Category: Tranquillity

Small boat Solo sailing ocean crossing
Sailing Solo Across the Atlantic Ocean – Part 4

Sailing Solo Across the Atlantic Ocean – Part 4

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This is the part 4 of crossing the Atlantic on a Columbia 29. Click to read Part 1 , Part 2 , Part 3 .

The departure for the last leg of my solo sailing across the Atlantic Ocean was set for Sunday. I was expecting headwinds for the first miles out of Horta. 900 nautical miles of ocean waters separated me from an unknown yet exciting future.

Sara became increasingly insistent and concerned about my departure. That sounded a bit strange, as until that moment she had been very patient with my slow pace. Why suddenly all this fuss?

I was a bit nervous to start again, both adamant to be underway but also strangely scared.

Like all liminal spaces transitions are perhaps the most difficult part of sailing. Landfalls and departures require a transformation, a change in routines that always exerts a toll. I am a slow guy and a slow sailor. Moving from rock solid land to fluid water it’s never a immediate passage for me.

FIRST MISTAKES

The Island of Pico in the Azores

I decided to pass the Island of Pico on the North side. This way I thought I would avoid the headwinds and waves for the beginning of the trip. As I left the harbor and turned North for few miles I realized it was poor planning. The high rise volcano of Pico soon enough blocked the southern winds. I found myself in a windless zone.

I changed my mind again. I backtracked and started fighting the headwinds going South. This time I had more miles to cover and grew a bit frustrated of my poor foresight. I ended up spending the good part of the day outside, trying to make the boat go South, tack after tack. The wind decreased and the ride got smoother but it was increasingly more difficult to make a good angle to clear Pico to the South.

As I said transitions are often difficult, settling in any rhythm requires patience and time.

Even if the full moon was shining like a projector making it a very bright night, I started in my nap routines as soon as it got darker. As usual I would wake up every 20 minutes to check my position and to see if it was time to turn the boat on the next tack.

I was down in my bunk when a noise, a knock on the side of the hull, wakes me up.

It alerted me 100% as any suspicious noise would do in the middle of the ocean. It was a sound I shouldn’t be hearing.

I ran out in the cockpit with no clue of what I would find. Then I saw vertical cliffs and half submerged rocks in front of me, visible in moonlight

The boat is knocking gently on a submerged rock, invisible yet so evident and present, stopping her motion forward.

I couldn’t believe my eyes and I switched the motor on and put it in reverse in sheer panic. The boat started to get away from the hard spot.

It felt like a dream and I couldn’t really believe what I was witnessing.

I crashed into the island of Pico because I overslept on the alarm clock.

The wind conditions were light and the boat on autopilot sailed placidly. As the wind decreased near shore Tranquility drifted slower and slower until she hit a solid spot.

I couldn’t even hear waves crashing on the shore, I just saw the gentle surge around the cliffs so clear in the bright moonlight.

As soon as I reached deeper waters I steered away from danger. I ran down below to pull up the floor boards and check every inch of the bilge in search of water rushing in. The bilge was as dry as ever and the internal part of the hull showed no damage.

I continued to frantically check the bilge. In the following minutes a dilemma started to a surface to my consciousness: Do I need to go back to port to check the hull or should I continue the trip?

Nothing seemed to change and the bilge stayed dry. I realized that the boat was in good shape and that the impact was very mild, even though against a very hard rock. I imagined that the boat only got few scratches on her thick hull.

It was a huge scare. Not being able to better assess the damage made me feel uneasy, for the better part of the night.

Despite this lack of information somehow it was clear to me what I needed to do.

I decided to continue. I had this gut feeling that everything was ok despite the potentially fatal mistake I just did.

Many times I have been spared from catastrophic outcomes in my sailing adventures. It is hard to understand why some people get through countless mistakes unscathed while others pay the highest price for the first, minimum error. I can say there is no fairness on the Ocean.

It’s impossible be estimate how much luck and time on earth we are given. I could only be grateful for the near miss as I am for other situations I lived through. One time during the hardest storm I ever faced the wrong wave could have spelled disaster. Another time I almost drown during a spearfishing session before friendly hands from indigenous people picked me up and dropped me in their canoes.

I was given another gift, a second chance: That half submerged rock gently stopped Tranquility from total wreckage. I committed the classical sin of the solo sailor and I had been spared.

STEADY SAILING

Steady Sailing in the North Atlantic

Sailing away from land had a relaxing effect on my worries. The route to Tenerife had no fixed obstacles in front of me for more than 800 miles. For many miles I kept full jib and staysail sheeted to port and one reef in the main. Tranquility sailed on a steady groove at about 5 knots.

I was enjoying again the day to day routine of taking a sailboat to an unknown point beyond the horizon. Sailing has a stern discipline, what’s relevant is the task at hand. We could regret what just happened and worry for what’s coming next, but it’s the immediate circumstances that require most of the focus. Despite the scary encounter with the island of Pico, I was having a good time.

I spotted few vessels near the Portuguese archipelago and monitored the local radio frequencies. I was also able to receive weather forecast on the VHF channel from the maritime authorities. It was fun to try to understand the Portuguese message before the English version would come up. My performance was however rather poor despite the similarity between Portuguese and Italian.

After 34 days of ever changing weather conditions I enjoyed steady sailing conditions. Those moments make you appreciate what an incredible piece of art is a well prepared sailboat.

I had a good winds forecast all the way to Tenerife. It blew at first from the SW and later from the NNW. Only near Madeira the winds drop considerably. Even if I transited an abundant 100 miles to South the effect of its high rise were noticeable.

I’ve enjoyed taking sights with the sextant during the passage. I thought I had a good hang of the process, but I had to keep going back to the books and double check my steps. The most important thing I realized is that I almost never pay attention to the position of the sun. Very few of us do. I certainly didn’t need to, as the GPS system was telling my position instantly on a chart any time I felt like checking.

There is almost always something more important going on in my mind that makes it irrelevant to notice the whereabouts of the sun. After all, it tends to come back everyday, and the seasons seem to keep repeating on and on and on. And when in doubt about what time it is I look at my watch first.

Jib and staysail fully working on a beam reach

However those observations slowly matured into the realization that I was going with everything else. It was somehow mind blowing that by observing and measuring myself goingwith the universe I could find my position on this planet.

We always go with everything else, in a synchronous choreography.

Teilhard de Chardin said in the most eloquent way: “The whole universe is the only true atom; the only truly indivisible whole.”

Mile after mile sailing in the ocean I was learning that moving around on a vessel powered by winds and currents was giving me a profound sense of belonging. In a way, it is not incorrect to say that I was using the movement of the whole universe to go meet Sara in Tenerife.

APPROACHING TENERIFE

Anaga, the mountainous area in the North of Tenerife

When I finally rounded the northern tip of Tenerife after 8 days at sea I enjoyed the fresh wind sending me at full speed toward my target. I admired the rugged mountainous coast of the island and I kept a respectful distance, especially after the scary encounter at the beginning of the trip.

Funny enough I experienced the strongest winds of the entire crossing right at the arrival. I was sailing close to shore in the channel between Tenerife and Gran Canaria to get to my final destination in Puertito de Güímar. There the trade winds accelerate due to the “funnel effect”. Locals call this the Wind Acceleration Zones (WAZ). In this area wind speeds climb to 30 knots and gusts approach 40.

I had to jibe my way south as the wind blew parallel to shore. Soon my sails were reduced almost to the size of handkerchiefs.

Three miles from the entrance to Puertito de Guimar the fresh winds turned into a stronger gusty breeze. Elliott on my satellite messenger warned me about strong gusty conditions. My reaction was abit cocky: “well, I will deal with it”. I wasn’t expecting such and exciting arrival.

It was a beautiful sunny day and after a journey of more than 3500 miles across the North Atlantic I was approaching the most difficult part of all: Landfall in an unknown port. Obviously Puertito de Güímar was right in the middle of one of those infamous acceleration zones.

LANDFALL

As I was sailing solo I grew a bit nervous while getting mooring lines and fenders ready. I also needed to get my anchor back on deck and ready. I remove and store the anchor down below during each longer ocean passage. It was no different for this stroll from Horta. I wasn’t planning to use the anchor as I was headed to a pier, but it was still my emergency brake so it was good to have the option.

My Columbia 29  “Tranquility” was sailing with a fraction of jib out, the staysail and a deep reefed mainsail. The wind speed further increased while approaching landfall forcing me to furl the jib away and douse the mainsail while constantly keeping an eye on my windvane autopilot that was subjected to rounding up to weather during violent gusts. Walking on deck while the boat danced over the lively white caps of the confused seas carrying a 20lbs anchor was exciting to say the least.

When I finally got the deck ready the staysail alone was pushing the boat toward the narrow entrance in the breakwater of the marina. I had a few minutes before I reached the entrance, when I would disconnect the autopilot and steer manually, and I decided to use them to worry about analyzing the situation. 

After dropping the staysail I had to make my way upwind into the basin. The entrance opened between two seawalls surrounded by sharp rocks and artificial boulders. On my lee side laid a rocky and shallow beach. 

I depended fully on my electric inboard propulsion to reach the dock and I was nervous.

I saved an aerial snapshot of the marina from Google Earth on my phone which I thoroughly analyzed. Sara on shore was coordinating a welcoming committee and she sent me precise instructions to where to head once I cleared the breakwater.

The aerial snapshot I used to navigate the Club Nautico de Puertito de Güímar

Even if I did my homework I was still nervous.

I had little doubt my electric motor would work. It never failed before. The main switch was on and I could read a voltage of 52.3v on the display. The batteries were more charged than when I left the USA. The wind generator and the regeneration from the propeller charged them for the whole 42 days it took me to cross the Atlantic Ocean. 

You study the landfall. You run many movies in your head with all the scenarios. You know you have done this countless time. You know how the boat responds in different conditions. Still there is no way not to be nervous, which is good, in a way it keeps the energy and focus up.

I turned toward the opening in the breakwater with the residual speed from the wind once the staysail dropped on deck. The familiar low humming of the motor started as soon as I pulled the lever forward.

The wind shoved against the mast slowing me down as I rounded up toward the entrance. I measured my progress watching the boulders on my beam. Tranquility was not moving and the bow threatened to fall off. I asked more amperes from the batteries, from 25 to 35. Now the bow was steady dead upwind but there was not much progress forward. I increased to 40 amperes, then 45 amperes.

With this extra push from the motor the boat got momentum and I slowly saw the horizon progress behind the breakwater. As soon as the boats gained speed I adjusted back the throttle to 35 amperes. 

Then something unexpected happened. On my port side I saw a guy in an orange safety vest waving towards me and pointing to an empty slip. I was going so slow that it would have been impossible to pretend I did not see him. I realized he was the dock master and he was telling me where to dock. 

Sara and Miguel Angel, a veteran member of the yacht club, were waiting for me on a slip in the opposite corner. They sent me the precise instructions to head toward a vacant slip that would require less maneuvering. Miguel Angel is a sailing authority in Tenerife and he thought that was a better option for a solo sailor arriving after crossing the Atlantic Ocean.

At first I tried to comply with authority and head toward the dock master. It wasn’t a difficult maneuver but the strong wind made it much more challenging. I  gave up when I realized it would be so much easier to go where I was originally expected. Despite the strong winds pushing tranquility toward a 60ft steel sailboat, I was able to turn on a dime and proceed towards the welcome party in the far corner.

As I was approaching the slip I gradually decreased speed until my fenders touched the pontoon and friendly hands grabbed my dock lines. I had safely landed and finished my long voyage.

Landfall in Tenerife

SURPRISE WELCOME PARTY

Sara came toward me leaving behind a group of people I have never met before but that I knew very well after hearing so many of her stories. The first kiss and hug was for her. It was brief and strange, as there were so many things happening around. Neither of us was sufficiently relaxed to finally meet heart to heart.

As I secured the lines and organized a bit the mess of the boat two familiar figures came towards me from the sea wall down to the pier. My mom and dad!

All of the sudden I realized why Sara was so adamant that I got underway from Faial. She had already arranged for my parents to get on the island and she was concerned it would take me ages to make it to Tenerife. It was a great emotion and it was also the first time they saw me arriving anywhere on Tranquility, and for one time I felt proud of it.

A Happy Welcome

The rest of that day is confused in my memory, but the excitement of being with Sara, surrounded by family and new friends in a welcoming place was the best I could ask for when I set sail from Georgia 47 days earlier. I made it in one piece, and lived one of the most vivid and beautiful experiences of my life. It took a total of 42 days of sailing to complete the journey and, incidentally, 42 is also the answer to the ultimate question of life, the universe, and everything. I take it as a good omen.

Marina-da-horta
Sailing Solo Across the Atlantic Ocean – Part 3

Sailing Solo Across the Atlantic Ocean – Part 3

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Continues from Part 1 and Part 2

When I notified the Marina da Horta of my arrival I learned that I wasn’t allowed ashore until I took a Covid-19 test the next day and waited 24hrs for the result. This was hardly unexpected. Sara thoroughly researched the matter and kept me informed through our texting device.

The worst case scenario I was prepared for consisted in receiving a resupply of water and food from a launch service and continuing without even putting a foot on land. After watching the green and fertile south shore of Faial passing on Tranquility’s port side the desire to visit the island grew very strong and the idea of waiting 24hrs to go ashore became intriguing.

The free Wi-Fi signal made it at times to the anchorage. I started to notify friends and family of my arrival, sending selfies and making video calls to the closest people. After 34 days of no internet I was back to day 0. It was definitely refreshing not to have to deal with the internet for more than a month. Even if I was communicating with people through the InReach device, it only allowed the pre-smartphone SMS type of communication.

The first night at anchor was uneventful. I woke up many times to check the holding of my anchor. The wind whistled in the rig as strong SW gusts were finding their way into Horta‘s basin. Feeling the pressure of the wind on the rig while at anchor was unfamiliar after more than a month using the same force to move forward. But my preoccupation were light and I fully enjoyed the pleasure of a long night of sleep.

The next morning I asked the harbor master for a pick up at the boat to go for the Covid test. I assumed they had a launch and I was trying to avoid deploying my own dinghy for….well… for being lazy. They told me there was a space for me to move to the quarantine dock, on the inner side of the quay.This was very fortunate because it was protected from the swell of the basi, and I could wait there for the result of my test.

I droned the electric powered Tranquility to the mooring assigned in the quarantine dock. I was then met by a Policia Maritima who was tasked to escort me and another Dutch solo sailor coming from Aruba to a public Gym where a line of people was waiting for their test.

