| The sails are off |
[Oct. 12th, 2009|12:42 am] |
And just like that, it is all over. After the big Shetland adventure, time work and weather only permitted two more trips: A short overnight sail with my nephew, and a longer overnight sail to the cabin. Actually, I attempted to sail to the cabin on a third occasion, but after spending 2 hours drifting and motoring literally in the middle of the night, I had to give it up.
The trip to the cabin ended up being a real spur of the moment thing. My original plan was to sail the club championship regatta. Taking it seriously, I recruited my most experienced regatta crew (Aurora), and scheduled a training session for the day prior. We set sail, but a third of the way through the course I realized that the wind was way too good to simply sail in a circle. Or rather, the wind was too good to spend two days in a row sailing in a circle. Thus, we sailed to the cabin instead. It turned out to be a very nice trip, despite the constant drizzle.
Now, the sails are in my attic drying, and the mast is scheduled to come off on Sunday. Probably, Grace will be safely in the shed a few days later.
I’ve been a good boy this season, keeping notes of all my sailing and my crew. Final statistics are:
• Distance sailed (not including tacking): 730 nautical miles
• 39 days of pleasure, and 21 nights (5 at sea). I have no count on the days of work.
• Crew: Annette, Aurora, Eirik, Helge, Jan Ole, Kristin, Magnus and Trond. One solo sail.
• Fastest mean speed for a trip: 7-8 knots with Helge in a good breeze aft of the beam.
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| The journey home |
[Aug. 1st, 2009|01:43 pm] |
We sailed off anchor Monday afternoon, after a slight wind shift to the south. This allowed us to exit through the east moth of Out Skerries, passing under the famous lighthouse. We had a gentle breeze, and since the forecast was for a further shift to south-south-west, we decided we would head for Stavanger. Only about 30 miles further, it would allow us to spend some time cruising the coast back up to Bergen. As Out Skerries were fading in the background, we got a warning of what was to come. The simple task of hoisting the top sail became a major effort, as first we had to lower the main to rig the out haul, before I screwed solidly up and pulled the wrong end of the halyard. Away she went, and we had to hove to while I climbed the rat-lines to get hold of the halyard again. When we finally got the sail hoisted, the outhaul had twisted around the end of the gaff, and the sail set far from optimally. Needless to say, this meant that to get the top sail down, we had to lower also the main, since the outhaul tied itself in a knot with the tension from the sail.
The wind picked up to a nice breeze as we enjoyed a spectacular sunset over the silhouette of Shetland, and we made a good 5 knots for Stavanger. The first 50 miles of the 200 miles journey were completed in about 10 hours, putting us on target for a 40 hour passage. However, the wind soon died, as a massive cold front spanned the horizon in front of us. We drifted for about three hours before the front hit us. Soon we had a nice even force 5 again. However, drama occurred as we were reefing the main, as the boom preventer we had rigged exerted too much inward force on the boom. The boom is fastened to a ring on the mast, which did a 90 degree twist. My brother at the helm shouted “The boom is loose!”, and we had to lower the main and start repairs. Fortunately, the obvious fix (relax the tension, twist back, apply more tension than previously) worked.
The sea state rose with the breeze, and it soon became apparent that both my thermos were broken. So no hot food. Fortunately, my brother had brought a salted leg of lamb, which we cut into. Toward the evening, we were closing in on the border, which was our decision point for continuing to Stavanger. By now, the breeze had turned back to south, and we were sailing partly into the waves. Considering the extra effort, and our reduced energy, associated with night sailing, we decided to abandon Stavanger, and head for Slotterøy, the lighthouse marking the approach to Bømlo, as well as my parents’ cabin. This also cut the remaining sailing distance.
The wind kept building into the night, and we were soon sailing with only a small jib and double reefed main. The staysail was stowed on deck. Still, we were doing good speeds, half-way surfing some waves, with a gps-max speed of more than 11 knots. Realistically, we were probably averaging about 6 knots, with significantly more going down the waves. Somewhere after midnight, we were down to 50 miles left as my shift ended. By now, the wind and waves were even more persistent, averaging around force 7, and some east had crept into the direction. Waves were continuously breaking over the boat, and steering felt like someone was standing behind you tossing buckets of water at you. The biggest waves would completely fill the foot well. Some waves would break under the boat, thus coming over deck from the lee side. We decided that reaching Bømlo was not worth the effort, and fell off a few degrees to aim for Marstein Fyr, the lighthouse we set off from 10 days earlier. This is the last pass through the islands south of Bergen, and it was crucial that we didn’t have to fall off again. That would imply we would have to sail north of Bergen, and tack southward inside the islands.
Fortunately, we were able to hold the course. With continuing strong winds, our speed was high, and the miles ticked away. The islands became visible when we had no more than 5 miles left, and we could soon identify the lighthouse. We came into lee of the first islands in the late morning, almost exactly 40 hours after leaving Shetland.
We completed the final sail in to Hjellestad, with no tacks nor jibes. At first we joked that we had sailed the whole stretch without a single tack or jibe, but this became less funny when we started packing the sails, and realized that the shackle for the starboard sheet for the jib had worked itself loose somewhere in the middle of the North Sea. Good thing we didn’t need it in some narrow inlet.
Overall, it was an exciting, but exhausting, trip. I’d love to do it again, but with a substantially longer stay. However, it is worth keeping in mind that the North Sea is a violent and unpredictable place. On a four hour shift, one may go from two reefs and a small headsail all the way to calms. Or vice versa. The boat next to me in the marina sank on their way over a month ago. A storm came over a day after we came back, and wrecked two ships further south. In comparison, our trip was a calm one. |
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| Shetland |
[Jul. 27th, 2009|09:47 pm] |
Shetland is amazing. People who say there's nothing to do there but get drunk in Lerwick have totally missed the point of the place. I only wish I had had more time, certainly one should spend at least three weeks or a month to see the isles. Here goes for the few we had a chance to stop by.
Mid Yell
The captain and crew had made a dramatic tack into the bay of Mid Yell, under the huge Pirate Queen and a storm main. We then proceeded to enter the marina by engine, overshooting our target by a few millimeters... By the time we have settled in, and started putting together our foldable bikes, a smiling fellow strolls down the pier. Turns out it is Angus, who needs to fill in some information on behalf of the marina:
Angus: Do you have some animal products you intend to dispose of in our garbage?
Us: No?
Angus: Didn't think so. But I have to ask. Welcome!
Angus is a great fellow; he only charges us half rent for the berth, since we have one on the end with no walkway, and immediately offers to lend us his extension cord for electricity. When asked whether Mid Yell is the main town on the island of Yell, he thinks for a moment before answering:
- Well, we have the pub and the Leisure Center...
In the small store in town, we ask for some needles and thread to mend the main sail, which unfortunately they don't have. What they do have, is an incredible hospitality and willingness to help. Soon the whole island seems to know that we are in need of sail repairs, and we are offered a ride to Lerwick, various threads and needles, a sewing palm, etc.
Everywhere people are friendly: At the pub, the Leisure Center, the store, Norman in his boat (a friend of Angus), Angus himself. At one point a fellow came down to the dock, and told us he was the guy taking photos from the ferry earlier. Of course by the time he came down to the dock, he had been filled in on the gossip, and shared his concern about our main sail. Absolutely great people.
We decided to leave Mid Yell the next morning under reefed main sail (recall that the split was below the first reef), and leave the repairs for Lerwick. However, by the morning the wind had picked up so much that I doubted that the little outboard could push us out from the marina. Then in the rain, a smiling Angus appeared again, offering to tow us out with his dinghy and 60 hp engine! A life saver.
Whalsay
After a quick sail to Whalsay, we got stuck against the current in Linga sound. However, some patient short tacking close to the coast eventually let us get through the sound and into Symbister Bay.
Whalsay (pronounced almost like you should in Norwegian, Hvalsøy) is another quiet spot. Unfortunately, they didn't have a restaurant (except Chinese on Fridays and Saturdays), so we had some Real Turmat. Great stuff! Everyone should by some.
The forecast indicated somewhat favorable winds overnight, with turning winds the next day. So even though we didn't get into Whalsay before about 7pm, the captain decided we would move on the same night, and we only had time for a quick swim at the Leisure Center in addition to the dinner before we were off again. I wish we could have had time to explore more of the island, but at this point, the main concern was to get to Lerwick in time to have my sail mended.
Lerwick
The wind was not as good as forecasted, but by a combination of patient sailing and motoring, we made it into the north sound of Lerwick. And this was as far as we got before we got stopped by the current again. With the sails still up to catch the last of the wind, we put the outboard engine on max, and both paddled on each our side of the boat. This way, we were able to make half a knot headway into the harbor, and as soon as we passed the first green marker, we headed onto the sand flats and tossed out an anchor.
Having not slept all night, I promptly fell asleep, while Magnus combined an anchor watch with a chance at studying half a dozen seals that came up to check us out. Quite amazing creatures. Fat, yet elegant.
After a mis-guided stop in the marina, we headed to Lerwick's Victoria Pier, where most visiting yachts are berthed. We laid ourselves outside Beckie and Jim, a lovely couple that had been in the running for "Owners of the shortest boat on the pier". With the arrival of Grace, they had to concede they were nowhere close.
All the yachties were very friendly, Lerwick truly lives up to its billing as the crossroads for North Sea cruising, with people coming from, and going to: Norway, Scotland, Farao Islands, Iceland, the Baltic, Sweden, Denmark, etc.
Pub life was OK. The locals drink much the locals in most small towns of Norway: Heavily. The town itself was lovely, with small stone houses everywhere, and lots of shops. Most importantly, there was Malakoff.
Malakoff Limited is a shipyard that does everything, servicing primarily the fishing fleet. They have a huge slip, but also of course lots of metalwork and many shops, including a sail maker. Unfortunately, the sail maker was on holiday. He was due back a couple days earlier, but no one seemed too surprised that he hadn't returned yet.
In the end, I borrowed the sail maker’s table, and with the help of some round-the-world cruisers, got my sail mended. More impressively, I needed a part for my autopilot construction. Not only did they make the metal fitting in an hour, but when I asked for the cost, the kid simply shrugged and said he didn't know how to bill "A metal plate with three holes", so I should just take it. It had given him something to do for an hour...
The days in Lerwick passed quickly, and soon enough I had a new crew, mended sail, strengthened autopilot, lots of minor things mended, and was ready to sail again.
Out Skerries
By Sunday, the weather forecast showed a storm approaching the North Sea on Thursday, meaning that Eirik and I should set sail homeward sooner rather than later. So rather than sailing south to Fair Isle or the Orkney Islands, we sailed a short sail to Out Skerries, the last light house before Norway. From here, you can sail as little as 164 miles to get to the first safe entrance into the Norwegian coast, or the 200 miles south-east to Stavanger. On the way, we saw whale again. I wasn't too sure of the species, but Eirik nailed it as a pilot whale.
Out Skerries is a small group of islands with less than 70 inhabitants. Quite a friendly bunch, we must have talked to about half of them during our brief stay. Not as friendly as Mid Yell though. They work mostly at the two fish farms, and on the three fishing boat based out of the island. The small school hosts eight kids (from two families), and employs another eight. Still what must be generous government subsidies (or a youth working the oil rigs) allows everyone to drive big new cars on the islands 2km roads.
Despite all the fishing, it was impossible to get our hands on fresh fish on the island.
