San Diego Lemonade By MichaelSAN DIEGO, CA

Eleanor enjoying her kayak in the harbor.

I hate not knowing. It’s the one thing that makes me anxious and unsettled and unhappy and unproductive. I don’t mean lack of knowledge, I mean not knowing and being powerless to know, forced to sit by the phone and wait for others, with no avenue available to work proactively towards a conclusion, uncertainty the only known variable.

And that’s what fixing our boom in San Diego has been like.

It’s a funny thing that I adore this cruising life—what other path presents a less-certain future? Windy says my secret is my eternal optimism. I eagerly dive into any project or embark on any path to resolution only because I envision nothing but a rosy outcome. She’s the realist who sees the red flags beforehand.

Just a few days ago and 125 miles north, when I thought we’d be 72 hours in San Diego, tops, she was less assured. “In and out,” I promised. And for the first twelve hours, my naiveté held. We sailed into the harbor, found a cheap slip, and I was dismantling the boom before the last dock line was secured. The rigging shop closed at five and I knew that if I moved quickly, they would pick it up that day and start working on it the next morning.

“Three, maybe four hours is all we’ll need—one day turnaround shouldn’t be a problem.” Said the rigger on the phone before we left Oxnard.

It was almost noon the following day when the rigger hauled our boom away.

“…and for all those reasons, I want you to know that this could take longer and be more expensive than we anticipate.” The rigger told me on the dock in San Diego.

Day three dawned with me standing in the rigger’s shop, staring down at two booms and agreeing that the used replacement boom wouldn’t be a good fit for Del Viento.

“You’re better off buying a new boom. I’ll get you a definitive quote on Monday.”

It’s Monday. I have no quote. We’ve been in San Diego longer than 72 hours. It looks like we’ll be here longer still, waiting, not knowing, uncertainty the only known variable.

Sure, I’ve been able to call and leave messages with other riggers, to post long-shot, used-spar-wanted ads on Craigslist San Diego, to research online, to query my knowledgeable friends. But none of my efforts have put a boom on Del Viento. We’re still sitting in San Diego aboard our un-sailable home just scant miles from the Mexican border.

I think we’re doing the right thing, addressing this in the land-o-plenty. But I’m also thinking that I’d rather be fixing my boat in an exotic location—the way they say cruising is supposed to be. Sure, that would likely be much more difficult, but it would be different. It would be more interesting. It would have me running to and fro, all the while taking steps that seemed productive, giving me a more tactile role in the resolution. I’d be brainstorming a solution with locals and fellow cruisers. I’d be learning new Spanish. I’d be…I wouldn’t be waiting, not knowing.

But I’m making the best of things here.

Yesterday Eleanor went kayaking in the harbor. We had lunch at the San Diego Yacht Club with my friend Jeanne Socrates who is also passing through. Then we moved Del Viento to the free cruiser’s anchorage and though the sound of the jet traffic is significant, last night’s view of the sparkling city-scape stunned my daughters. On Wednesday, we’ll rent a car and drive eight hours north to meet my wife’s extended family for a Thanksgiving family reunion she was, before the broken boom, resigned to miss.

Life is unpredictable, the cruising version even more so. But this circumstance is a good reminder that we have the flexibility to change our plans, to make lemonade out of lemons—and that’s part of the beauty of this cruising life. And if uncertainty is the cost, I can live with that.

--MR

Aboard Nereida with Jeanne. We hadn't seen her since she left
Victoria for her non-stop circumnavigation and we were in Alaska
when she returned. Catching up in person has been a San Diego
bright spot. There is nothing wrong with my girls' necks. I don't
know why they're tilted like that.

Approaching San Diego in unsettled weather. Hours earlier, about
2:00 a.m., the USCG scared the daylights out of me when they
roared up alongside in the rain and pitch dark. I never saw them
until they were three feet abeam and shined massive lights on us.
They shouted to me: "Where are you headed, captain?" I shouted
back that we were en route to San Diego, my voice shaky with
adrenaline. "Call us if you see any unlit boats!" they yelled.
I gave a thumbs up and they sped off, unlit.  