THE FIRST EVER COVID TEST

Talking with the policeman I learned that he spent time in Italy serving in the Portuguese army during the war in the Balcans. He had then moved to Faial to work in the police force with the plan to retire and possibly remain to live in the island. Few signals here and there where suggesting that his decision could be a very good one.

Even if I can’t really picture the financial reality of my own retirement I could still use my powerful imagination and see myself retired in the green and quiet Azores. But maybe this was too early of an assessment. This sleepy, not so socially entertaining place looked brimming with life after 34 days by myself in the ocean, but that can become a bit bleak over time. It was also probably unfair to base my impressions on the summer months, the time of the year when tourists come to the Azores.

A public gym was the location of the massive Covid-19 testing. Tourists and locals alike where required to take the test at intervals of 7days. After the second negative test there was no requirement for further testing, unless there were symptoms.

The line was long but the test was surprisingly quick and after being stabbed in the nose and the throat with an earbud I was escorted back to the boat. I had to spend another day onboard attending to few cleaning tasks but mostly chatting with friends and family as I could connect to free WiFi reaching anywhere in the bay.

When I came in the anchorage and doused my mainsail I noticed a small tear on the leech. It was a concerning discovery as there were at least 1000 miles still to sail. My first reaction was to deploy my sewing machine and attempt a repair to the damaged portion of the sail. However, while in line for the Covid test another sailor praised the sail repair service on the island for being quick and inexpensive.

Tranquility’s mainsail, getting ready for pickup

Sara was putting an extraordinary pressure trying to convince me to keep my stay in the Azores as short as possible. That request was very uncommon as she is usually very patient and compassionate. What a couple of days more would change in an Atlantic crossing? My birthday was also coming up in a couple of days, I had the VHF antenna to replace, grocery to do and propane to refill. Giving the mainsail repair to the sailmaker would help keeping the stop in Faial, quick and efficient so I called and agreed for them to pick up the main sail.

Things looked well, and I was excited to have put together a plan for the next days, despite the uncertainty of this all pandemic. The philosophy of What If everything was going to be OK? is a mental discipline that I try to practice despite the dire times we are in. Imagination can really take you places and help build a meaningful life. And maybe a bubble of OKEITY could burst and infect other people or areas. Maybe.

The Covid-19 result came as expected: negative. The opposite result would be utterly incredible as I had just spent 34 days alone on a boat in the Atlantic Ocean. Solo sailors are one of the most uncommon typology of human beings and for this such an insignificant part of the world population no special treatment or rules are to be expected.

BEM-VINDO AO FAIAL

After docking Tranquility to the floating pontoons of the marina I got finally access to all the facilities and to the entire island. I went to check the bathroom showers and laundry, which were at the opposite side of the marina and discovered they had very bizarre opening hours. They opened at 10, closed for lunch time and closed terminally at 4pm each summer day. This strange hours coupled with an active scheduled made me miss many showers, and I ended up using taking cold shower from the hose on the dock. The last thing I was expecting from this stop was this inability to enjoy hot showers…

I found a replacement for the VHF antenna I lost during the crossing at the local chandlery. The problem was fixed with a quick travel up my mast to put the new antenna in place. I also brought my propane tank to get filled, just in case.

The trip to the first fully assorted European supermarket in the last 6 months was mind blowing. I was glad to find all the delicious products I wasn’t able to get at WalMart or WinnDixie in St.Marys. The rule ”don’t go grocery shopping while hungry” should have the addendum: “particularly after a long ocean crossing”. Two big full size grocery bags filled to the brim with fresh vegetables, shelf stable goods for the rest of the trip, and a bottle of red Portuguese wine, bread, cheese and jamon serrano that became my dream dinner came in result of disregarding the rule.

I also stopped at Peter’s Cafe for lunch on my way back. Peter’s Cafe is an institution for sailors coming to Horta. They have very good advertisement campaign and offer different services. They also claimed that the first beer after reaching port is on them, but the waiter who served me at the table didn’t seem to agree with this information. I did’t want to argue. After all the food was nothing special and quite pricey too. I think Peter Cafe’s won’t hold the institution tag in my memory of this visit, and not only for the missed free beer.

Lunch with NO FREE BEER

Horta is sailors oriented as it is the main port of call for people crossing the Atlantic during the summer months. The reason is the good harbor, the ample marina and the services available. But if I come in the archipelago again I would love to see other places, as each island seem to have its own character: They all share look green, wild and beautiful.

I enjoyed being able to solve the few problem I had in little time. Even having to cope with the Southern European concept of time was not a too big of a deal. It is interesting how soon we get used to the type of service from the place we live. I feel naturally inclined to island time even if I grew up in a big city in the part of the Italy which is obsessed with time, punctuality and long hours of service.

The Azores gently reminded me that problems can wait and that not everything is an emergency all the time. In my traveling and sailing career I kept moving into different time-space continuums, learning to appreciate the cultural differences in regards to the concept of time. After Honk Kong and the USA I was reminded I needed to re-adapt yet to another conception of time. The showers of the marina were the first reminder that I was entering a strange territory in the space-time continuum.

MY BIRTHDAY PRESENT

Saturday 1st of August was my birthday. I rented a scooter to Be able to roam the roads of the island and celebrate my 39th year on this planet. Completing my errands helped me enjoy a time that was only for myself. I headed up toward the Caldeira (cauldron), the crater of a spent volcano that harbor a very peculiar ecosystem of plants, and perhaps small insects and other animals. The mere ride towards the top was an experience in itself as during the 1000meters climb I passed many differente ecosystems: From cactuses, to cow pastures, to beautiful forests. For the first time in a while my nose was stimulated by several pleasant smells coming from plants and flowers, a symphony of olfactory stimulation that made me appreciate this underrated (art least for me) sense.

A skinny trail runs on the edge of the volcano’s cone

I hiked the rim of the volcano about 7km on a narrow track that passes through reeds, flowers, shrubs, and oleanders. My body memory of walking in mountainous landscapes brought me back to my youth. The excitement and gratitude were so strong that my muscles didn’t protest for this extra effort after long days on the ocean where they were underutilized.

The inner part of the Caldera

If my daemon took me to live a life of work and pleasure on the ocean, my brightest moments and memories are when I walk in the mountains. Growing up in the outskirts of Milan put me in close reach to the Italian Alps, with their incredibly beautiful and steep valleys and peaks. This paradox is at the very core of my soul. Is this why I am heading towards an island with a 3700m high peak like Tenerife?

The hike around the volcano took time. I realized I would not be able to complete the ambitious tour of the small island I was set out to accomplish in one day. Sometimes I am still possessed by the desire to see as much as possible and to check all the landmarks and attractions. This picture-snapping tourist mentality is the heritage of a culture that I learned to leave behind. It is still active but it easily surrender to the mindless stroll of the saunterer who navigates by random cues.

This attitude guided me while buzzing around the beautiful landscape. The Azores are nice, green and fertile specks of volcanic land that creates ideal ground for cow grazing. The blue Atlantic is always on sight and the juxtaposition of the green and blue is a balm for the mind.

On the way back to the marina I stopped in the cafeteria of a supermarket for my birthday lunch. The place looked like a regular and clean European restaurant, nothing fancy at all.

I didin’t see many alternatives on my route, so I gave it a try. I ordered a plate of local goat cheese with pepper sauce and honey, a mixed salad and a generous grilled tuna steak served with sautéed onions and roasted potatoes, all washed by a pint of Super Bock and capped by dessert and coffee. The bill was 18 euros. The picturesque supermarket cafeteria was an experience in itself after months of grabbing lunch in strip mall America.

I returned to the boat just in time to receive the mainsail with a couple of extra fixes and reinforcement. I was feeling alright despite not having seen much of the Azores. I would have to go back for another pass. I quickly hoisted the mainsail back on its mast tracks and prepared Tranquility for sailing before my last night at the docks.

BACK IN THE MINDSET

A little wind forecasted for Sunday, the insistence of Sara that I would resume my trip, and a promising full moon conjured to set departure to the next day. After just 4 days in the island I was ready to face the last 1000miles of the trip. This quick stop barely affected the sailing rhythm of the past weeks, and Tranquility was still in sailing configuration.

Tranquility ready to bite the waves

It was nothing compared to what I had just passed, especially with the possibility to have a more consistent wind forecast, but still it was no joke, another portion of the North Atlantic Ocean to cover for me and Tranquility. A good dose of fear and expectations was resting on my chest as it often happens when I prepare to set sail.

Departure was set in the afternoon, when the winds would pick up more consistently, and I could point Tranquility’s bow toward the final destination of this ocean crossing.

TO BE CONTINUED…

Solo ocean sailing
Sailing Solo Across the Atlantic Ocean – Part 2

Sailing Solo Across the Atlantic Ocean – Part 2

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If you missed the beginning of this tale read Part I

Solo sailing in the ocean is an exercise of patience. More high pressure brought days of calm and difficult progress. Meeting Sara again after months apart is the only commitment I have left. It is a sort of push, in a way making me a little anxious about the slow going progress. 

CALMS AHEAD

I try to climb North to get closer to steadier Westerlies, but this operation is slow with so little wind. The common strategy in an Eastbound crossing is to go North to find wind or descend South if wind is too strong. East going low pressure systems tend run at around 40N latitude and above. At that latitude there is potential for strong and dangerous winds associated with the lows. Keeping a more southern course is a safer option but the risk is to get stuck in wide patches of calm.

Calm evening on the Atlantic Ocean

The wind pattern in this July has been quite chaotic. I get comforted by thinking that sailing is about the journey not destination. It’s one of those cliche sentences dropped here and there in online forums as a balm on the wounds of discomfort and plans that keep falling apart, me think.

Day 14 – 48Nm last 24hrs – Log 1151nm

Despite my best efforts this crossing seems to be infinite, the preparation and the execution as well. Sailing a slow boat like this Columbia 29 (and also with an electric motor) leave not much to do when weather does not cooperate.

Part of me of course enjoys this slow going pace. Especially the part of me that takes this crossing as a sort of meditation retreat. I wake up to the same day every day, on and on, and the way I deal with the day has a profound impact with the next one.

It’s a loop and it very much happens to every person I know. There is no need to be by yourself in the middle of the ocean on a slow boat to experience it. It is just that here it becomes very evident. I am exposed to my own choices and decisions, living a life so much undressed of formalities, agendas and needs.

I try very much not to get annoyed by little happenings: Annoyance can easily escalate to frustration. At the same time I try not too indulge too much in a specific pleasure. The main activities are listening to music, watching a movie or reading. If I overdo any of them then they will loose entertaining qualities, they become a need, no longer enjoyable.

I fall naturally onto a rhythm that takes advantage of the best times of the day, mornings and evenings. When the sun is not too strong, I lay naked in the cockpit watching the waves come and go. It is the time to equalize my brain and synchronize with the environment. At times I spot something interesting on the surface of the ocean, or right under it.

AFLOAT IN THE SARGASSO SEA

Since the beginning of the trip frequent patches of sargassum is all I have around me. Trolling a lure behind a boat is impossible as it constantly gets fouled by the yellow weed.

When too many yellow islands float by Tranquility I don’t even bother to lower the lure. I keep eating lentils, canned tomatoes, and what’s left of my vegetables collection.

My mind starts to suffer the lack of fresh ingredients, I imagine myself cooking rich vegetable dishes… But I can’t really complain, my pantry is still full of options. The leak from the water tank is stabilized now that the level fell considerably. I have enough fresh water to reach the Azores and this is a very comforting thought. I would consider going straight to Tenerife if I had not lost so much water.

I realize how little I really need out here. Even clothes are optional!

Day 18 – 112nm last 24hrs- Log 1527nm

Midway to the Azores and some steady SW winds show up. It has been weeks since the last time I felt the boat was really sailing.

I was expecting this. My late departure puts me in the way of the Azores High. Unfortunately that is not a psychedelic experience. I did not expect my progress would be so slow and difficult. Wind patterns have been quite unpredictable and ever changing. Abundant areas of calm are constantly created by high pressure popping up and falling apart all around me. I am still trying to climb North to look for more wind.

I have no scarcity of time on the other hand so I indulge it in a wasteful manner. I read, sleep, dream, write very little and don’t practice enough celestial navigation. With no deadline and without a way to predict my landfall everything becomes aleatory and weird. A bunch of self imposed daily routines stitched together by empty time.

SEA COMPANIONS

Throughout the journey I keep seeing countless Portuguese man o’war sailing past my boat.

Deadly tiny animal

The purple and blue gas filled bladders of this curious animal extend in every direction on the ocean’s surface. Every moment of day and night, week after week the ocean is full of them. My mind can’t even conceive the number, I just keep seeing them. Judging by the size they must be juveniles, making their way to the US East Coast and Caribbean. They are more likely floating undisturbed in their own environment.

Portuguese man’o wars are among the most deadly creatures of the ocean. They are capable of a paralyzing sting that can hurt even a human being. The long submersing tentacles can scour for prey up to 10 mt. (30ft) deep.

They are considered jellyfish, but biology tells us that they are something different. They constitute an animal colony (siphonophore) formed by different multicellular animals (zooids) aggregate for different functions. It is basically a small group of animals cooperating for feeding, reproduction, propulsion and defense. We have a lot to learn from them.

This beautiful animals are not my only company. White-tailed tropicbirds and pilot fishes also escort my little ship for weeks. This apparently endless and desolate place is full of life and animals keep surprising me for their endurance and adaptability.

I keep moving, sometimes at a good pace, sometimes slower. This hiccup sailing takes a toll on me. 

I often look up at my wind indicator expecting to see it pointing steadily in any useful direction. While doing so I notice the loss the VHF antenna from the top of the mast. I see the connector wire dangling, but no antenna. The nut that held it in place on the stainless steel plate must have let go and the antenna probably fell to the Atlantic depths.

The list of problems and malfunctioning is already growing. The stop in Azores would not be dedicated to mere rest and tourism.

SUDDEN FRENZY

Suddenly, in a moment of relative fast sailing the fishing excitement turns on. I notice a group of shearwaters flying around Tanquility and gorging on the surface of the ocean. Brown silhouettes appear following Tranquility’s wake afar. Tunas? Yes they look very much like big tunas riding the following seas.

Very eager I drop my lure to see if I am lucky. I hope to catch maybe a small one, they didn’t appear too big after all. In rapid succession I lose three lures. When I retrieved the line I noticed they were cut at the steel leader. Something big and with sharp teeth cut through the metal wire. After losing two lures I rig one with double leader, but I retrieve the line cut at nylon this time. My equipment was tested around 50 lbs. I desperately look in my lure inventory but I can’t find anything useful.

