Boat Slavery Blues

It's my boat day, but I'm feeling rather glum and, yes, pessimistic.

Yesterday I received an email notice with some prickly news: "You owe Social Security 1,570 euros." It's a fricking EXTRA contribution for our beloved Portuguese austerity budget, more like a boa constrictor budget. There goes a chunk of my boat budget. 

Almost overnight my rate per translated word plunged 25%, plus I now pay more taxes and social security. But it's all for a good cause mind you. Somebody has to support a plague of endemic corruption at all levels, white elephants and a huge swarm of civil servants, most of whom do f...k all. My apologies to the 20% who work hard or, at least, pretend to.

The seduction of living a minimalist carefree life on Jakatar (at free anchorages) billowed into an exaggerated daydream, or maybe not.

My discontent was fermenting in my head as I drove along the cliff-side road under a miserably dark sky. On reaching Paimogo I was greeted by a rainbow to remind me that I'm alive and healthy and...screw the economic crisis!


Rainbow on a gloomy day

At the boat, the batteries were bubbling at 14.8 V and the new hydrometer showed a 100% charge, so I disconnected the charger before the batteries got fried. Next, I cut and fitted the new thermostat hose - it's thinner than the old one and buckles at the elbow...we'll see what happens.

Called Fernando the electrician and he said they'd stop by in the afternoon to install the wind generator. I made sure all the bolts and fasteners were ready and then tried to pull the remaining wire out of the mounting pole.

I'll make a long stupid story short and stupid. A long time ago I sprayed polyurethane foam into the pole in an attempt to stop the wind generator's resonating vibration from humming all over the boat and driving me crazy. Now I couldn't remove the old wires or run new wires.

Called Fernando to cancel the installation until I resolved the problem. He insisted I take it to the shop where we poked it vigorously with a broomstick, a steel rod and then a long sharp fish hook, all to no avail. Since the 2.5 m pole consists of two parts joined at the middle with an inner sleeve, we ended up taking a torch to it and whacking it repeatedly with a large hammer. Finally, we separated the parts and managed to get the foam out.

Unfortunately for me, they got a call for an emergency repair on a fishing boat. My generator will have to wait for another day.

Boat Slave Live from Peniche, Portugal
 

Ocean Crossing Memories Rekindled by Sunrise

A transcendental moment of reflection.

Early in the morning I finished my 30-minute exercise session, opened the skylight and saw this sunrise. I felt like a child again, felt the thrill of discovering something completely new. Before I knew it, I was whispering "Here comes the sun...here it comes."

When I crossed the Atlantic I had my share of these transcendental experiences: sunrises, sunsets and nights glittering with millions of stars so bright and vivid the mast seemed to almost graze them. I loved the night shift. On some nights I would be treated to a swirling fluorescent wake trailing from the rudder, so luminescent you'd swear the boat had an underwater floodlight. You can't buy this magic any more than you can hype yourself into living it deeply if that's not your game.

No chart plotter, no radar, no AIS, no shortwave radio, no computer, no roller furler, no automatic pilot (just a windvane with a loose connection) and not even self-tailing winches.

Except for food and water, Jakatar voyaged as lean as a roving monk. A crumpled photocopied chart of the whole Atlantic, a VHF radio, a handheld GPS and an old plastic sextant with a complicated little calculator which I had no clue how to use, those were our tools. In a worst case scenario, even without a compass, I could follow the sun and the stars that I had become familiar with. They would surely guide me to Europe or Africa.

A 3-day storm was followed by doldrums. We were plodding along on a Corbin 39 cutter: strong and steady, with a mast held in place by a forest of thick shrouds, stays and running backstays. The hull was built in 1982 but the boat was launched only in 2000 and all the rigging was new.

We were sailing in the midst of a shipping lane from New York to Europe. Ships at night were our only obstacles; flickering fireflies that would emerge in the dark horizon and quickly become two mast lights as big as the moon. In fact, one night the full moon was suddenly unveiled from behind a black cloud triggering a rush of adrenaline that jolted me out of a semi-hypnotic state as I mistook it for a ship about to run us over.

That was our crossing, now tucked in my memory like a faded magazine article.

The extraordinary sunrise this morning was my muse and inspiration for next year. There's always next year.

The best siesta in the world

Saki  the Greek (sorry Saki, forgot how to spell your name) and our three women aboard.

My brother Cesar, working on his tan and enriching his mind.

Jakatar docked at Horta, Azores.

Karl, the fourth crew member. A brilliant guy with a huge appetite.

Night is falling, just me and the stars (and those damned ships).

