Lost Rocna and Chain Plus Further Hassles

Continued from Part I and Part II

Better finish telling my ill-fated voyage before readers start yawning, especially me. 

Anyway, there I was in the bay of Sesimbra with a fouled propeller letting out my chain with the manual SL 555 windlass. I tightened the clutch when I thought I had plenty of scope; then I decided, "ah what the hell, I've got no engine so a few more meters won't hurt."

I released the clutch, the chain clattered over the gypsy, snaked out of the hawser pipe and disappeared into the water with a sickening splash. Gone! I stood there on the bow looking at the hawser hole and at the ripples in the water not feeling anything in particular. I was numb, dumbstruck...WTF!

Since I had changed the chain end over end this spring, my first nauseating thought was that I forgot to shackle the bitter end. But I did, I was sure I did. My stomach was tightening and my tomatoes were drooping. 

This cheap (probably Chinese made) shackle ruined my trip.

Corroded, rotten stainless crap. 

I lunged for the Fortress FX-11 linked to 3/4 inch nylon rode in the port sail locker, cleated the end and threw it overboard.

Second Mistake

The Fortress FX-11 weighs 3 kilos...tied to a 3/4 nylon line. What a fucking laugh, it probably never even reached the bottom. Typical useless backup nonsense. 

I should have immediately pushed the MOB (man overboard) button to record the site of the sunken Rocna. Jakatar was slowly drifting out to sea and I had all the time in the world to set up the 25 kg anchor secured down below in the dungeon.

Gotta finish writing this before I fall asleep. So I pulled in the Fortress that was happily bouncing on along the seafloor at the end of a huge nylon line, stowed it, dove into the dungeon below, unsecured the ugliest (also probable Chinese) anchor I've ever seen - damn heavy though - and substituted the Fortress with this huge hunk of metal.

Meanwhile, the wind was stiffening and shifting north, blowing almost straight from the bay. Two hours later and on the third attempt, I finally managed to sail in and anchor in an acceptable location not too close to the rocks.

I immediately dove in, cut the lines and removed the jug stuck on the propeller, started the engine, tried the transmission and everything looked good. 

I noticed that I was dragging slowly; so when night fell and the wind died down I decided to move closer to the port, closer to where I had lost the anchor. 

With the engine running, I slowly pulled in the line with the windlass drum, working up a sweat and completely fatigued on this hellish day. When the anchor was dangling out of the water I engaged in forward and began to move...very slowly for some strange reason.

"Fuck! the transmission is shot...what else could go wrong," I was thinking when I heard the same Cacklunk noise and the engine died. Shit, shit, shit, lines in the propeller again. Yup, the anchor had fished up old lines and nets that were just dying to wrap themselves around the propeller and shaft.

I let the anchor down before realizing that the boat wasn't going anywhere and that, in any case, I'd have to free the anchor. Except now, I could hardly lift the anchor above the waterline and, after failed attempts, I lashed a kitchen knife to a broom handle and slowly cut the lines and net.

I was pooped, drank two glasses of wine, ate some cookies and went to bed feeling downright disgusted.

Another urgent translation came in just now, I'm taking the bus to the Algarve on Friday morning to crew for a friend returning to Peniche or maybe bring up a boat on my own. So, you guessed it, hell in Sesimbra will be continued.....there's still a lot more fun to come. 

The Ill-fated Voyage of Jakatar - Part II

Continued from Part I

I threw the lifesaver overboard and slowly descended the ladder with the cutting knife dangling from my wrist. When my feet were immersed in the cold water, instead of shivering about it - like I usually do - I immediately dropped myself into the big blue ocean.

I dunked the goggles, drained them, slipped them tight over my face and dove.

First Mistake

I cut the the first thing that came to hand - the rope rising from the bottom. What an idiot! I had just set the boat free and now it was moving. I came up for air, held on to the ladder and thought, "If the boat is moving so will I, I'm a good swimmer." I realized the lifesaver would be no help; it was downwind and floating faster than the boat. "I'm a good swimmer," right!

After a few deep breaths I dove again. The three or four turns of rope around the shaft and the plastic buoy impaled on a propeller blade were clearly visible, but I couldn't reach them in time. I dove again, but it was no good and I climbed aboard swearing.

At least I was free now, free to unfurl the genoa and sail in the light breeze toward the bay and port of Sesimbra.

I slowly sailed about 7 miles to Sesimbra feeling fairly calm. I didn't even take the wetsuit off. The plan was to anchor in the bay, finish the rope-cutting job and keep sailing to Sines.

