Dogger", "Trafalgar", etc. Here is a diagram of the areas:
Evidently, the BBC has caught up with the times and they publish the forecast online.
Awfully nice of them, right? At least today's Mariners can get all the info with no mistakes via computer. Here is a quote for today's weather;
And now the Shipping Forecast issued by the Met Office, on behalf of the Maritime and Coastguard Agency, at 1130 on Thursday 08 October 2009.
There are warnings of gales in Viking North Utsire South Utsire Forties Fisher German Bight Shannon Rockall Malin Hebrides Bailey Faeroes and Southeast Iceland.
The general synopsis at 0700:
Low Biscay 1010 losing its identity. Low Viking 997 expected eastern baltic 1000 by 0700 tomorrow. High just west of Fitzroy 1021 expected Dogger 1024 by same time. Developing atlantic low expected 200 miles southwest of Iceland 980 by that time.
The area forecasts for the next 24 hours:
Viking North Utsire South Utsire:
Northerly or northwesterly 6 to gale 8, occasionally severe gale 9 at first. Rough or very rough. Squally showers. Mainly good.
Forties Cromarty Forth Tyne Dogger:
Northwest veering southeast 5 to 7, occasionally gale 8 in Forties. moderate or rough. Squally showers. Mainly good.
Fisher German Bight:
West or northwest 6 to gale 8, occasionally severe gale 9 in Fisher. moderate or rough, occasionally very rough. Squally showers. moderate or good.
Humber Thames Dover Wight Portland Plymouth:
Northerly veering southerly 4 or 5, occasionally 6. Slight or moderate, increasing moderate or rough in Plymouth. Occasional rain. moderate or good.
Biscay:
Cyclonic becoming southwesterly 5 or 6. Slight or moderate. Showers, thundery at first. Moderate or poor becoming good.
Fitzroy:
Variable 4 becoming southwesterly 5 to 7. Moderate or rough. Rain or showers. Moderate or good, occasionally poor later.
Sole Lundy Fastnet:
North or northeast 4 or 5 veering south or southeast 5 to 7. Slight or moderate, occasionally rough. Occasional rain. Moderate or good.
Irish Sea:
Northerly veering southeasterly 3 or 4, increasing 5 to 7, perhaps gale 8 later. Slight or moderate increasing moderate or rough. Rain later. Moderate or good.
Shannon Rockall:
South or southeast 4 increasing 6 to gale 8, perhaps severe gale 9 later, then veering southwest 5 to 7. Slight or moderate increasing rough or very rough. Rain or showers. Moderate or good.
Malin Hebrides:
Variable 4 becoming south or southeast 6 to gale 8, perhaps severe gale 9 later. Moderate or rough, occasionally very rough. Showers then rain. Good becoming moderate or poor.
Bailey:
Southeast 4 or 5 increasing 7 to severe gale 9, perhaps storm 10 later. Rough increasing very rough. Showers then rain. Good becoming moderate or poor.
Fair Isle:
Northwest veering southeast 5 to 7, perhaps gale 8 later. Moderate or rough, occasionally very rough later in southwest. Showers then rain. moderate or good.
Faeroes:
Northerly 5 or 6 backing southeasterly 6 to gale 8, perhaps severe gale 9 later. Rough, occasionally very rough later. Showers. moderate or good.
Southeast Iceland:
Variable 4 becoming southeasterly 7 to severe gale 9, perhaps storm 10 later. Moderate or rough increasing very rough. Rain or showers. Good becoming moderate or poor.
To a European, it all makes sense. To an American who wants it all, now!, not so much.
Sooooo, we get the word to continue our passage to Spain. Only we planned for Brest, and our scheduled crewman, Chris, was supposed to meet us there for the Biscay crossing. Chris was paying for a ferry trip to join us and it would not be nice if we left him standing in the Port with no idea where we were.
Digression off!
On to Brest!
We made the turn to the South and we noticed that we had caught the current flowing towards the Rade de Brest. Hauling the mail, it seemed, we were doing about nine knots over the ground. Whooo hooo, this was fun!
About five miles from the entrance to the Bay, we noticed other boats passing us to the West, heading North. They were waving and trying to get our attention.
"oh, look. How friendly, they are waving to the American boat!" I cheerfully said.
"I wonder what they are trying to say?" the Spousal Unit asked rhetorically.
Just then, our speed dropped to about two knots. The tide had literally switched as we pondered what the situation was.
And we could not turn to the South East without being pushed quickly towards the rocky shore.