I notice a big thing swimming right behind the windvane while I working with lines and lures from the stern. I recognize the shape of a marlin. The beautiful animal has blue fins and an azure back and it’s placidly following my slow boat inches from the selfsteering gear. I have never seen a marlin this close. Its body is fully visible through the clear water, floating above a deep blue background.

I don’t want anything to do with trying to catch a 6 foot marlin and haul it by myself onto the tiny cockpit of my tiny boat. At a quick glance the marlin looks as long as the cockpit itself (1.8m). It is probably longer. I would just hurt the beautiful creature and myself in the process if I tried to catch it.

Instead I run for my GoPro and my boat hook, quickly attempting an assembly never tried before. I want to try and get the animal on video. By the time the rig is ready the beautiful fish was gone.

One of the things left undone by my rushing preparation was newer fishing gear. I used the old equipment I kept aboard since Panama but with no time on the clock I though it was superfluous to update the inventory. It’s either annoying sargassum or fishes too big to haul, so I keep opening cans of sardines. I feel a bit ashamed of myself.

In a way I am ok with losing those fishes. They must have been too big to haul on my small cockpit, and dangerous indeed. I could fall overboard or get injured while retrieving a fish of my weight or more. Also It would have been a waste as I could not eat all that meat by myself. If there was only a selective lure…

THE SLOWEST DAY

When I’ve looked for myself I have never found anybody at home.

Davi Hume (cited by Jorge Luis Borges in an interview)

Day 24 – 31nm last 24hrs – log 1967nm

Yesterday it was frustrating. I spent long hours going nowhere. An adverse current and weak winds were keeping me in place at 0 knots. When I put effort in moving some miles toward a certain direction I feel a sense of agency. But when I am at the mercy of currents and total lack of wind I feel powerless.

The moments of discomfort and frustration make me questions my decisions even more.

This autotelic journey is an activity for which no external rewards are offered. It is definitely a symbolic experience in which I take the distance from a part of the world responsible for creating and maintaining my sense of self.

This microcosmos of activity is an universe on itself where my action is unbounded and free to flow. Here I am in control even only of my own mess. A good or a bad day depends on my own doing. Sometimes it depends just on my own mind.

Who am I without being seen by others? Who is this bag of skin naked in the cockpit watching the waves passing under the boat and getting mad at the lack of wind and at the boom and sails banging under the perpetual motion of the ocean swell?

The fact that I am breathing, I have water to drink and food to consume and that basically I am alive and well becomes very comforting. I have no one to blame for being here with no winds. It is my own doing and this paradoxical thought is somehow a relief..

The blessing and the curse of the experience lies in the inability to photograph it, film it, recount it in words or drawings.

In this nutshell adorned with wires and synthetic cloth life is simple, self contained and manageable. Silence is my silence, so full of thoughts to become at times deafening.

There are also parts I don’t want to share. There are parts too personal and intimate, too banal in a way, like mechanism of a machine hidden under the hood, obscene for the public. They are a vital part of the experience but uninteresting to the attention, bound to be lost in the incessant churning of consciousness.

Some researchers think the word ob-scene means ”off-scene”. When actors go in the green room and take off their mask, they reveal their real face and this is considered obscene. In public we need to have a mask, today more than ever.

Even in this journal, edited for my website, I try very much to keep on the mask. Here I am the sailing psychologist crossing the Atlantic Ocean as a way to prove himself. A man on a journey to leave behind the New World, so generous to him, to re-join with Old-Europe. A pin ball darting through half the world that decided to give love one more chance.

“As a result of the fascination with “nuts, sluts and perverts”,their identities and subcultures, little attention has been paid to unethical, illegal and destructive actions of our powerful individuals, groups and institutions in our society.”

The Poverty of the Sociology of Deviance: Nuts, Sluts, and Preverts, Alexandre Liazos, 1972

Long term cruisers are seen as deviant from the normal course of sedentary life. They spend considerable efforts to carve out resources and time from the fabric of society to engage in something that is mostly hedonistic and aimless. There is often a destination and a plan, but the long term picture lacks recognizable forms, especially under the lens of social utility.

LIVING THE DREAM

Children of the future age,

Reading this indignant page,

Know that in a former time,

Love, sweet love, was thought a crime.

A Little Girl Lost, in Songs of Experience by William Blake

There is a curious expression I keep hearing about cruising lifestyle: “living the dream”. It is as if everybody would like to be doing the same thing, as if we all had the same dream of sailing towards an endless sunset (or a perpetual dawn like in my case).

This was never my dream. Sailing was something that fortituously happened to me. There is not very much point in asking why I am here by myself in a windless ocean. I might as well just enjoy it.

But living the dream has also its cost and drawbacks. As my friend Max likes to say: “if it was easy everybody would be doing it.” This somehow tedious and slightly pointless crossing provokes some reactions in people who hear about this solo crossing. The reactions/objections fall into two main categories.

The first one is fear. I keep hearing people’s fears when they try to get in my shoes. Fear of death by drowning, heart attack, appendicitis, whales and shark attack or by aliens and sea monsters. There are any kind of fears out there.

The second is how in hell I would endure being with myself for so many days in a row. And this one actually, I understand more.

The first reaction is not really fear, it is more anxiety. We rely much on emergency care and on the institutions of society for saving our life from impending death. Being in the wilderness means being on your own even when it comes to emergency. And it’s ok. The first rule is try not to do something stupid, be careful and relaxed. But even this may not be enough.

Before leaving I had come to a pact with myself that I would be very likely facing death if, for how remote the option, something would go terribly wrong in the passage. That I accepted as an essential quality of life. It is an option I don’t see as more or less probable because I am crossing an ocean by myself. It is actually a statistically safe option. I don’t want to sound fatalist, but knowing that this is an ever present possibility in a way takes a lot of anxiety out of it.

But the second question really gets to the point. It really takes sloth to get through such long days. This is an accurate hit to the center of your ego, knowing that the best skill, your best friend in this endeavor is to be accustomed to not doing so much, and to be ok with that.

The reality is also that every action performed cost double the effort on a ever moving small sailboat. While my tendency is to drop to a state of inaction and laziness, I am summoned from my bunk to perform some kind of action, to re-establish comfort, safety and continuity towards the goal.

For as much as I despise in my mind those actions that interrupt my comfort, I end up being grateful for the change in pace and the sensation of agency I acquire from them. This seems to explain why it took so much work in preparing this journey, in spite of its questionable return or utility. The peace of mind to have a good functioning and safe boat it’s a great consolation.

SAILING AGAIN

Day 28-106nm last 24hrs-Log 2285nm

We Make the Path by Walking”

Chuang Tzu 

It’s been two days since I move steadily at a good pace on a reasonably flat North Atlantic ocean. The wind picked up gradually from a total calm so I got to zip at six knots, which is fantastic. A current may be helping as well. I don’t need get any more N than this, I am in line with the Azores and making a due East course. Steady NNW winds are of great help.

It feels like the last stretch, the first leg to Azores may be coming to an end very soon. There are still miles to cover though which I am enjoying by reading and writing as usual. They both feel more precious moments because I know they will end soon. I have been reading a big deal and I have not wrote as much as I thought because I find it more tiring on a moving vessel compared to reading.

Tomorrow strong winds will arrive. It is funny that I consider 20kts of wind from astern like strong winds, but after weeks of weak winds I am surprised and strangely worried. I took advantage to organize the boat a little better I clear up some mess, take a bath, eat and drink abundantly. This last push should get me to destination. There are some 400 miles to cover till reaching Faial, the island of landfall in the Azores. It should take less than 4 days at this pace.

LAND AHOY ON PORT SIDE!

Day 33 – 130nm last 24hrs – Log 2795nm – 114nm to Faial, Horta

I am approaching the South of Faial with fresh winds on the beam. Thanks to that Tranquility logs the fastest day of the crossing.

I can see we are getting close on the chart plotter but I am unable see land yet. While I look for signs of land I spot another patch of bird activity. This time I recognize gulls, a signs that I am close to land. With my great surprise and excitement I also see white mist emerging from the ocean, blowholes!

A group of whales is busy feeding. In my life I sailed for more than 30.000 nautical miles and I had almost no encounters with whales. I would die to see them from close by but I fear and respect those animals so I stay on course, both disappointed and happy we are not in close proximity.

Approaching landfall is always a delicate moment. I will sail into an unknown harbor and I have to rely only on myself for all the operations like dousing sails and preparing the ground tackle.

I could not expect better conditions, According to calculations I should arrive by late afternoon with plenty of daylight and enough wind to sail straight to the anchorage.

I am a bit preoccupied with some tidal streams I see on the chart in the channel between the islands of Faial and Pico. So I asked the weather council to feed me some tidal informations. Luckily the wind will only increase so I shouldn’t be at the mercy of currents, and I will use very little of my battery capacity for motoring. The battery monitor is telling me that I have 100% capacity. 34 days of sailing generate enough power to keep my batteries fully charged.

Faial from afar

It’s the early morning of my 34th day at sea when I spot Faial. I am sailing at 6 knots on a beam reach and a brown and green line of cliff and pastures appear under a blanket of white clouds.

I devour the details of the south shoreline with my eyes, the tall cliffs overhanging the ocean and green hills spotted with buildings. The transition from blue to green is a welcomed change after more than a month at sea, and bring forth a strong desire to explore land, walking and smelling something new and different.

As I clear the South East corner and head toward Horta’s basin I am met by gusty winds. I douse the staysail first which is not necessary anymore. Awkwardly I get the anchor (which I stowed for the crossing) on the fore deck and connect it to the chain before putting it on the anchor roller. Dropping it to the bottom of the ocean in this moment would be very bad. Luckily I manage not too lose anything and in minutes it is ready to be deployed.

Approaching Horta

I replace the Quarantine flag (Yellow Flag aka Q) with a Terrible Towel. The ship’s official Q flag fell apart for lack of use and previous UV damage. I can’t help but notice that that what became a nautical lore has now a heavy and profound meaning. I can’t leave my boat and go ashore until the authorities (health authority in this case) give me the authorization. It’s Covid sailing times.

Yellow Flag

I furl the jib as I make my way into the basin. I motorsail upwind to a group of sailboats anchored. It is quite deep so I try to get closer without being in the way of other vessels. Finally I drop the hook and douse the mainsail. A piece of steel and a chain are connecting me to land. I am a bit incredule, but fundamentally happy about it.

I did it. The longest part of this journey is over.

Happy Guy

CLICK HERE FOR PART 3

Tenerife Sailing
Long time no write

Long time no write

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I have been a bit absent on this channel. My last post was a farewell to the continent that gave me so much for almost 10 years and then silence.

I want to confirm that I am alive and well, I just have been adapting to a new environment and a new life, and sailing got sidetracked.

I worked a lot on my other website Psychology of Sailing (any feedback on the work done is more than welcome) and left this blog unattended.

Changing worlds and life has become a familiar feeling. Coming and going, living in new territories, cultures, climates, languages. It’s now part of my DNA. It is however not simple.

It was Venezuela, Curaçao, Panama, USA, Hong Kong.

Now it’s Tenerife. 

It took 42 days, more than 3800 nautical miles, 20 books and several movies to get here. The route took me from St.Marys in Georgia where Tranquility got awaken from her peaceful slumber to Faial in the Azores, where I spent my birthday and rested a couple more days, and then Tenerife.

Of those 42 days I have vague memories already. I can say that I miss those days very much. I missed being down below and coming out on deck at regular intervals, during the day and at night, and see just the ocean, adapting to rhythms that very rarely were in accord with my desires, to the point that what I desired was irrelevant.

Being by myself on a 55 years old sailboat in the middle of the Atlantic was something I have never envision for myself in my youth. Yet probably the most pure of sensations I felt since I am alive.

Now that I am landlubbing again the sensation is receding back into my memory with just few glimpses taking me back to that time.

I can say that it all ended when I spotted the high rise island from afar.

It was early morning, timing could not have been more favorable. When you sail a slow boat for multiple day passage it is basically impossible to know at what time you are going to make landfall.

A clear, sunny and windy day welcomed me to the island.

The arrival at Club Nautico Puertito de Guimar was a little concerning.

I had turned around the NE tip of the Island giving enough room for currents and wind effect. After gybing a fresh breeze was pushing me towards my destination, so I was cheerful yet worried about docking in strong breeze by myself.

As I was getting closer the wind increased and soon the fresh breeze  became strong with gusts well above 30kts I  put the third reef in and furled the jib.

Elliott, who guided me via text messages throughout the crossing, had warned me of strong wind conditions at my arrival but I was caught by surprise as winds had always been mild throughout the crossing. I forgot how strong winds looked like.

Docking the boat solo after 8 days from Faial went well despite the tough conditions. My girlfriend organized a surprise inviting my parents over for the welcome back to land. I spent the firsts days on the island as the perfect tourist, driving around the gorgeous island, enjoying the perfect climate and a breathtaking landscape. 

Now that I am seriously tied back to land I look back at the pages that I wrote during the crossing as a soothing reading. The desire for many more days in the ocean never left me, it has just been put on pause.

I though to share here those lines that I collected on a rocking boat in the long hours spent down below in the cabin.

Among the many beautiful and unexpected gifts of 2020, this solo crossing what what is giving the courage to tackle many other daring ideas and projects.

I hope you are going to enjoy the report from this experience which I am going to publish in digestible bites in the following days.

I also hope you don’t mind reading a brief poem I wrote not long ago, thinking about this nomadic life, made of so many farewells and welcome parties (and I also hope you don’t mind a couple of swear words )

Dream stitching

  A soft crash on an alien planet
 I repeat the experience
 Foreigner, newcomer, beginner
 Looking for a warm embrace
 

 Scattered around the globe
 My soul leaves crumbles 
 They become flowers
 That are calling me back 
 

 Longing
 You bastard feeling
 Wherever I lay
 You chase me
 

 Nostalgia
 You cunt
 I love you so much
 My good old friend
 

 Afloat in darkness
 My breath moves on
 Touching pale light
 With nowhere to go
Farewell to Americas

Farewell to Americas

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Way overtime, overbudget and over any attempt in predicting, controlling and scheduling boatwork Tranquility and I finally hit the water.