On approaching the bay, the breeze picked up and I began to furl the genoa slowly, occasionally pressing the autopilot's -10 button. The boat skimmed the water close-hauled toward the beach. The depth sounder read 20 meters, 15 meters, 12 meters...then I turned the bow into the wind, hurried forward, released the big Rocna to the sweet sound of chain rattling over the windlass drum.

It was almost too easy. 

I hadn't yet discovered that I really wasn't solo sailing, that Murphy and his law had sneaked aboard in the Cascais anchorage. I was about to fight a long exhausting battle with Murphy in this bay. 

To be continued

The Ill-fated Voyage of Jakatar - Part I

I spit overboard and watched my saliva bubble bobbing in the waves quickly drifting away from the boat.

Ten minutes earlier, I had been looking at another sailboat through binoculars when I heard a loud rattling noise, felt the boat shudder and heard the engine die. A few feet away to starboard, a blue plastic jug confirmed that I was in deep shit.

I didn't have to look to know that Jakatar's propeller shaft was fouled by a thick pick-up rope for a fishing net. I was now forcibly anchored to the seafloor about 2 miles NW of Cape Espichel.

I had only one option, but I didn't like the speed at which the spit had drifted away, I didn't like how the waves were heaving the boat up and down, I didn't fancy diving in, and I was alone.

Only a few hours earlier - on the second day of my trip - I had crossed the Tagus River mouth without a care in the world. Even a Chinese freighter steaming straight for me failed to rattle my good disposition. I was going to the Algarve on a beautiful sunny day.

These two were anchored, but the one below, a Chinese freighter was moving fast...in my direction.

I dug out my wet suit and knife and smiled one last time.

The smile doesn't look very authentic, but then it never does. 

If I got swept away by the current, if I got my head smacked by a bouncing 11-ton boat or if I got entangled in the line, this would be a fitting picture to remember me by. If I disappeared, the fishing vessel would come to retrieve the nets and this photograph would look great in the evening news and the next day's papers. 

I'm writing this post so, obviously, I made it back aboard.

If I had known what was coming next, I would have never smiled.

To be continued....

Sailing South...Soon

The race against time continues, but I'll be sailing south soon - the latest on August 2, me thinks. 

Thursday afternoon I drove out to Peniche with my newly acquired Barlow 28 winch. It's heavy, I tell you.

Changing the bearings on the Rutland 913 wind generator was the priority. No way I'm going to run the engine to charge the batteries. Besides, I'll be leaving the boat anchored in Culatra for a while, and I need power for the anchor light. The LED bulb I'll be using won't draw much power, but the house battery is going on 7 years and not holding its load so good any more.

Ready for the beheading.

I lowered the post, pulled out the turbine, cut the wires and then called Fernando the electrician. He's too busy, way too busy, so I called Luis the mechanic. Luis loves to fiddle with new gadgets so he told me to bring it on over.

Next, I dismantled the Barlow winch. It was all dried up and gummy but the gears and bearings are in great shape - must have been owned by a non-sailor. I removed the part I needed, stuck it in the other winch and installed it. 

The winch operation. Nurse, hand me allen key no. 8.

Like solo sailing, solo maintenance also requires a certain ingenuity. How do you hold a nut inside the boat and turn the screwdriver on deck?

Vicegrips, a solo sailor's best friend.

On the way home, took the wind generator to Luis' shop and wrote down the URL for a Youtube flick for him to watch. 

Why didn't I do it myself? I already did it once years ago, but it took me all  day and I'm busy.

I crave the day when I'm not always so fuckin busy. It better happen soon.

Your boat slave...better a boat than a car, but that's just my humble opinion.

Multicolored Cats, Cheap Barlow 28 Winch and Getting the Ship Ready

I have exactly 15 minutes to write this post. That's how life is now - I'm a dog chained to a time leash!

Did you know that, except for rare exceptions, only female cats have 3 colors. Here's our new Roni and Pati in the yard.

I'm not going to bore you about the new kittens, other than to say that they have consumed some of my free time (or, should I say, unfree time).

In the last regatta one of my big Barlow 28 genoa sheet winches gave up. All it needed was a sliver of bronze braised on to keep a pawl from slipping out. That would take more of my unfree time, so I had a look on Ebay and - low and behold - I found a used Barlow 28 on auction. Hold your breath. I bought it, delivered to my door yesterday, including customs charges, for a total of 70 euros. I think I deserve a break now and then.

The PLAN. The plan is/was to sail out of Peniche to the Algarve on July 22/23, with the usual three stops at Cascais, Sines and Sagres or Alvor. After getting drunk in Alvor watching the crowd of British women walking up and down the narrow streets, I'll sail to Culatra, drop my big Rocna anchor, hang out for a while and take the bus back home to take care of business.