The Amateur Boat Mechanic

Today I decided to solve the thermostat leak, at least to diagnose it. Little jobs like this can accumulate until they become overwhelming. Not to mention that it may take weeks, if not months, to have an out-of-stock part shipped here.

This time I taped paper towels over crucial areas to reveal the source of the leak. It didn't take long to see the results and, luckily, the thermostat housing is not cracked, as I had feared. The culprit turned out to be a wire clamp that had cut into the hose. Woooh, what a relief.

How to discover a leak with paper towels. The towel around the hose got soaked immediately.

Had lunch, with an extra glass of wine to celebrate and went for a walk along the breakwater. I don't know if was the wine, the sunshine, the fact that I had no work to finish, but whatever it was, I decided to sit and enjoy the world around me and to forget everything else. This is what I'm good at doing; it's my mantra and what I'm missing most in life. I was born to be Zen - but not a Zen monk, mind you!

It was warm and I wore a jacket to carry accessories (camera, phone, wallet, keys) and as insurance against a cool breeze that did not materialize. I sat there for nearly an hour (which seemed like a long time - which is good) and admired the serene look of the fishermen who spend hours fishing off the breakwater apparently without a care in the world. Yes, I realize that they probably envy me as I step aboard a 39-foot sailboat, but we all know how that story goes, don't we?

What could be better than sitting here watching the coming and going of fishing boats?

Something to smile about. Why do photographs insist on making me look bald? That's not what I see in the mirror and mirrors don't lie, as Leonard Cohen said.

The blue bicycle

Seagull Beach and fish bait cages in the water.

Before going home, I introduced myself to the unlucky sailor who was reading a novel in his cockpit. He's a very polite, soft-spoken man suffering from very sore ribs. It turns out that Nigel is British but lived in Toronto for 37 years until he retired. He fell in the galley against the stove and cracked his ribs when a wave jolted his boat over on its side. That's all I know because I'm not a snoop and this isn't a gossip column.

The Corbin Brothers

My brother Cesar also owns a Corbin 39 (center cockpit) called Lapu Lapu, which he built from a bare hull. He also built most of the interior on my boat Jakatar. When cruising, Cesar eats only salted pork, bananas, chickpeas and also oranges to keep scurvy away; and he eats oatmeal for breakfast, but I shouldn't be telling you that.

When we docked in Horta, Azores, after a 23-day voyage from New York, he leaped from Jakatar, ran wildly down the dock and up the street barefoot, wearing a rag resembling a pair of shorts and zigzagging with "sailor's vertigo" as people scrambled to get out of his path. He came to a quick halt at a kiosk where he bough a pack of cigarettes, lit one up and looked around smiling as the nearby policeman slipped his gun back into the holster. I'm kidding of course, about the policeman.

He no longer smokes and bought a new pair of shorts.

Captain Cesar showing off his work of art and his muscles in Port Dover, Lake Erie.

My other brother Luis has a...I forget the make of his boat. It's a great boat but smaller. He's the smart one in the family. That explains why he got a smaller vessel - at a fraction of the price for triple the fun. He used to design sailboats when he was a teenager back on the farm in Canada, so I think I'll blame him for getting us all into this racket.

Luis sailing his boat on Lake Erie with his twin daughters Erika and Michelle who are also nuts about boats. It must be in the genes

My mother is crazy about boats too, so I figure we must be related to Vasco da Gama, the Portuguese explorer who discovered the route to India. My father, on the other hand, liked fishing from the beach. That was it, he didn't even like to drink water all that much. We forgive him because, otherwise, he was a good man.

At this very moment Cesar is making his way down from Toronto to Florida (by car) where he has a house near the ocean. He plans to sail the boat down next winter. It's a tough life, I know, you bet, but I'm confident he'll survive another winter without bone-chilling temperatures, snow, slush and all that fun stuff.

I don't want to anger my Nordic readers, and I won't because snow is beautiful. Let's face it, if warm weather and beaches were all that wonderful, the whole world would be living in the Caribbean or at other similar locations. Amen.

This post was going be called "Boat Battery Saga III", but I figured you deserved something better.

The Battery Blues

Came across this beauty during a 90-minute fitness walk

Before I start moaning about my troubles, just look at this foreign "hippie" van I came across during our 90-minute late-afternoon fitness walk. It kind of reminded me of Bumfuzzle during their van journeys and the glorious life of individuals who live their lives and don't care what other people think.

But, going back to my "non-hippie" burdens. First thing in the morning, Ana and I went to café Akiacopus. Then I went to the boat.

A little ripple of irritation ran through my skin when I read the voltmeter at 11-point-something. Something is wrong. Either the battery is shot or there's a leak in the system. If it's the latter, by the time I get it fixed, the battery will be sulphated and shot anyway.