We spent our time relaxing and going for long hikes to the outer reaches of the island. The islands have spectacular gores cutting into them, and there are birds abound everywhere. Again, we saw several seals.
Everywhere we went in Shetland, people came over to look at Grace. Indeed, looking back at the pictures, I'd say she was the prettiest girl in all the harbors we visited! |
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| Hjellestad to Shetland |
[Jul. 21st, 2009|12:29 pm] |
The weather forecast indicated that if Magnus and I set sail as fast as we could, we might be able to get almost all the way to Shetland in following winds. So even through I didn't get home from two weeks in Lausanne before 11pm, Magnus is ready outside my apartment at 8am the next morning, and we go shopping and sailing. Sails were set around 12am Saturday. We had light winds out to Marsteinen, and enjoyed our first meal of the day and the sea enroute there. As we passed Marsteinen, the last lighthouse before Shetland, we took down the top-sail and large jib (the one known as Pirate Queen) and put up the working jib.
From Norway we set out in good Northerlies, and something happened I should have gotten used to: Grace really impressed me. The way she cuts through the waves is amazing compared to Sofus. Unfortunately, both Magnus and I made the mistake of trying out some sea-sickness tablets, and both of us were rather unwell for a while.
We were making around 5-6 knots into the night, with the wind turning to follow us from the east. In order to be safe from jibes, I chose a slightly northerly route, so we sailed straight through the Oseberg oil field. I knew there were lots of platforms out there, but I was perhaps not aware of exactly how many. The North sea turns out to be more densely populated than most other areas of Norway. Also populating the oil fields was a killer whale, closely followed by a flock of birds.
The good winds stay with us until we are about 20 miles from Shetland. So far, we've sailed about 36 hours from Marsteinen, averaging 4.5 to 5 knots. Then the wind dies. At this point the captain makes the mistake of keeping the main sail up, in hopes of keeping at least 1 knot movement. Unfortunately, this leads to a lot of chafe from the boom lifts as the sail swings in the waves, and after a while, the stitches between the lowest panels chafe through. Down goes the main sail, and up goes a tiny spare. Actually, the captain learns from his mistakes, and as soon as the spare is up, we take it down and lie quietly with no sails.
The wind doesn't pick up for 12 sunny and warm hours. During that time, we have the pleasure of being visited by minke whales. This is the kind Norway hunts and eats. We saw them several times, never more than two at once.
As night approached, we finally picked up a light breeze from the west, and with the Pirate Queen set, we managed to tack our way closer up to Shetland. By nightfall, we were about 10 miles out of Unst, the northernmost island. But during the night, the wind died again. Not before the next morning did we arrive in the Wick of Gruting, the Northern bay on Fetlar. We sailed in the mile long bay, but ultimately found the massive clips dropping into the sea, and the obvious violence of the northern swell, too dangerous.
Having given up Fetlar, we sailed west through the sound separating Unst and Fetlar, aiming for Yell. The scenery here is fabulous, with the torn cliffs of Fetlar on one side, and the hills of Unst on the other. Everywhere there are ruins of old houses. On the way to the town of Mid Yell, both ferries made a detour to pass close by us, and honked and waved. One ferry crew even came out to take a photo of us!
Indeed, lots of boats took pictures of us as we approached Yell. Perhaps it was the strangeness of this traditional boat with a huge jib and a tiny mainsail, making its way along the coast. We gave them all our best smiles, as we made our approach to Mid Yell at about noon, almost 72 hours after we set off from Hjellestad. |
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| Technical post |
[Jun. 25th, 2009|09:12 pm] |
I have long planned to make an "interior/technical" blog entry, however, this always seems to be complicated by the fact that I'm horrible at taking interior pictures, and that writing about technical stuff is hard to make into good prose. But here goes.
The interior of Grace can be divided into four parts, moving fore to aft: Triangle shaped fore cabin (about 7 feet); Main cabin (6 feet); Galley (2 feet); and aft storage. I will discuss each of these.
The fore cabin has a sleeping deck with about a foot and a half clearing, which easily sleeps two people on either side of the support beams for the bowsprit. Below the sleeping deck, there is generous (although difficult to access at sea) storage space, and also a (slightly more accessible) head by the mast. There is also a hatch, which is big enough that it is handy not only for ventilation, but also for sail changes.
The main cabin is lined on each side by benches, which are also long enough to sleep on (6 feet, foot and a half wide). The rests are hinged, so they can be tilted up to allow for two people sleeping on the same side, if needed at sea. Some storage space is available in the benches. On the starboard side, the household electrical circuit panel is located (barely visible in the next picture), along with the VHF radio.
The hatch leads out from the aft part of the main cabin, so that the galley area is essentially under deck. In Grace, there are generous cabinets on either side, allowing for much storage. Note the storage space leading aft from the galley benches, under the deck on either side of the footwell. Also visible in the picture is my electrical outboard engine.
Finally, below the footwell, there is a cramped, although rather large in volume, storage space. In the picture, you can see how I have prioritized my battery bank. Not clear from the picture is that this storage volume is also large enough for my autopilot computer, two emergency grab bags, three anchors, my toolkit, and a cooler.
Now that we have given the interior layout, let me briefly run through the technical installations (these may be apparent from previous posts, so this will in a sense be a summary):
There are two battery banks (household/engine), interconnected (if desired in an emergency) through the switch visible in above photo. From these battery banks, I lead lines to the cockpit, from where I can charge either battery using my dynamo, and also run my electric outboard. The autopilot runs on a separate circuit, connected only to the engine batteries. The household switchboard is connected to the household batteries, and runs lights (inside and navigation), power sockets, and VHF. In addition, I have a permanently mounted battery charger, and also a 96 liter/minute bilge pump for use in emergencies.
Emergency/safety equipment for the sail to Shetland includes: Rented 6-person life raft; Hull repair kit (rubber sheets, sikaflex, nails, hammer, staples, etc.); Emergency grab bag (flares, lights, mirror, fishing equipment, heat shield); VHF; Handheld VHF; Radar reflector; Masthead LED navigation lights; 2 fire extinguishers; and an EPIRB if I get around to buying one. Of course, personal safety and health things are also on board.
Other useful items brought along are: Bike(s); Tool kit (hardware + electric); Pump to inflate (after deflating) fenders; Wet suit/snorkeling gear for hull repair and fishing; Hand held harpoons; Generally lots of fishing equipment; Electrical cooler; Alcohol based stove on a removable, tilting mount; Alcohol based heater; Hammock.
Sail wardrobe for the trip will be: Main; Spare main; Topsail; Staysail; Working jib; Light air jib; Jib topsail; Storm jib; Spinnaker.
Four anchors are brought along. 3 collapsible grapnel style anchors varying in sizes at about 3, 12, and 25 pounds. These provide a lot of anchor for little storage space. The smallest is intended for tossing, when such is needed, the medium is a short stay anchor, and the largest, with about 15 foot of chain a more than pound a foot, will hopefully keep me safe through the night. These anchors are not too good on sandy/muddy bottoms, so I'm also bringing a fluke anchor. The fluke is too small, so I will probably set it behind the medium grapnel anchor, to ensure that it gets a good angle, and to relieve some force. These anchor choices imply that I leave my medium CQR (to hard to store safely), fisherman (on the bottom of the bay outside my parents cabin), and my small CQR (no point) at home. |
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| Ready to go |
[Jun. 21st, 2009|01:14 pm] |
Saturday turned into a good day: I went shopping with my dad, and bought a foldable bicycle. It is handy to have around the marina, and should be ideal to bring along when sailing to unexpected places, never knowing how far it is to the nearest store/bus/civilization. Also: New and heavier anchor with more chain, and an electrical cooler.
In addition, I loaded Grace up with emergency gear left from Patrick (flares, repair kits for the hull, etc), small spare main sail, and charts. I also brought out an alcohol based heater for those cold nights...
Even further, I finished the autopilot installation, complete with a separate electrical circuit, and did some preliminary calibration of it.
Then, I installed a 12V socket, and connected it to the main switch panel.
Finally, I tidied everything, and started organizing/packing things the way I want them when we sail to Shetland.
Everything works! I'm excited! |
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| Speed record and autopilot |
[Jun. 13th, 2009|11:45 pm] |
It might not seem like I do much work these days, but trust me, I do. It is just that I happen to spend lots of my spare time on Grace...
Yesterday, we had a summer party in the department, and this year it was conveniently held on an island not far from Hjellestad. The food was good, the dock was horrible in with the north-westerly winds. Speaking of which, in 20 knots of wind, tacking was pretty hefty, even with two reefs in the main. On the other hand, coming back to Hjellestad after lunch was a sheer exercise in speed over skill: With no more than a main and a staysail, we easily did 8-9 knots. At least one of those knots probably came from the wind and tide generating some current, but it seems a reasonable estimate that the water speed was around 7-7.5 knots.
This evening, Magnus and I had an intensive work session, putting together most of the autopilot, along with some minor work. With any luck, it should work like a charm next time I have a chance to take Grace out for a spin - which should be in a week or so. |
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| Tandem sailing and such |
[Jun. 11th, 2009|09:09 pm] |
Aurora got her Europe dinghy last Friday, so needless to say, it was time to race! Actually, it is not much of a race, the boats are so different that the outcome is almost totally determined by the wind direction and speed. However, that didn't diminish any part of the fun in an afternoon's sail, including an excessive amount of "Look how close we can sail!". Also, it was a splendid opportunity to have a mutual photo-session.
This also happened to be the first time I sailed Grace without guests/crew. Not really that hard, once you know all the ropes. That said, there are a lot of ropes to know. In the picture, you can see my hand grabbing out for one of them.
In other news, my stove is working excellently again (with a tilting system), I have a new lamp, the water-dynamo is ready for trial, I have a new battery charger, I've ordered a sock for my asymmetric, and most things are otherwise excellent. |
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| Sail training |
[May. 31st, 2009|11:42 pm] |
In anticipation of a summer journey to Shetland and the Orkney islands, Magnus and I have started our rigorous set of sail training. This serves two main purposes: Giving high wind procedures some practice, and giving Magnus more experience than the single sailing trip he has had in his life (with me last summer, on two warm sunny days).
We were fortunate with the weather – in the sense of light but steady winds, and the arrival of summer, with no clouds and warm weather. Sunburns arrived after only a few hours. We spent the first hours of Saturday practicing reefing the main, while sailing in between participants of a historic sail craft regatta. We chatted with a few crews as we sailed past them, they all seemed to be having a blast.
Having become comfortable with reefing, tacking, jibing and lunching, I decided we should sail down to Lysøen to spend the night. On the way, we changed the staysail to a storm staysail and back, and also made an attempt to replace the main sail with what I was sure was a small storm mainsail. Too bad it wasn’t, and it didn’t fit at all. I have now come to the conclusion that Grace is supplied with two storm staysails – a rather redundant measure, considering that I also have two working staysails. However, there seems to be no storm option for the main (I do have a smaller main sail though). Throughout the day, we never set too big a canvas, in the spirit of a heavy weather practice session.
We had no luck fishing, and arrived at Lysøen as the wind died for the night. On the way in Lysefjorden, I made great progress with some electrical projects, and prepared all the wiring and fusing for the towed electrical generator, as well as mounting the VHF radio. We conducted a test of the VHF in Lysevågen, with Magnus calling me from the handheld unit. For every new electrical device that is properly (re)wired and (re)installed, I get just a little bit excited!
