sailboat Archives - La possibilità di un'isola

Sailing Solo Across the Atlantic Ocean – Part 4

By fabiobrunazzi | July 20, 2022 | Comments 2 comments

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

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

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.

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.

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.

Farewell to Americas

By fabio@lapossibilitadiunisola.com | June 23, 2020 | Comments 15 comments

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….

Disentanglement

By fabio@lapossibilitadiunisola.com | May 26, 2020 | Comments 6 comments

Every Tuesday I connect with the kind and fun bunch of Rebel Writers. They meet face to face in a secret location in Hong Kong and write. I used to take part in those meetings face-to-face while I was living there. Now I can only connect from afar but I still enjoy to participate. In the end when you become a Rebel Writer, you will be one for the rest of your life.

So every Tuesday I get up on my boat check in with them and start my writing as well. This weekly appointment is what gets me writing no matter what, despite the fact that I am running against the clock to get in the water and get going. Having this sacred, personal moment of messing about with words has a healthy effect on my mind.

During last meeting we decided to video call for a little catch up. Also the daughter of one of the Rebels was present so I thought it was a good idea to give them a tour of my boat. I realized how messy my boat really was as soon as this idea left my brain, it converted in vibrating air captured by my microphone and was sent all the way to Hong Kong. All I could do was to justify myself adding that I am tearing apart close to 30% of the total internal space of the boat and that I was living in a construction site. Which of course is true and normal these days.

Despite the clarification I felt a rush of shame pervading my body and I tried pathetically to limit the visual of messiness through camerawork, with little success. Not even a square foot of the boat was tidy. I consider myself lucky I don’t suffer from the paralyzing, debilitating type of shame that would shut you down and make you stutter and say stupid things. I still held face and walked them through my messy yet very interesting boat.

The sensation of shame continued after the video call as my eyes were contemplating the explosion of boat parts and tools around me. I have been in this condition for a couple of months now, but even if I am used to my mess sometimes it exceeds my own tolerance.

The previous day I worked on my water tank in the v-berth, then rushed onto the boat to prepare the dough and toppings for our Monday pizza night at the boatyard, then worked a little more while the dough was raising, to again rush and pick everything up and carry it to the breezeway on the other end of the boatyard. When I came back it was dark already and with a full belly and first signs of a carb crash I went quickly to bed. The next morning I woke up to the mess of cooking and working and everything else.

In this particular phase of working there is no place onboard that stays the same. Things keep moving and shuffle around from one surface to the other. This happens even if the majority of my belonging are stuffed under the boat in the squatter camp, a sprawling of boat parts and materials that allows for great boatwork and creations and that also has a post-apocalyptic aesthetic, so appropriate during current times.

I am fortunate I got to be in a very private corner of the boatyard so my mess is hidden. Tranquility is parked stern to the edge of the property, against a fence with climbing vines and tall trees. My port windows face the North River and I can observe the marsh and boats at anchor from where I sit at my table. My only neighbor in a radius of 80ft (25 meters ) is Bill, who is a long time friend, solo sailor, inventor and “connazionale” (he is American and he also holds an Italian passport). He tolerates my mess and contributes with his own, although I have to say I am undefeated to this day.

For a coincidence of life I am right under the tree where four years ago Beta was spotted the last time before he decided to take a two week vacation from the boat. This tree dumps leaves, branches and staining berries onto my deck and used to block the sun from reaching my solar panel, but I still love it. It harbors a quantity of animals and insects that are my companions during my work days.

The boatyard is encased in maritime forest and it opens on a winding river that leads all the way to the Atlantic Ocean, separating Georgia from Florida. Its magical powers are beyond comprehension and the enchanted forest attracts a community of boaters that end up taking residence in the boatyard.

This special corner in this special county of this special state which is part of this special country is where I prepare my farewell. The Americas, North and South, have been particularly welcoming to me.

The people I met during my travels invited me in their lives with generosity and a sane curiosity for a man with a weird accent. They were able to make me feel important, even when I came empty handed. Here I met new fathers and mothers and brothers and sisters, teachers and peers.