We dance with the natural change of the tides and the winds in a quasi stationary equilibrium tethered to the muddy bottom of the North River. Here we are merging again, as she is back doing what she was designed for and I reunite with the familiar feeling that I had not experienced since Hong Kong: The sensation of resting on the surface of water supported by the Archimede’s principle is engraved in my vestibular system as for the most part of the last 11 years I lived on floating objects.

Tranquility is not just my home, my mean of transportation and my survival pod, she is an extension of myself through which I explore the cosmos, and now that we are back in our element the senses are enhanced.

Since floating in the river dreaming activity surged together with levels of relaxation that I have not felt for months. Tranquility rig are the strings that capture atmospheric variations, the hull a sound box that amplifies the waves of the liquid environment. Her shell enhances my connection with the environment: enough to be dry and comfortable but inadequate to mask environmental changes around me.

The preparation to voyage has officially ended. As other times before I pushed the bar a little over my actual capacities, tried some weird experiments and dealt with the consequences. I take all this as a game. It is serious playing because financial risks and potential danger are part of it, but my inner child would not let me play safe or lower the bar. I like to keep learning so I push a bit over the comfort zone.

Andy, a very generous solo sailor and pizza tinkerer here at the boatyard, allowed me to use his dinghy to move back and forth to the shipyard for the last showers, laundry, errands and farewells. Rowing to get ashore is a degree of separation that helps detach from land life.

In few hours I will bring onboard the line that ties me to the muddy bottom, brave few shoals and turns for roughly three miles before I enter the St Marys river. There the outgoing tide and the favorable SW winds should push me effortless East through the inlet and out in the Atlantic Ocean en route to the Azores lying some 2700 nautical miles away.

From the Azores I will point to the island of Tenerife, where a special person has been waiting for too long for me to reunite in that wonderful place. This is the main aim of this voyage, the energy that kept me motivated to overcome the endogenous and exogenous variables I encountered, and for which I am extremely grateful.

There are however other reasons behind this voyage. One is that I am moving my home from America back to Europe. I spent more than a decade in the New World an exploration that put me in touch with new experiences.

I had the fortune to be welcomed wherever I went and be brought into homes regarded as a family member. The level of generosity I experienced is overwhelming and when I tried the exercise of bringing to mind all the people that helped me on this side of the world I felt overwhelmed and tears came up.

In the Americas I encountered the most friendly and generous people, people who never hesitated in making me feel welcomed and at home. For seven wonderful years I also had in Kate a generous, loving and brilliant companion and wife who shepherded me through this unknown continent. Adoptive parents and family, mentors, friends and comrades, they all allowed me to see life through their eyes and opened up their hearts to my presence.

I am not painting an idealized picture of my recent years. There has been incidents, suffering, discomfort and cultural shocks. Positive experiences though outweighed negative ones by far. This continent is still vast and rich and mysterious, full of magical energy, both good and bad, and I bathed in it.

Welcomed by the bald eagle, I am ushered to the door by the vulture. This magnificent bird, so ugly and clumsy on land and so graceful when it glides, is a rare sight in the Old World where I come from. In North and South America different species of vulture are instead very common. I grew accustomed to see them on the side of roads taking care of the business of life, dismembering corpses, removing harmful bacteria and diseases from the environment, and complying with the rules of transformation we all obey to.

I will leave part of my soul to the spirit of this bird for it to be digested into the ethereal connections of my legacy, so the last remaining ties will be severed.

After more than ten years it is time to move on. My rootlessness is taking over supported by the desire for more solo sailing, this uncommon human experience full of discomfort and awe. It will take few days of laziness and uneasiness for my vestibular system to incorporate the sudden changes of direction and acceleration experienced on a vessel that sails offshore and to fall into the routine of the watch system.

The southernmost outpost of Europe is waiting for me. It will be a long journey during which I will be removed from the usual flux of information that connects us all, suspended in the parallel reality of this planet without the chatter of society, to exercise my right and responsibility to awe in this incredibly beautiful universe.

Follow my dot….

Going Solo, Sailing Solo, sailing
Going Solo

Going Solo

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I don’t feel I am alone in life, but I am definitely alone on my boat, planning and working for long distance sailing.

For many people and culture facing challenges alone is regarded as a horror story experience, the Robinson Crusoe’s tale of isolation from his fellows. American individualist heroes like Emerson and Thoreau, whose experience with solitude and self-reliance inspired generations, were still fully engaged in public life and very hardly removed from society. Going alone in daring endeavors is exclusive business for heroes and fools. Heroes usually face solitude for necessity, while fools choose it as a free individual choice.

Following this narratives, it is not surprising that my parents are concerned about my wellbeing and my friends struggle to understand why on Earth I would want to spend days at sea by myself (even without Internet!). Despite the ever growing tendency toward individualism, almost every society regards the common good and community life as morally superior to people doing things on their own. Many of the problems in society are attributed to the collapse of family and community life, health problems, school failures, depression among those (check out Bowling Alone by Robert Putnam)

Ask Italian people that are forced not to interact during this lockdown, or the Chinese who experienced it in Wuhan how they like being isolated. All my friends and family in Italy are struggling to cope with this forced removal from others. However there is a big difference between choosing to be alone and be forced to do so. In this sense I am totally free in making this decision, it is something that I really look forward to.

After all at the present moment my solitude is relative. My friend Bill is my next boat neighbor and accomplished solo sailor. He also lives alone on his boat. We visited in Rome while he was spending the winter time with his girlfriend who lives there. We speak Italian and English while we talk boats, politics and other interesting topics as we tinker around our floating homes. So does Andy, another neighbor on a Wharram catamaran who sponsors the Monday Pizza Night where we share the love for pizza making and sharing meals with fellow boaters in the yard.

In Brunswick, not far from here, there are good friends and former neighbors I get to visit now and then. James and Mei who I had the privilege to work with, Susan who was my roommate while I was living on land with Kate and all the people of my former neighborhood, Chip who is a living institution as dockmaster at the Frederica Yacht Club (where Tranquility spent considerable time) Anne and Elliott friends and fellow boaters. The list is very long. The network of relationship that spread from the cabin of an old boat dry docked in rural coastal Georgia is very impressive. It is the web of Life I am grateful for everyday.

Going Places

After months in Hong Kong working mostly on motor yachts and sailing around coastal waters, the desire to sail in blue waters far from land finally creeped up. Tranquility sat for long time in the yard, growing mold and becoming a condominium for insects, slowing rotting away. It would be a shame to waste such a fine vessel.

The desire for sailing and pity for an aging vessel was not enough to break the momentum. After all in Hong Kong I was making money and having an interesting life in a very special place, and I was still messing around with boats. It was when suddenly a destination emerged that things started to roll very quickly. Isla de Tenerife is now where I am going to point Tranquility’s bow. Technically I cannot sail directly there, I will have to draw a wide arch, but you get the point.

There is a very special person waiting for me there I will be happy to reunite with and enjoy time together. The highest island of the Atlantic (mount Teide’s peak is 3718m/12,198ft high) itself has a series of attractions that make it a worthwhile landing spot for some time. A diverse set of environments and microclimates,  relative vicinity with my family in Italy (4h30min flight), presence of sailing yachts and constant wind, also the scary and exciting perspective that the next downwind destination would be the American coast again (Brazil?), all concur to make Tenerife a very interesting place to be.

En route to Tenerife obligatory stops will be the Azores and Madeira. Those Portuguese islands are a fascinating mixture of nature and culture, that I really look forward to experience, and that has been on my chart since the first moment on Tranquility in Fairhaven, MA. In that region of New England  many families immigrated from those Portuguese islands, bringing with them their traditions and food.

Getting there

For the first time in my sailing life I gave myself a precise deadline for departure. I chose it trying to accomodate a good weather window with the time necessary for preparation of the boat and her skipper. The best time to leave for an Eastbound Atlantic crossing is mid April to mid May. During this time of the year the cold fronts and the associated northerlies become less frequent, and S – SW winds are predominant. Also the likelihood of hurricanes is still very low, even though early tropical storm are still possible.

May 2nd is a reasonable date in my opinion. It is challenging because I have a lot to do to prepare, but it is not unreasonable. For sure if I have too much left undone approaching the date I should seriously reconsider my plan. However if just few important things will be still needed, it allows me a cushion of few days to stretch the departure.

What’s missing

Tranquility’s passage from Panama to Georgia proved that the vessel itself is ready for a long journey in open waters. However during that passage I found few problems that require modifications and tune ups, and also upgrades that would make the boat more fun to sail and easier on the crew.

One problem to address are minor leaks that damaged some equipment. Some of them came from the deck grab rails, others from deck hardware. I will take the opportunity of the much needed re-painting of the deck nonskid surface to re-bed all deck hardware. The teak grab rails are already a distant memory while I wait to install new stainless steel ones.

I am going to purchase and install a brand new roller furler, retiring the continuous -line furler that served me well but that is showing signs of age and malfunctioning. With that I am replacing head stay and backstay, that came under high stress during the mishaps I experienced with the furling system during a squall in the Atlantic Ocean.

I also now have the opportunity to keep shaping this boat, fulfilling the dream of making her a badass bluewater boat. I am planning to build a hard dodger out of fiberglass and foam composite as previously envisioned after building the nesting dinghy in Panama.

Showing the Work

The list is long and goes in great details. I will try to keep this blog as much up to date as possible on the constant projects happening on Tranquility. This is probably a way to overcome isolation and bridge communication gaps. If I want other people to understand what moves me and what does it mean to take a boat alone across the Atlantic the only chance is to show how this is made. I am trying to spread this effort through diverse media. For example, If you want to have a quicker view of what’s going on check out my Instagram @sailwithfabio where I post pictures of my work on a daily basis.

I overcame my writer’s block and got to write this blog post thanks to the support of fellow writer and friends in Hong Kong. There I used to attend the weekly meeting of this group where people gathers to write and then read their work. Despite 12hours and 13,913kms difference between us I decided to synchronize with their meeting and spend two hours writing. Thanks Bernard, Holly, Kathrina and Toni to be awesome writers and great people!

The title and some of the ideas on this post are from an interesting book I am reading:

GOING SOLO, The Extraordinary Rise and Surprising Appeal of Living Alone, by Eric Klinenberg, The Penguin Press, 2012

Departure Sailing
It is raining and I wait for the green light

It is raining and I wait for the green light

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It is raining. It never stops. I should be doing a ton of things to prepare for departure, instead I lay about, write these words and observe the rain against the green trees in the frame of the companionway.

My to do list is huge, and it grew even bigger when the belt of the electric motor broke, while I was running a test. It was a good omen.

Historically I almost always experienced a last minute mishap, a crack in the keel found just days before launching, a jib that rips few miles after weighing anchor. This time it’s a broken belt. When that happens it feels good. Better now than later. A little extra complication now, means a quieter mind underway.

In the midst of all this preparation, and the extra waiting time for the motor belt to travel my way, I also have to write. Without writing life is not the same, yet sometimes I forget about it, convinced that there are more important things to do. Writing is important, and when I don’t write everything else becomes heavier, the energy feels locked away and rotting. When words flow, venom disappear.

Departure are exciting, full of worries and expectations. I did it many times before, from different shores, on different vessels, with different crew. The only small and big difference is that now I am alone.

I accepted the arduous task of taking Tranquility and its variegated content back to the East Coast US with excitement. Sailing singlehanded has always been a dream of mine, a dream that I was happy lo leave behind when I had the fortune to sail with Kate, who made everything sweeter and more fun.

However Kate accepted a job in NYC, and that completely changed the balance and the plans. In the middle of the Chaos that this decision generated, new perspectives surfaced, scenarios left behind became once again plausible, new connections light up on the chart, dreams never dreamed before sprang out of nowhere.

The grieving pulses of what’s left undone disappear under the novel frequencies of change. The temptation of attributing a special significance to the event, to color it with tones of failure/success, right/wrong, happy/sad is strong. In reality it is what it is. It’s life and it’s necessary, a great challenge ahead that could be hard or smooth, or both. It does not matter.

In Italian Decidere means to choose. Its roots are in the Latin decīdĕre, de (from) and caedĕre (to cut), to separate, to cut away. When decision is made, everything around shifts, re-arranges, takes a new shape.

We twisted around the problem for long, analyzed it, tried to unravel it. But as the legend of Alexander the Great teaches it is often necessary a neat, simple and direct decision to tackle difficult problems. The knot that cannot be undone must be cut.

It takes courage to make a decision, to change course abruptly, to open to a new path, and this decision came from a very courageous person, a woman as they often are the bravest.

Kate initiated change when she decided to leave Panama. The decision was abrupt, painful, but necessary. It takes guts to change a world that seemed stable, to cut away branches and possibilities, and restore the flow in the Tree of Life.

I am grateful for Kate’s courage. I could not have done what she did. She went ahead alone, looking for a new beginning, even thinking about putting sailing on hold, finding time to take care of other issues in life.

She has been gone for a month now, a month where I am preparing for this big jump, looking forward to reunite in a different place, in a different time from now.

I am also waiting out this hurricane season. As I am writing, a weather disturbance over the Leeward and Virgin Islands is fighting a battle to become a tropical storm or dissipate. It’s the edge between seasons, the sweet window between potentially dangerous tropical storms and the cold fronts venturing South, before the trade winds reinforce and start to give the Caribbean Sea its dry and windy Winter character.

The time to go is soon, but not yet. I am trying to prepare Tranquility and myself the best I can for this trip. We won’t be perfect, but we will be ready.

Sea level living
Sea Level Living restarts

Sea Level Living restarts

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After some indecision, Tranquility moved from the soft bed of grass of the boat yard to the warm and soft embrace of the ocean. This is the the third time since we own her that we assisted to the transition.

We’ve been held up on land by a series of malfunctioning of the travel lift, the steel apparatus that move boats up and down the boat yard, including a final starter motor failure which moved the deadline again three days further. We had been ready for ten days after slapping up the last of many coats of antifouling paint.

The staff at Turtle Cay Marina was clear and communicative during the process, and ultimately granted us a discount for the inconvenience. Even if we were probably only four or five feet above it, all we wanted was to come back to sea level living. We were tired of constantly bringing grass, dust and mud in our home or fight back ant colonies, beetles, spiders, mosquitoes and many other creatures coming from the biodiverse Panamanian rainforest.

For a couple there is nothing more challenging than living on a small boat. Oh, wait. There is. It’s living on a small boat parked out of the water on top of ant colonies.

Kate missed the launch by one day only, as she traveled back to the US for family time, which I was sad to miss, but the launching operation was swift and Tranquility now is finally floating and tied to a dock. It feels so right to be in the water.