We raised up the main and tightened the jib and increased the throttle to the max speed of 2800 RPM, tacked quickly to the West. This made us go on a course of 300 degrees, away from our destination.
There was much head scratching and quiet cursing, we had planned to be at the Rade de Brest for the tide to be flowing IN. That was apparent to us, problem was that there was an offshoot of the tide that was flowing to the NORTH, and into our face!
We headed out to sea, planning our next tack which should bring us further South.
We made the tack and tried to head 150 degrees. We just could not make any Southerly progress, and there was a huge set of rocks blocking the entrance to the Bay.
Frustrating. Now we knew what the people were trying to communicate to us. They were teling us we should have began our approach further out to sea, and not hugging the coastline.
We tried three times to make the course and get to the right of the rocks. No joy.
This was now into the third hour of this and we were both getting fatigued. We tightened the sails on the final tack and ran the motor up to 3000 RPM and went INSIDE the rock, with as much angle as possible, in case there were any shallows.
Slowly we made it to the rocks, slid inside and made it without touching bottom. Too cool, and saved again!
As we passed the rocks the current grabbed us and we flushed into the Rade de Brest like a toilet.
It was about fifteen miles to go, the breezes were right and it was a grand sail. Should have taken us three hours to make the port, but it only took an hour. Hauling the mail, I say!
Once there, I called the port and they directed us inside the visitor dock. We tied up and made the mile and a half walk to check in to the Marina.
They had gone home.
So we walked back to the Beest, gathered up our shower equipment, found a sympathetic Anglais speaker who gave us the lock code to the Showers, and we even brought some Franc coins (Because the French don't believe in "free" showers) so we hoped for hot showers and a warm dinner to help bring us down from the adrenaline rush.
We went into the gender specific bathrooms, found the shower. I hopped inside, took off my clothes and glasses, tried to put the five franc coin into the meter box for the water.
It only took tokens. To keep the thieves at bay.
Put back on the clothes and met the Spousal Unit outside. She had the same experience as me. She was so angry, she began to just cry out of frustration. I do not handle tears very well, I would rather a hot poker stuck in my eye than have She Who Will Be Obeyed cry about anything.
We hobbled our way back to the Wildebeest (Her ankles were giving out and she was in arthritic pain), I pulled the stored gear from our bathtub and filled it with hot water and suds. Our hot water heater only held five gallons, so I had to heat up water with the stove, filled the tub up to chest high, got her a glass of white wine and left her to soak the frustration away.
I made Shipwreck casserole:
One casserole pan, add: Can of potatoes, rinsed. Can of Black Beans, rinsed. Can of roast beef. Can of Campbells Cheese soup to cover. Bake for twenty minutes until steamy.
Dinner was grand!
I took a shower and off to bed. Chris will be here in a day or two.
We were docked on the end, on the long dock to the right.
View Larger Map
There will be fun and disappointment coming right up. Also, more photos.
Stay tuned for more Rock and Roll Radio.
UPDATE: Big hello to Denise, Janice and their Mom. Welcome aboard the Barco Sin Vela! We sail oceans AND rivers around here. Be sure to comment anytime.
In my 1968 Ford Torino Fastback
UPDATE 2: I found a site that explains more fully, the evolution of the UK Met office weather reports on the BBC. I did not realize the popularity of the four weather broadcasts a day on the LW Radio, and how people who didn't have a maritime reason still enjoyed the broadcasts! Read the link if you are interested, or don't. I'm just makin' the info available.
Tuesday, October 6, 2009
How about a Pause for the Cause?
I was surfing the web and looked into what the "Rip Off Press" was up to; I have the latest in "Fabulous Furry Freak Brothers" Supposedly, a film is coming out soon. I will watch for that one!
One good thing about growing up in the Fabled San Francisco "East Bay" was unfettered access to great underground comics like the "Freak Brothers" and "Today's Army, With Dopin' Dan".
I really don't approve of drugs, but I can definitely see the humor associated with addicted folks who just can't help themselves. Dopin' Dan was a pathetic example of an unhappy soldier who just wanted to get high and have a girlfriend.
The comics are still in a box in the closet, I may scan some in. They are quite funny if you were there, because we all knew someone like Dan and the Fabulous Furry Freak Brothers. (In fact, Fat Freddie lived on my mom's couch for three years!)
I know Buck relates. Come to think of it, Buck had blonde hair and a mustache... Naw!
One good thing about growing up in the Fabled San Francisco "East Bay" was unfettered access to great underground comics like the "Freak Brothers" and "Today's Army, With Dopin' Dan".