From all the encounters I learned that we have one blood if we are willing to meet eye to eye and heart to heart. I received way more than I gave, and per the rule of life, whatever is left in the account I will pay it forward, wherever I may roam.

It is hard to detach from people that were so friendly and generous to me. I made this vow to follow the tides of life, those bigger than myself forces that right now are pushing me away from this land. I am also sure that the people who love me would be disappointed if I retreated from this call.

I thought it would be easier to leave, just pack the boat and go. But I am not just crossing an ocean for the sake of adventure. I am realigning and dealing with with this surge of mess around me, this puke of threads, stories, connections I need to transform, purge, celebrate and disentangle from. I went deep into this territory, now I am climbing up from the hole I digged, carrying my treasure.

The Ocean is calling, and the Ocean always punish messy people. Even if my mind tolerates mess it comes a moment when clutter becomes a real obstacle, and that moment is when you are underway and your entire world starts moving up and down and back and forth and left and right. A messy boat underway is a recipe for disaster. Curbing my mess is my main job now.

As the tendrils of the spiral of chaos agitate in this magic forest things start to fall into place, messages are exchanged, clarity is achieved. The unnapetizing concoction made out of who I was and who I will be is brewing. As the agents of change are doing their metabolic work I try to keep things under check, put away stuff and tidy up. It looks like a Sysyphean effort, but there is no way around it and the reward is immense.

As Robert Frost put it, “the only certain freedom is in departure”.

Five years of Tranquility (in photos, not literally)

By fabio@lapossibilitadiunisola.com | February 22, 2018 | Comments 0 Comment

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).

The first time we met Tranquility – Fairhaven, MA December 2012

At work in the yard – New Bedford MA, May 2013

Lunch break in the cockpit – New Bedford MA, Summer 2013

Our original galley – New Bedford MA Summer 2013

The greenhouse over the deck – New Bedford MA Summer 2013

Kate, with the first paint job of many – New Bedford MA Summer 2013

The surprise before launching (bottom of keel) – New Bedford MA Winter 2013

Ready to launch – New Bedford MA Winter 2013

Reorganizing the boat – Norfolk, VA Winter 2013

Tucked in for cold front – Southport NC 2013 Winter 2013

Starting to get warmer- Charleston SC Winter 2013

With James Baldwin – Jekyll Island, GA January 2014

composting head! Total refit #2 – SSI, GA

repowering the boat- Total refit #2 – SSI, GA

Haul out after 2 years in the famed marshes of Glynn – St.Marys GA April 2016

Ready to relaunch – St.Marys GA April 2016

Going North, stop in Charleston SC – Summer 2016

Somewhere in the Atlantic Ocean – Summer 2016

Light air configuration Cuttyhunk MA to Newport RI – Summer 2016

Back to Jekyll Island, GA Winter 2016/17 (photo credit Sue Zidar)

Finally towards the Islands! Abacos, Bahamas May 2017

Rookies of the Sea

By fabio@lapossibilitadiunisola.com | April 26, 2017 | Comments 4 comments

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 24^th 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.

Sailboat delivery with a twist(er) – Part II: green eye in the sky

By fabio@lapossibilitadiunisola.com | May 18, 2015 | Comments 3 comments

Click here for Part I

Third Leg: Ft. Myers, FL to Houston, TX

We saluted the coast of Florida with a nice sailing between Sanibel Island and Pine Island, dodging the plethora of mostly drunk powerboaters going up and down the bay. We decided to use Boca Grande to get out into the Gulf and when we finally approached the channel I was so glad to leave the inlet and the powerboat traffic of the weekend. Winds were 10-15 knots from the SSW, so we put the boat on a close reach, let the tiller in the hands of the Monitor and enjoyed sailing on the gentle swell.

waves1 — Offshore sailing in the Gulf of Mexico

It was slow sailing, to be honest, as the Southern Cross 31 needs a bit of sporty conditions to move the 13000 lbs of displacement, but we were happy to make progress towards our destination while enjoying the perks of being at sea: a well equipped, fully provisioned boat, following our watch rotation and enjoying tasty meals cooked on the stove. The next day, Sunday the barometer started to fall to 1004mb and the wind backed to SE. I was worried about that reading, but I was still confident for our positive weather forecast and I went into my bunk for my rest time.