Lysøen is fantastic in its tranquility, and we had a pleasant night’s sleep. On Sunday, we woke up not too early, and set out immediately, boiling a pot of coffee as we hoisted the sails (yes, I have returned to my alcohol burner, but with a much improved set-up for it). Tacking out of Lysefjorden we hoisted all the cloth (apart from the topsail, which provides little power while tacking), and even switched over to the (asymmetric) spinnaker when rounding Korsneset. The spinnaker sets on the lines of the jib topsail, and for it to fly properly, I lowered both the staysail and jib. The sheet has to go through a block at the end of the boom. What power! We hardly had a breeze, but the spinnaker and main sail really pushed us forward. I wonder how much the top-mast can take before it gets carried away. As the wind turned against us and strengthened, we eventually had to lower the spinnaker as the wind was ahead of the beam. In a moment of poor seamanship, I transformed the spinnaker to a sea-anchor for a brief moment before it was recovered. Darn. I think I should invest in a sock to ease short-handed handling.
In the end, we recovered some elegance by sailing straight into my berth again, both having learned quite a few lessons over just two days. Shetland will be a fantastic journey.
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| Living in Bergen harbor |
[May. 15th, 2009|11:28 am] |
With a perfect weather forecast, it was not hard to make up my mind to spend my last stay in Bergen living aboard Grace on Bryggen (Bergen’s historic harbor) rather than in my dull apartment. So I set off with Kristin Sunday, enjoying a nice breeze from the North. Fortunately the weather had not turned nice yet, so we got to feel real rugged tacking the few hours it took to get to Bergen. Sailing into the harbor, we made the final approach under bare poles, and still our speed was a fair bit faster than I would have liked. Nevertheless, we got in, making a J turn to fall alongside a German yacht. Only two problems: The final approach was perhaps slightly lacking in precision, leading to a dent in my hull (easy fix), and a somewhat stressed German. Also, the aforementioned German warned me he would be leaving at 6am the next morning to sail to Shetland. So much for a good night’s sleep. Ah well.
Monday the sun shone, and as I was up at the crack of dawn to re-dock my boat, I got to see a side of Bergen I don’t often enjoy. In the evening, I decided to move Grace even further into the harbor, planning to simply slip backwards and tie up to the innermost yacht. I now learned that Grace will not sail backwards, even under bare poles, and that even a mild breeze is enough to accelerate her to a nerve-racking speed. On top of that, tossing out an anchor had no apparent effect – it seems that I missed just about every bike and shopping cart I know litters the harbor bottom. The end result was a head on approach toward a newly shined up Benetau… The damage was minimized, and in the end he only received a small scratch from my bow spirit. An observer in a neighboring boat tried to give me a hard time for not having adjusted my speed according to the conditions, but I’m not sure criticism from motor-boat campers really counts.
It was a nice week in the harbor overall – nights were cold, but comfortable inside a sleeping bag. My sleep-over guests, having only piles of blankets, seemed to be worse off. Lots of friends stopped by for drinks at night, and I even brought some students and colleagues over for lunch. The only odd moments were those in the morning when I popped my head out to look at the sun: I am so used to always being in remote places when camping in a sailboat that I could not get used to being in the middle of a busy city...
Annette helped me sail home on Thursday; unfortunately the winds were not on our side. After a beautiful and sunny departure from Bergen, we tacked up under Askøybroen to Sotra, where the wind died completely. One rain shower later, a strong breeze hit us, flattening Grace at the same moment as a big motorboat roared past. At least it served to clean out some dirt from the foot well. By the time Annette had gotten used to the new conditions and stopped being scared, the wind died again – completely. We drifted for hours, until I decided that it was worth trying to get in on the outboard engine, even if I might not have enough battery charge. Fortunately, the little outboard is more effective than I had thought, and we made a nice 2.5-3.0 knots, and completed the final stretch to Hjellestad in less than 90 minutes. By then, it was almost midnight, and the last buss had departed, so I got to spend a bonus night aboard Grace.
All in all, a fantastic week, and I’ll be certain make a repeat stay later this spring! |
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| Spring sailing |
[May. 3rd, 2009|07:50 pm] |
After a week of work in St. Petersburg (yes, the real one, not the one in Florida), sailing was so on my mind that I decided to skip home, and take a taxi straight to Grace.
So sunny Friday evening we had a nice down wind stretch out from Hjellestad, going north: east of Lerøy and Bjorøy, past Bergen, and to a small island north of Sotra for the night. After a somewhat dramatic anchorage, we made some excellent hot chocolate.
Saturday we sailed out to Øygarden, but the current was such that it was impossible to tack under any of the bridges to get to the west side of Sotra. So we returned south, only to be met by another current to hinder our passage. In the end, we decided to spend the night in the harbour of downtown Bergen. The big drama of the day was that my brand new stove took fire. So much for that, now I need a new one (and new technology). Now that I've given up on alcohol based fuel, I wonder what I should try next...
Sunday again had nice sun, and this time we timed the passage for a nice with-current southern course, and made a very nice and leisurely trip back to Hjellestad. Our entrance into the marina was majestic: Surrounded by small optimist dingies coming back from sail practice, we sailed straight into the harbor. And recall that my dock space is not only tiny, but hidden behind a rather large Bavaria... Now, I only need to figure out how to get Grace out of the harbor under sail, and perhaps I can ditch the electric outboard again.
All days were perfect in terms of weather: Low waves, and winds varying from conditions for single reefed main and only staysail and small jib up, to full sails. Nothing like having five sails to play with on a broad reach!
Steady speeds of 6 1/2 knots at the most, a new record for me as skipper of Grace.
(Pictures from previous weekend) |
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| Floating again! |
[Apr. 29th, 2009|11:05 am] |
Grace!
What a spring! For the second year running, I have been putting a large effort into giving Grace a solid work-over. Last year the exterior got a tune-up with lots and lots of sandpapering of old paint and a fair bit of new. This year, the main focus has been on the interior and on the electricity system:
• Removal of not-too-practical shelves and replacement with new backs for the benches that flip up to give extra bed space on the lee side of the boat when at sea.
• A rack system in the way aft of the boat for my battery bank. This greatly improved on both the safety of my battery system, and also on the utilization of the aft storage space.
• Electric outlet capable of handling the 50A current to my electric outboard.
• A removable structure to mount the electric outboard on.
• Two new coats of paint inside.
• Complete re-wiring of (almost) all electronics.
• Several minor fixes, such as a new hatch for one of the storage compartments, tri-color/anchor light mounted in the top of the mast, new fuses and switches, new stove, paying 25% customs on the sales price, registration, etc.
Lots of people have helped out – such as (in order of appearance) Kristin, Annette, Mom and Dad, Magnus, Aurora, Jan and Eirik. A few more projects are in the mail for this summer, including a water-driven electric generator and a tiller-mounted auto-pilot, and fixing some more electric wiring.
But let me not be distracted by details! We splashed on Wednesday, and the short trip from the slip to the dock more than proved that with the new mount, the electric engine is pure genius! Friday we got the mast up and rigged, just in time for a couple hours of sailing on Raunefjorden. We got back into harbor just in time to get some food from the super-market. Saturday was more enthusiastic sailing, and the wind was kind enough to allow us to sail fully rigged, with all sails pulling. I’d say we were doing about 6 knots on the run, and about 4 on the tack, not bad for sailing in a gentle breeze!
What enthusiasm the spring brings!
(Find Grace...) |
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| Easter working on Grace |
[Apr. 11th, 2009|02:08 pm] |
I love it. Pictures and details will follow. For now, let it be known that progress is good. |
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| Tahiti, and her iles |
[Jan. 19th, 2009|11:09 pm] |
If boats are truly ladies, then paying someone a pile of money for using their boat for two weeks must sure the nautical equivalent of enjoying an escort service. The customers were Nadia and me, the lady was called Banana Man, and the location was the Society Islands.
The Society Islands is one of the island groups of French Polynesia, and includes the largest island Tahiti. It is the only island group with significant population and tourist infrastructure. We chartered a sailboat departing from the capital city Papeete, to be returned two weeks later on Raiatea. Between the endpoints, we hoped to visit Moorea, Huahine (Iti and Nui), Bora Bora, Tahaa, and perhaps also Maupiti (regarding pronunciation: Norwegian without diphthongs is good enough to get around).
The boat
Banana Man is a Jeanneau Sun Odyssey 363i, which means that it is exactly like Sofus, with the addition of 2 feet and one double bed. It had its problems (the main sheet cleat wouldn’t grip!), but no more than one would expect from a charter boat, and certainly nothing that hindered our cruise. The boat came equipped with a solid roller furling genoa and fully battened main, but no light weather sails. We got a worn down dinghy with an outboard, and most importantly: snorkeling gear. The support staff at Sunsail was very responsive and service minded.
The islands (Except Maupiti)
I was planning to write some about all the islands we passed by, but the experience does not lend itself as well to description as my previous sails. Partly because several of the islands have become too touristified, they are little more than generic paradises: Small, French-speaking Hawaiis. The most heavily affected island is Bora Bora (“The most beautiful island in the South Pacific”), which is not worth a visit, unless you are one who enjoys the endless view of overwater bungalows. Tahiti and Moorea are better, but not by much.
We found good snorkeling most places we got our feet wet. We saw large numbers of fish in all colors, as expected, and some rays. The best snorkeling we encountered was actually on the last full day, when we were blown down a current between two islands. A spectacular variety of fish. Paradoxically, we suspect that some feeding had been going on there, as some of the fish were quite eager to make our acquaintance. Three times we ran into reef sharks. They are really cute, and most so the time a couple of dogs started chasing them in the water.
The sailing was in general a little disappointing. This is partly our own fault for going in the (cheap) off season, when the trade winds are less reliable. Also, in several cases the captain judged that two weeks were better spent on beaches and hiking rather than stuck between islands doing 2 knots.
Maupiti
By far the most enjoyable island was Maupiti. This has a simple explanation. Historically, the islands’ development has been limited by a good pass into the surrounding lagoon. Some islands have excellent passes (Tahiti, Moorea, Huahine, Bora Bora), while others have a poor (Maupiti) or no (Tupai) pass. The historic development of the islands seems to be strongly correlated to their present day tourist development. Naturally, this implied that Maupiti was the least touristy of the islands accessible to us.
Maupiti is an island of about 1000 inhabitants; with a circumference of no more that 11 km. Bare boat charters like us have limited access to the island, depending on how good the weather forecast is, and the amount of sailing experience the crew can document. Fortunately, the weather and crew were good enough that they let us go.
We enjoyed a combination of rural island paradise, friendly locals, empty beaches, spectacular scenery, and all the likes. As an example of our interaction with the locals; when we tried to ask someone where we could rent a kayak, they proposed we could simply rent theirs! The only thing we could not do was to get someone to point us to the beginning of the trail to the top of the mountain: Apparently it was someone’s business venture to guide people up, and without him no one knew the way...
Highlights included biking around the island, spending a day in ocean kayaks, seeing several sharks and rays, and generally bathing in the scenery. My only regret is that we did not get around to go diving in the lagoon.
(All pictures by Nadia.) |
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| Summer is over, and change of blogging style... |
[Oct. 19th, 2008|02:57 pm] |
Now that I have sold Sofus, and have "retired" to a state of an ordinary weekend sailor, I feel less of a need to blog about my sailing adventures. Still, since I have this space, I have decided to use it to keep track of the time I spend sailing etc. Consequently, the blog entries will probably be shorter and with less content.