I hooked up the little charger again and hung around for a while until I got tired of doing nothing useful. I went home and surfed the Internet looking at solar panels, wind generators and marine chargers. Money, money...that's what I kept seeing on the screen.

It's almost lunch time, Monday, and the charger is still going as I write this.

Gotta call Fernando the electrician and get something going. I can handle the mast paint blistering to hell, rust stains on the stainless accessories, mouldy wood needing varnish...but a dead battery, can't live with that!

Our walk on a windy Sunday afternoon. The beach seems like a ghost town.

Ana walking ahead while I take pictures

Kubota Has a Drip

We ate baked chicken legs, chestnuts, potatoes, salad an red wine at home with the patio door open and the sun shining on my back. I also had ice cream for dessert.

Then I drove to Peniche to check the boat battery saga. It was only at 11.5 volts, but at least it hadn't gone dead like last week. Go figure. This time I had shut off the forward bilge pump, so maybe it's the culprit, who knows?

Fired up the Kubota to generate some amps. Sure enough, the antifreeze started dripping steadily into the bilge. Tried the paper towel trick to find its source, a waste of time. Should have taped it on before starting the engine, then I'd see where it got wet first.

Ryker showed up. When I went to show him the leak it had stopped. If I ever buy a lottery ticket, I'll be sure to take Ryker with me.

After about 45 minutes of running the engine, the battery seemed to be stuck at 12.58 even after increasing the rpm to 1,500.

I shut off the engine, hooked the dinky battery charger and went for a walk. 

The peaceful sunny morning turned into a dark windy afternoon, just as Windguru had predicted. It's blowing like stink and who do I see teaching his young boys to sail: Luis, of course.

Pinned against the wall by strong wind

Then it started raining and I took shelter in a fishing boat with a couple of locals. Funny how boat owners always have something to talk about. They may have absolutely nothing in common except a boat; that's good enough. Dusk cut our conversation short and we went our separate ways.

During this whole time I was enjoying a good view of Jakatar. Notice how bulkier it looks compared to the blue Wauquiez accross the channel which is only 3 feet shorter.

Shiny Corbin 39

The battery had settled back to 12.27 despite the little charger's herculean efforts to liven it up. I think I'll go back tomorrow morning and leave the charger on all day.

It's 9:12 p.m. as I type and the wind is howling outside.

Boat in Trouble

Some days are nothing but trouble.

With one leg into the companionway I glanced at the transient dock and saw that the unlucky sailor had returned to his boat. Then I saw the sky filled with seagulls and I still had time to take a shot, too late but better than nothing.


A swarm of noisy seagulls tailing a fishing boat.

Ever since the wind generator died, I've developed a habit of checking the house battery voltage whenever I'm at the boat. Today it read zero. Damn, the meter is malfunctioning, I thought. When I switched on the panel, still zero. Turned on a light, nothing. Shit! How could that happen?

Pulled out the switchboard, nothing looked out of place.

Colorful spaghetti 

Got out the 5-amp charger. Let's see, 220 amps at 5 amps per hour and the battery will be charged in 44 hours. Actually a lot longer, but I'm not going to explain why that is. No need to calculate anything anyway because the charger's fuse blew right away. That's because....ah, hell I'm not going to explain that either.

At least the engine's battery was charged (I keep the two batteries separate), so I fired up the Kubota and those amps just loved flowing into an empty battery. When I had it up to 11.00 volts I stopped the engine and drove to Intermarché for a box of wine and a pack of car fuses.

Back at the boat, I changed the fuse on the charger and went to work on a translation as the sky got dark really fast.

But that's OK. I'm cozy in the boat and the battery is charging. Then it started pouring rain and the electricity went out. Started the engine again. That battery needed some serious amps; and I need to figure out what happened.

Called Fernando, the marine electrician, but he was busy all day. Maybe tomorrow. I'm a translator, I have to work tomorrow. You can see the frustration building up, can't you?

Instead of staring at engine gauges, I decided to dry the bilge. On doing so, I noticed that the water was greenish, the color of the antifreeze. Sure enough, antifreeze is dripping from the thermostat housing. It looks as though it's cracked, can't really tell where it's coming from.

Look closely and you'll see a bead of moisture below the fan belt between the two bolts.

Damn, Damn, another problem and my translation is sitting in the laptop waiting for somebody to get working on it.

Wiped the leaking antifreeze with a paper towel to see where it's coming from. Not too easy while the fan belt is turning. Finally, gave up. I'm not sailing anywhere until Spring.

Barely got any work done, the battery settled to 12.0 volts (pretty much empty). Got so pissed I had to write about it.

Another red sunset and a couple glasses of vinho tinto and I'll sleep like a baby.