<<Fabio! Come out!>>. A green eye in the sky crowned by a circle of black clouds appeared in front of me as I cleared the companionway. I had just been summoned on deck from my bunk and I noticed it was getting pretty windy. It’s late afternoon, just an hour before my watch starts. The crew on watch was speechless because they just observed a pod of several dozens of dolphins jumping by and I am not quite sure if I they called me because all hands on deck were needed or just to share the sublime panorama of a violent storm brewing. The green color of the sky was so beautiful yet so menacing. I have never seen a sky like that one before.

Thunderstorm flashes made us understand how quickly we had to move and we prepared the boat for heavy weather. After the previous thunderstorms on the East coast of Florida we were well trained and we reduced the sail area very quickly. The storm’s edge slammed into the boat and for the next minutes the vessel was battered by blinding rain and blown nearly horizontally. We bit the bullet after this first hit but the evil sky showed no sign of mercy.

This system seemed not only more violent than the ones we encountered before but also the squalls were long lasting and so Roberto and I had to reschedule our watches to take turns on the tiller to catch some rest. With the minimum sail area possible (3 reefs in the mainsail and a reefed staysail) we managed to have enough momentum to keep the wind after the beam as we rode the big swell lifted by the storm. We kept working in the dark, removing the rolled up inflatable dinghy from the deck and storing it inside, in the fear that the storm would take it. The thick clouds neutralized the light of the moon and the night was pitch dark, only the flashes of lightining strikes showed the frightening sea conditions before leaving me dazzled.

I couldn’t decide wether I preferred to see the waves or to be surprised by a crest of water crashing on deck. The low pressure system showed no sign of dissipating, and beside a brief moment of calm while in “the eye” of the storm, the wind and the even bigger waves resumed their action. Again, I was lying in my bunk trying to have few minutes of rest when Roberto called me on deck. As I was donning my rain gear I could hear thunders and see lightning, the heralds of another stormy squall that hit us with incredible violence as I was climbing the ladder to the cockpit. The boat this time buried the toe rails and the starboard deck deep in the water. The water reached the cockpit coamings, and from up high the windward seats we could watch the green sea underneath as if we were on a rollercoaster approaching a dive loop. Even the little sail area was too much for the wind conditions. With no other option than take them down I started to crawl my way to the mast where without much elegance I let go of the mainsail halyard and the staysail too. I tied down the staysail the best I could while battered by painful raindrops and then I crawled back into the cockpit.

We were now running bare poles, occasionally blown over by a stronger gust but at least we got rid of some pressure from the mast and the rig. Like a cork the boat was going up and down the wave crests, responding slowly to the inputs of the tiller, but surely going the directions we wanted, with the wind behind the beam. Unfortunately it wasn’t finished for us. A sail we thought it was stowed started to act wildly: the roller furler let go a little portion of the jib that started to flog and shake the forestay wildly. At first we were paralyzed by this occurrence, asking ourselves “and now, what?” We soon realized that we couldn’t afford any paralysis. In those conditions (still well above 40 knots) the flogging of the sail could break the forestay and put the whole rig in danger. Roberto made it to the foredeck and started to play with the spinnaker halyard to bridle the sail. This temporary fix worked for very little and soon more effective measures were required. Again Roberto engaged a wrestling match with the wind this time to pull the jib all the way down from the roller-furler. I don’t know how but I am very glad he succeeded. I was at the helm, trying to avoid any dangerous gybe running after the storm and I could only see Roberto’s headlamp shining from the bow.