I finished the sailing season with four last sails:
- Overnight sail with Magnus from Tysnes to Fitjar, Bømlo and back (very pretty, including fishing!)
- One day sail with Øydis from Tysnes to Glesvær (took no more that 6 hours despite little wind, very happy about that).
- Morning sail with Nadia from Glesvær to Hjellestad (we spent the night on board).
- Short evening sail with Eirik from Hjellestad to Kvitturspollen.
I am still charmed by Grace every time. She is now on land, and all the sails are spread out to dry in my appartment.
Next trip: Tahiti in January! |
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| Sofus sold! |
[Aug. 19th, 2008|08:32 pm] |
A story has ended...
After thousands of miles, a handful of passages, countless beaches and coves, fishing, whale spotting, dolphins, many friends, hard work, sunsets, sunrises, moonshine, stars, adventure, solitude, Spanish!, natives, sailors, canals, and all the rest I cannot remember, it is time to part. I, for one, do not believe in the old saying: "The two best days in a boat owners life are the days of purchase and sale". Indeed, although I have been told that phrase countless times, never has it been uttered by any but landlubbers.
I know this was not the last boat I took to sea. Hopefully, it was but the first in a long line. For now, I can only hope that Sofus will be as nice to her new owners as she was to me.
Good Bye Sofus!
J. |
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| Sailing! |
[Jul. 15th, 2008|09:14 pm] |
Two days after splashing Grace, Nadia (who took most of the pictures below) and I were done cleaning up and preparing Grace for our cruise. The plan was to sail south, hopefully have time to visit both my brother’s farm and Rosendal, and return to the cabin in time to go home.
Short story: Everything went according to plan, and lots of things were beautiful.
Longer story (with pictures): We sailed to Lysevågen on Lysøen the first day, enojoying a healthy breeze under lightly clouded sky. Sailing time about 7 hours. The perfect weather for convincing my crew that a sailing vacation wasn’t such a bad idea after all. We arrived Lysevågen stately, and sailed into the anchorage, mooring with a line to land. There was one other boat in the bay, but Grace was by far the cutest.
We had a nice hike to the other side of the island, inspected the house of Ole Bull, and decided that we should come back the next day to take the tour of the inside and eat their delicious waffles. Dinner was consumed on board. I had forgotten how good pasta with pesto and parmesan is (note my now-so-beautiful deck, in contrast to its previously grey paint).
We got off to a late start (again), since the museum didn’t open before 11am. However, it was once again a beautiful day. The highlight of the sail was outclassing one of those modern glass fiber boats. This is a nice thing about Grace; when we sail faster than other boats, I can brag, when other boats sail past us, I can use the excuse that they are modern...
The wind died slightly when crossing Bjørnefjorden, so we arrived Lygrepollen in the sunset (around 11pm). Sailing time about 10 hours. We needed my tiny electric engine twice: Once to get out of Lysevågen, and again when the wind died completely in Lygrepollen. It works to my satisfaction, giving us about 1.5 knots at half speed. I have battery capacity for about 9 hours at this speed. Mooring at the farm is tricky, so we had to use the dinghy, which is the first time I’ve actually needed it. It’s neither pretty, nor elegant. However, Grace was by far the cutes of the boats we could see from the farm.
We spent two nights at the farm, helping out as best we could the day we spent there. Always fun to be at the farm.
The following day we set out to sail to Rosendal. We had the current with us out of Lygrepollen, but it was against us down Lukksundet. So was the wind. Given that the current can be up to 3 knots, and that the sound is hardly more than 50 meters across at the narrowest, we were set for some substantial tacking. Several hours later, we were through and exhausted. At this point, the wind was picking up, so we double reefed the main sail and changed to a smaller jib (good bye, Pirate Queen). Darn, that small jib is crap.
Fortunately we had the wind with us in Hardangerfjorden, and we covered the length of Snilstveitøy and Skorpo (one of three islands with that name we sailed past) in just two hours. Total sailing time about 8 hours.
Rosendal, for those of you who don’t know it, is the home of Norway’s only Barony. It is a very pretty town. There were a few boats in the harbor, including a large, brutish, fishing boat from the northern seas, but Grace was by far the cutest.
We were two nights in Rosendal too, spending time with Kristin and Morten, and generally enjoying being tourists. Grace was too deep to moor alongside the dock (as I discovered), so we moored stern too next to a Catalina 400.
We left Rosendal on a Wednesday, with the hopes that the wind would allow us to get at least halfway to the cabin. Better than that, the wind decided to be with us down every stretch we planned on sailing, so we sailed not only to the cabin, but past it and to Austevoll. Sailing time: 10 hours. Here, there is a small town called Bekkjarvik, that has one of the best restaurants in Hordaland. I had wild sheep. Bekkervik, as it is also written, has received numerous awards as among the best small-craft harbors in Norway. I have two things to say: There are very few berths with more than a few feet of water, and Grace is by far cuter than any of the other boats there. Challenge: Spot Grace in this picture.
The last day was therefore a short easy sail to the cabin. Sailing time no more than 3 hours. On our way in, my parents decided they wanted to have a photo shoot of us. Some nice pictures resulted, and it becomes clear why everyone we sailed past took pictures of us!
Grace right when entering a tack (note the main sail backwinding slightly):
Me steering and looking cool while tacking us in the final bit to the cabin:
Fully reefed, jib and jib-top sail lowered, and bow spirit retracted, getting ready to approach the dock:
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| Grace on land |
[Jun. 25th, 2008|05:27 am] |
I really should have written a proper blog entry about this. Actually, I should have at least taken personal notes regarding the time spent and how I did things. But I didn't.
All in all, Grace was on land for 2 weeks. I probably was out working on her at least 10 days in that period. In addition, Mom and Dad helped out a couple times, Magnus helped out on three days, Kristin and Leonid helped out two days each, Juan took a day away from research, Tomas, Helge and Eirik helped out with transportation. On top of all that, Nadia was with me for 5 days. A quick estimate is 5 hours per person per day; I wouldn't be surprised if the job took at least 120 man hours total. Good thing no one charged me!
So what did we do? Polish off lots of old paint (including everything on deck), fix some damaged parts, paint everything again. In the end, Grace has gone from a red and white boat with gray painted deck, to a blue and white boat with oiled wood deck.
Were I to do it again today, I'm sure I the job could be done in half the time. In the end though, it was all worth it: Grace looks beautiful (more on that later), and most importantly, is protected from the elements for a while longer.
(Of course, all pictures taken by Nadia.) |
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| Ascention of Christ = 4 day weekend! |
[May. 14th, 2008|06:09 pm] |
What a great weekend! In addition to selling my little Askeladden, I had a perfect three day sail with Kristin (and Johan).
The plan was to sail from Tysnes to Bergen Saturday, as the forecast was a steady breeze from the south, increasing into the night. Kristin had agreed to crew, and to be on the safe side we brought sleeping bags and some food. In view of the light weather forecast, I finally got around to climbing to the top of the top mast and run the halyard for the top sail.
The breeze was nice, and we were doing a gently four knots with all sails up, going on a dead run. After a few hours, I decided it might be fun to try out the spinnaker. Bad idea. As soon as that sail was up, the wind died down, not to return again for several hours. In the end, we picked up a small sunset breeze, and got into Vestervåg on Røttingen. Not nearly as far as planned for the day, but a perfect place to have dinner.
Johan joined us for Sunday, and again the goal was to get to Bergen. This time however, the weather forecast was spot on: About 15-20 knots out of the north. We had a good day of tacking, playing around with different sail combinations. In the end, I had to give up the "Pirate Queen" (the big jib), and sail with small jib, staysail, and reefed main. Even so, we were tilting 45 degrees, and the keel was almost dry enough to walk on! In the end, we had a good sail, but didn't quite make it the last few miles into Straume. So we spent a second night, this time in Hjellestad.
(Note the Jeanneau Sun Odyssey in the background!)
Finally, on Monday, we only had a short piece left into Straume, where the friendly seilskøyteklubben has its marina. There wasn't too much wind, but a nice gentle breeze let us tack our way to winward, again with every sail up! Got to love 'em sails!
Overall, it was a splendid three days of sailing. Not just was the weather spectacular, the wind varied, but Grace gets an enormous response. People make huge detours on the fjord to pass nearby us and have a look. Fun. Also, Grace is fantastically fun to sail. She is incredibly balanced on a tack (sails a good tack with no attention to the tiller), and can put up huge amounts of sail off the wind. When sailing with the main and top sail downwind it looks like a whole wall has been erected! She also turns out to be a good camping boat, with easy maneuverability in small harbors, and surprisingly good room inside. I'm enthusiastic!
(All pictures by Kristin) |
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| Boat sold! |
[May. 13th, 2008|08:32 pm] |
But - Not Sofus. My friend Tomas took me up on my offer of buying my smallest sailboat, the Askeladden. This was the boat I learned to sail in, and in which I had my first camping trips solo along the Norwegian coast. She is a perfect little boat to learn to sail and to go on day sails in, if only to a nearby island to take a swim...
My most memorable experience in her was perhaps two summers ago, when Nadia and I went camping together. Four days and three nights, sailing more than a hundred miles among all the small islands south of Bergen. To share in the nostalgia, tune in to her blog entry.
I can only hope that Tomas will enjoy her as much as I have.
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| May 1st = 4-day Weekend! |
[May. 4th, 2008|06:01 pm] |
I finally had a good, long, weekend to implement some of my ideas for Grace. First of all, I was a little worried about being slightly overloaded with sheets the day I would finally get around to hoisting my jib top-sail. Navigating the narrow waters of Norwegian fjords is tricky enough with the shifting winds and quick currents. It would be even worse if I short handed - I realize most of my sailing experiences are solo - would have to tack all three head sails. So, going against the advice of the bible of gaff rigged sailing (Leather's "The Gaff Rig Handbook"), I modified the whisker pole to double as a boom for the staysail. As it is rigged now, Grace will tack with no adjustments to the sails under main and staysail, while I only have to tend to the jib when sailing under full working sails. Further, I can adjust all running rigging from aft.
Another issue which popped up last time I was out sailing, was that the main was slow to come down. Mostly the problem was one of the lacing on the mast introducing too much friction, so I decided on attempting a different setup. The idea is to use separate loops of rope for each eye, with large beads to reduce friction. I made one prototype, but the jury is still out as to whether it was a success.
Finally, I threw out another 100 kg of rubbish from inside, including around 90 cans of expired food, and a tool box full of tools rusted solid. Grace now floats about a full foot above the water-line she was at when I bought her. Wow. I might have to put in some ballast until I install an engine.
Tonight also was quiet enough for me to try to air some of the sail wardrobe I hadn’t had a go at yet (and to tally up whether I have enough ropes). So in addition to doing a trial run of the modifications to the main and stay-sail, I hoisted both the jib top-sail and the spinnaker. The jib top-sail sets very nicely – and it was really not hassle at all. I think I’ll try to look for more frequent excuses to flying it. The sheet has to be pulled all the way aft, outside all the shrouds. The spinnaker was exciting. At first, when I found it, I gathered that it was just something the previous owner had got from someone, not really ever meant for Grace. But it actually fits rather nicely (perhaps only a tad bit large), when set from the tip of the bowsprit. It is huge though, and from what I can tell from the small amounts of running rigging attached to it, has never actually been used on Grace. There might be a very good reason for this, as the remaining sail wardrobe should make anyone happy even in the lightest of winds. However, I've never backed away from a challenge, so I’ll have to look out for a nice whether day to try it. Imagine a broad reach with main and top-sail, and the staysail covered by a huge spinnaker! |
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| S/Y SOFUS is for sale! |
[Mar. 23rd, 2008|04:58 pm] |
The yacht is sold as described in this blog. She is a 1998 build Jeanneau 34.2, bought by me January 2nd 2007. She is now in Lima, Peru. In addition to all standard equipment, the following major recent repairs and enhancements have been conducted:
• Four new sails (March 2007): Main, Genoa (110%), Asymmetric Spinnaker, Storm Staysail.