This plan implies doing a few tasks first: rearranging my winch setup; installing new bearings in the busted wind generator; buying a LED anchor light; scraping the obscenely dirty propeller; and a few other things I can't recall right now.

If that plan falls through, I'll be leaving on August 2. Ana's birthday is on August 3. Ouch! No matter how hard I try, life just keeps getting more complicated. Damn!

Regatta in Peniche

Jakatar on the upwind leg. Photograph taken my Manuel.

I called Manuel on channel 9. "What's the starting time? Over."
"Jakatar, in fifteen minutes at exactly 10:45, over."

Zé, a ship captain and sailor had an idea: "Why don't we sail exactly seven and a half minutes south, then tack and go full speed toward the starting line."

It sounded like good a plan. We started in last position.

The warm sun tinged the ocean to a deep blue, and the wind was a nice 12-15 knots. I was at the wheel with all three sails up doing 6 knots, even with a dirty bottom, and I didn't answer the phone when it rang and rang in my pocket.

By the time we rounded the first buoy west of Cape Carvoeiro, I had passed two Bavarias, a Beneteau First, and a heavy Swedish boat whose name I can't remember right now.

On the downwind leg, we eased out the 475 square feet  genoa and soon Jakatar was hitting 7.4 kt with the wind abaft the port beam. We passed another Beneteau First, and started closing the gap on the seven boats ahead of us.

I was happy as a lazy dog sunning his hide. This meant I didn't have to scrape the bottom before sailing to the Algarve. Nine or ten dives to clean the propeller should do. I'll scrape the bottom down south in the Culatra anchorage where the water is warm and shallow.

On the upwind leg, the fowled bottom made catching up impossible.

We finished 8 in a fleet of 15. I might have come in the top places with a clean bottom, but that's probably just bragging on my part.

When the gang was finishing lunch back at the club, I realized I hadn't taken a single photograph out on the water. Luckily, my friend Manuel emailed me some high quality pics.

The post-regatta lunch. Am I going bald or what?

Funny how the two lasers (one on each side) can really fly. That's when the question comes to mind: do you speed or comfort?

It's over.

PS. One post without complaining about work! I'm impressed with myself.

The Spring that Needed Viagra

Drove to the boat thinking about a new gig writing short articles for a website. Sounds like fun but it's real work and not much boat money. Even if I worked all day pumping out articles, I'd starve. I guess that's why some activities are called gigs instead of work. Here's my first article.

Anyway, having recovered from my Berlin cold and the consequent laziness bug, I got to the boat ready to strike something off my bucket list. Walking down the pontoon in long purposeful strides I noticed that Nigel the unlucky sailor had finally left for England where he plans to sell his Bowman yawl which is already listed on yachtworld.

During Nigel's 18-month stay in Peniche he had the boat hauled out at the shipyard where the yard's highly professional workers ironed out some bugs. These guys build and repair huge and small ships and anything in between, so his boat should be in fine shape.  

...as I was saying, at the boat I ran the engine in gear for a while, shut it down and then changed the oil and filter. Hardly spilled any oil this time.

Used the bag-over-the-filter trick to remove the filter with only a few spilled drops.

My highly complex oil removal kit. Cut the top part of a 5 liter water bottle, tie two garbage bags to it, slip it under the engine and unscrew the drain plug. Obviously you need a certain amount of space under the engine for it to work.

What I like about this oil-change method is that it removes practically all the old oil. I know it because even after running the engine for quite a while it remains nice and clean.

After lunch I attacked a big winch.

No way any parts were going to fall in the water with this big bucket over the winch base.

All the bearings in the order I removed them so I don't forget the sequence. If I screw up, I'll know it when I open the other big Barlow 28.

I had a hard time removing the plate holding the sprockets in place. Lot's of WD-40, a screwdriver and some tapping with a hammer got the job done. 

Each gear has two pawls. The spring on one pawl was in need of some Viagra. I tried fixing it with pliers, without much success. As I fitted it one last time to the pawl, the damn thing went "ping" and disappeared. Ain't that a bitch - it didn't have enough thrust to erect the pawl but it had the balls to fly out of sight, sneaky bastard.

Luckily I have the springs from the failed Barlow 24 that are the same size. Next time I'm going to fit the springs and pawls inside a clear plastic bag. I cleaned the winch parts with old outboard engine gasoline but didn't have time to reassemble it. It won't be long before I'm sailing instead of playing with springs.