The reality of maintaining a boat rears its ugly head again. With visitors coming soon, Trip turns his attention to the toilet, which has not been flushing well. After confirming that the motor works fine and the macerator blades are clear, he pulls out the entire hose that runs from the toilet out the side of the boat. As we feared, it was lined with a thick scale that greatly reduced the amount of waste that could flow through. Without a water maker, we flush with sea water. The sea water, combined with the contents of urine and other things, over time line the hoses. Yours truly took the hose out on the dock and spent an hour banging it with a hammer to break up and release the scale, and flush it all through. Disgusting messy work, no question, but we’re good for a while now!
The marine world keeps you on your toes. Boats require constant maintenance, and we always have a list of things we want to do, and then there are the ones that we discover that we have to do. Offshore passages especially beat up a boat.
Boat bottom cleaning
That list at the end of this season included: Varnishing (more than a week of scraping, sanding, and varnishing in between bouts of rain), cleaning & reconfiguring the sink drain hose, propping up dying batteries (we’ll replace the house bank in the Spring), fabricating a new riser (stainless steel part of the engine), scraping the hull where it meets the water, re-filling propane bottles for cooking, and keeping mildew out of the inside of the boat. There’s probably a hundred other items, but those were the hardest and most time consuming. Six weeks of living in a marina wound up being a lot more than we planned, but we still found a few days to relax and enjoy the area. And we’re raring to go for 2023!
I always fight the urge to roll my eyes when someone comments on our ’vacation’ when we’re cruising, knowing full well that most days on the boat are perfect for us, but nothing that appeals to most.: Tight quarters, limited water, exposed to the weather, seemingly endless maintenance, repairs & projects, just to name a few.
Send off to new friends
Cruising in a new country brings its own challenges. You arrive and you have to figure out where the authorities are to clear in both yourself and the boat (something that would be right at the airport when most of us fly). You need to get currency or hope that they’ll take dollars.
Cleaning the boat bottom from the paddle board
You need groceries next, as we can’t afford to and don’t like to eat out every day. Grocery stores and markets are one of my favorite places to visit in a new country, but it’s an experience looking a new products on the shelves and figuring out what to cook. And it all has to fit in just a few bags, as we are usually walking or biking or bussing back to the boat. Between the Internet and new local friends, it’s not too hard to figure out, and Trip is very happy with most meals on board. Lotta clued me in to Peruvian pink peppercorn trees that grow as an ornamental tree near our marina, and after a few days of drying, we have peppercorns for next season!
Peuvian pink peppercorns (schinus molle) drying for the pepper grinder
Of course something on the boat is always breaking (cruising = fixing things in exotic locations). In Europe there’s the added challenge of tools and new gear being metric. Because we don’t know the area we don’t know who to call. Again, the Internet usually comes to the rescue. We’re also able to reach out on social media to groups like ’Women Who Sail’ or our global cruising club. Sailors are a group that really enjoy helping fellow sailors. And one of the most wonderful things we’ve discovered this year is the friendliness and resourcefulness of the Portuguese. We have been helped over and over again, big scrapes and small, by local strangers who asked little, if anything, for their help. We can only hope to pay it forward.
Valeriy, Elena & Ozzie
Living in a marina in a new country is like moving into a tiny apartment in a huge apartment complex in the United Nations. We have new neighbors from Germany, Sweden, Ireland, Denmark, England, Russia, just to name a few. Some are temporary as they get ready to head further east or west. Others are there longer term, like us, such as Valeriy and Elena, with their always happy wire-haired dachsund Ozzie. Elena has already taught me how to make borscht and where to buy the best pelmeni (Russian meat dumplings). And, of course, our friends Mads & Lotta, who live near the marina. While we’re back in the US, we regularly get pictures of Kalyra from these friends along a note about how she is still floating and is looking good. Such a crew of new (& old) friends is fun to embrace.
Farmers market near the marina
There’s lots more to deal with – new SIM cards for local Internet, figuring out how to do laundry in a machine with instructions in a different language, getting a haircut, etc. It’s all a bit of adventure, but if you’re patient, it’s pretty rewarding.
We are not marina people. Our boat is heavy. We have a small engine and no bow thruster, so maneuvering in tight spaces (ie. in and out of slips or berths) is not easy. Marinas can be expensive, hot (boat does not face into the wind), and crowded. We usually prefer to anchor. However, that’s simply not a good option for winter storage. So here we are in Marina de Lagos for the winter.