• New Dinghy (May 2007): HonWave 220cm.
• New exterior woodwork (December 2007)
• Solar panel (December 2007)
• Auto pilot (April 2007)
• New gear box (December 2006)
• All batteries replaced (August 2007)
• All cleats serviced or new (April 2007)
• Genoa sheet cars and spinnaker pole car new (December 2007)
The primary (inboard) engine is a Yanmar 3GM30F. The outboard engine (for the dinghy) is a Tohatsu 3.5 Hp.
In general, the boat is very sea-worthy. I have sailed her single-handed more than 5000 miles in 2007, first from the Virgin Islands south through the West Indies. Subsequently, we crossed the Caribbean, facing up to 30 knot winds and 15 foot waves. She has been through the Panama Canal, and sailed from there to Las Perlas (Panama), Salinas (Ecuador), Galapagos, Pimentel, and to Callao. She is ready to sail on to any destination near or distant!
See also the advertisement:
http://www.finn.no/finn/object?finnkode=12840482 |
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| Lima and all that. |
[Jan. 15th, 2008|10:03 am] |
I could have spent some paragraphs complaining about the wind along the coast of Peru, but why waste time on something which hardly exists.
Sofus and I arrived in Lima in style: Sneaking in covered by the darkness, not succeeding in making the obligatory contact with the Navy. The “marina” was an organization shuttling people in and out to moorings, much like the Balboa Yacht Club. Plus: Great restaurant, friendly people. Minus: Climate. Lima is cool, damp, and foggy. Condensation everywhere.
The only chance I had to explore Lima was an afternoon, and it was a shock coming from the ocean. The taxi-driver promptly broke every traffic rule I don’t know. The best part was when the car in front of us stopped for a red light. My driver, and just about every car behind us it seemed, immediately started honking the horn. Apparently, stopping for a red light is bad manners: you should just drive into the intersection and take a hit for the team... On the way home at night, we had to turn in the middle of the road when there was a street fight ahead of us, which just looked to scary for both the driver and me.
Considering Lima’s population of 6+ million, it goes without saying that I only got the tiniest glimpse. However, it was very refreshing to see buzzing markets, street-side cafés, bars, stores, and people. It is the first city I’ve ever been to where I’ve run into three bookstores before finding a single clothes store. That situation quickly rectified itself.
Lima is famous for its food. Its inhabitants have trouble deciding whether it is best described as the culinary capital of South America, or perhaps as one of the top 5 cuisines in the world. Anyway, compared to the food I’ve been eating during my travels with Sofus, it was definitely way good.
I decided to sell my boat. That is, if someone pays a reasonable price. She is a good boat, and I’d love to keep sailing her, but work commitments and Grace are probably a handful as it is. Having a boat thousands of miles from home might be a bit over my head.
That said, if no one comes up with the greenbacks (or Nueve Soles, as it may): Next stop Easter Island! Who wants to go? |
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| Pimentel |
[Jan. 8th, 2008|05:01 pm] |
You know you are arriving to civilization when you start getting text messages before you can see land. Either that, or there is a heavy fog...
I got to Pimentel at 13:00 local time, New Years Eve. Several attempts at getting hold of the local Capitanía by VHF failed, so I called my friend in the marina in Callao. He couldn’t help much, so I inflated my dinghy (by this time the local fishermen appeared to have finished for the day, so I was unable to obtain a hike), and row my way to shore. Peru has preciously few features on its coast, so the waves tend to break heavily on the beaches for miles. This has prompted most beach-side cities with respect for themselves to build a several hundred meter long jetty out past the surf, to which it is possible to make landfall. Pimentel no exception, except the jetty being mostly disbanded, and ridiculously high. Damn, life is never easy.
Lonely Planet raves about the local fishermen and their tiny reed boats (which apparently sink after only a few months use). Yes, they are cute, and look like mini Con Tikis.
Entering the port of Pimentel was an experience. Seems like I was the first pleasure boat the port captain and his men had ever seen. All five or six of them started fussing about, none of them speaking English. Good thing I had been practicing my Spanish. Eventually, they gave me free dinner, we found a safe place for my dinghy (apparently, nothing is safe outdoors anywhere in Peru), got me a hotel room (no way I was sleeping with that swell-induced rocking of the boat), and found internet! All this required only a $40 bribe. I realized of course afterwards that this was waaay too much, but the port captain made it good a moment later (tranlated as I understood it from Spanish):
PC: You need an agent.
Me: Why? I’m only me in a small boat. Just give me the papers and I’ll fill them out.
PC: Do you have the forms?
Me: No... (I had though that he would have them)
PC: Then you need an agent.
Me: OK... How much does it cost.
PC: $100 perhaps?
Me: No way. Haven’t got that much money.
PC: Let’s get the agent over.
(5 minutes pass until the agent comes)
PC to Agent: Look, there is hardly any paperwork to be done. Can you do it?
Agent: Sure, no problem.
PC: Does $10 dollars seem reasonable?
Agent: Yes.
Wow. Just saved $90. On top of that, the port captain didn’t bother with any of the port fees I should have paid, and they sent one of the underlings as guide with me to the market in nearby Chiclayo, so I got off the hook pretty cheaply.
I slept into the new year.
Overall, Pimentel was a crowded beach thing going, with the charm of a pile of concrete. Needn’t go there again. I’m getting a feeling that Peru should be visited for its ruins of towns of the past, not for its small off-the-beaten-track towns of the present. |
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| Happy new year! |
[Dec. 31st, 2007|07:54 pm] |
From Pimentel, Peru!
There are a bunch of blog entries from all over the place I want to post, but for now they will have to wait on my USB stick until I remember to bring it with me to an internet café...
So far, let me say that sailing has been a blast, and although it is good to be on land again. I´m setting off for Lima (with a bit of luck) tomorrow, let´s see how long that will take. |
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| Rants from the Sea |
[Dec. 31st, 2007|05:00 pm] |
On being alone out here
After the initial annoyance at Gunhild wimping out, everything has all turned out for the best. The sail down to Peru, where I’ll hopefully arrive tomorrow, has been a long one. With the current ETA, I’ll be looking back at 10 solid days at sea, and there are still about 4 or 5 more before I’m in Lima.
But it has been nice. The solitude is good. I’ve worked a bit (pretty happy with that part), daydreamed a lot, read some, improved my windward sail trim skills, practiced knots and whippings, slept some, worried about the 10-20 liters of water appearing in my bilge every day (tastes fresh??? Can’t be right.), eaten as much as I could (more on that to follow), and had hundreds of ideas to small things to include in my blog, a minority of which will make it below.
Without criticizing anyone, but this would not have been the same if I had crew. First of all, I would not have been as patient with the lack of wind, feeling responsible for not only my own time, but also someone else’s. But more importantly, the meditative state you arrive at when alone at sea is something truly precious.
It is also nice to be away from all the shipping lanes, and have some decent sleep at night. In and out of Panama was a nightmare – ships passing all the time. Out here, you are really alone, and for a week I didn’t see any other ship at all.
How to sail 700 miles on a tack with no more than force 3 winds
Be patient. Constantly make sure the sails are trimmed to exploit the little wind there is.
Fishing
I’m doing some statistics on my fishing success. So far, the score is:
Pacific Ocean (lost lures): 4
Draws (fish got away without lure): 3
Jan (fish caught): 2
Meals: 6
Costs: $160
Someone told me there was no fish in the middle of the ocean. I bet they’ve never tried. A couple days ago I hooked a massive mahi mahi (you should have seen it jump a meter clear out of the water), which took me a full hour, and a passing flock of about 50 dolphins, to reel in. Unfortunately, I didn’t have a proper hook (“klepp”, as it is referred to in Norwegian), or net to get overboard with, so when I tried lifting it out of the water (it must have been 20-25 kg), the fish hook broke/got bit off! Amazing, I’ve never had that happen before, but then again, this was by far the biggest fish I’d ever hooked. Fish just don’t get this big often in the fjords of Norway (I don’t think I’ve ever caught anything my parents and I couldn’t happily devour in one sitting), and I’ve never fished 300-400 miles off shore before.
So I made myself a weapon of fish destruction: Essentially a small flag pole with a nail through it. It’s the best make-shift klepp I can come up with, even though the spike is only about an inch long. The day after the massive mahi mahi, I caught another fish, species still unknown to me (I’m sure some of my readers knows their Pacific biology than me). Damn! This one was massive too! Another hour spent reeling it in, and boy, was that a huge amount of power floating in front of me. I quickly realized that the only way to get this guy on board was if my flagpole-made-klepp was sunk in deep and securely, so I shoved it down the throat of the beast, hooking its intestines somewhere. To avoid wanton destruction on board, I used a trick Øydis taught me (and she claims to be a marine biologist): Give the fish a shot of cheap alcohol. Indeed, it passed out almost instantaneously (note the cheap bottle of Galapagos booze near its tail, the pole coming out of its mouth, and the fact that there is (yet) no blood spillage):
Wow. My measuring tape gives a length of about 4 foot 9 inches, which I guess is about 1.4 meters. I estimated the weight to at least 20 kg. Ridiculous. After rinsing the fish and knocking off its head and tail, I chopped the rest up into 5 somewhat equal parts, and threw the beast into the refrigerator. This is from one of the bloodier (but far from the bloodiest) moments:
Five huge meals later, and I have still only got through 30% of the damn animal. Since each meal has been about twice the size of a normal meal, I’d say that this fish is good for about 33 regular servings. There is no way I can eat this whole thing before it spoils, or I die from serious mal-nutrition, whatever happens first.
Fish recipes
For those of you in doubt of my creativity with almost no cooking supplies, let me give you the menu for the last few days. All quantities are for a single portion:
Lunch, 0 DAF (Days After Fish): Fried fish naturelle
Recipe: Take 500-750 grams fish in filets. Throw it in a pan, turn after a while. See what happens. Make some fresh grapefruit (I thought they were oranges) juice while waiting.
Comments: The fish turns white, and has a good taste. Turns dry very quickly, and does not taste too good raw. Thin filets are advisable. Too much.
Dinner, 0 DAF: Fried fish under a cover of cheese
Recipe: Carefully brown half an onion, and throw in a chopped apple, and push to the side of the pan. Place 500-750 grams of fish under a cover of Galapagos cheese in pan. Fry with a lid over low heat for a while.
Comments: The fish was reasonably well cooked, no problem with dry/raw parts. Very good sides, and the cheese really made a difference. Too much.
Lunch, 1 DAF: Fish fried on one side
Recipe: A classic French recipe for fatty fish (which this is not): Fry 500-750 grams of fish filet in lots of oil, under a mound of salt. Cook until the smell of burned fish skin is intolerable (depending on thickness of filet). Brush of salt
Comments: Works fine, the fish is well done all the way through, without drying out. The salted top is good. Works better with salmon (and other fattier fish) though. Too much.