Roberto after the storm sleeping on the jib

Like the last of Hercules’ labors the dousing of the jib was the last hazard of that long night. As the dawn light spread across the clouds the wind remained of gale force slowly decreasing. Now it was time to admire the 20 feet high, sometimes higher waves that were towering around us, the spindrift flying around and the turbulence drawn by the gusts on the back of the waves, the spectacular turquoise water under the foaming tips of breaking waves. With no much energy left we surrendered to the finest spectacle offered by Nature. Without electronic instruments to measure wind speed we could only estimate their force referring to our past experience. I personally never been in such conditions before and I can say that I experienced the strongest wind and highest waves of my life. We agreed that more than 40 knots blew for the most part of the night, with 50 and stronger gusts during the near knockdown. The night time and the bad weather surely contributed to increase the sense of danger and perhaps affected our perception, but there is not doubt it was a hellish night of severe weather.

We tried to resume the regular schedule onboard, allowing the crew to rest after the long night, but we soon realized that something was wrong inside the boat. Somehow water found its way inside the cabin, soaking everything on the starboard side, from the navigation station (charts, log book, electronics) and on the rest of the cabin, where Roberto and I stored our luggage, soaking the mattresses and the fresh lining in the bunks. All our phones, stored in a drawer, were gone after a deadly bath in salt water.

We couldn’t believe it but all the starboard side of the boat was wet and so our belongings and our sleeping place. I’ve lost many phones before to salt water (mostly falling in the water while boarding dinghies) and although it is a bad feeling, you know it’s just a phone. What was very upsetting was the bedding and clothing. I was left with only one shirt and one pair of shorts, more or less soaked from the night before. We were still 500 miles from Houston, still with thunderstoms around us and on a boat that was not as comfortable as when we left. I was suddenly reminded how important is to have completely a watertight boat.

Click here to read Part III

Sailboat delivery with a twist(er) – Part II: green eye in the sky

By fabio@lapossibilitadiunisola.com | May 18, 2015 | Comments 3 comments

Click here for Part I

Third Leg: Ft. Myers, FL to Houston, TX

Winds were 10-15 knots from the SSW, so we put the boat on a close reach, let the tiller in the hands of the Monitor and enjoyed sailing on the gentle swell.

The next day, Sunday the barometer started to fall to 1004mb and the wind backed to SE. I was worried about that reading, but I was still confident for our positive weather forecast and I went into my bunk for my rest time.

The crew on watch was speechless because they just observed a pod of several dozens of dolphins jumping by and I am not quite sure if I they called me because all hands on deck were needed or just to share the sublime panorama of a violent storm brewing. The green color of the sky was so beautiful yet so menacing. I have never seen a sky like that one before.

We kept working in the dark, removing the rolled up inflatable dinghy from the deck and storing it inside, in the fear that the storm would take it. The thick clouds neutralized the light of the moon and the night was pitch dark, only the flashes of lightining strikes showed the frightening sea conditions before leaving me dazzled.

The boat this time buried the toe rails and the starboard deck deep in the water. The water reached the cockpit coamings, and from up high the windward seats we could watch the green sea underneath as if we were on a rollercoaster approaching a dive loop. Even the little sail area was too much for the wind conditions. With no other option than take them down I started to crawl my way to the mast where without much elegance I let go of the mainsail halyard and the staysail too. I tied down the staysail the best I could while battered by painful raindrops and then I crawled back into the cockpit.

The Genoa started to act wildly: the roller furler let go a little portion of sail that started to flog and shake the forestay wildly. At first we were paralyzed by this occurrence, asking ourselves “and now, what?” We soon realized that we couldn’t afford any paralysis. In those conditions (still well above 40 knots) the flogging of the sail could break the forestay and put the whole rig in danger.

Roberto made it to the foredeck and started to play with the spinnaker halyard trying to bridle the sail. This temporary fix worked for very little and soon more effective measures were required. Again Roberto engaged a wrestling match with the wind this time to pull the jib all the way down from the roller-furler. I don’t know how but I am very glad he succeeded. I was at the helm, trying to avoid any dangerous gybe running after the storm and I could only see Roberto’s headlamp shining from the bow.