Could Have Been Prevented? By MichaelOXNARD, CA

This was Del Viento on her lee dock
during the September storm in Astoria.
In the few times we were aboard and
checking the anemometer, it gusted to
60 knots, but it seemed higher other times.

As I described in my previous post, we were over-canvased in a gale and we jibed. Evan on Ceilydh wondered why the boom moved from one side of the boat to the other given we had a preventer rigged. I too expected the preventer to prevent and I think it failed to do so as a result of line stretch.

When running, the distance from the point of attachment on the boom to the forward cleat and back aft to a cockpit winch is about 47 feet. We used a 3/8-inch diameter polyester double-braid. Yesterday at the dock, I did my best to measure and it appears the line would have had to stretch at least seven feet to accommodate the aft movement of the boom. That distance is well within the 12-18% stretch that can be expected from this line, but because we had the line winched tightly in the cockpit, it seems some of that stretch should already have been used up. I’m surprised the line didn’t break before it stretched so much further that it allowed the boom to travel across the boat.

But the line didn’t break, the bow cleat held, the standing rigging didn’t part, and the snatch block didn’t explode. The boom bent (and I assume the boom bent at the end of the event, when it crashed to halt on the other side of the boat).

Eleanor: a child of the corn.

At least at the start of the jibe, there must have been tremendous resistance exerted by the preventer. What’s surprising to me is that none of that resistance seemed evident; when the main back-winded, the boom took off like it was unbridled. After the jibe, the preventer line was extremely tight, pulled across and causing significant deflection in the now-windward shrouds.

While I welcome any advice regarding the appropriate line to use as a preventer on this boat, I suspect our set up was fine, we just had too much sail up. In other words, lower-stretch line may have been more effective at preventing in this situation—or it may have resulted in failure elsewhere, perhaps because it wouldn’t absorb enough of the shock-load produced at the moment the sail fills from the other side—or maybe preventing the boom from crossing the cockpit in the event of a jibe is paramount and if stretch is what allowed our preventer to fail, low-stretch line would have been the way to go—but I think the over-riding point is that we should have been reefed.

Corresponding to the advice from Evan and others, I’ve abandoned my original plan to address this fix entirely in Mexico. While I think a robust fix could be made there, the fix would likely be unsightly and affect the resale value of the boat. And while I’d imagined a fix involving welding, San Diego rigger Stephen Mann pointed out that TIG or MIG welding aluminum weakens the metal.

So before we escape Southern California, I intend to fix this. I called Lefiell Manufacturing in L.A. about a repair, but decided to instead try to replace our bent boom with a used spar. Minney’s in Newport Beach has some—and the prices are right—but the closest example to mine is very over-sized. Then I reached K.C. at Pacific Offshore Rigging in San Diego. They have a consignment boom that will probably work very well and they have the skills and tooling to effect a quick R&R with my hardware. I’m expecting the cost to be about $800 and for us to be in and out of there in about 72 hours.

So we’re on our way to San Diego, then Ensenada, and then La Paz, where the weather is fine, the anchorage is free, the beer is cheap, and the food is to die for.

--MR

Del Viento on a pumpkin! The artist is the girls' Auntie Pao.

How I Bent My Boom By MichaelVENTURA, CA

Does your boom look like this?

We left Tomales Bay, just north of San Francisco, for an overnight passage south. Thick, early morning fog hung low when we weighed anchor and the ocean forecast of strong winds and big seas seemed impossibly distant. Ninety minutes later, we reached the bar at the mouth of the inlet, pitching in the swells and threading our way through breakers on either side. We motored out at five knots, rolling in the beam seas until we reached Point Reyes and could turn left to head down the California Coast.

Del Viento is a pure sloop; her mast is far forward and her boom is relatively long. By late morning the engine was off and we were sailing downwind, fifteen knots blowing from astern, our big main all the way out forward, just resting on the aft shrouds. Whitecaps were multiplying and we began to yaw and roll as the seas grew. Steering a heading that kept us on course, the wind was just off our port quarter, but not to far from dead downwind.