Alone on the boat I indulge in the little things that I cannot do when Kate is here. One of these little treats is to blast music inside the cabin (Beta did not complain yet), with the genre tilting toward loud hard rock or heavy metal.

The morning started with “Wherever I may roam” by Metallica. With my eyes closed I relished the hypnotic electric sitar intro before Ulrich hit the snares sending the band in the Allegro-Vivace typical of their commercial self-titled album.

It’s the moment when the headbanging starts, followed by a wave of awakening chthonic energy that comes bubbling up toward the surface. This process has a surprising beneficial effect in motivating my cleaning routine.

Spurred by the track I overcome my inertia and start to tackle the surfaces of the boat, armed with the loyal sponge and the powerful vinegar spray, removing the last grass (yes, grass!), spiderwebs and dead ant from the floor, lockers and bilges.

Until the chorus of the song grasps my attention:

” Oh, but I’ll take my time anywhere
Free to speak my mind anywhere
And I’ll redefine anywhere
Anywhere I roam
Where I lay my head is home, yeah”

I have to admit that Metallica’s lyrics are not the best example of poetry, but theirs and many other bands’ contributed to my English learning process during my teenage years, as I would painfully translate the lyrics, listening to the same tracks over and over until I could repeat words that made sense and reconstructed a meaning that was if not correct, at least plausible.

For the first time now, during a hot morning of boat cleaning, I notice the not so subtle white-dude bias in James Hetfield’s words. For the first time I realized that I share this bias too, as I can easily identify with the song that talks about a “rover, wanderer, nomad, vagabond”.

Geography is written by power, it seems obvious enough, but there are sad and clear reminders of this relationship between ruler and ruled in current U.S. national politics and the migrant crisis in Europe.

Some people can go wherever they may roam. Some others are prevented to do so with coercion, if not violence. Families are teared apart by bans and deportation, they have to incur danger and risk death just to keep the candle of hope lit. Other individuals or families can expatriate or go to vacation more or less where they feel like, and the difference between the two cases depends only on birthplace.

Only a small number of members from the ruling class like Metallica (and myself) can sing the words “free to speak my mind anywhere” or that “where I lay my head is home”. For a great number of people roaming this planet is just not reality.

I share this privilege for the simple fact that I hold a passport that has been classified as the 3rd best passport in the world, granting me visa free access to 187 countries. I can take my boat where I want. I can stay in Panama, or check-in into countries with just few bureaucratic steps, maybe a fee for some paperwork, and a entry stamp is easily applied on my passport.

Listening to heavy metal, cleaning my floating home in a hot morning, I wished that everybody in this world was free to go where they want, without being subject to violence, incarceration and abuses.

I wish this freedom was not just a privilege for few.

May the freedom to travel be a human right and not a privilege
Turtle Cay Marina and the beginning of rainy season

Turtle Cay Marina and the beginning of rainy season

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<<We are not made of sugar.>> Kate assures me as we are walking on the beach under a heavy downpur. It makes me smile. I should revisit my own attitude towards the rain. Sometimes I just can get soaked, enjoying it for one time, instead of retreating into a dry spot or wearing rain gear.

We are heading back from a walk on the deserted beach between Turtle Cay Marina and the little town of Viento Frio. While rain is coming down I focus on the edge of the dark shelf cloud moving above and past us carrying the shower West. Beautiful black tentacles of vapor hang from it, the new smells coming from the jungle signal that the vegetation reacts to the atmospherical change. Howler monkeys from afar sound their call. Everybody knows it’s raining, even the silver surface of the waves that continue its motion shows a new skin pierced by the raindrops.

I am just getting wet. Water drips from my hair onto my face, my t-shirt gets wet and heavy on my shoulder. I’ll be dry when I get back. It’s no big deal.

Rainy season is on us, and even if it is not yet at its peak we are frequently visited by moisturizing drops falling from the sky. We arrived in Turtle Cay Marina at the beginning of May for a yard period in which we focus on painting jobs. Not the best time of the year to do it, but not the worst either.

Kate overlooks the beach in Turtle Cay Marina, just by the Restaurant

Turtle Cay Marina is a waterfront development few miles off the pueblo of Nombre De Dios. As far as places to haul out our boat it is as remote as it gets on the Atlantic Coast of Panama, ideal for a small boat and her expert crew.

The downside is that if we forgot to get a part in our job list supply we need a taxi and two buses to get to a shopping area probably having to stay overnight in Panama City. The advantage is that we easily put our attention on the work, as there are not many forms of distraction around here, other than wonderful wildlife and landscape.

It is also affordable, which is another good reason to be here.

Tranquility took a ride on the travel lift before being dropped on stands. Gravity pushing her on a hard ground is not the best situation for a boat, but hopefully it won’t last long. We quickly adapted to the tall ladder we have to climb to go in and out of the boat, to the retrofit of the grey water system draining into a bucket and to the fact that as dusk is approaching we have to close down the boat and hide inside, or bugs will eat us.

We also got used very quickly to nice, clean and functioning bathrooms with shower, laundromat, wi-fi, and the view of the beach from the cockpit, and the nice restaurant on the beach. It may sounds weird, but it is exceptional in this area.

It is complicated to rate a boatyard, but so far this has the best views.

Painting the topsides of Tranquility had been a long discussed project. The one part paint we applied prior to the first launch in New Bedford dated 2013 and it was constantly peeling off. Something bogus happened during that first application that messed up the adhesion of the paint. Busy as we were assembling Tranquility like a model boat from a box kit, we slapped that one part grey paint on her and moved to the very next project, anxious to get out of New England before the worst of winter.

Scraping the old paint off Traqnuility. It was a long messy job.

 

For five years we have seen layers of paint coming off at the slightest friction with a solid object, like the dinghy, anchor chain, the occasional leaning to a hard surface like a dock. That drove Kate crazy as she kept touching up the scratches with the same one part Kingston Grey paint we used originally and Tranquility soon looked like some advanced stealth vessel, with grey camo. It was perfect for Georgia, maybe, but when we decided it was time to pull Tranquility out of the drink, Kate soon lobbied for a brand new paint job.

I resisted at first. Aestethics sits quite down in my list of priority, and I also knew that it was a lot of work, physical, dirty, finicky work. It took days to remove the previous coating, and to prepare the surface for primer, then dry days for application, more sanding, taping. And so on. But eventually I recognized the urgency that Kate was feeling. Most of the times she is right anyway, I am learning as time passes.

Only two coats of Jotun HardTop paint on (and 2to go) for Tranquility

Maria from the vessel Joana recommended Jotun, a brand of paints from Norway which she described as “high quality industrial paint” that was available in Panama. I liked the focus on industrial because back in the States I spent too much time dealing with “spiffy yacht coatings” that eventually did not stand the harsh environment of the ocean and are targeted to people who constantly redo their paint jobs, as if boat owners were damned in one ring of Inferno, forced to constantly repaint their boats, with the diabolic marketers laughing at them. This time we are hoping for a less shiny but definitely more tenacious paint job, hopefully tug boat grade.

Industrial also means cheaper. Jotun serves the Shipping Industry so they sell by the bulk. For tiny Tranquility that translated in the purchase of a 20 liter (more than 5 gallons) drum of self polishing antifouling paint for 650$. It is a lot of money but it is also a lot of paint, and we had no way to purchase less from the warehouse in Zona Libre just outside Colon. 130$ per gallon is not a bad price at all for antifouling, even though now we have at least two gallons more than necessary.

Most cruisers we spoke to suggested that we apply it all, the more the better they say. Following the calculation from our last haul out in St.Marys, GA that quantity should translate in five or more coats of bottom paint. If putting more paint on will grant us more time between haul outs it could save us a lot of cash, so we are going to try the heavy application.

Of course painting outdoor in the rainy season is not the easiest task. It is down right frustrating. But as we cannot control weather we move past frustration and make the best possible with it. I would not have written this post if it wasn’t raining outside, I would be dealing with the next stage of this apparently interminable task.

Writing is a good activity for rainy days. I am working on two publication deadlines for June. One, already delivered, is for Small Boat Monthly, and it’s about a traditional sailing race in Guna Yala, that should appear on June’s edition. Then I also have a long piece about the last two years of sailing for Wand’rly Magazine that I am completing, really hoping to deliver it in time for the June issue too.

If it rains a lot, I have a prompt reason to console me for the delay in painting.

living aboard
Two years living aboard Tranquility and voyaging on the ocean

Two years living aboard Tranquility and voyaging on the ocean

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Just recently we hit the 2 years or 730 days since we’ve been living aboard our tiny sailboat. I don’t remember the exact date we moved in.

This does not take in account the eight months we spent living and traveling on a primitive Tranquility before we settled in Coastal Georgia, where we moved back on land. That still belonged to a transformative process into full time cruisers.

It was the beginning of April 2016, when we left the apartment in Brunswick, GA where we lived for almost two years with Susan, our roommate and owner of the famous Tipsy McSways, and boarded a barely complete (will she ever be?) Tranquility at the Frederica Yacht Club.

Our Columbia 29 had been tied to the same dock for two years, patiently awaiting the end of all the modifications and tortures she received.

We moved from the comforts of a fully equipped house and the companionship of Susan and the band of house animals (in alphabetical order Beta, Betty White, Fluffy Butt, and Roxy) to the pokey interior of a sailboat and the constant presence of each other. Living aboard a second time was tough, as if those 2 years on land made us forget everything  we knew about it.

The enthusiasm for something we waited for such a long time was somehow mitigated by the shock of the transition.

During the two years spent in the Frederica River, Tranquility almost became part of the marsh ecosystem, growing a thick and impervious beard around her underwater surface, harboring a very diverse collection of marine life. She also suffered the transition  from long quiet to sudden movement.

We took the boat out of the water in St. Marys,GA to address this extraordinary growth and to complete many other projects that I left behind for lack of time. It was there, after going back into the water, that we officially re-started cruising and living aboard, embarking on a very slow voyage that still endures to date.

We celebrated with a Battlestar Galactica marathon while we were slowly adapting to our new house and lifestyle.

This 2 year anniversary will coincide with another haul out. We are taking arrangements  for new bottom paint and a new topside coat for Tranquility, here on the Atlantic coast of Panama.

After two years of almost no boat work (there is no such a thing), we will tackle a couple of big projects that had been slowly taking form on the drawing board.

During the last longer passage from Bahamas to Panama we took note of a couple features to improve comfort during long offshore passages, both for living inside and in the cockpit. She will also get ready for less pleasant weather. You never know.

It is hard to believe how well we adapted to our scarce 200 sq feet of living space. We do enjoy very much when we have the opportunity of staying in hotel rooms or friends and family houses, with real bed, showers and bath tubs, broadband WiFi, huge kitchens with refrigerators and comfy sofas.

For some strange reasons, after a while immersed in such luxury we end up missing our tiny boat.

sailboat refit
Five years of Tranquility (in photos, not literally)

Five years of Tranquility (in photos, not literally)

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I am working on a photo project, in the quiet of my hometown and the pleasure of broadband internet, that involves looking at photos from the last six years of my life, for the most part related to sailing.

Five years ago Kate and I purchased Tranquility, our Columbia 29 mki that was lying disassembled in a yard in Fairhaven, MA, the same place where in 1892 Joshua Slocum was given his famous fixer upper, the Spray.

People often ask me where they can find pictures of our boat online, and I realized that they are scattered throughout this blog, hard to find.

I thought I would post some here, in chronological order, for who is interested in the Columbia 29 mki model, and in the modifications we made so far (click on the pictures to enlarge).

 
Sailing to Panama: enduring tropical waves in the Caribbean Sea

Sailing to Panama: enduring tropical waves in the Caribbean Sea

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While waiting for a weather window in Great Inagua, we had a full time recap about tropical weather. Metereology is a fascinating discipline, and it’s also very important to know the basics when you live outdoor and your safety depends on good weather conditions.

Along the 750 miles that separate the last island of the Bahamas from Panama lays the Caribbean Sea, an open stretch of ocean surrounded by land and islands on its 4 sides. This alley is crossed by tropical waves, low pressure systems that generates in Africa and travel west across the Atlantic ocean, towards the Caribbean and South America and generally dissolve over Central America.

During the peak season of tropical weather activity (August through October) these tropical waves could very likely generate hurricanes and tropical storms if they encounter conducive conditions on their way. The sad events of this very active hurricane season reminds us how small we are compared to the forces of nature, and that avoidance is always the best strategy.

Tropical Storm Bret formed early in June from a Tropical Wave (here covering Trinidad and Venezuela) Author: NASA, MODIS / LANCE

We held our position in Great Inagua because Bret, the “earliest named storm to develop in the Main Development Region of the Atlantic basin on record”, had just formed from “a low latitude tropical wave that had moved off the coast of Africa on June 12”. As soon as Bret went its own way we resumed to follow closely the tropical waves to find the right moment to sneak in between them.

We knew that we would encounter at least two tropical waves during this leg, because they usually run every 2 to 3 days. Tropical waves could bring stronger winds, higher waves and thunderstorm activity, and each tropical waves seems a little bit different depending on the conditions encounter during their long trip. The closer to the peak of hurricane season, the higher are the chances that those low pressure system develop into a life-threatening storms.

Luckily we were about on time in our schedule, and the water temperature and general conditions were still not too favorable for tropical depression development. Making sure no yellow Xs were anywhere on the Atlantic charts (the yellow X is the symbol for potential tropical depression forming on National Hurricane Center website), we prepared to leave as soon as possible.

During the entire passage we also had the fortune to be in contact with two friends on mainland US, Chip and Elliott, that sent us daily weather updates via Delorme messenger along the way. We are very thankful for the great help and company from these cool dudes.

We pulled the trigger of our “as soon as possible” departure strategy during a day of strong southeasterlies that blew over Inagua and made even the sail in the lee of the island a bit of a challenge. Pulling off the umpteenth false start, we re-anchored a few miles to the south from where we started and decided to wait one more day before trying again.

LOG 1002nm June 23 Departure from Great Inagua

Flying fish are common during ocean passages. They mistake Tranquility as a landing strip.

The wind was lighter and on the beam when we set off again.  Once we cleared the south point of the island the swell and wind waves from the trades turned on the washing machine motion on Tranquility. We made a full day of steady progress until we found pockets of light winds inside the Windward Passage, in the lee of Hispaniola. It slowed us down a lot, with only 60 miles logged in 24hours which was exactly half of what we did on Day 1.