Dinner, 1DAF: Fish stew
Recipe: Barely cover a chopped potato, carrot and a half onion with sea water in a pan. Cook as long as it takes to filet a few kilos fish. Add 500-750 grams of fish cut into small parallelepipeds. Let simmer under lid.
Comments: Very good stew! Went tired of the fish half way through, but the vegetables and sauce were immaculate. Kind of like a vegetable soup on a fish broth. Too much.
Lunch, 2DAF: Fish como Señor Jesus
Recipe: It is well known that Jesus fed thousands of people with just a few fish and some bread (not hard at all if the fish were the size of this one). How did he get that many people to eat fish? By making it taste like meat of course! Here comes a recipe from Jesus’ modern homeland, the US Bible belt: Take 500-750 grams of fish. Soak in authentic Hickory Smoked BBQ sauce. Soak some more. Fry in BBQ sauce. Voilá! You have something which tastes like Texan BBQ, e.g., not fish.
Comments: Still didn’t taste like meat. Too much.
Dinner, 2DAF: Meat stew from can
Recipe: Take a can of ready made stew. Heat in casserole.
Comments: Delicious. Just the right amount.
[There turned out to be no more meals on this fish, as I threw out the rest today. Started to smell bad.]
Whaling
This beauty was about the length of my boat. Rough estimate of amount of food, based on self-similarity with the fish, gives upward of 10000 servings. Having learned the lesson of not hunting down bigger animals than you can eat, and not wanting to eat whale the rest of my life, I therefore passed up the opportunity to reel it in. I wonder if a shot of alcohol would have knocked this one out too? Species as usual unknown:
Kind of hard to follow the “Don’t ram your boat into whales” mantra when they are rubbing themselves against your hull as you pound through waves.
This flirtatious creature had actually been following me for about a day or two, as I have been hearing its breathing at night. This time was the only time I got a daytime visual (complete with a tail wave, not on film), and for some reason I had a camera handy! I know of mothers who have paid loads of money for whale safari’s (lunch included), and not even seen the animal.
The red sea
Seriously, the sea was red today. I have no idea what causes it, I hope it is algae, although it looks frighteningly like blood. Fresh out of a horror movie. The red was in streaks and patches, spanning tens of miles. I wish it had been possible to photograph in any sensible way.
On arriving in Peru
I have decided to make landfall in Pimentel, or perhaps Puerto Eten, about 350 miles north of Lima, for several reasons. Most importantly, so that I can send my dad an e-mail on his birthday tomorrow. I know he’ll appreciate that, more than any other gift I could have (but haven’t) got for him. But also to stock up on some fresh food – I’m down to a little cheese, two apples, three potatoes, and two grape fruits – hardly another four or five days worth, and I don’t feel like a canned-beans-only diet. And finally, tomorrow happens to be New Years Eve, and I’m sure that it’ll be nicer to celebrate in some small beach town on the Peruvian coast than 50 miles out at sea.
I don’t have clearance to enter the country yet, but I’ll just claim I’m in an emergency. Plenty of things to blame: Leaking boat, low on diesel, tiredness, or simply out of food. This will be my third emergency stop in a row (two in Galapagos, where I didn’t have a proper clearance either). Somehow, I don’t think I’m getting all the formalities right...
I guess that this is enough said on a long sail. I’ll be back with more from Peru later. |
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| What brings you to this beautiful island, Isabela? |
[Dec. 21st, 2007|04:42 pm] |
Everyone claims Isabela to be the prettiest and most special of the Galapagos islands. It definitely is the largest, although it only has a small settlement in Puerto General Villamil. The town was much like any small beach town, but the whole place seemed slightly unnatural. This is probably a consequence of much of the settlements on Galapagos serving purely a function for tourism: Apart from the fishermen, people either work as guides, or farm land to reduce the agricultural imports (thus reducing the risk of introducing invasive species). Thus Villamil seemed somehow to lack an identity of its own. This is emphasized with the (very pretty) “development” project underway, which seems totally out of place. It is tempting to compare Villamil to the settlements on Anegada and Jost van Dyke (BVI), which had much more personality. Ah well. It was pretty in spots, the food was mediocre, and you have to love a place with sand roads (note the beautiful light posts, which I never saw lit):
Øydis, an acquaintance from Bergen, turned up the day before we left Santa Cruz, and stayed with Sofus for our trip to Isabela. She has previously sailed quite a bit, and it was good to see someone at the helm of Sofus so thoroughly enjoying themselves (especially when we set the asymmetric). Øydis had been to the Galapagos before, and blond fair skinned girls obviously make an impression: We could hardly walk down a street without someone recognizing her. Quite entertaining.
The best part of the Isabela experience was probably going for a snorkel trip guided by one of the local water taxi drivers (I bet he puts “Naturalist Guide” on his resumé). We visited an island popular with the white tip sharks, and got to snorkel in a protected little inlet. Good fun, lots of fish, some sharks, thousands of iguanas (sometimes piled on top of each other, five stories high), and an incredibly clingy sea lion. That animal would just not stop playing with you! Kind of hard to obey the “don’t touch the animals” mantra when the animal is rubbing against you.
Isabela was also the starting point for my passage to Peru, which started off with a sail past a perfectly shaped volcano top, open on the south-west side:
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| Puerto Ayora |
[Dec. 18th, 2007|04:36 pm] |
The world of stress has a nice progression, which somehow I’ve been following: New York, Quito, La Liberdad, Puerto Ayora, Puerto General Villamil (more on the last later). Ayora has the typical laid-back tropical feel to it, although strictly speaking, the temperature here is not quite tropical.
The big thing in town is of course the Charles Darwin Research Center, home of active research and breeding grounds for many spectacular species. And of course, Lonesome George. If you don’t know who that is, don’t sweat, neither did I – but he is apparently famous, as the last remaining of his giant turtle species. This makes you sad until you realize that there are 10 other giant turtle species on the islands, and most people would never be able to tell the difference...
The Galapagos islands are basically volcanoes, and feature a variety of climates with height. A friend from diving took us to the farm he volunteers on. It was spectacularly similar to farms in the rest of the world, apart from the fact that no-one cared it they made a profit or not. All the workers were volunteers, and the owners were a state agency for conservation of the Galapagos. At least we got to see some wild turtles (one of them actually moved!), and I tasted a pretty awesome coconut based drink.
No Pacific island is complete without a beach, and neither would Santa Cruz be. Elated by my success at diving, I gave surfing a shot. Needless to say, it wasn’t pretty. After several beatings, I mastered to some extent the technique of getting out through the waves, however this was a meager start. Once out in the field, the other surfers sat on their board and rested a little while waiting for waves. Since the board is buoyant, this is in essence a balancing act, complicated by waves throwing you around. I gave up on this skill. Fortunately, I was in the right spot to catch a few waves, however I barely managed to get the board moving with the wave before I lost it. Damn. At least the beach was nice.
Overall, the islands here have that hypnotic effect, which allows you to waddle away time, and feel like you never want to leave. I am sure there are scary children’s stories based on this theme. |
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| Diving |
[Dec. 17th, 2007|04:29 pm] |
I thought about it in the Virgin Islands, I wanted to do it in Islas Las Perlas, and finally I said – ”Damn, if I don’t do it now, I’ll never do it”. So I took a diving course. It is all very simple. You pay loads of money, read a propaganda book about how PADI (some dive organization) is the best thing since the wheel, and go for a few dives. Voila, you now have a small piece of paper saying that you have gone for a few dives.
Ah well, the few dives were pretty cool, and apparently the small piece of paper makes future dives more easy to materialize. The dive instructor was friendliness himself.
The best dive was off a small island in Academy Bay, the bay of Puerto Ayora. Contrary to the Caribbean, Hawaii, and just about every other tropical waters where I’ve dipped my feet into the water, Galapagos – the famed home of a gazillion species – apparently does not have coral. To compensate, there were about 20 something sea lions swimming with us. They were pretty cool about having visitors, showing off with some flashy swim-byes, some underwater loops, and some good old fashioned flipper-nibbling. We also found a huge ray, lying idly on the sea-bottom. It looked much like a blob from some sci-fi movie.
After this mesmerizing sea lion experience, I decided to shell out some money for a Kodak underwater camera. The dispensable kind, since my funds are running low. Good news: The few photos I took on land, all turned out sharp. Bad news: All the underwater ones turned out shabby. Ah well. Here is one of the less atrocious pictures, showing two of my fellow divers in a school of what must have been tens of thousands of fish.
So now I’m an open water diver. My instructor was quick to point out that I only needed to shell out more money, and go for a few quick dives with him, to become an advanced open water diver... perhaps next time. |
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| Sailing to Galapagos |
[Dec. 15th, 2007|09:16 pm] |
Better late than never...
No one has ever got motion sick on Sofus to the point of vomiting. The only tilting stomach at all was from a crew member after some food poisoning in Kuna Yana. Although having suffered through high fevers, food poisoning, and multiple meals with bad chili, the captain has always stayed composed. Not so any more. Turns out that it wasn´t the chili which was bad previously, somehow I have developed a intolerance for it. Nothing became more clear after my otherwise excellent new crew, Gunhild, made some (quite tasty) hot chili stew on the way out of La Liberdad. Real hot. The next 48 hours I was incapable of keeping any food in my stomach, which is definitely not the best way to start an ocean passage. To make things even worse, since I still had to captain the boat, lack of energy combined with hard work lead to a slight fever the second night out.
Enough complaining, the deck is washed, and I´m feeling well again.
The sailing was like a dream. Good steady winds the first few days, easily averaging 7 knots on the second day, current included. Even set a reef the first night. Some periods saw us steadily sailing 8+ knots. Eventually, the wind died as we approached Galapagos, to the point where setting the asymmetric spinnaker had no effect, and we had to motor-sail the last 18 hours. A pity, as this has been the case for several of my long passages (arrival in Panama, Ecuador, and now Galapagos).
Don´t get me started again on local fishing practices. I have no clue what they are fishing for though, as I had a line out a whole day without getting anything.
The visible animal life in the Humboldt current is less than I have become accustomed to, not a single flying fish got stuck on deck, and we saw no more than a handful dolphins. No sharks, octopi, or whales. Ah well, perhaps on the return journey.
For now, Galapagos is utterly enjoyable, as will be detailed at a later time! |
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| Arrived in Galapagos |
[Dec. 12th, 2007|06:57 pm] |
Exactly 4 days from Puerto Lucia to Puerto Ayora.
Tired and in want of a functioning internet, thus, more later.
For now, this is an awesome place! |
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| Quito |
[Dec. 4th, 2007|07:37 pm] |
Ecuador's capital is a nice city. In short, it is just the kind of place my parents should splash some money to visit: It has enough pick-pocketers to keep my dad's protective instincts active, and enough churches to keep my mom happy for weeks. All this packaged in a temperate, dry, climate.
The city lies in a vally, surrounded by about a dozen volcanoes, at least a few of which still bury the city in ash semi-regularly. It claims to be the second-highest capital in the world, perched a couple hundred meters higher than the highest mountain of Norway. The cable-car from the city up one of the nearby volcanoes apparently takes you up to about 4000 meters.