And though this heading left us only a few degrees away from a jibe, our autopilot was set to steer according to the wind and we had our preventer rigged (a 3/8” line running from a bale near the end of the boom to a snatch block secured to our bow cleat to a block on our deck to a cockpit winch). We acknowledged the risk of an unintended jibe, but reasoned that with one of us always near the helm, the event would be manageable. In fifteen knots out of the northwest, the apparent wind from astern never rose above ten. If we jibed, the preventer would hold the boom to starboard while one of us would shut off the autopilot and quickly steer us back on course. We moved along comfortably at a good clip.

(You know where this is going, don’t you?)

By late afternoon, the wind and seas had increased as forecast. We sailed at just over seven knots and our indicated apparent wind had climbed to between twenty-two and twenty-seven knots. The seas had grown considerably and caused us to yaw by greater degrees. We made small changes in our heading so that we could maintain our course, walking the line to prevent a jibe. But we were still comfortable, the warm sun was shining, and from ten miles offshore, we could see the Golden Gate Bridge aft of our beam. As they say, life was good.

Del Viento lifted on a big swell. A big gust blew. The sail slacked for a brief moment and I could feel the stern falling exactly the wrong way. Before I could react the main filled with the speed of an automobile airbag and sent the boom flying across the cockpit in a blur. Then BANG! and the boat shuddered and rolled over hard on the opposite tack. I shut off the autopilot and grabbed the wheel as we accelerated into the wind. I countered to keep Del Viento running downwind, the wind now crossing our transom deep into the starboard quarter. I saw that the preventer line was still intact, stretched bar-tight across the starboard stays. I uncleated the line and eased it off the winch to spill the tension—all the while careful to make sure we didn’t jibe again.

My eyes met Windy’s and I could see she felt the same way I did.

“Can you quickly ease the traveler over to port?”

“Yeah.”

Then I saw the damage. An inch forward of the bale to which the preventer was attached, large pieces of thick, shiny, brittle white paint had fallen off the boom where it was creased in about a five- to ten-degree bend.

Damn. Damn. Damn.

What were we thinking? We’ve been sailing too long together not to have thought to reef before we were in a gale. We both felt sick that we’d let this happen, that we’d damaged our boat in circumstances that were so preventable, that we’d relied so heavily on a preventer—especially because a preventer isn’t intended to prevent in over-canvased conditions.

We just messed up.

·         We should have reefed.

·         We shouldn’t have tried to push it, sailing on the verge of a jibe to make a better heading for our destination. In smaller seas we could have pulled this off, but being pushed around as we were, we should have increased our margin of safety by sailing on the beam side of a broad reach.

We got lucky too, as the force of this jibe could have caused more damage. We were aware enough of the risk of jibing to not have let anybody be in the path of the boom, but we didn’t do our rig any favors.

Just a bad situation overall and another lesson learned in as many months. I offer this story so that anyone else who needs can benefit in the same way, without bending their boom.

We plan to continue down to Mexico as we are, but we’ve abandoned the preventer in favor of a brake we have that attaches just aft of the vang. Our plan is to have the boom cut and sleeved or otherwise reinforced in Mexico. (And I assume this is the best approach, any advice is welcome.)

--MR

The bend is where the paint is flaked off between the
two tangs. The preventer was attached to the aft tang.

   

Frances driving grandpa's tractor in Templeton.

Pre-departure from Morro Bay. Auntie Jana and her two
boys and my folks saw us off--though Ryan (orange shirt)
didn't have to say goodbye because he hopped a ride with
us down to Oxnard, where we arrived late yesterday.

West Coast Crew By MichaelTOMALES BAY

It's unbelievable to me that when we left
D.C., she was seven. Happy Birthday Boo.

In the spring of 2010, I emailed John and Cindy of Port Ludlow, WA. I’d learned online that they owned Namaste, one of the dozen-or-so Fuji 40s ever built. I told them Windy and I were considering buying a sister ship for sale in Mexico. I had a million questions.

Cindy got right back to me and in several emails she gave me lots of valuable information about the boat. A month later, we did buy that 1978 Fuji 40 in Mexico, named her Del Viento, and eventually sailed away. And we’ve kept in touch with John and Cindy. They’ve hosted us at their home several times and we’ve become friends.

