Last month we talked about crew: finding them, convincing them to sail with you and then integrating them into your unique shipboard living situation. It’s a skipper's best kept secret that the tables turn once you are at sea. When still ashore, it is often the crew that is working to gain the skipper’s confidence. Now that you’ve moved onto the sea, it is the skipper that is working to keep your buoyant utopia running smoothly. Once you are out of sight of land, a clever skipper will focus on keeping the boat’s crew content if not cheery.
If you and your new crew are pairing up for a long journey, don't rush straight out to sea. The first part of your voyage should be leisurely. Start with a couple of coastal hops. Your crew may need time to adjust to the boat and life at sea and you should take some time to get to know them. In the rare case that you find that you are somehow incompatible, you still have the option of pulling in somewheres to lose a few pounds.
My first paid crew position was on a yacht sailing across the Pacific. The boat had a very accomplished, though young, skipper. I learned a lot on that boat. One thing that the skipper was not good at was priming the crew when approaching the dock. No matter how well my fellow crew and I would second-guess the situation, we would eventually get it wrong ... and name calling would ensue. When I found myself in the position of skipper (on my next yacht job), I had decided to handle things a little bit differently. When coming in to dock, when anchoring, when jibing or when doing any activity-intensive boat manipulation, I would have a little crew pow-wow. We would get together and I would go over how I envisioned the episode playing out along with a possible backup scenario, finishing up the meeting with the statement, "It may not go like that at all but I'll make sure you know what I'm thinking." It was how I wanted to be treated as crew.
Last month I mentioned the two things I look for in crew. I look for crew that gets along with everyone and crew that is not overly prone to getting seasick. I believe that seasickness can be caused by nervousness or fear. As skipper, it’s my job to make you feel safe. Your overall experience should involve a general sense of safety and wellbeing. This starts with your introduction to my vessel. I show crew around pointing out the location of both fun stuff and safety stuff with some procedure mixed in. I used to not sleep well when I first joined a boat. I would worry about the overall integrity of a vessel until after that first rough water experience aboard. Once I saw that the boat could withstand a little weather I would sleep like a baby. During my crew-to-boat introduction, I like to weave into the conversation a little story about the boat taking some bad weather in stride to indicate how sturdy she is.
The way the skipper handles problems can go a long way in keeping shipboard tension to a minimum. Instead of getting upset or excited when the unexpected occurs, I approach problems as a challenge or as a game that we can all band together to win. It is always good to keep everyone onboard involved in the boat’s progress toward its destination.
A good at-sea distraction for the crew is the points game. This game also helps to keep watches more fun and more effective. A point is awarded every time a ship is spotted, two points if you are off watch and the person on watch has not seen it. Pods of whales, sharks, turtles and other unusual marine life are each worth a point. No, no points for dolphins since you see them all the time. We award two points for the person who guesses closest to the time we’ll reach the half way point in miles. Another two points go to the crewmember that is closest to the arrival time at the destination. A point is awarded each day for the one who guesses closest to how many miles had been traveled in the last 24 hours. Did I mention water spout points?
Space onboard cruising boats can be scarce. One thing that can keep closely confined crew from going a little crazy is to provide them with a comfort zone. They need to have an area onboard that is their own. Sometimes, the only space a crewperson will have is their bunk. But it is theirs and it is not to be disturbed by anyone else aboard. Need to get some parts from under your crew's bunk? You ask them.
Your crew may not always be completely blissful but they should be as comfortable as possible. Inexperienced crew will come aboard without foulies. You will need to provide them. Even in the tropics, staying dry is paramount to comfort. Salt, my personal archnemesis, requires battling on all fronts. On boats where the helm is somewhat or totally exposed, the crew should be able to come in from watch, strip down to their fuzzy layers and be totally dry. I used to love that: battling it out with the elements for a few hours at the helm, pounding the boat into big seas, watching the tops of waves breaking off at the bow and come crashing back to wash over me in the cockpit. I would hand over my watch, remove my foulies, rinse the salt from my face, hands and feet and climb warm and dry into a cozy bunk, a tempest still raging outside.
I always give the watch person the best seat in the house. You want them to be comfortable and still have good visibility. I had a problem on Low Key. The best seat was on the high side of the cockpit, tucked under the dodger, in the big beanbag. It was comfy. The problem was that my crew would fall asleep. That setup may have been too comfortable. I’ll never forget the story Bob told me about his sleepy crew. After waking and warning the guy on two separate occasions, Bob found him asleep a third time. Bob unloaded a large handgun into the sea just a foot or two from the crewman’s head. The guy didn’t sleep on watch after that. Of course, he don't hear so well no more neither.
In the end, the way you treat your crew can make all the difference in how much they enjoy their voyage with you and your boat. And for you, happy crew means happy days at sea.
www.captainwoody.com
April 6, 2006
March 6, 2006
Crew - #72
There are chapters in every cruising manual about finding and caring for crew. In my own small sailing career I have had some experience with being crew as well as finding crew. I have been the lone crewmember on a boat and I have been on boats with many crew. I have learned valuable lessons on how to coexist with my fellow crewmembers on extended passages. As skipper, I have employed crew, had volunteer crew and even had crew pay to be aboard (the holy grail of crew scenarios). Over the years I have learned a couple things.
For most sailors their primary crew member is their better half. Even though it was always our dream to sail off into the sunset, it may not have always been theirs. For many a wanna-be cruiser the thing that is keeping them from getting out there is not money or time or even lack of a boat but simply how to get the one they love to want to also make their home the sea. Sometimes the partner of the wanna-be cruiser simply doesn't know how to sail or isn't "into" sailing. That fact doesn't have to be a cruise stopper. Introduce them to cruising.