I think I missed some of the biggest attractions of Quito, such as the equator (saw it at sea, nothing much), and the only virgin in the city. The latter is a huge Mary statue placed on top of a hill in the southern part of the city, and would have been the first place I'd hike if it weren't for the "violent attacks on hikers" warnings.
Quito has a special aura of being modern yet old. Much like Europe, but in a latin-American way. In the Ciudad Nueva you'll find cool hippy style cafes, which would make a fortune in Berkeley, while the Ciudad Vieja had it's share of restored old-style streets and town-squares.
I wish I could have stayed another night to see the bullfighting, but that will have to wait til next time I stop by the city during their annual festivities. In other news, my Spanish is now at the point where I can get through my lonely planet guide, but not in any way sustain a meaningful verbal conversation. |
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| Another adventure |
[Dec. 3rd, 2007|02:25 am] |
Tomorrow I'm flying to Ecuador again. After a brief visit to Quito, I'll see Sofus again in only two days. This is more than usually exciting: There has been no news from the hotel in Quito, nor the contractor who has been working on the boat for months, nor has the ship agent has not replied to me regarding my temporary import permit, the only news from the marina is a bill for November, and best of all, my destination marina in Peru has not answered e-mails at all. In other words, anything can go wrong, which means that something will.
But yes, I'll nevertheless sail to Peru. Via Galapagos (seems like no-one bothers with the accents, so neither will I).
Sailing to Galapagos has been a dream of mine for a long time, and I'm really excited. With me this time I have a crew, whom I'll introduce later. Unfortunately, sailing in the Galapagos (as with all of Ecuador), is an expensive bureaucratic quagmire, so there is a certain danger that I will sail to and from Galapagos, but have to charter a different boat to actually navigate the islands.
Updates will come sporadically and enthusiastically the next several weeks - stay tuned!
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| Winter preparations - Grace |
[Dec. 3rd, 2007|02:12 am] |
It's been a while since the last blog entry, much due to the fact that work has been more prominent in my life than sailing.
My dad and I did find time for a nice day's sail, and boy, can that little boat sail quickly. According to the GPS we maxed out around 6.5 knots, however she could easily carried some more sail. I had not expected her to go much more than 5 when I bought her. However, I realize that my brother was right when commenting that I should expect to break some stuff while getting used to a gaff rig. So far though, I have only managed to get a small tear in my main sail, while learning some of the intricacies of hoisting the gaff.
Winter is approaching in Norway, and Grace has duly been covered in tarps for the season. She comfortably survived her first storm, only chafing one of her mooring lines. With seven landlines and two anchors off the dock, this was fortunately a minor problem. The really good news was that her bilge was drier than when I left her. I feel pretty safe she'll survive the winter.
With re-enforced lines, and me headed out travelling: Merry Christmas Grace, and see you next year! |
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| Tags |
[Sep. 2nd, 2007|01:53 pm] |
I have now tagged my blog. Click on any of the tags related to a post to get all post on that topic. Both Sofus and Grace have their own tags. In addition, I have tagged my travels with both boats related to geographic content: Caribbean, Panama, Ecuador, Norway. Guest blogs have also been marked as such.
Hopefully someone will find this useful! |
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| My first sail with Grace |
[Aug. 31st, 2007|03:31 pm] |
Getting Grace out of hibernation was tedious, but straight forward. In the old owners words, what he lacked in carpentry skills he made up for with nails, and dismantling the frame over Grace I definitely learned the truth of that. In total, it took me 12 hours to get her ready, in addition to that, Johan and Kristin both helped out a couple hours each. By noon Saturday, the sails were on, and she was ready for her first sail with a new owner...
(Pictures by Kristin)
She's fun! Even though I didn't rig the up-hauls for the top-sails, thus effectively limiting us to 3 sails, there was a lot of power as the wind picked up. Due to her construction, it hardly takes any wind before she almost dips the rail in the water, but then it takes a solid puff to get her to heel any more.
She's fast! We easily sailed past a similarly sized boat with a modern rig, and kept pace with significantly larger boats out on the fjords. While I'm sure I could have sailed a fair bit faster with Sofus, considering the water length I was impressed by her speed.
She's cute! There is something about small boats with big sails. Her bow spirit extends her length to 30 feet, and even without top-sails the sail area becomes pretty impressive. Inside, there is one large cabin, with a v-berth up front, and benches along the side for sleeping. And space to stow away things everywhere.
We arrived at my parents cabin around 7pm, and they welcomed us in a small rowing dinghy. It's ironic that I have yet to get a photo of Sofus with the sails up, and the very first sail with Grace she gets photographed...
(Picture by Dad) |
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| Who needs two sailboats, anyway? |
[Aug. 31st, 2007|03:22 pm] |
Buying another boat was not at all my intention while visiting Norway this time around. Actually, I was pondering on having a little fun with my 14' sail dinghy, adding a bow spirit and perhaps rigging it so I could fly a kite. These things never go as planned.
Last fall an American sailor came drifting into the local sail ship club in a tiny 23' cutter. He'd sailed in single-handed from Iceland, which he arrived at after single-handing over the Atlantic and cruising north from Ireland with a girlfriend. Since my brother is the foreman of the sail ship club, this story was shared over dinner one day.
I didn't pay much attention to it at the time, but this fall the American came back and was in urgent need of selling the boat. Apparently, he had bought a 50' steel sailboat, which he was renovating as a classic charter boat for the Caribbean. Understandably, two boats are too much, so he needed to sell, and preferably fast.
So there I was one Sunday morning, inspecting an over-rigged cutter which was hidden under winter covers. She was a mess, not in the structural sense, but in the sense of all the stuff which had accumulated from an Atlantic crossing and an Iceland cruise. Apart from that, she was beautiful.
24 hours later, I was the proud owner of Grace. |
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| Grace! |
[Aug. 20th, 2007|01:58 pm] |
Really quick update, since I'm very busy - partly because:
I just bought Grace, a 23 foot gaff-rigged, engineless Maxwell Cutter.
(Grace has an additional jib topsail).
It is a most seaworthy boat, the previous owner single-handed her across the Atlantic. Unfortunately (for him), he bought a new boat in the US and needed to sell. Fortunately (for me), I fell in love with the poor thing, and had to buy her.
She lies in Bergen, Norway.
Much more on Grace later. |
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| Ecuador |
[Aug. 12th, 2007|06:51 am] |
Puerto Lucia Yacht Club is a coastal resort with an adjacent boat yard, more than a yacht club per se. The yachts there are all transiting yachts, round-the-world junkies taking a last pit-stop before the long haul across the Pacific. A very pleasant crowd to be around, very relaxed and friendly people. Many are staying in the yard for months, up to half a year which is the legal maximum.
Personally I'd had enough of the yard after only 3 days. Since I'm leaving for four months, I got my boat hauled and gave the resident entrepreneur a list of things to fix on the boat (this'll be expensive I bet). There is something fundamentally wrong about sleeping in a boat on land. You can still hear the waves, but there is no motion. Very disturbing.
So I gave up on La Liberdad, the suburb of Salinas surrounding the marina, and took a taxi to Guayaquil, the largest city in Ecuador, and by far the busiest port. Turned out to be a fortunate decision.
Guayaquil is actually cool. I stayed at some obscure hostel called Dreamkapture, which was very nice and pleasant. Apparently run by a Canadian-Ecuadorian couple, which organize trips to Galapagos. It seems to be a favorite among backpackers, probably because of a favorable mention in their religious text (Lonely Planet - South America on a shoe-string). I met at least 5 backpackers/couples, and several of them had met each other before in some other country.
The city's pride is the Malecon 2000, an immence landscaping/rebuilding/clean-up project which rumours have cost more than any other South-American city has spent on anything. The end result is nice though, with a 2.5 km river promenade, and, much more impressive, the most adorable re-construction of the old town. This part of the city lies on a rise up to a light-house overlooking the river, and is filled with quaint small houses, painted in every color imaginable. Really nice. The best part is that the inhabitants seem to be the same people as when this was a slum 10 years ago, which kind of warms my socialist heart. In the middle of this most touristy part of town I got served dinner for $2...
I actually went shopping too, to save some money. Next to the refurbished area are the local markets, which are streets packed with small booths selling all kinds of goods. Much of it appears to be surplus goods from US stores - especially clothes and electronics. The sellers are really aggressive, especially towards gringos, but the deals are fantastic (compared to anything I'm used to). But what made if fun was the whole experience having 5 people competing for your attention so they can sell you a pair of pants (everyone wanted to sell me pants!). So I have new clothes, for a fraction of what I'd usually pay.
I'm already looking forward to returning. |
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| To Ecuador |
[Aug. 9th, 2007|04:20 am] |
I postponed this decision as long as possible, buying maps and guides heading both north and south from Panama. But the time had come when a man had to be a man, and make up his mind. According to the Bible, also known as World Cruising Routes:
About Panama to California:
Sailing directly from Panama to the west coast of North America is a difficult undertaking. An alternative approach preferred by many as the best way to reach California (...) is to first sail to Hawaii.
And then about Hawaii to California:
(...) Sailing a direct route from Hawaii to California is seldom possible due to the prevailing winds.
Thus the total distance Panama to California becomes around 7200 miles. You could almost get to New Zealand on that distance.
About Panama to Ecuador:
All passages southbound from Panama, along the west coast of South America, are very difficult because of the persistent southerly winds and the contrary Peru and Humbolt current.
So thus it was, that I one rainy morning set out from Las Perlas, with course 195 for Salinas, Ecuador. On my GPS the trip was scheduled for 680 miles. With decent conditions, I can average something over 6 knots (as was the case heading over the Caribbean), and the journey can be completed in little over 4 days. Monday to Friday. Easy.
Unfortunately, as I set out, there was hardly any wind. Somewhat disappointed I worked every trick I had with the sails (and some hours with the engine), and still only managed 80 miles on the first day. Ah well. The second day the wind picked up, and I managed 120, which gave a not too encouraging average of 4 knots for the first 48 hours. At this speed my journey suddenly looked like a six-and-a-half day trip. Monday to Sunday, still not too bad. That turned out to be the easy part.
I’d been relying on my auto-pilot rather than self-steering due to the somewhat shifty winds. Third day out the cooling system of my engine stopped circulating sea water. No engine, no electricity, no auto-pilot. To make it worse: No navigation lights at night (speaking of which, my mast-head light gave up first night out). However, I can still make the boat self-steer, so I headed on into the night. During the night, the wind shifted south, and by the time the sun came up I was at least 30 miles inland of my course, with the prospect of having to tack the rest of the way to Ecuador. Tacking, the remaining 400 miles suddenly looked more like 600 again. At 4 knots, with 200 miles extra, my trip suddenly looked like a near nine-day trip. Monday to Wednesday. Yikes.
Good news: The wind picked up! Bad news: The swell picked up too. With 6-10 foot waves hitting me, it is like driving a road with constant speed bumps, on a car with no breaks: Off the first wave, the boat speeds up to nearly 6 knots, jumps over the top of the second wave, and slams straight onto the third wave for a complete stop. Then over again. And again. Average speed for the exercise: 4.5 knots. At least the travel time was now reduced to around 8 days. Monday to Tuesday. If that is what it takes.