Those hours were uneventful from a sailing point of view, but Kate had the luck to see a pod of pilot whales during her watch, while sea birds visited us regularly, with boobies, gannets, frigatebirds and white tailed tropicbirds, very elegant looking birds, flying in circles while scouting for fish. The Windward Passage is a corridor open to everybody, from small old fiberglass sailboats to Freighter and tankers, from wildlife to floating garbage.

South of Navassa Island, a steep walled island that used to harbor a US military facility, the wind came back and we finally pointed Tranquility to 240 degrees shooting for Puerto Lindo in Panama. With no land in sight and way less company, our only “obstacles” were two areas of banks East of Jamaica, areas of shallower waters that could potentially generate rough seas. With 90 degrees of apparent wind on the port side, we had enough play to adjust our course and clear the shoals with ample margin.

Beginning of the night watch

 

Shortly after we received the visit from the first tropical wave. The wind increased, 25 to 30kts from ESE bringing haze sky. Luckily we didn’t encounter significant thunderstorm activity nor rain, but the soaking was provided by the tall waves crashing on deck and on the watch keeper.

For the following 5 days we experienced very similar conditions, sustained winds of 25 knots and 7 to 10 ft waves, that translates in permanent use of foul water gear and constant change of clothes. All the hatches and portholes had to stay shut, and the cabin soon turned into a steaming hot sauna, with soaked garments hanging in the hope they could dry.

The persistent moisture was source of discomfort for the crew (and we suppose for Beta too) but at least the progress to destination was steady and fast, with average daily runs well above 100 nautical miles and a peak of 133 on Day 4. We counted three tropical waves passing us during this leg, each one bringing slightly different wind speeds and weather.conditions, but nothing too severe, with almost no squalls.

The change of guard during the morning watch is an opportunity to squid around

At a certain moment the shackle of our staysail halyard block, a sort of pulley that hoists our smallest sail, broke dropping the sail on the foredeck. After clearing the area from the tangled halyard and retrieving the block, I started to assess the problem.  Our smallest sail is very important in our sail plan, and we made a great use of it during this passage. The staysail helps filling the fore triangle area catching more wind and working together with the jib during most of the point of sail. In the windiest conditions, when our bigger headsail gives us too much power, we prefer to keep it furled and fly the staysail only. After probably half an hour of concern about how to fix the problem, I finally remembered that we have a spare spinnaker halyard ready to use on deck that worked perfectly in hoisting the sail again for the entire duration of the trip.

Kate with a secure grip on the boat

LOG 1746 nm – July 1st Puerto Lindo, Panama

The vanishing winds dropped us roughly 30 miles to the NE of Puerto Lindo, where we were hoping to land and clear into the country. Panama has two main seasons, dry and wet. From December to April the trades are strong enough to bring constant wind and clear sky over the country, while from May to November winds are light and variable and depend upon weather patterns influenced by the mainland.

Those were the longest 30 miles ever on a boat; the rainy season brought the typical lack of significant wind. On top of that an adverse current pushed us east towards Colombia. It took 24 hours of patience and effort to cover those 30 nautical miles and make landfall, which of course happened around 3AM local time, in pitch dark. Our approach was very slow under electric motor. Luckily our Navionics charts seemed to be accurate enough to pass safely in between three islands and relative reefs before reaching the anchorage. After a brief marital disagreement on where it was safe to drop the hook, we successfully anchored in the unknown dark bay cluttered with other vessels. For the first time after 8 days Kate and I went both to sleep at the same time.

In the morning we called Linton Bay Marina, and proceeded to a dock where we tied up Tranquility. Showers, electrical power, fresh water from the docks and other amenities helped our recovering from the tiring passage. Finally we were in Panama once again. It was 6 years since the last time I was here.
New way, new life

New way, new life

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17th May 2017, Allen’s Cay, Northern Bahamas

Tranquility rests in the wide anchorage, dressed in her full cruising gear, hanging from a 22lbs Bruce anchor clawed into the seabed. Bed cushions, laundry and anything that would benefit from the touch of the hot Bahamian sun and the fresh airs are out on deck or hanging from the lifelines. The wind-scoop (a spoon shaped nylon chute) hovers on top the front hatch funneling the breeze into the cabin, while the boom tent increases the shade surface on the deck and shields the cockpit from view. 

The wind generator spins happily, replenishing our motor’s battery bank. At its side, the solar panel chugs the photons that hit its surface and sends them down below, where our electronics line up on the chart table to receive the precious juice. Charles Vane, our faithful wind vane self steering apparatus, hangs folded up on the stern. He is off duty, and probably dreams about the times when he was a feared pirate. The white dinghy bobs around in the wavelets just few feet off the stern, secured to the mother ship by a black painter line.

This is a typical scene that recurs every time we reach a new anchorage where we plan to spend few nights. We are in Allen’s Cay (or Allan’s Cay, depending on who you ask), a beautiful island in the Northern Abacos. The reason for our stay, beside the obvious experience of the marvelous nature in this uninhabited island, is a dab of strong easterly winds that are supposed to blow for a couple of days with peaks at 25 knots. Allen’s Cay is well sheltered from all the weather coming from the Eastern quadrant, so it checks both leisure and safety boxes.

We are traveling SE so every time the weather shows its angry face either from the E or the S we have to take a knee. Tranquility is happy to beat upwind. Us not so much, especially when the winds exceed 15 knots. We can handle and endure everything below that but we don’t put ourselves voluntarily into the business of making upwind progress when the breeze is too brisk. 

Because of stronger winds we have to stay put for a couple of days and we would have to do the work of snorkeling, forage for conch and fish as well as taking care of never ending repairs and upgrades.

This waiting time is filled with interesting activities. We dug out our entire food supply for inspection, cleaning, inventory and organization purposes. We finally learned what we hoarded in weeks of constant access to groceries store. We are well off for a long time and we just need to get few perishables along the way and harvest the rest ourselves from the ocean.

Kate also caught three small fishes, which I quickly cleaned, scaled and cooked. They appeared to be small Whitebone Porgies and they were delicious. It reminded me of the simplicity of the life I was living in Venezuela and Panama, where most of the commodities where scarce, but where very little was needed at the same time.
Rookies of the Sea

Rookies of the Sea

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For long our plan of sailing exotic destinations has been put under salt for many reasons. Little by little we removed our impediments and finally set our course South.

We departed Brunswick on Monday 24th and made it only as far as New Smyrna Beach, FL, a mere 120 miles away. We transited the Ponce de Leon Inlet right at sunset and dropped anchor in a random shoal just off the ICW.

The reason for such a short hop was health. Both of us felt pretty sick, not only for the crazy motion of our small craft but also for something that we ingested pre departure. I spare you the recounts of symptoms and experiences of this illness, nothing pretty. Without some disappointment we had to make the call to pull over and anchor, to heal and re-gather strength.

We sail a primitive boat, with limited auxiliary power so everything we do has to be timed with favorable weather conditions. Weather is a Master we have to obey.

We had such favorable conditions at the beginning of this week in the form of 15-20 knots blowing from the West allowing us to move South along the Florida coast and reach a favorable hop spot to Bahamas. We could have made it not stop in three days, but we decided nothing good could come from keeping at sea in our sick condition.

Now that we blew this weather window we may have to wait quite a bit. We felt pretty bad about it, as rookies who can barely handle discomfort. It was a tough call, especially knowing what the weather had prepared for us and what is showing for the next days.

Even if our current status is not what our imagination envisioned we are indeed “on the road” in a place we have never intended to visit as often happened before. Our Master will decide how long we will have to stick around and what will be next for us.

Obey your Master.

A much welcomed “chicken move”

A much welcomed “chicken move”

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I am crossing my fingers as I am writing this but it seems we almost made it through the ICW. Almost because we post-poned our departure again, 6 hours from the original idea of leaving right at low tide around 6:30 am.

Here is what happened.

We woke up in Morehead City, NC where we spent few days waiting for decent weather to sail offshore and keep sailing in a general south west direction. Everything was ready from the night before, we just needed to leave the docks, raise the sails and go.

It was 5:45am when I ventured outside heading for the restrooms. The sky was dark grey, rainy and windy, the nervous chop of the bay slapping Tranquility loudly. The temperature was 39F. For as much as I wanted to ride the Northerlies and get past Cape Lookout to finally head straight to the above average warmth of Florida, the scenario of this early start was not encouraging. The drizzle in particular was very disheartening.

Back under the blankets and with coffee in our mugs we held a brief crew meeting (Kate, me and Beta) and all agreed to postpone departure to next high tide with the idea of spending the next six hours napping,taking showers and in general being comfortable.

At first I was a little mad at myself. I considered that a “chicken move”. But then I acknowledged the wisdom coming from Kate and Beta. There is no need to make your life more miserable when you already are sailing in winter on a tiny sailboat.

We should still have a good 24hrs or so of Northerlies, enough to cover the 100 miles that will put us past Cape Fear and on a SW course parallel to shore. Then we expect another blow between Thursday and Friday, a cold front passing through and bringing other strong northerlies. This time the forecast indicates that it’s not going to be as long lasting as this past one, and by then we should also be hugging the SC – GA coasts with milder temperatures compared to North Carolina, which by the way, we are very happy to leave behind.

This North Carolina endeavor has been cold and rainy, with a lot of idle time waiting for the weather to behave properly.
It sure is challenging and rewarding to be able to sail inland waters, ditches and all, but it also very labor intensive and slow. It’s something between a chess game and an endurance race, played against a very capricious opponent.

With our electric motor we belong offshore, and that’s where we are heading.

See you later.
A sailing pilgrimage

A sailing pilgrimage

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When I think about our journey I like to think we are on a pilgrimage, even when it’s not clear what is the destination. I may not know the destination of the journey, but I know the sense of it, or at least this is what I tell myself. It sounds more or less like this:

Redesign life through interaction with nature and the discipline of sailing.

On this pilgrimage we are currently  in Portsmouth VA, where our Columbia 29 MK1 was manufactured in 1965.

According to advertising material of the time Columbia Yacht Corporation opened its eastern plant in 1964 situated on a nine-acre on 2400 Wesley street in Portsmouth,Virginia. Looking at her now, 51 years after leaving the factory, Tranquility is in a very good shape.

We didn’t want to walk for 1 hour under the rain to visit a site which with all probabilities has completely changed. I feel a little proud of our little boat, still sailing. Sometimes I have weird dreams of making her lighter, without an engine and other “extras”, to enhance her sailing abilities, but then I wake up to reality when I think about boatyard time and realize it’s not time to do that. Not yet, at least.

Tranquility is probably happy to be underway again after two weeks in Hampton VA. The family trips went well and we much enjoyed the time together, the request for the removal of the conditions on my permanent residency is in the mail, heading for Vermont, and we hope for a quick response. Now it’s time to go back to sailing.

The first sail after the break was nice and fast. The boat moved at a good pace down the Elizabeth River pushed by northerlies, surrounded by a surreal vulgar display of power. Aircraft carriers, destroyers, cruisers, amphibious ships, hospital ships and other less familiar types were docked or under shipyard care while jets, helicopters, and Command and Control aircraft buzzed around.

Navy ships under repair in Norfolk VA
Navy ships under repair in Norfolk VA

We reached the free public docks in Portsmouth, VA where we met a bunch of fellow cruisers docked for the night. It’s coldish, and we are not used yet to be with no heater. Temperatures are expected to plunge further in the next days, so we are moving carefully, using the days that are in the low 40s to stay at anchor and save money, and digging in our sailing budget to dock and use shore power when it goes down to 32 as it will.

It’s our second trip southbound, and for one reason or another, it seems that we can’t avoid to run late and face cold weather again. Days are short and we find ourself in bed after dinner at 7pm and up after 7 when the sun finally comes back. Our sleeping bag and each other’s body temperature are our best allies, even our cat limits his night roaming to snuggle with us and find warmth.

The good thing about it is that we can read a lot, write, cook hearty meals, listen to the radio. Kate and I are playing tug of war over a book titled Blackwater: The Rise of the World’s Most Powerful Mercenary Army, a reportage written by Jeremy Scahill about the use of private contractors for security and military operations in war zones. It’s a bit repetitive in its construction, but it’s dense with truly scary information mostly about what happened in Iraq and in other unlucky places on earth.

Weird enough where we are now it’s only few miles away from Academi‘s (the new name for Blackwater) main facility: 7,000 acres (28 km2) in the Dismal Swamp. There is a canal where Tranquility could sail that runs between Chesapeake, Va to South Mills, NC. Unfortunately the canal is closed after hurricane Matthew created some obstructions on the tight ditch. I guess we will have to delay hearing gunfire until we get to Camp Lejeune.

More than marshes, barrier islands and wide sounds, it’s the military presence (with the colorful addition of their competitors in the private sector) that sadly dominates East Coast landscape by sea, a reminder of America’s strength and beliefs, if someone forgot.

On a lighter note I spent time focusing on the launch of the new website, Psychology of Sailing. I had the opportunity of interviewing few specialists, both in the Psychology and Sailing fields, about this project. I feel that I am researching the topic widely before I can confidently write about it. I forced myself to a deadline, so time is running and soon I have to break this doubts and publish.

To know better the world of live aboard cruisers I am also conducting a survey with the aim of studying a little more the phenomenon. I you know anybody cruising for more than 6 months please ask them to contact me.

If you want to receive the first post and you are interested in following this new website you can subscribe at Psychology of Sailing here. Help spread the word!

 

Sailboat with electric motor
One man’s experiment with electric propulsion

One man’s experiment with electric propulsion

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I live on a small sailboat with electric motor as auxiliary power, and even if this happened by accident, I decided to try out this technology as a total novice. Five years and 6000 miles later I describe my experience in this post, trying to draw a general picture of the use of electric motors aboard small sailboats.

Electric vehicles (EV) and hybrids are conquering little by little the market of light duty vehicles, with some forecast that put internal combustion engines (ICE) to soon be less competitive when compared to EVs. Other experts are more conservative on how soon this is going to happen, but it seems clear that ICE is fated to become obsolete as EVs are “the rational, economic choice”.

The simple yet powerful setup for Tesla S
The simple yet powerful setup for Tesla S (photo by Oleg Alexandrov)

But what is the situation with marine electric propulsion? Can small sailboat be propelled by electric motors?

Over the water, the most common form of auxiliary propulsion for sailboats is marine diesel engine. This proven technology benefits from many years of successful use and a well established industry of dealers and technical repairs. It’s clear that the diesel option dominates the market on sailboats auxiliary propulsion. In fact, before owning a boat with electric propulsion, my only experience was with diesel engines and, less often, gasoline outboards.