Ozzie – one of our neighbors
This marina could not be a better place for leaving the boat. It’s in southern Portugal where the weather is quite mild. It has a long entryway and is virtually protected from all swell and nearly all wind. Gates are secured from public access, and there’s a winter population here living aboard, so theft is generally not an issue.
Boat leaving Lagos marina through footbridge
Living aboard here in the marina is socially exhausting, but wonderful. It’s like living in the middle of the United Nations with so many countries represented. Everyone has boating in common, and everyone is happy to help, offer a solution, commiserate, or simply relax with a drink.
Cocktails on s/v Zabava (Valeriy, Elena & Ozzie)
The marina is situated in the middle of town (population 90,000) and one can walk or bike to nearly everything. I shop every other day for groceries as needed, and especially relish the Saturday morning farmer’s market.
Farmer’s market
Most boats, like us, are here for 6 or 9 months waiting for the spring to sail east into the Mediterranean. Other boats are here for just a few weeks provisioning and waiting for weather windows to head west to Madeira or the Canary Islands, followed by crossing the Atlantic to the Caribbean. We’ve had so much fun trading information with these boats on anchorages, marinas, expectations, etc. I love learning more about where we’ll be sailing next year, and it always feels good to pass on information to someone else. And the list of friends keeps growing!
Norbert, Steffi and Joeline on Kaimana getting ready for the Canaries
And with all the new friends we meet, we have Mads and Lotta just up the street as well. We see them every few days for dinner or drinks, and they’re always so good with information or advice about the area. And they are a perfect excuse for movie night!
No matter how well prepared you think you are for an off shore passage, things will go wrong. Hopefully those things will be insignificant and few in number, but what’s important is how you react to the problem, and your approach to fixing it or getting by. After all, cruising is ’fixing things in exotic locations’ and I would say the Atlantic Ocean qualifies as ’exotic.’
Resting after shaking out reefs
Everything that went wrong was functioning properly when we left, and nearly all were the result of being in caught in heavy weather. Here goes:
: We encountered big winds and big seas, but nothing uncommon for the Atlantic. We did get our cockpit ’pooped’ a couple of times, filling with water before draining. This led to the failure of a sealed electrical unit that controlled our ability to start and stop the engine. The engine starting solenoid is unfortunately located in an inaccessible place on the engine, further complicating the ability to jump start the engine. The Iridium Go satellite communication link now proved critical, as it gave us the ability to communicate with help back home. Friend and fellow sailor James (conveniently another Tayana 37 owner and an electrical engineer) assembled what we began calling ‘Team Kalyra’ (other Tayana owners, Yanmar diesel mechanics, etc.) to troubleshoot and solve the problem. Through a multi-day, extremely detailed set of communications, James and team helped us eliminate non issues, and get to point of successfully bypassing the failed unit and starting the engine again. We were also fortunate enough to have solid winds that made for beautiful sailing during this time period, so all was not lost. We were also able to communicate during this time with Azorean OCC port officer Linda Lane Thornton, who reached out to marina managers on the different islands and re-routed us to Terceira where we could sail in to anchor and find access to a diesel mechanic if needed (luckily neither were needed, but what peace of mind to know they were there).
The engine loss did create a secondary problem, and that was general power for the boat. We have a solar panel, but experienced multiple days of no sun. The wind generator was producing barely enough power to keep up with the constant draw of the instruments needed for navigation, the self steering autohelm, the lights and the refrigerator. We did opt to only run the refrigerator for an hour or so a day, and we often turned the auto helm off and hand steered. Even so, at one point the batteries were low enough that the solenoid for the propane wouldn’t engage. Luckily we have a camping stove on board and I was able to make coffee and heat soup in the cockpit.
Wind vane repairs
: Wind vanes are finicky, and ours is newly installed (actually we finished it just before we left). The self steering worked for the first two days, and then the oar kept popping off and dragging behind the boat. Trip and Greg fixed it, only to find it steering 30 degrees up into the wind regularly. Trip was able to communicate with the manufacturer, but unfortunately one of the potential fixes required being in flat calm waters, a luxury we didn’t have. Though it requires electricity, we at least had the auto helm to rely on.