With no much energy left we surrendered to the finest spectacle offered by Nature. Without electronic instruments to measure wind speed we could only estimate their force referring to our past experience. I personally never been in such conditions before and I can say that I experienced the strongest wind and highest waves of my life. We agreed that more than 40 knots blew for the most part of the night, with 50 and stronger gusts during the near knockdown. The night time and the bad weather surely contributed to increase the sense of danger and perhaps affected our perception, but there is not doubt it was a hellish night of severe weather.

We couldn’t believe it but all the starboard side of the boat was wet and so our belongings and our sleeping place. I’ve lost many phones to salt water before(mostly falling in the water while boarding dinghies) and although it is a bad feeling, you know it’s just a phone. What was very upsetting was the bedding and clothing. I was left with only one shirt and one pair of shorts, more or less soaked from the night before.

We were still 500 miles from Houston, still with thunderstoms around us and on a boat that was not as comfortable as when we left. I was suddenly reminded how important is to have completely a watertight boat.

Click here to read Part III

A tough adventure: Race to Alaska

By fabio@lapossibilitadiunisola.com | September 1, 2014 | Comments 4 comments

Just recently I bumped into a boating event that really aroused my imagination and fantasy. It’s a long (750 nm) proving course for self-reliant, un-assisted boats. There are very few rules and the most important one is no engine onboard. You can sail, row, or paddle your boat in 50 degrees waters in one of the most difficult and beautidul scenario on earth.

http://http://vimeo.com/102808926

The R2AK ( Race to Alaska ) is possibly one of the toughest races ever. The organizer is Northwest Maritime Center, “a 501c-3 non-profit committed to engaging people in the waters of our world in a spirit of adventure and discovery“. The spirit of adventure must be high in order to participate to this event. The possible dangers range from low water and air temperature, wildlife encounters (bears and killer whales), squalls, strong tidal streams and marine traffic.

The modest prize for the winner (10k USD) will keep the stardom of professionals boaters with expensive gear/requirements out of the competition. The sum it’s still some interesting money so will attract a lot of DIY boaters and dreamers with small modern and traditional crafts. This could be dangerous as the money prize may push unexperienced and unfit people to try something out of their skills. To avoid that, the organizers divided the race in two parts: the first qualifier leg from Port Townsed, WA to Victoria, BC will offer a callenging 40 nautical miles open water crossing in the reach of rescue squads; entrants who qualify for this stretch are admitted to the full race which is 710nm from Victoria BC to Ketchikan, AK and where you will be on your own.

For this second leg there is not a predetermined course. The only two obligatory waypoint are Seymour Narrows (a treacherous channel famous for strong turbulent tidal currents) and Bella Bella. The participants choose their route, which can be in the open ocean or following the Inside Passage, so the strategy and the type of boat will be the key factors.

During the summer the prevailing winds blow from the NW, on the nose, but generally light and variable when storms and rain come from the SW. Offshore the southern branch of the North Pacific Current (California Current) is unfavorable until boats reach half of the course and encounter the favorable north branch, Alaska Current, but in order to take advantage of oceanic currents boats would have to sail far from land. On the Inside Passage route entrants have to face strong tidal currents, rivers and any kind of coastal hazard, and possibly have to cover a bigger distance.

Under this unpredictable and generally adverse conditions the organizers are expecting a minimum of 3 weeks for the first boat to reach Ketchikan in Alaska. Around that time a “Sweep boat”will leave Port Townsend and covering 75 miles per day, will disqualify each participant reached, offering a tow and assistance. If their estimation is correct it means that the winner will move at an average speed of 1,5kts. This estimation include possible layover time for rest/provisioning, which is not forbidden unless the help is prearrenged by a team. Entrants could land and find assistance, repair the boat, camp and hunt/fish along the way (beware of Grizzlies!), or book a night in a hotel, provided it’s not pre-arranged.