The engine room of a small sailboat
The engine room of a small sailboat (photo by PHGCOM )

THE DIESEL BIAS
Diesel fuel has a couple of good features: a high flash point that allows a relatively safe handling and a good energy density that provides satisfying motoring range with limited storage required. Today new, smaller and more efficient units fit easily in every engine room. Marine diesel give a sailboat an extended range under power and enough power to face many difficult situations and emergencies.

When I first encountered electric propulsion it was a quirky novelty, something I was not prepared to deal with. I was reluctant, but I knew that if I was not happy with it, I could easily revert to ICE. It was hard to find good information on the topic, so I guess the only way to know was to run the experiment myself.

One of the common temptations is to approach the topic trying to answer the question if electric propulsion can replace the diesel engine. After all why choosing an option that cannot compete with the market leader? After a lot of research, re-doing myself the installation of my electric motor, and using it for more than 2000 nautical miles, I finally have an answer.
Electric propulsion can’t replace the diesel engine. What it did for me was to change the way I see and use auxiliary propulsion.

A DIFFERENT MINDSET
It is common practice on a sailboat to turn on the engine not only when you need to maneuver around tight docks or anchorages, but also when wind or wave direction shifts to an undesired angle, when the speed drops under a certain threshold, if the battery charge is low or to fight against tides and currents. No matter what is the source of the annoyance, it takes little effort to fix it. Just turn the ignition key on, wait few seconds and put the throttle in gear and the problem is solved.

Fuel and general consumables are what sit between the choice of motoring or not motoring. They are usually very easy to find everywhere and reasonably cheap. This mindset implies that power is abundant and available at all times, we can get to destination in less time, going through very little trouble.

Electrical propulsion on the other hand, requires a switch from this mindset, from considering power abundant to scarce. Scarce however doesn’t mean non-existent, it simply means that your reserve has to be cared for and maintained.

ANATOMY OF OUR “LOW COST” SYSTEM
Tranquility, our Columbia 29 built in 1965 is powered by an inboard electric propulsion. The conversion from presumably an Atomic 4, was performed by a former owner who installed an earlier model from the company Electric Yacht. The motor is a simple DC Eltek brushed motor mounted on a 2 to 1 gear, and it works at 36Vdc-65Vdc (48Vdc nominal), with a maximum peak of 130Amps and 100Amps continuous. The power conversion is estimated equal to 5kW (6 h.p.). It is compact in size and weights a little more than 40 pounds.

Here is a video of Tranquility’s conversion to electric propulsion:

At the time of purchase the boat and the propulsion system needed serious updates, and we were forced to replace the existing battery bank with a new one. We opted for eight 6v Trojan T-125 batteries connected in series for a total capacity of 240ah at 48v.

The reasons behind the choice of a “traditional” lead acid 6v battery are both economical and practical. Lead acid batteries are at least five time cheaper than Lifepo4, and our sailing budget is very limited. Also, in case of a single battery failure it would be easier to replace one “golf cart” battery in different places of the planet, without dealing with the manufacturers of a “rare” battery, with expensive shipping and duties.

We use wind, hydro, the grid and fossil fuels to o recharge our batteries. In details, we installed a 48v wind turbine, a 20amp AC to DC battery charger powered by the grid when we are at the dock and by a portable gas generator when at sea, the 12×12 fixed three blade propeller that regenerates power under sail when boat speeds exceed 5 knots.

CRUISING WITH ELECTRIC PROPULSION: THIS IS HOW WE DO IT

With our current system we are able to motor in calm conditions at 3 knots while drawing 20 amps for approximately 15miles before we need any recharge. This estimated range is considered an ideal situation and we try to avoid to use our motor for that long.

If we have to motor for more than 1 hour for instance, we would use our gas generator on deck to give some power back to the batteries. The motor rarely runs at more than 20 amps, and when it happens my hearth races as if they were taking my blood rather than electrons from the battery plates.

When we are drawing more than 20 amps it’s because we are fighting headwinds, currents in a narrow passage or performing a maneuver that requires high thrust, situations that should not last long if we plan our sail wisely and that does not affect too much our power reserve.

We always try to be very conservative with our batteries but at the same time we are happy to know that we can demand more power if conditions arise. How little we can motor became a game for us, and we feel particularly accomplished when we don’t use it at all.

Sailboat with electric motor
Motor sailing on the Intracoastal Waterway

OUR TESTING GROUNDS
Coastal sailing is the most demanding situation for auxiliary propulsion because of narrows, currents, navigational hazards that make sailing hard work and sometimes extremely time consuming. For these reasons, most of our sailing is done offshore where we don’t need auxiliary propulsion.

Since we fixed our boat and hooked up the electric propulsion we have been sailing the East Coast of the United States from Massachussets to Georgia round trip with electric propulsion. As we are planning to take on more distance sailing, we considered that a successful test.

Occasionally we used the ICW, especially on the southbound trip when we went from Norfolk, VA to Beaufort, NC. In that situation, time was a constraint as we were cruising in cold weather. Our priority was to get south as fast as we could, without taking the risk of rounding Cape Hatteras during winter.

One day for example we needed to sail from Manteo NC, to Hatteras, NC via the Pamlico Sound. The forecast gave us very light wind for the next day, not great sailing conditions. If we waited, we would have to face strong headwinds for the rest of the week and possibly get stuck there.

Considering the scenario, we decided to leave early, hooked up our gas generator to motor all the way in a flat Pamlico Sound. Because of the short winter days we arrived at night but once there we had no worries about when to leave for the next leg of the trip that was done under sail.

During the rest of the trip we sailed and motor-sailed along portions of “the ditch”, but making most of our miles offshore picking good weather windows. A gentle breeze is sufficient to sail faster than we would motor, and we also tolerate to move slower if that is possible under sail. Carefully timing the tides we can motor faster using less power and so our journey is entirely planned in consideration of weather patterns and current.

THE ART OF COMPROMISE

Kate and I live aboard and cruise full time. So far electric propulsion has never been a concern, nor we live it as a limitation. After some adjustments in our cruising style, we quickly adapted to it. Cruising with an electric inboard propulsion makes it necessary to compromise.

The reduced range limits our possibilities in terms of routes and landing options. Sometimes it’s necessary to leave earlier from places we like to take advantage of a favorable weather window. Sometimes we had to stay longer in places we liked less. More than once a sudden calm, a favorable tide or other “disturbances” led us to places we din’t plan to visit.

With these limitations, we learned that it’s not a coincidence that most of the main harbors are built in locations accessible under sail in most conditions, as historically that was the only way to get there.

ELECTRIC PROPULSION MAKES BETTER SAILORS

Electric propulsion forces us to keep sailing even when the boat speed goes below 3 knots. These limits had forced me to work on having a better sailboat. Because of limited power we keep our bottom as clean as possible (I often dive myself or hire a professional). Because of our limited power, we purchased bigger nylon sails for light air and installed a retractable bowsprit to increase our sail area.

We spend more time studying landings on the charts, including alternative points of refuge in our planning and always trying to match the tide and the current. Paying closer attention to weather is another consequence of dealing with a limited range. Even if it would not be our first choice sometimes we have to leave at night or arrive with the dark. In other words, our sailing skill and navigation competence have improved thanks to electric propulsion.

FUTURE DEVELOPMENTS

What I am doing today is a sort of a beta test, the science fair version of astrophysics. Considering our limited budget and resources, the results are encouraging and what is really exciting is that there are optimistic signs that this technology will be more viable for future use and diffusion in the marine industry.

Even if we are being thrifty, we are aware how our battery bank have a relatively short lifespan. Well cared lead-acid batteries can last 7-10 years but the test of electrical propulsion is a harsh one, that’s why we are extremely careful on how we treat our power storage.

With this in mind, I look forward to what may be available in 2020 in terms of batteries cost for a sailboat with electric motor. The electric car industry, Tesla in primis, has shown the world that the technology is already here and that only scale production and policy are the limits to a wider diffusion. The marine industry is opening up to LiFePo4 technology for power storage, and even if today is still very expensive, there is no need for technological breakthroughs, just a more mature industry and a wider market.

I would use Lifepo4 batteries today if I could afford them. This way I would extend my motoring range by 40% at 50% the weight of my actual setupand I would be less concerned to push down harder on the throttle if I feel like, or worry about the time between full recharges, as lead plate sulfation would not be an issue.

With Lifepo4 batteries I would feel more confident and leave behind our gasoline generator. The much decreased weight would give me better sailing and motoring performance in return. In other words, power will still be “scarce” but less so.

A SMALL MINORITY

We rarely encounter another sailboat with electric motor (but thanks to the internet we met a guru and now we know some others) and we feel like an anomaly, especially when it’s a calm day and other vessels motor at full steam, while we bob around with full sails trying to catch any breeze and spending very long time to cover few miles.

Sometimes it’s not fun, and we wished we had a diesel engine. We are also lucky that our sailing doesn’t have to follow a particularly strict schedule, so it’s not dramatic either.

When we purchased our boat the type of auxiliary propulsion was not among the most important criteria in our selection. We were pleased by her sound hull and the solid rig, we loved the interior and other features. The fact that Tranquility came with electric propulsion was somehow a coincidence. We thought that we could switch to a different system if we wanted to, and after trying it we got intrigued and realized that even with its limitations electric propulsion works for us.

Today electric propulsion would be my first choice for a sailboat up to 35ft. Its minimum maintenance, the fact that is quiet, reliable and simple and has no fumes from fuel and oil are the perks that balance the labor that takes to sail more, which coincidently is why we are on the water in the first place.
Walking in America

Walking in America

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Walking in America for us is not optional. We are living a very peculiar lifestyle, and we get to experience situations that very few people have access to.

The good and the bad, like walking on a disused railway track like iconic vagabonds…

It happened yesterday, when we took our much needed stroll to the grocery store to gather provisions, 2.7 miles away from where Tranquility is docked.

It may seem far, but to us it is a reasonable distance to cover for food.

Walking gives us a nice opportunity to see the places we are visiting, have sometimes meaningful conversations, exercise the body and the mind.

It took us almost an hour to get there, walking in the countryside of the Delmarva southern tip, passing by a golf course, fields of cotton, horse ranches and a cemetery. The path was not well suited for pedestrians, but at least traffic was not too bad, and the mild and sunny afternoon was a special treat.

walking in america
Cotton fields near Cape Charles VA

When I walk in America I always feel a little bit subversive.

First I always notice that nobody else is doing it. I am of course not talking about big cities, or downtown strips where people walk purposely on sidewalks that keep them safe from traffic. In that case they probably just parked the car not far away or left the train to cover the last steps to get to their destinations.

I am talking about walking in city outskirts, suburbs, small towns and strip malls.

As live aboard cruisers we end up in random places where we need to get supply, or just visit particular sites, and we don’t have a car, mainly because we cannot carry one with us onboard I guess.

Everywhere we need to go, we go on foot, hire a cab or rent a car if that requires long traveling.

And when walking is the only option, it feels strange. Drivers give you “the look” (a combination of astonishment, curiosity and pity ) as they pass you, some of them even press on the pedal trying to “rolling coal” or honk to acknowledge your/their presence.

It’s no coincidence that road signs state “stop for pedestrian” rather than “stop for people”.

walking in america
With no alternatives McDonalds’ become our only watering hole. This one had a nice map that shows where we are

Walking in America is becoming more and more dehumanizing.

Pioneers who once used to walk through plain and savannas are now regarded as “pedestrians”, somebody who is in the way of the traffic flow.

If this sounds a little too dramatic just consider for a second the very basic concept of “Jaywalking”, which happens when a pedestrian crosses a roadway where regulations do not permit doing so. It is considered an infraction but in some jurisdictions it is a misdemeanor and requires a court appearance.

What happens where there are not designated paths for pedestrian? Would that be a case where walking becomes a criminal act? ”

Jaywalking” is a clear sign that the road belongs to cars. That’s why we felt somehow safer when we walked alongside the railroad tracks, luckily not in use anymore.

When we walk a random intersection we often ask ourselves if an officer would be entitled to fine us for Jaywalking. When walking in America it’s not always clear where you are supposed to step around intersections, roundabouts and other traffic infrastructures.

When people we meet learn about our walking intentions, they always offer us rides or the use of their cars out of kindness. It is very kind of them of course, but I can’t fail to notice how they look concerned about our safety. To  their eyes it must look abnormal to walk few miles for groceries. It’s not just that, it is straight-out dangerous.

Every time we have to explain that it’s OK for us to walk for a couple of miles, that this is how we exercise and add other reasons to motivate this apparently bizarre behavior of walking.

Maybe for people used to the home to car routines, it could be hard to understand that on our boat we don’t have very much floor area. Walking becomes very enjoyable every time we have a chance to do it, because otherwise we would be sitting or standing.

The lack of safe walking paths all along the US East coast is discouraging. The more people stop walking the more trails and walking path are disappearing.

I am sure urban planners like Kate would have sophisticated explanations about why America is so badly designed for walking, but it seems reasonable to boil it all down to one main responsible: cars.

Everything in America is designed and built around cars, the most important form of transportation, in particular commercial areas like strip malls, shopping plazas and such.

When we were living in Georgia, the sight of a person walking on the side of the road would trigger a big flag. I remember saying this to Kate: “Oh look at that guy, he’s walking (not jogging) on the causeway… that’s a big flag over there” meaning that when a somebody in civilian clothes walks somewhere the reason must be a problematic one: a broken down vehicle, a homeless situation, too poor to own a car, a person up to no good.

“Can you imagine being there? With this heat?”

Now that we don’t own a car anymore our point of view completely switched. Now we are the anomaly, the vagrants, the subversives.

At a certain moment during our walk, Kate stopped and looked at me saying: “I feel weird, we are not supposed to be doing this”.

“You are right” I said, “It shouldn’t take us three hours to do groceries, it all should happen faster, so we can do more things”.

Time is a valuable resource, therefore it is better to do things as quickly as possible, especially moving, at the expenses of something that makes us truly human like walking.

Walking upright is one of the basic human characteristics, a revolution that boosted our survival skills allowing humans to walk faster and farther, facing up to spot potential dangers, and liberating our upper arms to accomplish more tasks.

It is sad how today walking is somehow endangered, how Fitbits and other exercise apps had to be invented to force people to walk more.

Walking is so unusual that it changed name and shape: It became “walking workout” and people can’t wait to go hiking during weekends, to regain the health lost for not walking in the first place.

I like to walk, i like it a lot. I think that together with sailing it is my favorite form of transportation.