I really don't approve of drugs, but I can definitely see the humor associated with addicted folks who just can't help themselves. Dopin' Dan was a pathetic example of an unhappy soldier who just wanted to get high and have a girlfriend.
The comics are still in a box in the closet, I may scan some in. They are quite funny if you were there, because we all knew someone like Dan and the Fabulous Furry Freak Brothers. (In fact, Fat Freddie lived on my mom's couch for three years!)
I know Buck relates. Come to think of it, Buck had blonde hair and a mustache... Naw!
Sunday, October 4, 2009
Cherbourg and the departure to Guernsey
We tied up at the Port De Pleasance marina and checked in. Brought our entire bag o' identification papers, passports, receipt of check out from last port of call, ownership papers for Wildebeest III. The Marina staff spoke Anglais, so we were in.
This tall ship was parked across from us, I would say the scenery was pretty cool, nautical and all that.
That afternoon, we walked around town getting a feel for the local stores, restaurants and most importantly; The Bars. Back to the boat for an early evening, we slept like logs until sunrise. Had our coffee and pastries, feeling quite satisfied with ourselves.
About 0900, there was some motion on the water. A motor boat was pulling a line of "Optimist Prams", which is a small sailing dinghy used to teach children how to sail. These kids were about six years old. We thought they looked like little ducklings following the mother duck. But make no mistake; these kids knew how to sail. We considered American Helicopter Mom's, and how there was no freakin' way an American kid would be allowed to sail a small boat without the obligatory team of Lawyers following each boat.
What a great way to learn about self reliance and problem solving.
There was a little excitement that afternoon, I heard a call for help outside and found a sailboat trying to dock in the one vacant spot behind us.
It was a Beneteau 36, and the motor had apparently crapped out on approach, so they were trying to sail up. Good luck with that, the wind was howling in from the North and the boat wouldn't stop. I motioned and yelled for the skipper to drop the headsail as I tried to keep them from ramming us. The Beneteau stopped, but was starting to turn from the wind blowing the hull. Other boaters from the dock came to our aid and grabbed lines and pulled the sailboat safely to its dock with no further damage. The Skipper invited us aboard for beers and wine to thank us.
Turns out that this type of boat had a fuel tank pick up that would not allow the motor to pump fuel if the boat was at any angle. Pain in the butt!
The next morning, we were underway again, for St Peterport in Guernsey. As we approached the Alderney Race, the winds were out of the East and the water was still flowing from the West, so we had about eighteen foot waves which were sharp and steep. For about and hour we bucked into this mess, with water breaking on the pointy end of the Wildebeest. At about twenty minutes from the Race itself, the tide shifted and the seas began to calm, we motorsailed around the corner and began heading South in very smooth seas. The air temperature was about 75 degrees and the winds were about twelve from the East. Glorious weather!
Soon, we could see Guernsey, and also the other channel islands. We were definitely enjoying this beautiful day on the water.
We began making preparations for entering St Peterport, we had out charts and guide books ready, and we started making our approach.
We noticed a catamaran that was behind us, they seemed to be following precisely our course.
This was an opportunity for fun!
We watched this boat slowly following, and I decided we needed to make a sudden 90 degree turn to the East, as if we were avoiding a rock.
Sure enough, at our point of turn, the catamaran mirrored our course change!
What maroons!
I did it again; Yep. These guys are stupidly following us.
We tied up to a mooring ball and awaited the harbor lock opening. We got inside the port and tied up to the quay. The catamaran pulled up behind us, and I asked innocently, if they had any charts?
"Nope!" "We were hoping someone would know the way in!"
It was four hippy surfer Dudes. They literally had gotten hold of this boat and were supposed to sail to Barcelona, Spain. They hoped to do some surfing and maybe some skiing when the winter came. Their only navigation tool was a GPS and an Esso Road Map.
Unbelievable!
I made the skipper walk with me to the Chandlery, and we bought him a "Reed's" Cruising Guide for Western Europe, and instructed him to buy charts.
We really got to liking these young men, they only wanted the chance for fun and adventure, and just wanted to get out there to get it done. They were also very polite and could put away any excess beer that we happened to have.
Locally, we got to know a St Peterport Lifeboat skipper who was so happy to meet us that he took it upon himself to show us the Peterport Pubs. He was involved with a sailing charity and he hoped we could make a sizable donation to youth sailing. I had to explain that we were quite poor, the boat may look "wealthy", but the crew ain't.
I changed out the fuel filters and did minor maintenance, then we spent an afternoon setting up way points for our next destination, Brest France.