Here's where it gets tricky for some and is where many an irreversible mistake has been made. Don't introduce your loved one to sailing by taking them, their first time, into a storm or out in a boat that hasn't been sailed in years. Either way they are going to come out of the experience with a bad impression, dashing your hopes of an amiable life together at sea. It seams like obvious advice, but I hear time and again some guy explaining to me that his wife won't go cruising because their first sail together was a nearly fatal rough water episode with lots of gear failure. Bad call ... or did the guy plan the whole thing? Just kidding.
Take her out on the bay in no wind or super light conditions on a boat that you have recently put many hours on. If this turns out to be horribly boring for you, consider entertaining yourself with the vision of you and the human you most care about cruising tanned and blissful 'tween tropical paradises. Your first sail together should leave your companion with the impression that sailing can be a simple, safe, friendly experience.
There will likely be a time, whether sailing with family or singlehanding that you will require extra crew or simply want the diversion of a new perspective. Extra crew means shorter or more spread out watches. In some cases crew can provide help with expenses. The first time I crossed the Pacific, I had only landed the crew position because they needed a fourth crewmember for insurance purposes. Boats need crew for all kinds of reasons.
Finding compatible crew is important. When hiring crew as a professional skipper, I didn’t care what your qualifications were. I preferred crew with less experience because within the skulls of virgin sailors lie less bad habits and corrupt knowledge that needs to be dredged out. No, there were only two things that were important to me: how you would get along with others onboard and whether or not you were prone to seasickness (what you looked like in a bikini would often bear some weight). When you are seasick, you are not only not helping but other crew resources must be spent in looking after you.
My crew screening process on Low Key was simple but effective. Because all of my potential crew was gleaned from the reader list of a certain seedy sailing rag, I knew that my crew would have that all important at-sea attribute, a sense of humor. Also, as a contributor to said rag, I didn’t run the risk of having crew that could claim that they didn’t know exactly what they were getting into. We were already like-minded.
I was only able to charge because of my undeserved status as a cruising icon amongst my seven fans. But I met boats that charged people and were able to eek out a meager living. They mostly hung around the touristy areas and posted flyers at hostels and charged per day, cruising the same area over and over.
With potential crew that I had not yet met or that did not come recommended by someone I knew, I wouldn’t commit to having them aboard for more than ten days. Well there was that one time I agreed to an ocean crossing but she and I had emailed back and forth for months before the trip and she talked a pretty good game. I took a risk. It didn‘t start out so well. She was very seasick for the first week. I would have put her ashore but she was very tough about her condition. I could see that she badly wanted to complete her first crossing.
I have been known to take “unstable” acquaintances on select deliveries but those were predictably crazy individuals. There are some people that are only ever truly focused, only ever at peace, when dropped in the middle of chaos. A livid sea can provide this kind of environment. These types are particularly valuable on rougher voyages. I find that day to day living, on the other hand, can be especially tedious when encumbered with this quality.
Something else to remember when getting to know your crew is to be very upfront with them. Your crew needs to know what to expect. Will they be paid or be paying? How long is the voyage likely to be? What kind of conditions could you encounter? What is expected of them in terms of watches and other duties? What is available to them for food? I always showed my new crew what I ate each day and encouraged them to go shopping if the fare didn't seam appealing to them.
I carried with me a crew contract that clearly stated the "No Drug" policy. It made it clear that crew could be put ashore for any reason. That being said, part of being a good skipper (and following the tenants of international law) requires that you not put someone ashore in a place where they might not fare well or are otherwise not expected by the hosting country. Low Key's crew contract went on to mention that sailing could be dangerous. It finished up with a release of liability ... for me.
There are many things to keep in mind when choosing crew. Only a few are listed here. Choosing the right crew for your cruise can go a long way in determining not only how much fun everyone has on the voyage but also how safe it is. Choose carefully.
Next time we'll cover what to do with crew once you get them and how to keep them happy.
www.captainwoody.com
For most sailors their primary crew member is their better half. Even though it was always our dream to sail off into the sunset, it may not have always been theirs. For many a wanna-be cruiser the thing that is keeping them from getting out there is not money or time or even lack of a boat but simply how to get the one they love to want to also make their home the sea. Sometimes the partner of the wanna-be cruiser simply doesn't know how to sail or isn't "into" sailing. That fact doesn't have to be a cruise stopper. Introduce them to cruising.
Here's where it gets tricky for some and is where many an irreversible mistake has been made. Don't introduce your loved one to sailing by taking them, their first time, into a storm or out in a boat that hasn't been sailed in years. Either way they are going to come out of the experience with a bad impression, dashing your hopes of an amiable life together at sea. It seams like obvious advice, but I hear time and again some guy explaining to me that his wife won't go cruising because their first sail together was a nearly fatal rough water episode with lots of gear failure. Bad call ... or did the guy plan the whole thing? Just kidding.
Take her out on the bay in no wind or super light conditions on a boat that you have recently put many hours on. If this turns out to be horribly boring for you, consider entertaining yourself with the vision of you and the human you most care about cruising tanned and blissful 'tween tropical paradises. Your first sail together should leave your companion with the impression that sailing can be a simple, safe, friendly experience.
There will likely be a time, whether sailing with family or singlehanding that you will require extra crew or simply want the diversion of a new perspective. Extra crew means shorter or more spread out watches. In some cases crew can provide help with expenses. The first time I crossed the Pacific, I had only landed the crew position because they needed a fourth crewmember for insurance purposes. Boats need crew for all kinds of reasons.