Endurance is going to be the vital skill to win. The boat who can achieve steady progress in the variable conditions of the race has the best chances of victory. This mean the boat shouldn’t stop overnight keeping a crew member on watch all the time. Constant but little progress will pay in the long term and to do so boats need a crew of at least tw0, a shelter for cooking and resting, and enough storage capability to carry water and food for the entire race. You look for maximum light air performance if you sail, and the ability to propel the boat without an engine in adverse wind conditions (tide stronger than wind).

This is what makes the Race to Alaska so exciting. Beside the extreme weather conditions and the challenging course what really triggers my interest is the fact that so many different boats will compete. I am sure that will push people to invent some new boat designs and build interesting hybrids, using classic boats that where designed when engines were not an option. It’s not even 150 years since the first engine was installed on a boat, and humans have been sailed all over the planet for thousands of years without one.

So which boat will be the winner of the first Race to Alaska? No one knows, the course conditions are unpredictable and for sure we are going to see many different crafts on the starting line. Here I enjoyed playing and I imagined different boats types compete for the first place:

1. Sailing trimaran

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Trimarans have a very good overall sailing speed, they can be fast in light airs, but difficult to paddle/row and subjected to drifting in non favourable wind condition.

2. Sailing Tri-canoe

This concept is becoming pretty popular among camping/cruisers for the wide range of uses in different conditions. Shallow draft, light air performance and paddles. Beside some series production most are custom built assembling different crafts. The double handed designs are usually very light and with minimum space for provisions and gear, but it’s not impossible to customize or even build a more heavy duty version to fit this race.

3. Yawl-canoe and dories

There are a lot of classic canoe/skiff/dory designs that can be sailed and rowed, and can accomodate two people plus gear for a non-stop trip. Traditional working crafts are epitomes of seaworthiness. For sure we are going to see a lot of them at the starting line.

4. Kayak? (Freya Hoffmeister will think this race is a piece of cake for what she has done so far)

20.-Packing-the-long-awaited-custom-Epic

Slower but virtually unstoppable, with daily average of 30-50 miles per day can make it a possible winner if sailing crafts encounter adverse conditions. a bigger tandem kayak would allow for overnight sleeping altough not a comfortable one.

5. Viking longship?

VIKING+SHIP.jpg

Big crew, shelter (and shields!), it can be sailed and rowed. Bear coats foulweather gear included

6.Row boat/canoe?

As for kayakers these crafts may be slower but virtually unstoppable. Designs offer lightweight boats with shelters and a potential big crew. I wonder what might be the best balance between crew number/overall weight.

7. Traditional First Nations Canoes

First Nations of British Columbia Coast have been invited by the oganizers. Hopefully they didn’t forget their traditions and should still have the knowledg of the race course and the necessary skills to survive and complete the race.

8. Mod70 Oman Trimaran

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Probably the fastest racing boat on earth (ocean), even in rough conditions. In 24hrs of favourable winds she can cover more than half the total distance. We won’t see this boat on the starting line, but a fast performance bluewater sailboat can really be competitive in this race taking the outside route and hoping for the best.

Compression post repair and other amenities

By fabio@lapossibilitadiunisola.com | August 14, 2014 | Comments 5 comments

Recently I started to feel the itch to go sailing. Since we docked Tranquility in Frederica River we haven’t been out sailing. We were too busy organizing the new life on land and too lazy to start few little jobs. We said it a couple of times, let’s take her out, but for one reason or the other it didn’t happen.

When we were still living on board but working on shore the cabin became unsuitable for sailing. We dismissed the cruisers clothes and wore the landlubber ones, using the boat as we were using an apartment, and apartments are not made for moving around. It’s enough to have a regular job and a life on land to mess up with your routine.

With this new land identity we acquired also a new social life made of friends, colleagues, events, fast internet, movie theatres and gym memberships. We move around with a car. Instead of walking for miles carrying provisions we run on treadmill and lift weights.