We left with the tide on the third morning, ready to another overnight cruise. The weather was incredibly good, and we headed Southwest with our Catamaran buddies astern, following us.
About an hour and a half out, we got a radio call from the Catamaran, they were heading back to St Peterport for some malfunction. We never saw them again.
We noticed dolphins following us. The were Siamese Dolphins! Take a look at the coloring, and tell me they are not Siamese!
We took this as a good omen, because we really liked our Siamese Kitties who were safe in California.
We continued our sail through the night. Again, there was fatigue, but all systems were running reliably, and we were able to handle the boat safely. This cruising business was starting to shape up. But a trip to Brest was not just a little jaunt. It was the longest journey ever attempted by the Wildebeest and her crew. We would have to enter unprotected Atlantic waters and go into a Bay.
Scary.
View Larger Map
This tall ship was parked across from us, I would say the scenery was pretty cool, nautical and all that.
That afternoon, we walked around town getting a feel for the local stores, restaurants and most importantly; The Bars. Back to the boat for an early evening, we slept like logs until sunrise. Had our coffee and pastries, feeling quite satisfied with ourselves.
About 0900, there was some motion on the water. A motor boat was pulling a line of "Optimist Prams", which is a small sailing dinghy used to teach children how to sail. These kids were about six years old. We thought they looked like little ducklings following the mother duck. But make no mistake; these kids knew how to sail. We considered American Helicopter Mom's, and how there was no freakin' way an American kid would be allowed to sail a small boat without the obligatory team of Lawyers following each boat.
What a great way to learn about self reliance and problem solving.
There was a little excitement that afternoon, I heard a call for help outside and found a sailboat trying to dock in the one vacant spot behind us.
It was a Beneteau 36, and the motor had apparently crapped out on approach, so they were trying to sail up. Good luck with that, the wind was howling in from the North and the boat wouldn't stop. I motioned and yelled for the skipper to drop the headsail as I tried to keep them from ramming us. The Beneteau stopped, but was starting to turn from the wind blowing the hull. Other boaters from the dock came to our aid and grabbed lines and pulled the sailboat safely to its dock with no further damage. The Skipper invited us aboard for beers and wine to thank us.
Turns out that this type of boat had a fuel tank pick up that would not allow the motor to pump fuel if the boat was at any angle. Pain in the butt!
The next morning, we were underway again, for St Peterport in Guernsey. As we approached the Alderney Race, the winds were out of the East and the water was still flowing from the West, so we had about eighteen foot waves which were sharp and steep. For about and hour we bucked into this mess, with water breaking on the pointy end of the Wildebeest. At about twenty minutes from the Race itself, the tide shifted and the seas began to calm, we motorsailed around the corner and began heading South in very smooth seas. The air temperature was about 75 degrees and the winds were about twelve from the East. Glorious weather!
Soon, we could see Guernsey, and also the other channel islands. We were definitely enjoying this beautiful day on the water.
We began making preparations for entering St Peterport, we had out charts and guide books ready, and we started making our approach.
We noticed a catamaran that was behind us, they seemed to be following precisely our course.
This was an opportunity for fun!
We watched this boat slowly following, and I decided we needed to make a sudden 90 degree turn to the East, as if we were avoiding a rock.
Sure enough, at our point of turn, the catamaran mirrored our course change!
What maroons!
I did it again; Yep. These guys are stupidly following us.
We tied up to a mooring ball and awaited the harbor lock opening. We got inside the port and tied up to the quay. The catamaran pulled up behind us, and I asked innocently, if they had any charts?
"Nope!" "We were hoping someone would know the way in!"
It was four hippy surfer Dudes. They literally had gotten hold of this boat and were supposed to sail to Barcelona, Spain. They hoped to do some surfing and maybe some skiing when the winter came. Their only navigation tool was a GPS and an Esso Road Map.
Unbelievable!
I made the skipper walk with me to the Chandlery, and we bought him a "Reed's" Cruising Guide for Western Europe, and instructed him to buy charts.
We really got to liking these young men, they only wanted the chance for fun and adventure, and just wanted to get out there to get it done. They were also very polite and could put away any excess beer that we happened to have.
Locally, we got to know a St Peterport Lifeboat skipper who was so happy to meet us that he took it upon himself to show us the Peterport Pubs. He was involved with a sailing charity and he hoped we could make a sizable donation to youth sailing. I had to explain that we were quite poor, the boat may look "wealthy", but the crew ain't.