Finding compatible crew is important. When hiring crew as a professional skipper, I didn’t care what your qualifications were. I preferred crew with less experience because within the skulls of virgin sailors lie less bad habits and corrupt knowledge that needs to be dredged out. No, there were only two things that were important to me: how you would get along with others onboard and whether or not you were prone to seasickness (what you looked like in a bikini would often bear some weight). When you are seasick, you are not only not helping but other crew resources must be spent in looking after you.
My crew screening process on Low Key was simple but effective. Because all of my potential crew was gleaned from the reader list of a certain seedy sailing rag, I knew that my crew would have that all important at-sea attribute, a sense of humor. Also, as a contributor to said rag, I didn’t run the risk of having crew that could claim that they didn’t know exactly what they were getting into. We were already like-minded.
I was only able to charge because of my undeserved status as a cruising icon amongst my seven fans. But I met boats that charged people and were able to eek out a meager living. They mostly hung around the touristy areas and posted flyers at hostels and charged per day, cruising the same area over and over.
With potential crew that I had not yet met or that did not come recommended by someone I knew, I wouldn’t commit to having them aboard for more than ten days. Well there was that one time I agreed to an ocean crossing but she and I had emailed back and forth for months before the trip and she talked a pretty good game. I took a risk. It didn‘t start out so well. She was very seasick for the first week. I would have put her ashore but she was very tough about her condition. I could see that she badly wanted to complete her first crossing.
I have been known to take “unstable” acquaintances on select deliveries but those were predictably crazy individuals. There are some people that are only ever truly focused, only ever at peace, when dropped in the middle of chaos. A livid sea can provide this kind of environment. These types are particularly valuable on rougher voyages. I find that day to day living, on the other hand, can be especially tedious when encumbered with this quality.
Something else to remember when getting to know your crew is to be very upfront with them. Your crew needs to know what to expect. Will they be paid or be paying? How long is the voyage likely to be? What kind of conditions could you encounter? What is expected of them in terms of watches and other duties? What is available to them for food? I always showed my new crew what I ate each day and encouraged them to go shopping if the fare didn't seam appealing to them.
I carried with me a crew contract that clearly stated the "No Drug" policy. It made it clear that crew could be put ashore for any reason. That being said, part of being a good skipper (and following the tenants of international law) requires that you not put someone ashore in a place where they might not fare well or are otherwise not expected by the hosting country. Low Key's crew contract went on to mention that sailing could be dangerous. It finished up with a release of liability ... for me.
There are many things to keep in mind when choosing crew. Only a few are listed here. Choosing the right crew for your cruise can go a long way in determining not only how much fun everyone has on the voyage but also how safe it is. Choose carefully.
Next time we'll cover what to do with crew once you get them and how to keep them happy.
www.captainwoody.com
February 6, 2006
Gear Check - #71
It's time, once again to cover some of the gear that I found indispensable on my last cruise. As you likely know, my adventure was decidedly low end and so what I lacked in funds I had to make up for in creativity.
We all need a way to get up the mast and we would like to be able to do it singlehanded. I have recently arrived home from a boatshow where I saw two of the new systems. One was a long length of looped strapping that, once fed into the mainsail mast track, was hoisted to the top. It allows you to climb the mast like a ladder. The other system has you climbing the halyard or any other line using mountain climbing gear. It uses the power of your legs to conquer the mast. My personal rig is not very original but it is low cost. I remove the set of blocks from my boomvang and attach a very long length of line. The blocks allow four to one purchase. With a forty foot mast I need more than a hundred and sixty feet of line. I attach one block to my boson’s chair and hoist the other to the top of the mast. Pulling hand over hand; I go up. To secure it, I pull the line into a cam cleat and for extra safety, tie off the end to the purchase. If I won’t be needing the vang right away I lower the whole rig into a plastic crate, chair and all. From there it pays out easily. A disadvantage is that, even when rigged carefully I cannot stand and view over the top of the mast.
When crossing oceans in the cockpit of a boat we are exposed to the sun. The morning’s routine application of sunblock is important. Just as important is having a comprehensive shade management program. One of the things that I found useful both at sea and on land was a lifeguard hat. For those who haven't seen one, it is a hat made from straw that starts out on top like a cowboy hat and finishes with a wide brim that curves down slightly to the outside. The brim is big enough so that it covers your neck and some of your shoulders as well as your face. The lifeguard hat comes with a shoelace chin strap and sells for about 10 bucks out West.
Offering up a form of entertainment when invited to a sundowner is almost always appreciated. Some bring in musical instruments, others come equipped with their fire making skills. When I felt the occasion called for it, I would arrive with Bocce. You've probably seen the game in some form. It is a little like lawn bowling. Where I'm from, the game is best enjoyed in its free range form, on the open beach. Integrating turf into the challenges of Bocce enhances the game.
It seems like a simple thing but for those of us without mainsails that furl or self stack, your choice of sail ties is important. I've tried all different kinds. I prefer the nylon ones with the loop in the end. You can make these yourself. If you have different lengths you can use different colors to remind you where each tie goes. I keep them the same length and color. Before sewing up the loop, be sure to give the end a twist so that the loop tends to stay open. To secure the sail, lob the tie over the main and pull the end through the loop. Don't go too tight, it’s hard on the sail. Finish with a simple bow knot. When you go to raise the sail, pull the end of the tie to undo the bow and then pull on the loop and the tie comes free.
I made my own lifelines. I used the 316 stainless wire which is not quite as strong but it stays shinier while keeping the rust away longer. I stayed away from the wire that had the plastic cover. I was never comfortable not knowing where I was getting rust or other kinds of deterioration. Stainless needs oxygen (an argument against rigging tape too). I crimped my own ends using one of those kewl (and cheap) bolt operated hand swaging tools, some stainless thimbles and some copper oval sleeves. You get everything lined up and then tighten down the bolts; a perfect crimp every time. I put three crimps in each sleeve just to be sure. Instead of those dumb pelican hooks which can open at any time sending you overboard; I used line and lashed the eyes to the stern pulpit catches. Having a long length of wire onboard with my crimping set up would have enabled me to make a spare shroud or stay at sea if the need arose.