So about the local fishing practices. The way to catch fish in this area appears to be to tie a long line (several hundred meters) to some empty bottles, and hang lures from these lines. Then let them drift for some time (hours or overnight), and try to find them again. With any luck, no sailor has got caught up in them on the way. Being aware of this, I tried staying well off shore, however on the morning of the fourth day I happened to come within 60 miles of Columbia. This is still further out than I’d expected crazy locals to set out in their small dinghies to go fishing, but alas, no. In a matter of 15 minutes I’d run into, and got caught in, 5 lines. One of them got so stuck I had to take down all sails and get into the water to cut it lose. To top it, when I ran into the fishermen later in the day, they tried to sell me fish. I spent the rest of the day sailing away from land, seeing fishing lines as far out as nearly 100 miles.
A climax of the trip was the morning the eighth day, when I started my final tack: a monstrous 200 mile tack in to Salinas. It felt as if I was entering the home stretch, as indeed I was.
It is the rainy season out here, and although it didn’t rain much on me, I’d go for days without seeing the sun. However, it did appear on two occasions, with perfect timing: When I crossed the Colombia-Ecuador border, the sun shone on me for pretty much exactly five minutes as I crossed. Similarly, the day I crossed the equator, the sun appeared to salute the experience, showing itself for much of the day. If you look closely at the picture, you might even be able to see the equator:
The wildlife at sea is surprisingly varied. The dolphins on this side of the americas are amazing; while smaller than there Caribbean cousins, they are much more playful. They would frequently come up to the boat, and show of tricks. Like doing 360’s in the air, doing formation jumps with up to three dolphins, or having a high jump competition. The winner of the high jump competition jumped as high as my boom, and could probably have jumped clear over my boat if I took the sails down. Others, which did not make it across, are shown below:
 
In addition to these, I also saw a wild killer whale for the first time in my life. Actually, I saw about 20 or so whales on the trip, of at least three different species, although they rarely did anything more exciting than wave their tales and puff a little. Why people get all excited about these creatures is beyond me. I also saw a real shark, although it was too late in the evening to get a good visual beyond its fin. More spectacular was the swordfish jumping clear out of the water, obviously under the false impression that it was indeed a dolphin.
In the end, I arrived at Salinas, to the Puerto Lucia Yacht Club. Very nice facilities, moderately expensive, cheap but non-spectacular food, security on par with Guantanamo, and more than 24 hours to get through customs and immigration. As you can see from the picture, even after 8 days and 5 hours at sea, I’m not too exhausted to hoist the asymmetric as I see the skyline of Salinas.
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| Isla San Jose |
[Aug. 9th, 2007|04:18 am] |
Isla San Jose is the second largest island in the Las Perlas, and is privately owned too. This makes for a very large island with virtually no people, something I always like. As with many of these islands, even though there is no need for it, it is complete with roads, left over from US military activity. It is said that the owner even has a car on the island.
On the way to San Jose, I passed a bunch of those lovely small islands you can just imagine appearing in some TV series. Actually, this one did, being home for some Robinson Crusoe based concept (“Surviving” or perhaps “Survival”? I never pay attention to those things anyway).
San Jose itself definitely lived up to expectations. I anchored in what the chart promised was the biggest bay on the island, and the only sign of people was the owners private plane departing. Great stuff. The bay was surrounded by long beaches, and nice coves. The snorkeling was decent too, and there is always something special about swimming to a beach where there is no sign of human activity.
Except trash, that is. Panama really needs to do something about this. Every single beach is littered, probably as a result of the local fishing practices (more on that later), combined by global cargo shipping. It is a pity, as it implies that every beach is either to some extent spoiled by a resort or trash. |
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| Fishing, part II |
[Jul. 30th, 2007|04:09 am] |
A “I got fish” blog entry had to come, and here it is! All pictures:
The wrong sail combination for catching fish (note the asymmetric drifting over on the windward side of the boat to get out of the shadow of the main – perfect!):
The right sail combination for catching fish (note the asymmetric set flying far out on the leeward side of the boat this time, also to get out of the shadow of the main – nice):
Fish, also known as dinner. I have no idea what species. Doesn’t live in Norway, that’s for sure:
Auxillary fish, arriving with the main fish:
Food in pan:
Luxurious dinner (and as it happened, the last properly prepared meal in over a week). Note the can of Balboa, the best beer in Panama:
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| Isla Contadora |
[Jul. 28th, 2007|09:03 am] |
As my Spanish-speaking friends will tell you, Contadora means “teller” or “accountant”, and that was just the role of this islands, way north in the Las Perlas archipelago. In the old days, when pearls were exported from the island group en mass to Europe, they all got counted on this island before heading to the mainland.
Now the island is simply home to the rich and wealthy.
Las Perlas is amazing in that it has stunning natural beauty (more on that later when I get around to seeing more of the islands), yet virtually no development or tourist industry. Unlike the San Blas islands, this is not due to a protective tribe of Indians, but rather just luck. Thus it is everything you would like to think Hawaii was before it got ruined. The one exception though is Contadora, which has become the favorite island for people with more money than they can imagine what to do with. Rather than building huge hotels though, the island is a tour of crazy architecture, as each sheik (or whatever they are) tries to recreate in the real world the perversions that exist in their minds.
The island, small as it is, has a network of roads, but hardly any cars to speak of. Rather, people seem to coast around mostly in golf carts. This makes sense, as no distance on the island is more than half an hour’s walk, at most. This time of year, the low season, the island is sleepy and friendly, with mostly locals. I’ve already found a few nice restaurants where I can get a full meal and two beers for less than $5.
I figure I’ll stick around here one more day to do some boat work and see how the Friday night evolves (apparently the island gets swamped by rich Panamanians coming out for the weekend), and then head out to some of the many uninhabited islands in the archipelago. |
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| Pictures from the Pacific entrance to the Panama canal |
[Jul. 25th, 2007|01:21 am] |
Looking out on the holding area for cargo ships. In the background is Tabago.
Looking back at the canal entrance and the Bridge of the Americas. Balboa Yacht Club is on the right of the bridge, further to the right is Panama City.
Tacking through a minefield full of ships:
Sofus. Note my new hammock hanging in the fore-triangle.
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| Taboga |
[Jul. 24th, 2007|09:03 am] |
The little village on Taboga, a small island just an hour out from the canal, must be the prettiest village I have ever seen. Everywhere there was quaint little houses, and Jesus and/or Mary statues where everywhere: From in the creek to on the small shoals breaking in the harbor. Several small pleasant restaurants too, although unfortunately I had been fixing my boat to such a late hour that they were all closed by the time I got to look for dinner. |
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| Fishing |
[Jul. 24th, 2007|09:02 am] |
A few of my friends have had the questionable pleasure of fishing with me in Norway. Frequently this involves hours of fishing followed by no dinner. Here, in one of the worlds most renowned sports-fishing grounds, I expected this to change.
But no.
I saw a huge merlin jumping clear out of the water next to my boat, displaying its incredible shape, and not a single fish touched my lure for hours. Good thing the merlin didn’t bight though: Apparently you are not allowed to fish them. |
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| Panama City |
[Jul. 23rd, 2007|08:58 am] |
Things to do in Panama City (usually just referred to as Panama, much like New York):
- Walk along the Amador Causeway for a magnificent view of the city skyline.
- Pay $8 dollars for the short ride back to the boat.
- Buy extraordinary amounts of fruits at the market for virtually nothing.
- Take three busses for 35 cents each and still not get where I want to go.
- Buy a color printer (every boat needs one!?!).
- Take a long taxi ride back for only $2.
- Sneak into the nearby hotel pool for a late evening dip.
- Get lured into having a private driver for $8 an hour for 3 hours.
- Have the driver negotiate a $120 discount.
- Have the driver insist that half the discount is his.
- Sneak into the pool again.
- Enjoy the stunning night time view of the Bridge of Americas.
The only thing I regret is being too tired to go out and experience the legendary party scene Saturday night.
There is one thing to be said for sailboats: If you wait until everything is working, you will never get out of the marina. In that spirit, I left Panama with no anchor light, no navigation lights, no engine light, no foredeck light, steering wires in need of replacement, a self-steering sail with a tear in it, a leaking port-side port hole, worn down genoa cars, and a bilge pump in need of a bigger capacitance. However, I brought spare parts for most of what is broken, and things are slowly but steadily getting fixed day by day. By the time I get to Costa Rica I should be in good shape! |
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| The Panama Canal |
[Jul. 22nd, 2007|01:15 am] |
Crossing the Panama canal is something everyone down here describes as a truly special experience. However, this is where the unanimity ends, as the transit apparently can be anything from the worst part of a round-the-world journey to one of the great highlights.
I am happy to say, that being allowed to go through one of the main ores of modern trade, and a historic landmark in engineering and communication, was nothing short of breathtaking. There is only one brief sorrow, and that is that my camera got stage fright, and died as soon as it saw the first lock.
The locks themselves are huge, measuring 1000 foot in length, and more than 100 foot in width. At the time they were built, the Gatun Locks were the largest concrete structures in the world. We locked up as the only yacht together with with a cargo ship and a canal authority launch vessel. This is one of the best ways to lock up, since the launch vessel is in charge of keeping position in the lock, and the boat is essentially as if to a dock. This helps keeping everything steady during the turbulent filling of the locks, and relieves my line-handlers (who I don't want to trust with more than I have to) of any work. Three locks, and we were up.
We arrived at Gatun lake in complete darkness, and the canal authority adviser, who is on board to guide my boat, takes us to a mooring for the night. After he leaves, I serve up some sandwiches and beer, and my four non-english speaking line-handlers and I engage in some multi-lingual conversation. My developing Spanish got some sore needed practice, and I realized that a 2 year old could probably communicate more efficiently than me.
It is good to be outside of a marina again. The on board locals probably didn't understand my excitement, but they will one day if they buy their own boat to live on.
Gatun lake is awesome. When it was formed to supply the canal with a waterway, it was the largest anthropogenic lake in the world. Every small island on the lake used to be hilltops in a dense jungle, and as such still have a jungle wild-life, bearing names as Lion, Puma, Jaguar, and Monkey Islands. It is somehow surreal to be navigating so close to islands, and at the same time see a row of super-tankers racing by in the main channel.
As a small boat, we took two short-cuts: The Banana and Monkey cuts. The Banana channel short-cut was perhaps the highlight of the lake, as it was here we were closes on the islands, with dead trees which were just too far down the old hill slope still sticking out of the water. According to the adviser, the French originally built the railroad through the Monkey Cut, and for years an old train stood intact on the lake bottom in the cut, still on its tracks. I also got to see my first wild alligator - three of them as such.
At the end of the lake, the canal goes through a man made channel to the Pacific side locks. Here we had to wait for a few hours, so I ordered some take-away pizza for the boat. This amused everyone, as they probably considered it over the top extravagant. I still think $9 for a large pizza delivered is cheap, so I guess it worked out for everyone.
The Pacific side has two sets of locks, Pedro Miguel with one lock, and Miraflores with two locks. Somehow the canal authority must have mis-calculated the big ships, because they ended up sending us down the locks alone. Having these massive locks to one selves is almost more impressive than having a large shipping vessel hovering over you.
The Miraflores lock has a web-cam, as previously announced. My eager parents sat around their computers for hours, and caught these fantastic photos from the canal web-page.
(Note the four lines holding us in place.)
(I'm the one sitting in a red shirt relaxing. The adviser, across from me, looks like my oldest brother, but speaks better Spanish.)
In the end we arrived at the Pacific, with a scratch free transit. That alone might have been worth the fee of the agent. Going under the Bridge of the Americas, looking out toward the Pacific ocean, is an inspiring moment. |
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