Mixing elbow from the engine
: The marine world is hard on a boat, no matter how well kept. Big seas caused our windlass handle (for dropping and retrieving the anchor) to go overboard, but luckily we had a spare and were able to have a new one made in Terceira. The third reef stop blew out of its rivet, and the webbing attaching the slugs to the top of the mainsail blew out (both problems we faced on the sail to the Carribbean), but both were jury rigged and/or fixed at sea. The riser for the exhaust mixing elbow cracked and had to be disassembled and repaired. Moisture got into the boat which caused the VHF radio to go on the fritz until Trip dried out the connectors and got things back in working order.
What needs to be fixed now???
Despite everything that went wrong, I give credit to our crew for remaining calm, working through the problems, and maintaining a healthy sense of humor throughout the sail. If I didn’t express it clearly enough above, a huge debt of gratitude is owed to James and Team Kalyra for keeping our spirits rallied and helping to manage a solution when things went south.
When provisioning for an off shore passage, I plan on the number of days expected plus half that. This was critical for a passage like that to the Caribbean, which took 17 days instead of the expected 12 (lack of wind and limited fuel). These meals do not include the usual cans of soup or wraps and peanut butter & honey which can be fixed in a pinch no matter what the situation. I had planned on 30 days of meals. Greg was rather impressed, as he was expecting 5 days of meals, followed by leftovers, and then start the rotation over. I think I got through half the plan. Why?
Cook hard at work while crew looks on
It was nearly impossible to maintain my balance. I was able to wedge myself in between the steps to the cockpit and the galley counter, but the constant movement of the boat made things sloppy at best and sometimes dangerous (there were some conditions where I knew a knife wasn’t feasible). I joked that once onshore again I would charge people ridiculous sums of money to cook at a constantly changing 45 degree tilt – no better way to strengthen your core!
We were too tired/wet/cold. I consider myself a good off shore cook and I don’t get seasick, but some days nothing tasted better than a heated can of soup with a grilled cheese sandwich.
We had the sin bin. I keep a pocket in the table filled with all sorts of healthy and not-so-healthy snacks (granola bars, peanut butter crackers, dried fruit, trail mix, nuts, and candy bars). Any time anyone craved something extra they could dive in and find a little bit of energy for their watch.
I had the fixings for wraps – lots and lots of flour tortillas that could be filled with tuna salad, peanut butter & jelly, scrambled eggs & leftover veggies, egg salad, and anything else laying around. No need for knives or bowls to clean either.
It wasn’t always bad! I brought along my sourdough starter and made foccacia, pizza (twice!), and a loaf of bread. It just felt strange not to be doing it every other day like on other passages. Blessedly my crew never complained, they were always appreciative of everything I made.
Fresh sourdough bread
And the added bonus was when Greg caught the false albacore! Two nights of fresh fish 14 days into a passage was the best treat ever!
Typical meals:
Breakfast: Scrambled eggs, potato and fake meat wraps, cinnamon apple oatmeal, cereal, pancakes
Lunch: Wraps, leftovers from night before, soup
Dinner: Black bean & sweet potato enchilada casserole, lasagna, clam chowder with foccacia, ramen with leftover veggies, pesto pizza, pasta with sundried tomatoes, artichoke hearts, olives & feta, turkey chili with mac & cheese, salmon sweet potato cakes over salad, teryaki salmon and roast broccoli over rice, sesame albacore, and stir fried veggies over coconut rice
I will spare you all the photos, but the one thing I have been suffering from since arriving in the Caribbean are bug bites. Though I’ve seen mosquitos about, I think these are the results of no-see-ums that come out at dusk and dawn.
THEY ITCH. I don’t care how many people tell me not to itch, it’ll scar, blah blah blah – my legs looked like raw hamburger until yesterday. I finally posted to the Women Who Sail Face Book page figuring someone else had already figured this out and could shed some light. I desperately need relief from the bites I already have and a means of preventing new ones. I’m at 102 comments and growing. Though most are recommending things that I need to buy via Amazon (not really an option right now), I’ve gotten some solid replies:
Anything with DEET or picardin (each of which have their own issues)
Essential oils
Coconut oil
Benadryl (gel & pills)
Calamine lotion
Lanocaine
Hot water/hot spoons (a new one that I had never heard of)
Long pants & sleeves (good luck managing that in 95 degrees on a daily basis)
I took a shower last night and scrubbed well, then applied Benadryl by spray, as well as popping a pill. Since the sun had gone down I did put on long sleeves (linen is fabulous and lightweight and airy) and scrubs (thank you Dr. Steve Voss!) and socks (nearly killed me but my feet are really exposed). It was a pretty comfortable night. I sprayed myself with Repel Lemon Eucalyptus Oil this morning which seems to both repel anything further and manage the sting of the current bites. I also picked up some coconut oil as it’s also supposed to be a good hair conditioner, which I’m sure I’ll need as the sun takes its effect on me down here.