In our haste to depart I ignored all that wiring coming out of the bottom of the mast. Originally, Low Key had in mast wiring for tri-color, anchor, steaming and spreader lights. I left with running lights at deck level. You are allowed to rig an anchor light in the foretriangle so the only time a law was broken was when I would motor at night without a steaming light. Sue me. While holding over for cyclone season in Australia I stripped most of the wires out of the mast, removing much weight aloft. I left the wiring for the steaming light, tag lines for the masthead wiring and added wiring for a spreader high VHF antenna.
Also removed from the mast were the wind instrument wires. I was never a big fan of gauges. Do I really need to have a gauge to tell me that it's windy? I did however, need to know the apparent wind angle to make the most of my sail trim. For this I set up one of those cheerfully simple and infallible wind indicators atop the mast. Look up and see which way the wind is blowing. At night, a quick flick of a weak flashlight would light up the reflectors on the high flying arrow. The wind indicator’s only lethal enemy was a very heavy footed bird. In my trip around I was spared a fatal blow.
Most boats have them. The flexible plastic, almost rubber, winch handle holder. I had one in the cockpit and one on the mast. These useful pockets also just happen to be the perfect size to hold a coldy. And while we are on subject of drink holders I would like to mention my own product, wrought from years of demanding research and development, the Winch Wench. It is simply, a beverage/small gear holder that fits into the winch handle recess that you’ll find at the top of most every winch. You can get them at our Ship’s Store. Order yours today so that I can get back to sea already!!
www.captainwoody.com
We all need a way to get up the mast and we would like to be able to do it singlehanded. I have recently arrived home from a boatshow where I saw two of the new systems. One was a long length of looped strapping that, once fed into the mainsail mast track, was hoisted to the top. It allows you to climb the mast like a ladder. The other system has you climbing the halyard or any other line using mountain climbing gear. It uses the power of your legs to conquer the mast. My personal rig is not very original but it is low cost. I remove the set of blocks from my boomvang and attach a very long length of line. The blocks allow four to one purchase. With a forty foot mast I need more than a hundred and sixty feet of line. I attach one block to my boson’s chair and hoist the other to the top of the mast. Pulling hand over hand; I go up. To secure it, I pull the line into a cam cleat and for extra safety, tie off the end to the purchase. If I won’t be needing the vang right away I lower the whole rig into a plastic crate, chair and all. From there it pays out easily. A disadvantage is that, even when rigged carefully I cannot stand and view over the top of the mast.
When crossing oceans in the cockpit of a boat we are exposed to the sun. The morning’s routine application of sunblock is important. Just as important is having a comprehensive shade management program. One of the things that I found useful both at sea and on land was a lifeguard hat. For those who haven't seen one, it is a hat made from straw that starts out on top like a cowboy hat and finishes with a wide brim that curves down slightly to the outside. The brim is big enough so that it covers your neck and some of your shoulders as well as your face. The lifeguard hat comes with a shoelace chin strap and sells for about 10 bucks out West.
Offering up a form of entertainment when invited to a sundowner is almost always appreciated. Some bring in musical instruments, others come equipped with their fire making skills. When I felt the occasion called for it, I would arrive with Bocce. You've probably seen the game in some form. It is a little like lawn bowling. Where I'm from, the game is best enjoyed in its free range form, on the open beach. Integrating turf into the challenges of Bocce enhances the game.
It seems like a simple thing but for those of us without mainsails that furl or self stack, your choice of sail ties is important. I've tried all different kinds. I prefer the nylon ones with the loop in the end. You can make these yourself. If you have different lengths you can use different colors to remind you where each tie goes. I keep them the same length and color. Before sewing up the loop, be sure to give the end a twist so that the loop tends to stay open. To secure the sail, lob the tie over the main and pull the end through the loop. Don't go too tight, it’s hard on the sail. Finish with a simple bow knot. When you go to raise the sail, pull the end of the tie to undo the bow and then pull on the loop and the tie comes free.
I made my own lifelines. I used the 316 stainless wire which is not quite as strong but it stays shinier while keeping the rust away longer. I stayed away from the wire that had the plastic cover. I was never comfortable not knowing where I was getting rust or other kinds of deterioration. Stainless needs oxygen (an argument against rigging tape too). I crimped my own ends using one of those kewl (and cheap) bolt operated hand swaging tools, some stainless thimbles and some copper oval sleeves. You get everything lined up and then tighten down the bolts; a perfect crimp every time. I put three crimps in each sleeve just to be sure. Instead of those dumb pelican hooks which can open at any time sending you overboard; I used line and lashed the eyes to the stern pulpit catches. Having a long length of wire onboard with my crimping set up would have enabled me to make a spare shroud or stay at sea if the need arose.
In our haste to depart I ignored all that wiring coming out of the bottom of the mast. Originally, Low Key had in mast wiring for tri-color, anchor, steaming and spreader lights. I left with running lights at deck level. You are allowed to rig an anchor light in the foretriangle so the only time a law was broken was when I would motor at night without a steaming light. Sue me. While holding over for cyclone season in Australia I stripped most of the wires out of the mast, removing much weight aloft. I left the wiring for the steaming light, tag lines for the masthead wiring and added wiring for a spreader high VHF antenna.