Now Tranquility is once again undergoing a major refit project. We had the opportunity to step out our home to house-sit for somebody else’s house and so we decided to empty the boat and destroy everything again.

This time we faced the compression post problem. The compression post is a solid post of hardwood that sustains the compression force of the mast over the deck. Columbia 29 were built with deck stepped mast and with a structural beam glassed on deck to sustain the forces generated by the weight of the boat moving in heavy seas. The compression post was then installed between the overhead (aka ceiling) and a structural beam resting over the bilge, which supported the cabin sole (aka floor) as well.

A proper designed and installed compression post would rest the top of the keel/bilge, which is the strongest part of the Hull. For reasons that exceed my understanding it is not the case of Tranquility. When the boat was built they lowered 3120 lbs (1414 kg) of lead inside the keel before sealing everything with fiberglass. That happened 49 years ago. Meanwhile, age and human lack of care made the rest.

Talking with one of the previous owners of Tranquility I discovered that there was a persistent rainwater leak from the mast that had rotten. Luckily I was able to prevent any when I stepped the mast in the boatyard. The water leak was fixed but the damaged was inherited. After the first longer sailing passages we realized that the compression post was not properly sustained by the rotten cabin sole. Kate’s alert eyes were the first to spot little signs of the compressin forces, where the paint was cracking and the rotten floor getting bending a little more every time. We couldn’t address the problem while underway and so we kept sailing south in search of warm weather.

The rotten floor and beam under the compression post

This type of repair was not possible while living onboard. The dust and mess of ripping off the floor (plus no place to step but the bilge) discouraged us to proceed. But as soon as we had the opportunity to leave the boat this and several other interior projects begun.

As first thing I ripped out the old rotten floor and all the damaged wood in the area. The more I dug the more I realized that the compression post was resting on a rotten transversal beam suspended few inches from the bilge. The beam was still holding the compression post but it doesn’t take a structural engineer to understand that this was not for long. Better late than never.

Picture underneath the compression post. — Picture underneath the compression post

At first we imagined we should try to jack the compression post back up but we soon realized that this could not happen without removing the mast itself. The best and only possible thing we could do was to avoid any further downward movement and give the post a solid foot to rest on.

Searching in the teak scrapyard (a collection of odd shaped salvaged pieces of teak from different boat projects I found a solid 3″ thick block of teak that I had to reshape to dry fit it under the compression post and sealed in 2 coats of Epoxy resin. Altough teak is very rot resistant to salt water it will rot in fresh water and you never know what is going to go in your bilge.

After all the rotten wood was gone I started to seal the exposed wood of the beam and the bulkheads with West System Epoxy and fiberglass cloth. I built some support for the beam and made sure to create a solid bedding with the hull of the boat through some fiberglass tabbing.

When everything was sealed I fitted the block under the compression post with the help of some serious hammering. I then added some Epoxy mixed with 404 High-Density filler, a thickening additive developed for maximum physical properties in hardware bonding. In this way the block is “glued” to the compression post and to the bilge with a bonding stronger than the wood itself. Another layer of fiberglass is soon to be added to the block as further shield against water penetration.

Getting rid of portion of rotten floor was like an invitation to go further and so we decided to proceed and rip off the rest of the 49yrs old floor that had been covered with a nasty sticky non-skid surface. I had to grind it off with a angle grinder and a sanding disk, a terrible job that covered all the surfaces of the boat with a black dust. I kept the good parts of the floor with the idea of fairing and painting them. With all this modification we may want to change the boat’s name at a certain point…

Next step is to rebuild the floor over the bilge a major project that will take at least one week. So after the floor will be replaced we hope to go for a sail test, because even if it’s exciting to do boat repairs, the itch is still there and I’ve been scratching for too long.

The Grand Plan

By fabio@lapossibilitadiunisola.com | February 10, 2014 | Comments 4 comments

Slowly, thoughts about the future arise from the fog of the present. It is a real fog, like the one that surrounds the Golden Isles during winter. From our boat we observe the foggy mornings and evenings, these interstitial moments that keep on hold the passage between nights and days.