I changed out the fuel filters and did minor maintenance, then we spent an afternoon setting up way points for our next destination, Brest France.
We left with the tide on the third morning, ready to another overnight cruise. The weather was incredibly good, and we headed Southwest with our Catamaran buddies astern, following us.
About an hour and a half out, we got a radio call from the Catamaran, they were heading back to St Peterport for some malfunction. We never saw them again.
We noticed dolphins following us. The were Siamese Dolphins! Take a look at the coloring, and tell me they are not Siamese!
We took this as a good omen, because we really liked our Siamese Kitties who were safe in California.
We continued our sail through the night. Again, there was fatigue, but all systems were running reliably, and we were able to handle the boat safely. This cruising business was starting to shape up. But a trip to Brest was not just a little jaunt. It was the longest journey ever attempted by the Wildebeest and her crew. We would have to enter unprotected Atlantic waters and go into a Bay.
Scary.
View Larger Map
Wednesday, September 30, 2009
Underway, South of Isle of Wight
As the sun was slipping under the waves, I happily headed the Wildebeest III on a course of about 180 degrees, magnetic. Our goal was to make the Alderney Race with slack tide which would enable us to safely traverse that exciting bit of water. Alderney Race is the water that flows between the Channel Island, Alderney and the North French Coast. There are no beaches, it is rocky cliff and deep, fast and treacherous waters. This was a trip of about sixty miles, we should be able to maintain about five knots, so it should be about eleven hours and we will be there. We gave a cushion of about two extra hours, to be sure of making it for the tidal gate.
The tidal flow is probably about three knots and if you get a situation of water flowing on an Easterly course with winds from the East, well, you will get towering waves and all the adventure you can ever dream of.
About 0200, as we were trying to keep awake while avoiding the criss-crosing commercial traffic, I noticed us getting a little close an avoidance area. All this while keeping the dinner down, since we were both feeling seasick from Westerly winds and accompanying chop. No problem, Mon!
The Wildebeest III was keeping up gamely as we motored south. We hadn't had a chance to do a shakedown sail, so we were motoring and trying to make miles. The watch was about an hour on and off for the both of us, depending on level of fatigue. Sleep was in fits and starts, while trying to hang on to the cockpit settee and not fall onto the deck..
About 0600, the sun began its rise and we began to feel the rejuvenation of the new day. The Perkins 4/108 continued the 2000 RPM drone with nary a murmer or complaint. We tried to make a snack and some coffee, but She Who Will be Obeyed was having a tough time. I asked her to take another Stugeron pill and that tiny pill did get stuck in her throat which inspired her to to do a technicolored yawn into the bucket.
You could see the little pill sitting triumphantly in the mess, have done the opposite of its intended use.
She was never sick again, for the next year or so. Darn her!
Every hour we marked our position on the paper chart and we noticed by 0800 that we were not going to make our intended goal. So I raised the Genoa sail and we turned on a course that would take us to Cherbourg, a major port city in Normandy.
That was when the motor decided to burp and die. My fatigued mind foolishly decided that we were in the midst of a catastrophe. Oh, if only I knew what was really in store for us...!
It could be that fatigue was talking crap again, but what did I care? Something I knew was gonna happen, happened!
So like the proverbial chicken with the missing head, I started running about, with my appearance being like I was accomplishing something, but in reality was doing nothing. The classic "Chinese Firedrill", with much yelling and screaming. I had not quite reached the "Clusterpluck", but trust me, it was coming.
I looked at the engine, yes. It is indeed an engine, hot, with no apparent leaks or obvious damage. In fact, the engine looked good as new, so why won't it start?
Outside, the wind was picking up, and the swells were obligingly increasing in size. The lovely Bride was finding it difficult to keep a course, and was telling me that her ankle was hurting and she needed a break.
I am a wannabee sheep dog in life, having served our Country for years and in this situation, serving "She Who Will Be Obeyed". I went completely out of my mind with growing anger with the boat and especially my unhappiness with Her feeling any kind of discomfort. I went straight to Clusterpluck.
There was a bleeding of the fuel system, and a changing of the fuel filter. I did this in record time and pumped the fuel lift lever to repressurize the system. I ran back up to the cockpit and tried to turn the motor over.
Back to the moter to bleed. Pump the lever about 35 times, repressurize.
Rinse, repeat, Rinse.
By now, the wind had picked up to about 20 knots, and we had too much sail out, which made the heavy Wildebeest difficult to handle.. Being the one legged man in the ass kicking contest, I allowed myself to make some more poor decisons.