Also removed from the mast were the wind instrument wires. I was never a big fan of gauges. Do I really need to have a gauge to tell me that it's windy? I did however, need to know the apparent wind angle to make the most of my sail trim. For this I set up one of those cheerfully simple and infallible wind indicators atop the mast. Look up and see which way the wind is blowing. At night, a quick flick of a weak flashlight would light up the reflectors on the high flying arrow. The wind indicator’s only lethal enemy was a very heavy footed bird. In my trip around I was spared a fatal blow.
Most boats have them. The flexible plastic, almost rubber, winch handle holder. I had one in the cockpit and one on the mast. These useful pockets also just happen to be the perfect size to hold a coldy. And while we are on subject of drink holders I would like to mention my own product, wrought from years of demanding research and development, the Winch Wench. It is simply, a beverage/small gear holder that fits into the winch handle recess that you’ll find at the top of most every winch. You can get them at our Ship’s Store. Order yours today so that I can get back to sea already!!
www.captainwoody.com
May 10, 2005
Circumnavigating Low Key Pix
Low Key's route around the world.
A calm day off Baja CA. A shot from up the mast of Low Key.
A dance exhibition for the locals on the little Marquesan Island of Nuka Hiva.
Second mainsail blew up. Landfall just ahead - beautiful Rangiroa.
Playing with the rays on Moorea.
Repairs at sea.
A Low Key sunset ;) off Bora Bora
Hanging out with Rick, our wonderful host and friend to cruisers at Bloody Marys Bora Bora.
Reef snorkelling anyone?
Typical Chinese fishing boat you'll find in the middle of oceans everywhere. No radar, no answer on the vhf, no one on watch. Keep an eye out.
Stocking up for our venture to the outer islands of the Yasawas, off Fiji.
Joanie, Keith and I with some friendly villagers.
The view from inside Low Key parked in the "International Anchorage" in Sydney Harbor, Australia.
My hero. Ken demonstrated to me how to brew beer aboard. This was his set up which took up a whole hull on his catamaran.
Being the right thing to do I offered these sailors a side tie in Sydney Harbor.
Sunset while anchored in Bundaberg, Oz.
My #2 headsail. It was a tough smaller headsail that I didn't have to worry about. I could sail like this up to about 30 knots. Much over that and we went bare pole.
Nice beaches there on the Barrier Reef. This was Whitehaven Beach off Arlie in Oz.
One of my favorite spots - Cocos Keeling in the Indian Ocean.
Chillin' on the beach in Cape Town.
Back at sea in the South Atlantic. It was chilly at first.
Brazilian Beach in Recife. We got a couple chairs, an umbrella and 6 or 8 large beers for 5$.
Carnival in Trinidad. Lucky timing. We watched large trucks with live bands and speaker stacks drive past for hours. Each truck was followed by their own large group dressed in team colors.
Cartegena was a great stop.
The canal was spectacular as always.
Engine out repairs at anchor in Playas del Coco, Costa Rica.
One of our Mex stops (Low Key and I) Zihuatenejo.
Bashing up Baja. We didn't stop. No sense in getting comfortable. Got home in time for the Tonga Share the Sail.
My first stop after Customs - Two Harbors Catalina
Back in King Harbor again. My friends came out to welcome me home.
July 11, 2003
July 10, 2003
Tahitian Dancing
Dance teams come from all over French Polynesia to compete every four years. We were lucky to catch them.
March 6, 1999
Macked II - Puerto Rico to Houston - #70
Last month I started the tale of one of my more eventful boat deliveries. You want to hear the second half? OK then. To recap, my friend Scott and I were helping to deliver a 65’ sailing ketch from Puerto Rico to Texas, under Cuba. Mack, our skipper was an old sailor from the big wars nearing the end of his career. Our fourth for the trip was a young socal kid who earned the name Foolio. During the first half of the trip we had endured the news that we would be at sea for weeks without beer, survived a very near miss with a large ship and barely escaped sinking our boat on a treacherous Cayman reef.
We were on our way home. We had departed our halfway point, the Cayman Islands and were headed west along the bottom of Cuba. On one particularly rolly night I was coming off watch and found Mack getting some shut-eye with his lee cloth down (no it's not that, it's the canvas tarp that keeps sailors in their bunks). It was just a matter of time. I asked if I could put it up for him. He refused. Later I was awoken by Foolio to have a look at Mack. ‘What for?’ I wondered. Mack had taken a major hit. He had rolled out of his bunk and hit his eye socket on the foot bar. It didn’t look so good. We cleaned him up. I took it as a compliment that he trusted me to redress his lacerations each day.
And then we made the turn north around the west end of Cuba and sailed into the Gulf of Mexico. The weather started getting rough, the tiny ship was toss ... wait a minute, that's a different story. In this story the weather started getting rough and we sailed on through the night because we didn't know any better. We didn't have great weather info onboard. The only weather info we were getting was reports from passing traffic, which was a rare occurrence. 'They' say that what you don't know won't hurt you. I don't suspect that 'they' were on a boat at sea in the Gulf in the middle of hurricane season.
We didn't first hear about our Hurricane until it was too late. We were a day out of Galveston with the hurricane reportedly behind us and coming our way. We were in the hurricane’s bad quarter which is normally bad news. The bad quarter is where the winds are the worst but in our situation, the winds on the bad side were winds that were pushing us toward port. You never want to enter a port in a hurricane but Galveston was a big port and with the way our trip was going, I wasn't all that fired up about remaining offshore to do battle. Not that it was my choice anyway. Our ex-navy, power boating, half blind skipper decided we would press on.
There is another interesting thing about the approach to Galveston. For the last hundred miles the water is infested with giant oil platforms, each surrounded by webs of anchor cables. The nearby hurricane was making things squally. In thick rain you couldn't see anything. Even the radar couldn't see through the thickest rain. With four nervous and thereby very attentive crew members, we successfully (with some luck) navigated the giant mine field.