The advantage is that walking is way cheaper than sailing, you only need a pair of good shoes, and that only if you are picky walker. Any shoes will be fine.

Walking in America s becoming more and more a privilege, regarded only to who have the time to afford it or to who live in communities where walking is not a Russian roulette played with cars.

Or to people that have no alternative, like us who chose a different lifestyle, or like people less fortunate living on the edge of poverty, that everyday have no alternative but go out walking in America.

living on a boat
Living on a boat has its limitations

Living on a boat has its limitations

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It took some effort to pull away from the coast. Even if we are living on a boat, we are growing fonder of social interactions, family, friends, random people watching on a NYC train and we spent good part summer and early fall visiting people, re-establishing connections in Massachusetts, Rhode Island, New York City but also back in my home place, northern Italy.

We met newborns and introduced each other to old friends and colleagues on both continents. As much as we are embracing an hermit-like lifestyle relationship and social interactions seem to grow stronger, as if quantity of interaction was not a good indicator of their qualities.

This sailing life is not exactly as sequestered as one could think.

Once again we have been adopted by a kind family of Fairhaveners, and by the community at large. We have always felt like at home there, but eventually, after we enjoyed time with kindred spirits, we had no other excuse to linger in the ever cooler South Coast of Massachusetts and eventually we had to sail South.

A pilgrim is thankful for the hospitality, but they know when it’s time to leave.

And so we left with the same destination in mind as three years earlier, this time on a more outfitted boat, a better stocked pantry and a tireless helmsman, our Norvane self-steering.

The memory of the previous trip had faded in a blur of discomfort and fast downwind sailing. Going offshore in the North Atlantic in November is no joke under any circumstance, and this time we had it worse.

living on a boat
North Atlantic sailing route

Relentless westerlies winds kept us far offshore, more than we actually desired to, pushing us dangerously close to the outskirts of the Gulf Stream.

At first it was a spanking breeze, that later became near gale condition from WNW. Heeled on a close hauled course with nothing but a small portion of the mainsail and the staysail, pounding into increasingly bigger waves, Tranquility made slow steady progress to windward.

The forecast pictured an approaching cold front bringing strong Northerlies. We were looking forward to it but the weather was late to the meeting and so we could only keep our boat bow to the waves, which was hard but safer than have the breakers on the beam. At that point we would see ten feet high waves, crest to trough.

Finally the Northerlies came so we sailed on a broad reach with winds and waves on our starboard quarter.

Immediately the boat’s speed took off. It was adrenalinic. I had to take the helm from the Norvane and carefully anticipate winds and gust to avoid Tranquility taking off on the wave shoulder, accelerating to windward and exposing her beam to the breaking crests.

Soon the companionway was boarded up as some of the crests were dumping gallons of water into the cockpit and on top of us. Kate and I had our fair share of showers from “rogue waves” as we called them. Down from our bunks we could hear the slosh of ocean water all over the deck, followed by the watch keeper’s curses.

Eventually I grew too weary of steering and decided to take the mainsail down completely and running on the staysail only. The boat immediately slowed down and became more docile, the Norvane flawlessly kept her on course as I switched roles with Kate eager to rest.

Winds and waves conjured to give us a good angle of approach to Ocean City, MD.

After stopping here on our way North we benefit again of the easy inlet, probably the only good harbor on the Atlantic side of the Delmarva peninsula.

living on a boat
Ocean City boardwalk in winter

This place in winter felt even more like a bubble. You can look out the window and see the deserted beach of Assateague Island, or you can try another window and see waterfront properties with private docks sitting still in the brightest November day, empty and quiet, a lot of square feet of living space heated and cooled for none’s use.

Ocean City MD is the outpost of humanity, the front that tries to resist the big emptiness flowing in from the ocean, the ruins of an idea that everybody knew was wrong but none could do anything to stop, an endless succession of buildings, streets and corners that are struggling to keep up with the passing of time, deserted by the general lack of interest.

They keep silent trying to withstand another winter, in need of funding, maintenance, and love above all, only visited by scavengers who benefit from the lack of summer crowd.

Scavengers like us, who found a nice crack in this fabric and we wedged in, with fenders and dock lines and anchor and all.

From three days offshore where Mother Nature gave us no discounts, to a temporary protected nest. In these ruins we plugged back in the social discourse to find out things don’t always change for the best and so we diverted our attention from staring at the news to get things done to satisfy our cruising needs, electrical power, showers and a chance to serendipitously acquire another object to expand our unassorted collection: a stowaway Kite.

Once defrosted in the waterfront comforts we sailed back to the anchorage. It had been a very, very long time since last time we dropped the hook. Since Cuttyhunk in September, if I recall, roughly two months earlier.

It always feels a lot different when we are at anchor. It’s like the zero point, everything from there is just adding stuff. Adding shore power, adding freshwater, adding internet, social interactions, malls, driving, noise, smell, shame and judgmental looks.

At anchor we focus on the basics cooking food and eating, house keeping, reading, writing, sleeping long hours, watching Fellini’s movies thinking that Italy in the 60s was the most advanced peak humankind has ever reached (the romantic idea soon demolished by remembering the undisputed hegemony of DC party during those years), eating more, periodically changing the orientation of the solar panel to ensure that the maximum output is kept.

At our peculiar age, a precise step in the western society where on average we are supposed to increase our footprint acquiring a house, a car, hopefully a second one, that rice cooker, maybe a drill press for the garage, we are contained in these tight fiberglass walls that resist the natural expansion of humankind, tossing back everything that does not fall into a place, with objects constantly mixed and reshuffled by a washing machine-like motion that put moisture in the mix, leaving us, members of the advanced western society, crawling in tight corners trying to ignore the growing chaos, with our focus absorbed by primary technological needs.

Eventually we reach the point where we can’t retreat any more and we have to surrender, re-organize the space through simple actions that take the entire day. It is the price tag of living on a boat.

These walls resisting the colonialist expansion teach us an important lesson.

Our living space is growing smaller and smaller. It takes some time at anchor to fight back and put things into place, to cut back, discard, stop acquiring. It can only take so much expansion before the growth become a double edged weapon.

There is one thing I can say for sure: living on a boat has its limitations. Planet Earth is a similar type of vessel floating in an inhospitable space, and it can only take so much growth.
East Coast Northbound: climbing capes

East Coast Northbound: climbing capes

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Sailing in the vicinity of capes is always tricky. Wind, waves, tide and other natural events shaped their appearance and at the same time those forces are influenced by the mass of land they collide with. A vessel rounding a cape is subjected to variable conditions, and for this reason it’s always a good idea to give extra miles when rounding a headland or promontory.

The East Coast of the US has several capes that influenced our route in many ways. Mainly they were obstructing our NE progress.  After Cape Hatteras, we could all of the sudden head almost due North, and get faster to cooler weather. Sometimes to go around the coast feels like climbing mountains, the effort increases close to vertical peaks.

Wrighstville Beach to Lookout Bight, NC 72 NM

WB sunrise
Sunrise in Wrightsville Beach

A group of open water swimmers was taking advantage of the early hours and of the momentary absence of boat traffic to practice. Tranquility was the only boat under way and from the cockpit we watched carefully the colorful swim caps and kept a good distance from them. It must be a popular group in Wrigthsville as we counted at least 50 people taming the inlet at 6 am. The sun was barely up but it was clear it would be another hot day.

We had enough wind to leave the Masonboro inlet and head ENE again, but soon we hit lighter conditions and the boat speed suffered. We were hoping to get there at dusk but the pace was not ideal. The wind picked up later when we were already in sight of the Beaufort inlet and the sunlight was gone. After the last gybe we had all the rolling waves hitting us almost on the beam as we were following the bearing of two red buoys marking the entrance of the bight.

We were trusting our chart plotter that was giving us a depth of 30 ft. It was a lie. Right when we heard the sound of braking waves and realized we could be in trouble, the boat hit the bottom with the keel. A sandy bottom judging from the sound. The long keel of our boat just bumped in a sand bank, we turned immediately to port where we found deeper waters and we adjusted our position to the blinking red buoy.

Lookout Bight
LOOKOUT BIGHT VIEW, NORTH UP

We had approached the entrance with a too tight angle and the Navionics Charts had assured we were in no danger. It was a lucky way to demonstrate how chart plotters are not the solution to navigation problems. Had we listened more carefully to the sound of the sea or took a wider, more conservative angle of approach and we could have avoided that. Good lesson for the future.

lookout bight 2
LOOKOUT BIGHT FROM ESE

After the surprising and scary bump we were sailing in flat waters as the land had already cut the swell from the ocean. This time it was upwind as we turned SSW to get in the lee of the sand dunes. It was time to decide where to anchor. We observed the anchor lights at the top of masts, trying to judge the distances from the beach, from other anchored boats and find the good depth to drop our anchor. With a quick look at the horizon it became also obvious that a line of thunderstorms was on our way.

After a little recon we let the anchor sink to the bottom in 17feet of water and I was giving enough chain and rode out to absorb the thunderstorm charging for us. Just as I cleated the anchor rode and positioned the anti chafe gear the squall hit us with some violent wind gusts and blinding rain from the NW. As the anchor had no sufficient time to set, it started to drag away from the beach towards deeper waters.

Luckily we had no obstacles in our path and finally the anchor set bringing our bow to the wind and waves. I calculated that we dragged at least 200 yards before the anchor found a good bite and started to dig into the sand. The thunderstorm raged for few minutes more, before continuing on and leaving a quiet night behind. When visibility improved we noticed we were a little distant from the beach, but we were now trusting the holding of our ground tackle.

LB walk
Walking the dunes

LB dunes
Facing the Atlantic Ocean

We spent few days in the bight. One day we swam ashore and walked all around on the beach. The next day we hiked the beach and the dunes and made it to the other side in the hotter and sunnier day I experienced this summer. We made it, but it was a serious feat. During these hikes, we talked a lot about ideas, a torrent of ideas. Business plans, life plans, travel plans a big collection of our imaginary world had been discussed, analyzed and then dismissed or saved for later discussion. We thought about possible uses of shells, writing ideas, financial investments. Walking enhance our imagination to the point that we could even end up arguing furiously over an imaginary plan that is far from having any foundation.

LB boats
Lookout Bight gets busy with any type of craft during weekends

I consider the Lookout Bight one of the nicest place on the East Coast of the US, especially if you have the opportunity ti visit it on a boat. Crowded during weekends, it is remote during weekdays and at night it is absolutely quiet. We swam a lot and I even did my first bottom scrub since we launched the boat. The day we left, when the conditions we were looking for to face the longest and most difficult section of the trip finally came, I noticed a sand shark surfacing and trying to reach my breakfast pot… Even though I am aware how harmless they are, I am glad I went scrubbing the hull without knowing about it!

Lookout bight to Ocean City, MD 289 NM

We expected very light conditions for an extended period of time before venture out of the Bight to round Cape Lookout first, and Hatteras later, and that’s exactly what we got. We had an upwind first part to get around the cape, so light air was actually good, as the flat seas didn’t obstruct too much our progression. Once around, we received a little help from the Gulf Stream that pushed us NE.

I think the best explanation ever of how an ocean current works is from the Disney/Pixar movie Finding Nemo, when Crush the turtle shows it to Marlin <<You’re riding it, dude. Check it out!>>

It was a very nice ride indeed. The Gulf stream current flows close to the Outer Banks Coast. We were sailing downwind about twenty miles offshore in light winds and still we had a steady progress of 4kts even 5kts at times. On a calm ocean we slipped into our watch routine mile after mile and had no visits from thunderstorms. The depth sounder took a peak of what’s outside the Continental Shelf and settled to 385 feet (apparently its maximum reading), but according to the charts we were in an area of 1600ft of depth. Kate shivered trying to imagine such an ocean depth. Here the water was really blue and turned violet when the sun was setting.

GS dude
“You are riding it, dude. Check it out!”

The round of Hatteras went almost unnoticed. For the entire trip we kept talking about it like it was Cape Horn or Good Hope. Even if it’s blasphemous to compare it to some of the most stormy capes in the world, Hatteras has a bad reputation among sailors in the East Coast, and we were constantly warned when they heard us talking about going around. Cape Hatteras is also known as “the Graveyard of the Atlantic” because of many shipwrecks happened in the area. The presence of the Gulf Stream, the fierce storms that hit both in winter and summer, and a very thin and steep Continental Shelf make this cape a place not to underestimate and to avoid in bad weather.

After Hatteras we turned the bow North and passed the Chesapeake entrance to continue along the Delmarva peninsula. Our destination was Ocean City where we had the mission to find supplies, regroup and organize the next leg. I remember looking at the charts and asking Kate “How is Ocean City?”. She replied that she spent few summers there when she was a child. “It’s a crazy place you must see”.

OC approach
Beta and I checking the approach to Ocean City

Ocean City was attractive to my eyes because of its easy inlet in case we arrived in the dark (as our habit) and for the presence of marinas and shopping facilities. After three weeks at anchor we needed to replenish our fresh water and get a good deal of food. With some 300 miles to get to New England it was one of our last chances to stock up.

We obviously arrived in the early AM in pitch dark and I hailed the Coast Guard on the VHF to ask if the inlet had any recent change from what the charts were telling us. They gave us green light and we approached carefully. With so many buildings and lights it wasn’t difficult to find our way into the inlet and we reached our destination, Ocean City Fisherman’s Marina at 3 AM, tying up at the fuel dock waiting for them to open.

ocfueldock
Our first landing

It was a Saturday morning and fishermen were already leaving. Kate called the owner of the Marina at about 3:30AM convinced that she would talk to the voice mail. Instead she woke him up. She apologized but he reassured her that he was coming earlier anyway because of the early birds coming to the fuel docks, so he told us to go tie up to a near slip and that we could talk later.

We checked in easily and with the BoatUS membership we were granted a discount. We stayed two nights for 101$, which considering the season is not bad at all. In the morning we noticed that ours was the only mast in the marina (and probably in all West Ocean City). All around us sport fishers and other type of powerboats were the only boats.

oc neighbor
Neighbors in West Ocean City

We walked a lot, but all the shopping was close by so we quickly completed the list of our errands. On a saturday night we walked to the board walk, which is this crazy loud, sugar fueled, amalgam of people flowing up and down. Kate wanted me to try any sort of sugary extra caloric eatables and I settled for sea water tabbies and caramelized cashews. On the next monday we left early  with a fully provisioned boat to get to Cape Henlopen, with the plan to sit there and wait for a good weather window.

 

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