Like many Puget Sound-area boaters, John and Cindy haven't yet had the time, opportunity, or need to sail outside the 6,900-square-mile watery playground that is the Salish Sea. And though navigating their “protected” home waters is often more demanding from a seamanship perspective than offshore or coastal cruising, the North Pacific Ocean that lies just beyond Cape Flattery remained for them an unknown.

No longer. A few weeks ago, John sailed with us from Port Angeles, WA to Astoria, OR. Afterward, I asked him to write about his experience so that I could post it here. Take it John:
 

“Several months ago I emailed my friends Michael and Windy and asked if I could accompany them part of the way down the coast in the fall on their return trip from Alaska back to Mexico. At the time it was early summer and it sounded like a good idea. Now here I am on a late September night; it’s dark, cold and raining and I need to climb down a wet, vertical, 30-foot ladder to board their dinghy from the pier.

We've been three weeks in the Bay
Area anchored right here, in
Tomales Bay. In the foreground
are cousin Oliver, Grandma Julie,
Auntie Pao, cousin Otis, and Frances.

"I am not thrilled with heights and I was definitely experiencing some pre-trip jitters as I followed 7-year-old Frances down, in my foulies, one rung at a time, trying to maintain some bravado. I survived and we were all soon aboard Del Viento, settling in and catching up on the events in each other’s lives.

"We turned in for the night as we were to set out early the next day. The plan was to leave from Port Angles, round Cape Flattery and cross the Columbia River bar into Astoria. (Ocean sailing with a bar crossing-what more could I ask for?) Unfortunately, sleep did not come easily. My mind instead vividly reenacted many well-known tragedies at sea, leaving me to wonder whether I would see my family again. (I know, very melodramatic.)

"Windy woke me at 0630. It was cloudy, but no longer raining, there was little wind. We weighed anchor without trouble and headed into the Strait of Juan de Fuca. Michael and the girls were still asleep and Windy and I got the chance to talk about their routines when planning a passage. I was excited to be doing a coastal ocean passage on the sister-ship to our Namaste.

"Now underway, my anxiety started to dissipate and even the clouds opened up to a bright, sunny day. We motored all day towards Cape Flattery, keeping a sharp eye out for the occasional log. At sunset we were abeam Neah Bay and I could see the light off Cape Flattery, where we’d make the big 'left turn.' At this point, I could feel the increasing size of the ocean swell. Too, there seemed to be more logs here at the entrance to the Strait. It was getting dark fast and to my inexperienced self, these did not seem to be ideal circumstances. But we continued on and I watched the desolate Washington coast disappear behind us.

Windy grew up here in
San Anselmo, close to
where her folks live now.
It's also where George
Lucas penned Star Wars
in 1973 and Indiana Jones
in 1974.

"We decided I would take the 0100 to 0400 watch, so I soon headed to my berth to try and sleep before my turn. Before I knew it, Michael woke me and in the cockpit he briefed me on conditions before leaving me to settle into my watch. Although I was nervous, three hours passed without incident. Windy showed up around 0400 to relieve me and I found sleep came easier than before.

"I had the early shift the next night and by this time the nervousness I felt the night before was gone. The hardest part about that watch was being cold, especially the last hour that seemed to drag. But Michael reminded me about how pleasant a night watch can be in the tropics, wearing only shorts and a T-shirt.

"Early on the third morning, Windy woke me to let me know we were getting ready to cross over the Columbia River Bar. We had arrived a few hours earlier than planned and so we would be crossing in the dark. While the conditions seemed calm, we still contacted the Coast Guard to get the latest conditions. The most unsettling part about crossing the bar was the number of lights. Even though we all know "red right returning," there seemed to be a lot of red lights and it was a bit confusing. But this is where the iPad came in handy, as we were able to follow the channel in, even with fishing boats and the occasional supertanker close by. By sunrise we had tied up to the dock in Astoria and my first trip down the coast was over.