Just as we closed with the coast we heard the news that our hurricane was turning away, leaving us with a ton of wind aft and thirty foot swells pushing our big boat in. After doing battle with oil rigs, a hurricane, sleep deprivation and sobriety, we finally made it into the relative safety of the bay. We motored up the waterway and arrived at our boat’s new home, The Houston Yacht Club. The owner of the boat had arranged for us to “make ourselves at home” at the club. After some quick showers we partook of some fine dining ... and some catch up drinking.
This last part of the story is not really sailing related except that it demonstrates that to refuse a sailor his rations for weeks at sea and then cut him loose in Texas may not be such a good idea. After the yacht club closed up for the night and kicked us out, Foolio and I got dropped off at a local dive, a ways up the highway. I stumbled out of the dive a couple of hours later. I decided I’d walk home. Walking got boring after a while and so I decided I’d hitch hike. Apparently hitch hiking is illegal in Texas ... when you’re inebriated.
Once in jail I decided that I needed to call the boys to let them know that I would not be coming home ... 'til Monday. To do this, I would need to get the guards attention. I didn’t have a cup to ring across the bars so I did the next best thing. I whistled some of my favorite ballads. I was halfway through a rousing rendition of Brown Sugar and getting no response from my captures when I heard a loud low voice rolling out from a cell down at the end of our block. My new friend was announcing, in fairly rough and certain terms, his displeasure with my late night musical presentation. I had a sudden concern that silence from me would have indicated willingness to become someone’s bitch so I countered with equal resonance and foul tongue, a strong suggestion that my new friend keep to himself.
Bubba was having a bad night. I would later find out that he spent a lot of time in the La Porte County Jail for various drunken/violence related crimes. But I didn’t know this at the time. Bubba caught my eye as he came charging out of his cell. Like the large ship that we almost collided with in our previous episode, Bubba’s form grew to gargantuan proportions as he closed on my position. I never looked him in the eye. I never even turned to face him. I just dug in.
When we were kids, the guys who knew used to tell us that you had two choices when you found yourself in a to-late-to-talk-your-way-out-of-it fight situation. You could turn and run or you could make that first punch count. I was always too dumb to take the first option. In this case, I didn’t have the luxury of a choice. I planted my right foot and started motions to lean into that all important first swing. For a second I almost felt bad for the big guy. He’d never see it coming. It didn’t happen though. Out of nowhere came a guard who stepped between us, just in time and turned Bubba back. And I got my phone call.
www.captainwoody.com
We were on our way home. We had departed our halfway point, the Cayman Islands and were headed west along the bottom of Cuba. On one particularly rolly night I was coming off watch and found Mack getting some shut-eye with his lee cloth down (no it's not that, it's the canvas tarp that keeps sailors in their bunks). It was just a matter of time. I asked if I could put it up for him. He refused. Later I was awoken by Foolio to have a look at Mack. ‘What for?’ I wondered. Mack had taken a major hit. He had rolled out of his bunk and hit his eye socket on the foot bar. It didn’t look so good. We cleaned him up. I took it as a compliment that he trusted me to redress his lacerations each day.
And then we made the turn north around the west end of Cuba and sailed into the Gulf of Mexico. The weather started getting rough, the tiny ship was toss ... wait a minute, that's a different story. In this story the weather started getting rough and we sailed on through the night because we didn't know any better. We didn't have great weather info onboard. The only weather info we were getting was reports from passing traffic, which was a rare occurrence. 'They' say that what you don't know won't hurt you. I don't suspect that 'they' were on a boat at sea in the Gulf in the middle of hurricane season.
We didn't first hear about our Hurricane until it was too late. We were a day out of Galveston with the hurricane reportedly behind us and coming our way. We were in the hurricane’s bad quarter which is normally bad news. The bad quarter is where the winds are the worst but in our situation, the winds on the bad side were winds that were pushing us toward port. You never want to enter a port in a hurricane but Galveston was a big port and with the way our trip was going, I wasn't all that fired up about remaining offshore to do battle. Not that it was my choice anyway. Our ex-navy, power boating, half blind skipper decided we would press on.
There is another interesting thing about the approach to Galveston. For the last hundred miles the water is infested with giant oil platforms, each surrounded by webs of anchor cables. The nearby hurricane was making things squally. In thick rain you couldn't see anything. Even the radar couldn't see through the thickest rain. With four nervous and thereby very attentive crew members, we successfully (with some luck) navigated the giant mine field.
Just as we closed with the coast we heard the news that our hurricane was turning away, leaving us with a ton of wind aft and thirty foot swells pushing our big boat in. After doing battle with oil rigs, a hurricane, sleep deprivation and sobriety, we finally made it into the relative safety of the bay. We motored up the waterway and arrived at our boat’s new home, The Houston Yacht Club. The owner of the boat had arranged for us to “make ourselves at home” at the club. After some quick showers we partook of some fine dining ... and some catch up drinking.
This last part of the story is not really sailing related except that it demonstrates that to refuse a sailor his rations for weeks at sea and then cut him loose in Texas may not be such a good idea. After the yacht club closed up for the night and kicked us out, Foolio and I got dropped off at a local dive, a ways up the highway. I stumbled out of the dive a couple of hours later. I decided I’d walk home. Walking got boring after a while and so I decided I’d hitch hike. Apparently hitch hiking is illegal in Texas ... when you’re inebriated.