You probably noticed a bad trend, right? It was getting worse, and alcohol was not a contributing factor. Just more bad headwork stacked on top of ungood breaks. Usually, we had the benefit of extra hands, or crew, which meant that they would have differing viewpoints and we could come up with sensible solutions to emergent situations.
Not this time.
The engine finally fired up, and for a brief moment I began to relax. Now, time to roll up the sail and continue to head into Cherbourg.
The weather was blustery and there was a bit of fog and cloudiness. You could see the shore of Normandy on our right, about three miles away. I turned the boat to the North to roll in the 130 Genoa sail.
Rolling! The boat reacted to seas and wind by rolling strongly from left to right.
The sail complained, as it was still holding tight to the wind, and the port sheet (Which was about 5/8 inch thick) began to snap and whip in the wind. The starboard sheet was doing the job and stayed taught, but the excess line from the port side began to snap dangerously near our heads. I began trying to roll up the jib with the roller furler.
This is an illustration of the roller furler concept. Not to be confused with my actual experiences; this one works.
Back to the Wildebeest in '99;
What I should have done was ask for someone to tighten the loose line. But noooo, I was quite busy trying to pull in the sail that I assumed that SWWBO would read my mind...
This is when the roller furling line departed the hub of the roller furler. Our brand new sail had stretched, and there was not enough furling reel line to continue rolling sail, so the furling line disconnected from the freakin' hub, and the Genoa started unrolling out in the wind at lightning speed.
Now, the port sheet had tied into a huge knot and started flogging the boat and equipment! A sine wave formed on the forty foot line, and the one pound knot would would head away then build speed and with a snap! it would strike the boat!!
First victim was the bimini frame, which is about head high. The knot struck a blow which caused the metal to buckle and snap apart. We had to pull back to keep from being struck.
The seas were too rough to turn into the wind, so all we could do was run before the wind and waves, all the while the lines were flogging the boat. I ran forward to drop the sail, ducking and dodging the flailing lines. This was the first real emergency we had ever faced while sailing, and it was not fun.
First thing was to identify the halyard that holds the jib/genoa up. I grabbed the blue line and untied it. The wind pressure was holding the sail up and I had to pull on the sail to ease it down. The Spousal Unit was doing a bang up job balancing the boat in the wind and waves.
The sail got about half way down when those damned lines began whipping about me. A mighty tug and the sail completely fell down!
Into the water.
While moving at five knots.
Lines were now in the water, threatening to get tangled in the prop. The Sail was partially stuck on the mast and in the water, filling with water. This condition is know as "shrimping", watch this video and at 1:27 you will see some shrimping. We were having the same sort of malfunction, but only one person to pull the monster in.
This video will show "Shrimping" and how a crew brings the sail in. Disregard the moronic commentary. "Oh my Gawd", and all that. These guys do a pretty good job of keeping it together.
Switch back to the Wildebeest III in French waters, enjoying her own shrimping experience:
...Now was full panic time. I yelled for the motor to be pulled out of gear, we drifted with the wind and waves while I was pulling with everything I had to get the sail back onboard. Or be ready to cutaway $4500 bucks of new genoa. We had been underway for about nineteen hours and already this.
I pulled, dragged and quietly went about making this happen. No, I was wailing and gnashing teeth. All my wife could see was sail somehow piling up slowly, and could hear the occasional curse and squawk of my favorite word, which just happens to start with an "F". Finally, I got the entire sail out and tied it down to the deck, there was no more energy. I crumpled on top of the sail and had a breather.
"Darryl,..... Are you ok?" "Are you having a heart attack?"
"No... I'm ok, just trying to get my breath!" I yelled back.
"Oh. Ok, I couldn't see you. That was an amazing effort you put in!"
Just like her. Has to say something nice and loving. While I huff and puff like a scared little girl.
Time to Man Up! I crawled my way back to the cockpit, we put the motor in gear and resumed heading to Cherbourg. This was when we opened up our Cruising Guide book to see what the harbor actually looked like;
View Larger Map
If I had known that the entrance to the harbor had a West facing break water, I could have just sailed in with the entire sail up, got into the calm harbor and taken down the sail without any drama, and we would have looked like heroes. Nope, we had to learn that complacency and jumping to false conclusions will cause us to make decisions which will not have good results. Piss poor planning does indeed cause poor performance, I should have planned on secondary ports and had charts and guide books ready. We could have avoided all that silliness by just planning to take a little bite at a time, have gone straight to Cherbourg and waited for a good weather window of opportunity that would be two hours away vice fifteen hours away. Plus, Cherbourg is a wonderful nautical city.