There’s nothing worse than the sinking feeling in your stomach when you look at a weather forecast and read ” wind 30 knots, gusting to 45, seas 7-9 feet.” Our boat is heavy, we know when to shorten sail (have the minimum amount of canvas up to sail safely), and we can take it. But how nice not to be out in it if you really don’t have to.
Late summer and early fall in New England always bring remnants of hurricanes and nor’easters. No matter what plans you might have or who you might be meeting in any specific port, you’re better off not testing the weather and taking unnecessary risks. As we sail we constantly look at anchorages and keep them in mind if they would make good hurricane holes. (A hurricane hole is a harbor that is landlocked enough to block high winds and small enough to prevent fetch (seas) from building.)
When we were in Newport we started reading reports that Hurricane Jose, though not making landfall in the US, would come close enough to shore to bring high winds and high seas. Luckily, the three days before the storm was projected to hit, we were going to have wind in our favor or no wind (easy enough to motor). So we made a plan to get as far down into Long Island Sound as we could where we could find protection.
Saturday morning we topped off gas, diesel and water tanks in Newport and then headed to Fishers Island. We had to motor pretty much the whole way and it was foggy, but we’ve been to Fishers Island before and it’s an easy, wide open anchorage, so there was little risk in doing it in the fog.
Sunday morning (again, very foggy), we headed further southwest to New Haven. We anchored in Morris Cove, which is south of the city by several miles, but an easy in and out, and good protection with multiple breakwaters in place.
Monday we made our final push down to Northport with a fantastic wing-on-wing (main on one side, jib on the other) sail. We had several options, but picked Northport because: a) The mud is incredibly thick which means it holds the anchor well, b) North of the mooring field is a wide open bay where we could safely anchor away from other boat traffic and reduce the risk of being hit if someone dragged, and c) The bay is a decent hurricane hole. It doesn’t have high enough land to protect from much of the wind, but it is almost entirely landlocked, so very little fetch can build.
We stripped the windage (anything that might blow away), put extra lines around the sails and sailcovers, tied off the wind generator, and hunkered down for three days. And we got lucky. The original forecast called for winds gusting to 50 and seas 8-10 feet. The storm instead moved further east and we saw winds of only 30-35 knots and almost no fetch. I got a lot of reading done, Trip did a bunch of projects, we watched several movies, and then we moved on.
Sailing through fog used to scare the crap out of me. Not being able to see anything 50 feet in front of you, limited ability to hear if you’re motoring, it can be unnerving. We’ve done it enough that it’s still uncomfortable but I can laugh a bit when we describe it as ‘sailing by braille.’
Luckily we have a number of tools to help make things easier…
Horn: This is probably the most low tech of everything we have on board but this lets other boaters know that you’re out there. One long blast tells them that you’re motoring, one long blast followed by two short blasts tells them you’re sailing. Carefully listening lets you know the proximity of other boats in the area. In the past skippers haven’t been as good about using them, but I heard quite a few this summer.
Chartplotter
Chartplotter plus AIS: The chartplotter displays a digital version of our paper charts. While nothing is better than being at the helm and seeing for yourself what’s in front of you, a chartplotter does allow you to sail blind. We try to get close enough to certain landmarks, or at least channel markers (green or red buoys) to confirm what the charts are telling us.
See the black triangle on the chartplotter screen picture? That’s us. The outlined triangles are other boats that also have AIS (automatic identification system, or marine GPS). It’s very helpful to be able to see other boats out there on the screen if you can’t see them in person, or even hear them.
iPad navigation apps
The iPad is pretty much the same as the chartplotter, but handheld. Redundancy is always good…..
Radar
Radar: Our radar is a bit old, but it’s still good to have on board, which spots all boats or land in the area – not just what we can see on the chartplotter.