Once in jail I decided that I needed to call the boys to let them know that I would not be coming home ... 'til Monday. To do this, I would need to get the guards attention. I didn’t have a cup to ring across the bars so I did the next best thing. I whistled some of my favorite ballads. I was halfway through a rousing rendition of Brown Sugar and getting no response from my captures when I heard a loud low voice rolling out from a cell down at the end of our block. My new friend was announcing, in fairly rough and certain terms, his displeasure with my late night musical presentation. I had a sudden concern that silence from me would have indicated willingness to become someone’s bitch so I countered with equal resonance and foul tongue, a strong suggestion that my new friend keep to himself.
Bubba was having a bad night. I would later find out that he spent a lot of time in the La Porte County Jail for various drunken/violence related crimes. But I didn’t know this at the time. Bubba caught my eye as he came charging out of his cell. Like the large ship that we almost collided with in our previous episode, Bubba’s form grew to gargantuan proportions as he closed on my position. I never looked him in the eye. I never even turned to face him. I just dug in.
When we were kids, the guys who knew used to tell us that you had two choices when you found yourself in a to-late-to-talk-your-way-out-of-it fight situation. You could turn and run or you could make that first punch count. I was always too dumb to take the first option. In this case, I didn’t have the luxury of a choice. I planted my right foot and started motions to lean into that all important first swing. For a second I almost felt bad for the big guy. He’d never see it coming. It didn’t happen though. Out of nowhere came a guard who stepped between us, just in time and turned Bubba back. And I got my phone call.
www.captainwoody.com
February 5, 1999
Macked - Puerto Rico to Houston - #69
The statute of limitations has run out on this one. Out of respect for a kind, older, fellow delivery skipper, I have never put to keyboard events that occurred during an epic voyage that I survived back in the late '90's. For the benefit of my currently cruising friends and future cruisers everywhere, I will endeavor to tell these tales from which I hope, we can all learn. The ex-Navy skipper, whom we'll call Mack, had class, he had cool, but he had lost his edge.
A friend of the magazine had contacted Bob about helping to save his boat. The vessel in question was a 65' club-footed stays'l ketch-rigged Formosa. Blah, blah, blah; it was a big, good-lookin’, two-masted boat. The ketch had been used for chartering way back when and had more recently been run onto a beach (on purpose, another great story) during a hurricane. The boat was repaired and dragged off and was lying in Puerto Rico, in not too bad a shape. The owner and Bob had worked out some preliminary details of how to get the boat back into charter, with the two of them as partners. Bob sent me down to help deliver the boat back to the US for a refit, Houston to be specific. I packed up my stuff and my good friend Scott and we got on a plane.
I wasn't to be the skipper on this trip. I was being sent to check out the boat and I suspect, to keep an eye on Bob's soon to be investment. This was the last time I would agree to participate in any extended voyage as a lowly crewmember. Did I mention that it was peak hurricane season? It’s one thing to throw yourself in front of a train, it’s another thing to let someone else do it.
Our fourth for this expedition was a surfer kid from Newport Beach, CA whom we would later nickname Foolio (say fool-leo). Scott and I loaded our gear and helped to put on the provisions. I didn't see it go onboard and so I asked about it, "Have you guys loaded the beer yet or do you want Scott and I to go pick it up?" You could hear a cotter key drop. The skipper frowned while Foolio explained that under no circumstances was there to be alcohol of any kind onboard. My first thought was, ‘Isn’t that back luck?’. Not afraid to try something new, I decided to go along with the bizarre concept. Scott wept.
The voyage turned out to be an epic sea story from start to finish that, unfortunately, I don‘t have the space to detail in its entirety. I’ve room for just a few of the highlights. And so ... We were a few days out. I came up before my noon watch with a bowl of cereal and joined Scott in the big pilothouse. Something was up, I could just tell. I asked Scott what was going on. "It's a Mack watch," Scott answered. We had found that our aging skipper was partial to napping ... on his watch. Scott had previously coined the phrase 'Mack watch' and we had conspired to overlap different parts of his watches to make sure that we didn‘t hit anything big. This was made difficult by the fact that Mack had insisted we leave the covers on the pilothouse windows to ensure that we kept our watches out on deck. Scott continued with, "And that's not all."
I went out to have a look around and discovered a large ship on the bow. It was closing fast. Have you ever seen a large ship coming straight at you? It looks like a giant square ... that is doubling in size every few seconds. "What do you wanna do?" Scott asked.
"20 degrees to Starboard," I ordered. Scott turned the little autopilot dial. Ten seconds later I followed with, "20 degrees to Port." Scott hesitated and gave me the big eyed 'are you serious?' look. He must have thought it was too soon. I repeated the command. Scott turned the knob back to where it was. This was gonna be close.
Mack awoke with a jump as the bow wave from the ship slammed into us. I thought he was going to have a heart attack when he looked to port and saw the ship careening by, 50 yards off, at 20 knots. Mack tried to compose himself as he fumbled his way into the pilothouse. As his eyes adjusted to the dimmer lighting below he found Scott pretending to be asleep and me eating my cereal. To save him the indignity of a foiled explanation, I offered, "I'm up in five, Mack. You want I should take over now?"
It was a few days later. It was a black moonless night and we were all excited about making landfall the next morning at our halfway point, the Cayman Islands (and I was in dire need of a coldy). We were on the course set by our skipper and sailing along nicely. Things didn't look right though. I conferred with Scott and he agreed. I went down and had a look at the chart and then I had a second look, just to be sure. I came back up to the pilothouse where everyone was hanging out and talking about hamburgers and Cayman Island babes and stuff. "Hey Mack," I started, "how about double checking the next waypoint for me." But that didn't go over well at all.