Oh yes!
We got off lucky that day and were able to motor up to the Port de Pleasance. We spent the next couple days thinking about causes and effects, fixing our roller furling and planning better. Our learning curve would have to be steep, but we had just gotten a great lesson about the sea and we had a much better times after this harrowing day. I make it sound more scary than what it was, like a drama queen would do. But I am trying to illustrate what was running through my head at the moment.
As for our team work and mutual support? Never stronger. We worked off of each other's weaknesses and strengths, and the bonds of great marriage were becoming bonded with the concrete of shared adventure. I wouldn't think of sailing with anyone else.
The next post will have pictures of Cherbourg and the local sailors. This trip was not only exciting, but it was getting better by the minute!
The tidal flow is probably about three knots and if you get a situation of water flowing on an Easterly course with winds from the East, well, you will get towering waves and all the adventure you can ever dream of.
About 0200, as we were trying to keep awake while avoiding the criss-crosing commercial traffic, I noticed us getting a little close an avoidance area. All this while keeping the dinner down, since we were both feeling seasick from Westerly winds and accompanying chop. No problem, Mon!
The Wildebeest III was keeping up gamely as we motored south. We hadn't had a chance to do a shakedown sail, so we were motoring and trying to make miles. The watch was about an hour on and off for the both of us, depending on level of fatigue. Sleep was in fits and starts, while trying to hang on to the cockpit settee and not fall onto the deck..
About 0600, the sun began its rise and we began to feel the rejuvenation of the new day. The Perkins 4/108 continued the 2000 RPM drone with nary a murmer or complaint. We tried to make a snack and some coffee, but She Who Will be Obeyed was having a tough time. I asked her to take another Stugeron pill and that tiny pill did get stuck in her throat which inspired her to to do a technicolored yawn into the bucket.
You could see the little pill sitting triumphantly in the mess, have done the opposite of its intended use.
She was never sick again, for the next year or so. Darn her!
Every hour we marked our position on the paper chart and we noticed by 0800 that we were not going to make our intended goal. So I raised the Genoa sail and we turned on a course that would take us to Cherbourg, a major port city in Normandy.
That was when the motor decided to burp and die. My fatigued mind foolishly decided that we were in the midst of a catastrophe. Oh, if only I knew what was really in store for us...!
It could be that fatigue was talking crap again, but what did I care? Something I knew was gonna happen, happened!
So like the proverbial chicken with the missing head, I started running about, with my appearance being like I was accomplishing something, but in reality was doing nothing. The classic "Chinese Firedrill", with much yelling and screaming. I had not quite reached the "Clusterpluck", but trust me, it was coming.
I looked at the engine, yes. It is indeed an engine, hot, with no apparent leaks or obvious damage. In fact, the engine looked good as new, so why won't it start?
Outside, the wind was picking up, and the swells were obligingly increasing in size. The lovely Bride was finding it difficult to keep a course, and was telling me that her ankle was hurting and she needed a break.
I am a wannabee sheep dog in life, having served our Country for years and in this situation, serving "She Who Will Be Obeyed". I went completely out of my mind with growing anger with the boat and especially my unhappiness with Her feeling any kind of discomfort. I went straight to Clusterpluck.
There was a bleeding of the fuel system, and a changing of the fuel filter. I did this in record time and pumped the fuel lift lever to repressurize the system. I ran back up to the cockpit and tried to turn the motor over.
Back to the moter to bleed. Pump the lever about 35 times, repressurize.
Rinse, repeat, Rinse.
By now, the wind had picked up to about 20 knots, and we had too much sail out, which made the heavy Wildebeest difficult to handle.. Being the one legged man in the ass kicking contest, I allowed myself to make some more poor decisons.
You probably noticed a bad trend, right? It was getting worse, and alcohol was not a contributing factor. Just more bad headwork stacked on top of ungood breaks. Usually, we had the benefit of extra hands, or crew, which meant that they would have differing viewpoints and we could come up with sensible solutions to emergent situations.
Not this time.
The engine finally fired up, and for a brief moment I began to relax. Now, time to roll up the sail and continue to head into Cherbourg.
The weather was blustery and there was a bit of fog and cloudiness. You could see the shore of Normandy on our right, about three miles away. I turned the boat to the North to roll in the 130 Genoa sail.
Rolling! The boat reacted to seas and wind by rolling strongly from left to right.