We’re still at anchor in Somes Harbor, but now it’s a bit of a waiting game. We had a lovely time at the theatre last night, the local repertory troup put on a rather fun performance of Agatha Christie’s Black Coffee with Hercule Poirot. The walk back to the dock was a bit treacherous with no light in town or out to the docks, but a number of people from boats had come in for the same reason and most of us had flashlights to light the way back.
The water was like glass and the sky its usual amazing star studded self, and we were awake at midnight (long past our usual bedtime of 10) so we poured ourselves an aperitif and sat out in the cockpit to enjoy the night. Though we couldn’t see them, we could hear the ‘pouf’ sounds from the local porpoises swimming near the boat.
The porpoises: Smaller than dolphins, there appears to be a family living here in the harbor and we see them surface multiple times a day from the boat. Apparently, they have a wicked sense of humor because they like to disappear and then resurface not 30 seconds after a group of kayakers have gone past, plaintively asking if we’ve seen the porpoises. And the bald eagles: There are four here I’ve seen flying past and one came so low I wondered if he was looking to pick off a porpoise or a solo paddleboarder.
We woke up to a grey day, which we were expecting. The forecast was calling for rain most of the day. More importantly, the remnants of Hurricane Gert had just passed the east coast. Though hundreds of miles off shore, she was expected to deliver some serious wind and swell. This is very typical for this time of year in New England – mid August to mid September & we usually hit one of these storms during our summer vacation. The good news is that you can see them coming days away and prepare well in advance (unlike the tornados I grew up with in the Midwest that struck with no notice). I tend to check multiple sites daily for weather forecasts as I’m a little obsessive about sailing in conditions that I like. We knew the rain was coming, but we were also potentially expecting winds gusting up to 35 knots and swells of 4-6 feet. We’ve sat through higher winds at anchor, though I’m never crazy about them occurring at 2 AM when it’s pitch black and you can’t get your bearings to ensure you’re not dragging on your anchor (we immediately take bearings and note latitude/longitude when we drop anchor ). Trip pointed out that the swell would have to pin ball its way up the sound which should help dissipate things by the time it reached us.
We had a few hours before the rain would start so we did a dinghy tour around the harbor. I had seen multiple kayaks coming out of one end so we went over to investigate and found a huge campground. As with most, tent sites were located at the water’s edge while campers were tucked further back. Interestingly there were multiple platforms provided for tents – I’m wondering if the ground is simply so rocky they have to provide that or poor campers would never be able to pitch a tent.
As a total aside I’ve made Trip promise that once we’re shore bound again we’d do a bit more camping and kayaking/canoeing. As an incentive I told him we’d build this together some winter to match my wooden kayak. The biggest temptation once that’s in place is whether we sail in Maine or camp!
Coming back to the boat I was analyzing our distance to the next boat behind us (god forbid we drag during the night) while Trip just went on his merry way. Trip looks once, decides we’re a good distance and carries on. I look out multiple times a day and re-calculate and worry. What a pair. The good news is that I checked the forecast again and wind speed had dropped significantly. Swells are still aiming to be high, but I’m not as concerned given a) now protected we are, and b) how heavy we are (rocks you to sleep like a baby while other boats are rolling uncomfortably).
We settled in for an afternoon of books and I decided to make chicken noodle soup since it was only in the 60’s and what better to have on a night like that?
Update: One boat dragged at around 2 AM (it never does happen mid day when you can see clearly), but as Trip pointed out in his sleep, ‘they’re down wind of us, who cares?’ They reset their anchor and everyone went back to bed.
There’s nothing worse than the sinking feeling in your stomach when you look at a weather forecast and read ” wind 30 knots, gusting to 45, seas 7-9 feet.” Our boat is heavy, we know when to shorten sail (have the minimum amount of canvas up to sail safely), and we can take it. But how nice not to be out in it if you really don’t have to.
The water was like glass and the sky its usual amazing star studded self, and we were awake at midnight (long past our usual bedtime of 10) so we poured ourselves an aperitif and sat out in the cockpit to enjoy the night. Though we couldn’t see them, we could hear the ‘pouf’ sounds from the local porpoises swimming near the boat.
As a total aside I’ve made Trip promise that once we’re shore bound again we’d do a bit more camping and kayaking/canoeing. As an incentive I told him we’d build this together some winter to match my wooden kayak. The biggest temptation once that’s in place is whether we sail in Maine or camp!
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