"The waypoint's right Woody." Mack had had enough of, well ... me trying to survive the trip. "Scott," I said, "why don't you and Foolio go down and whip up a lil sumpin to eat?" Foolio didn't get it but Scott did and took the kid below. I looked Mack in the eye and did my best to conjure up an air of Navy respect for procedure. "Mack, I am officially going on record in declaring that we are about to run aground. I am asking you again to please go down and check the chart." Mack slipped below. The seconds ticked by as I watched the ground come up on the depth sounder. At about 40 feet he reappeared, head hung low, and gave me the nod to change course. You see, Mack's waypoint was right on. It was right in the center of the entrance to the bay that we wanted to anchor in. The problem was that the bay was on the other side of the island.
The sun rose as we pulled into the bay and anchored up safe and sound in the beautiful waters of Gran Cayman, the halfway point of our precarious voyage. Tune in next month when, if I can't think of anything else to write about, I’ll tell you about the fun half of the trip on which we encounter my first hurricane, our skipper nearly loses his left eye, and I lock horns with 280 pound Bubba, a fellow inmate of Texas’ La Porte County jail.
www.captainwoody.com
A friend of the magazine had contacted Bob about helping to save his boat. The vessel in question was a 65' club-footed stays'l ketch-rigged Formosa. Blah, blah, blah; it was a big, good-lookin’, two-masted boat. The ketch had been used for chartering way back when and had more recently been run onto a beach (on purpose, another great story) during a hurricane. The boat was repaired and dragged off and was lying in Puerto Rico, in not too bad a shape. The owner and Bob had worked out some preliminary details of how to get the boat back into charter, with the two of them as partners. Bob sent me down to help deliver the boat back to the US for a refit, Houston to be specific. I packed up my stuff and my good friend Scott and we got on a plane.
I wasn't to be the skipper on this trip. I was being sent to check out the boat and I suspect, to keep an eye on Bob's soon to be investment. This was the last time I would agree to participate in any extended voyage as a lowly crewmember. Did I mention that it was peak hurricane season? It’s one thing to throw yourself in front of a train, it’s another thing to let someone else do it.
Our fourth for this expedition was a surfer kid from Newport Beach, CA whom we would later nickname Foolio (say fool-leo). Scott and I loaded our gear and helped to put on the provisions. I didn't see it go onboard and so I asked about it, "Have you guys loaded the beer yet or do you want Scott and I to go pick it up?" You could hear a cotter key drop. The skipper frowned while Foolio explained that under no circumstances was there to be alcohol of any kind onboard. My first thought was, ‘Isn’t that back luck?’. Not afraid to try something new, I decided to go along with the bizarre concept. Scott wept.
The voyage turned out to be an epic sea story from start to finish that, unfortunately, I don‘t have the space to detail in its entirety. I’ve room for just a few of the highlights. And so ... We were a few days out. I came up before my noon watch with a bowl of cereal and joined Scott in the big pilothouse. Something was up, I could just tell. I asked Scott what was going on. "It's a Mack watch," Scott answered. We had found that our aging skipper was partial to napping ... on his watch. Scott had previously coined the phrase 'Mack watch' and we had conspired to overlap different parts of his watches to make sure that we didn‘t hit anything big. This was made difficult by the fact that Mack had insisted we leave the covers on the pilothouse windows to ensure that we kept our watches out on deck. Scott continued with, "And that's not all."
I went out to have a look around and discovered a large ship on the bow. It was closing fast. Have you ever seen a large ship coming straight at you? It looks like a giant square ... that is doubling in size every few seconds. "What do you wanna do?" Scott asked.
"20 degrees to Starboard," I ordered. Scott turned the little autopilot dial. Ten seconds later I followed with, "20 degrees to Port." Scott hesitated and gave me the big eyed 'are you serious?' look. He must have thought it was too soon. I repeated the command. Scott turned the knob back to where it was. This was gonna be close.
Mack awoke with a jump as the bow wave from the ship slammed into us. I thought he was going to have a heart attack when he looked to port and saw the ship careening by, 50 yards off, at 20 knots. Mack tried to compose himself as he fumbled his way into the pilothouse. As his eyes adjusted to the dimmer lighting below he found Scott pretending to be asleep and me eating my cereal. To save him the indignity of a foiled explanation, I offered, "I'm up in five, Mack. You want I should take over now?"
It was a few days later. It was a black moonless night and we were all excited about making landfall the next morning at our halfway point, the Cayman Islands (and I was in dire need of a coldy). We were on the course set by our skipper and sailing along nicely. Things didn't look right though. I conferred with Scott and he agreed. I went down and had a look at the chart and then I had a second look, just to be sure. I came back up to the pilothouse where everyone was hanging out and talking about hamburgers and Cayman Island babes and stuff. "Hey Mack," I started, "how about double checking the next waypoint for me." But that didn't go over well at all.
"The waypoint's right Woody." Mack had had enough of, well ... me trying to survive the trip. "Scott," I said, "why don't you and Foolio go down and whip up a lil sumpin to eat?" Foolio didn't get it but Scott did and took the kid below. I looked Mack in the eye and did my best to conjure up an air of Navy respect for procedure. "Mack, I am officially going on record in declaring that we are about to run aground. I am asking you again to please go down and check the chart." Mack slipped below. The seconds ticked by as I watched the ground come up on the depth sounder. At about 40 feet he reappeared, head hung low, and gave me the nod to change course. You see, Mack's waypoint was right on. It was right in the center of the entrance to the bay that we wanted to anchor in. The problem was that the bay was on the other side of the island.
The sun rose as we pulled into the bay and anchored up safe and sound in the beautiful waters of Gran Cayman, the halfway point of our precarious voyage. Tune in next month when, if I can't think of anything else to write about, I’ll tell you about the fun half of the trip on which we encounter my first hurricane, our skipper nearly loses his left eye, and I lock horns with 280 pound Bubba, a fellow inmate of Texas’ La Porte County jail.
www.captainwoody.com