The sail complained, as it was still holding tight to the wind, and the port sheet (Which was about 5/8 inch thick) began to snap and whip in the wind. The starboard sheet was doing the job and stayed taught, but the excess line from the port side began to snap dangerously near our heads. I began trying to roll up the jib with the roller furler.
This is an illustration of the roller furler concept. Not to be confused with my actual experiences; this one works.
Back to the Wildebeest in '99;
What I should have done was ask for someone to tighten the loose line. But noooo, I was quite busy trying to pull in the sail that I assumed that SWWBO would read my mind...
This is when the roller furling line departed the hub of the roller furler. Our brand new sail had stretched, and there was not enough furling reel line to continue rolling sail, so the furling line disconnected from the freakin' hub, and the Genoa started unrolling out in the wind at lightning speed.
Now, the port sheet had tied into a huge knot and started flogging the boat and equipment! A sine wave formed on the forty foot line, and the one pound knot would would head away then build speed and with a snap! it would strike the boat!!
First victim was the bimini frame, which is about head high. The knot struck a blow which caused the metal to buckle and snap apart. We had to pull back to keep from being struck.
The seas were too rough to turn into the wind, so all we could do was run before the wind and waves, all the while the lines were flogging the boat. I ran forward to drop the sail, ducking and dodging the flailing lines. This was the first real emergency we had ever faced while sailing, and it was not fun.
First thing was to identify the halyard that holds the jib/genoa up. I grabbed the blue line and untied it. The wind pressure was holding the sail up and I had to pull on the sail to ease it down. The Spousal Unit was doing a bang up job balancing the boat in the wind and waves.
The sail got about half way down when those damned lines began whipping about me. A mighty tug and the sail completely fell down!
Into the water.
While moving at five knots.
Lines were now in the water, threatening to get tangled in the prop. The Sail was partially stuck on the mast and in the water, filling with water. This condition is know as "shrimping", watch this video and at 1:27 you will see some shrimping. We were having the same sort of malfunction, but only one person to pull the monster in.
This video will show "Shrimping" and how a crew brings the sail in. Disregard the moronic commentary. "Oh my Gawd", and all that. These guys do a pretty good job of keeping it together.
Switch back to the Wildebeest III in French waters, enjoying her own shrimping experience:
...Now was full panic time. I yelled for the motor to be pulled out of gear, we drifted with the wind and waves while I was pulling with everything I had to get the sail back onboard. Or be ready to cutaway $4500 bucks of new genoa. We had been underway for about nineteen hours and already this.
I pulled, dragged and quietly went about making this happen. No, I was wailing and gnashing teeth. All my wife could see was sail somehow piling up slowly, and could hear the occasional curse and squawk of my favorite word, which just happens to start with an "F". Finally, I got the entire sail out and tied it down to the deck, there was no more energy. I crumpled on top of the sail and had a breather.
"Darryl,..... Are you ok?" "Are you having a heart attack?"
"No... I'm ok, just trying to get my breath!" I yelled back.
"Oh. Ok, I couldn't see you. That was an amazing effort you put in!"
Just like her. Has to say something nice and loving. While I huff and puff like a scared little girl.
Time to Man Up! I crawled my way back to the cockpit, we put the motor in gear and resumed heading to Cherbourg. This was when we opened up our Cruising Guide book to see what the harbor actually looked like;
View Larger Map
If I had known that the entrance to the harbor had a West facing break water, I could have just sailed in with the entire sail up, got into the calm harbor and taken down the sail without any drama, and we would have looked like heroes. Nope, we had to learn that complacency and jumping to false conclusions will cause us to make decisions which will not have good results. Piss poor planning does indeed cause poor performance, I should have planned on secondary ports and had charts and guide books ready. We could have avoided all that silliness by just planning to take a little bite at a time, have gone straight to Cherbourg and waited for a good weather window of opportunity that would be two hours away vice fifteen hours away. Plus, Cherbourg is a wonderful nautical city.
Oh yes!
We got off lucky that day and were able to motor up to the Port de Pleasance. We spent the next couple days thinking about causes and effects, fixing our roller furling and planning better. Our learning curve would have to be steep, but we had just gotten a great lesson about the sea and we had a much better times after this harrowing day. I make it sound more scary than what it was, like a drama queen would do. But I am trying to illustrate what was running through my head at the moment.
As for our team work and mutual support? Never stronger. We worked off of each other's weaknesses and strengths, and the bonds of great marriage were becoming bonded with the concrete of shared adventure. I wouldn't think of sailing with anyone else.
The next post will have pictures of Cherbourg and the local sailors. This trip was not only exciting, but it was getting better by the minute!
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