We are recovering from our trip. It’s not a physical recovery I think that has already happened. I am talking about the recovery from escaping winter and from our first cruising together, me, Kate and Tranquility.

This trip was very demanding. We sailed in cold weather, on a boat we have never sailed before and that we fixed all by ourselves. We also encountered challenging moments onboard as running a boat depends on a good interpersonal coordination and this is also something we are finding along the way. Everything went extremely good but the trip took its toll.

The fog is where we are hiding now, resting and meditating. Gathering all the resources to open a new chapter. Tranquility is patiently waiting for more upgrades to come. She is also probably tired of us too and we avoid touching her. There are budget restrictions of course, as we are still doing it on a shoestring and that’s also why the work has not happened yet. But it’s true that after the hurry to launch and get away from the cold weather we have the chance to think more deeply on what we need to happen to improve Tranquility. When the wind blows away the fog we start to see a Grand Plan and we are struggling to catch it before it vanishes again.

Storage

This is Tranquility’s Achilles heel. We are carrying too much stuff and at this time we don’t have good storage solutions. We hope that soon we can let go of very bulky winter clothes that literally saved our life but that are becoming less and less necessary.

The V-Berth became our throw-in space but now we need some serious carpentry work to lock objects in place and allow easy access. We are envisioning two long shelves that run on both sides on the V-Berth and that can accommodate storage boxes and light objects. We can dig more storage spaces adding a shelf on the quarter bunk and opening areas in the dinette, as well as reconfiguring the navigation desk. But the key would be to get rid of unnecessary weight and redistribute it along the boat. Keep it simple.

Electrical system

I am reconsidering the idea to step down to a single battery bank that operates both the engine and the appliances adding voltage converters. This will reduce the number of batteries from 10 to 8 without losing too much power. Thanks to the donation of a solar tracker mount we will be able to fit a 60W solar panel on the stern rail.

Plumbing

The repair of the leaky water tank under the v-berth is now a priority. 25 more gallons will give us at least one week of basic autonomy during passages, extending considerably our sailing range. The hook up of seawater in the plumbing system it’s another upgrade we are expecting to complete. Even if it’s not a priority right now that we are in a marina, it will be crucial when we sit at anchor for long periods.

Sails & Rig

Our sail set performed very well in the North Atlantic. Our sail wardrobe is suitable for medium to strong winds, but we lacking in the extremes. We need sails for lighter winds (Code 0 and Asymmetrical Spinnaker) as well as storm sails for extreme conditions (you never know). To accept this upgrade we have to rig up a trysail track and a whisker pole on the mast and place a mini-bowsprit on the bow.

Self-steering gear

We can’t do a long passage without a self-steering solution anymore. It’s too tiring and unnecessary. A good wind autopilot it’s a lot of money but sooner or later has to land on Tranquility’s stern, we hope we won’t leave Brunswick without one. It will couple with an electronic tiller-pilot when we need to motor or when the apparent wind is not enough to operate the wind vane.

Safety

Our stanchions and lifeline need a proper reinforcement at the deck level, as well as most of the deck hardware. We are also designing modifications that will transform our dinghy in a lifeboat, adding closed cell foam collars to increase buoyancy and prevent capsizing.

Comfort

We ordered new “luxury ultra-firm” foam for our mattresses. We decided to leave Fairhaven with the old set but the foam lost all the firmness and sleeping is not very comfortable. We understand now that small luxuries make a huge difference on a boat, especially when they concern health and comfort.

This is the Grand Plan as it’s forming in our minds. The details are not revealed yet as they unveil as we proceed. We hope to conclude these enhancements before the end of the summer, to have some buffer time for tests and further adjustments. The list seems pretty small but as we know it will expand in endless tasks, tedious preparatory work and sure annoyances. At that point, if we survived we should be ready for the wind and the ocean.

FIRST MISTAKES

STEADY SAILING

APPROACHING TENERIFE

LANDFALL

SURPRISE WELCOME PARTY

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