"In the days and weeks that have followed, I have thought about the trip down the coast many times. While I did not cross any oceans or make landfall on a distant shore, I returned home with a sense of accomplishment and a better understanding of what to expect when we point Namaste’s bow south. For me, dealing with the unknowns and the what-ifs have been a hard part of preparing for our own trip. It is always possible to imagine the worst-case scenario. And while I often talk to sailors who can tell you about this or that terrible storm they were in, after spending time with Michael and Windy, I realize that with careful planning, keeping an eye on the weather, and a little luck, most of the drama can be avoided. I feel the greatest thing I came away with was a feeling that although I know our own cruise will not always be easy, I now have a greater sense of confidence in being able to make our own dreams come true.”

--MR

John and Windy motoring in the Strait of Juan de Fuca.

This is our friend Dr. Angus Stewart. He made the
trip with us from Eureka to Bodega Bay.

And here is Windy and her dad, Paul. Paul made the
early morning, five-mile trip from Bodega Bay to
Tomales Bay.

The girls with their cousins Oli and Otis,
Del Viento behind.

Windy's Aunt Bev, her husband Don, and her
grandparents Lee and Dorothy, nonagenarians.
Lee flew a P-51 in Europe during WWII.
The camera is up here Frances.

New Boats By MichaelTOMALES BAY, CA

Ominous, huh? I found it on a
deserted shoreline on NW
Vancouver Island, BC.

I stumbled on a Rolling Stone magazine the other day and my ignorance of popular culture was suddenly apparent. I've not heard a single song listed in the iTunes Top Ten. Something awful has happened because Dave Matthews and Tom Petty and the Red Hot Chili Peppers were not there. Seriously, they're gone.

So I looked up the listed number-one artist, Lorde (yes, just one name like Madonna and Cher). Turns out she is a 16-year-old New Zealander who is a singer-songwriter phenomenon. I listened to her hit, "Royals" and I was impressed. Her extraordinary lyrics confront the ostentatious consumption celebrated in popular music.

If you’re familiar with Lorde’s "Royals," read on, else take a minute to check it out: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=u7T64Qo3bdU

And for the benefit of Log of Del Viento readers, I rewrote Lorde's song with a nautical bent. I named it "New Boats," then I thought how excellent it would be if the likes of Eileen Quinn were to record this version on her next album. Can anyone pass this on to Eileen? (Though she and Little Gidding may be retired.)

Enjoy!

I’ve always been a sailor done my best

I cut my teeth on worn-out lines, in a dinghy
And yes my boat’s a bit of a mess
Old mismatched gear, no yacht club envy

But every show’s like Musto, West Marine, SOLAS or you’re not safe

Rocna, Monitor, sign up for a charter
We don’t care, we’re sailing Oysters in our dreams
But every store is like new line, watermaker, put it on the credit card
new chain, bigger winch, Parasail spinnaker
We don't care, we aren't caught up in your love affair

And we'll never have new boats (new boats)

It don't run in our blood
That kind of luxe just ain't for us
We crave a different kind of buzz

Let me be your cruiser (cruiser)
You can call me Sea Bee
And baby I'll sail, I'll sail, I'll sail, I'll sail
Let me live that fantasy

My friends and I—we've cracked the code

We sail our trusty good old boats across oceans
And everyone who knows us knows that we're fine with this
We didn't come from money

But every show’s like Musto, West Marine, SOLAS or you’re not safe

Rocna, Monitor, sign up for a charter
We don’t care, we’re sailing Oysters in our dreams
But every store is like new line, watermaker, put it on the credit card
new chain, bigger winch, Parasail spinnaker
We don't care, we aren't caught up in your love affair

And we'll never have new boats (new boats)

It don't run in our blood
That kind of luxe just ain't for us
We crave a different kind of buzz

Let me be your cruiser (cruiser)

You can call me Sea Bee
And baby I'll sail, I'll sail, I'll sail, I'll sail
Let me live that fantasy

Ooh ooh oh

We're sailing like we ever dreamed
And I'm in love with being green
Ooh ooh oh
Cruising’s great without a care
We aren't caught up in your love affair

And we'll never have new boats (new boats)

It don't run in our blood
That kind of luxe just ain't for us
We crave a different kind of buzz
Let me be your cruiser (cruiser)
You can call me Sea Bee
And baby I'll sail, I'll sail, I'll sail, I'll sail
Let me live that fantasy

--MR

Making s'mores in the Bunsby Island group,
west coast of Vancouver Island, BC.