Talking to Other Sailors

The Dutch Sailor, a blog follower, visited me on the boat on a sunny afternoon during a short holiday in Peniche. Luckily, I was ahead in my work and so we sat down for a long interesting conversation. 

Funny thing, he told me he wants to upgrade from his current 29-foot boat to a 40 footer. I want to do the opposite. It's the old "the dream is always better on the other side of the pontoon" syndrome.

As I talked to this former motorcycle racer turned sailor, freelance engineer...I was reminded that the fun in talking to other sailors is that there's never a shortage of like-minded interests: from anodes to anchors, from transmissions to solar panels.

When two sailors are in the same boat the potential topics of conversation are proportional to their list of things to fix or upgrade. In other words, it's endless. And if sailors live longer than non-sailors, it's because they want more time to finish their list of never-ending tasks. Owning a sailboat is also like having a high-maintenance wife; when you sell it (the boat, not the wife) you lose about as much money as when you get a divorce. [Ana doesn't read my blog, thank God, and I'm confident my female readers will understand that I'm joking...sort of.]

Took this early morning shot shot next to the marina.

In the midst of the conversation, I received a message with a large job for the weekend, for Tuesday to be exact. Absolutely out of the question because I had already planned a road trip to the Algarve, including a stop at one of my favorite anchorages twenty miles up the Guadiana River. More about that in the next post.

Oil Change Artist Goes Crazy

There comes a time when you may begin to question your sanity. Owning a sailboat will speed up that process with lightening speed.

I've come a long way since the days when I used to change the oil and would spill half of it on the cabin sole soaking in multiple layers of paper towels. That's when I had an electric oil suction pump from hell!! 

In those days I must have also been blind. Even a child could see that the engine sits high enough for an old-fashion oil change - as in unscrewing the drain plug and catching the oil in a container. It took me 8 years to figure that out. Luckily, I'm a bit smarter in other matters of life, or maybe not, as you will soon see.

A garbage bag taped to a guillotined water jug makes oil changes a pleasure.

But I'm making it sound easy, which it wasn't, not this time. Let me recreate the scenario that would have anybody question their sanity. You know, when your start repeatedly asking yourself "am I going f*** nuts or what?"

After draining the oil and removing the old filter without spilling hardly a drop, I realized I had no replacement filter. Can't be! I'm sure I saw it in here with all these fuel filters. Maybe it's at home. I bought three of them, I'm sure I did.

After rummaging through every single storage area twice, there was nothing to do but go buy a filter at the tractor parts store, actually two for €13. 

I was back the next day with the oil filters and screwed one in first thing. There! Now I'm in business. Now I'll just pour the oil...

...what's this? I have three oil jugs on the boat and ALL THREE have about 1.5 liters each. You mean I've been carrying these jugs around for a year, have actually picked them up probably 50 times to get at tools and never noticed that they were almost empty. And more importantly, why do I have 3 jugs each with 1.5 liters of oil. Oh man, I need to see a boat shrink. I'm still puzzled even now as I write this. Weird, weird, I tell you.

But I have money. I know that for sure because I opened my wallet and there it was: three twenties, a ten and a fiver. So off I go to Intermarché (a grocery supermarket) for a jug of Galp 15W40 diesel oil that cost €19.99.

Four 5-litre jugs of oil, you'd think I have a 300 hp engine.

So now I have a leftover jug with 1.5 liters to start the collection all over again. 

The transmission was next. I had some Galp Automatic transmission fluid, Type A, but I already knew that. No messing with my head there. I did, however, get the math wrong and poured too much fluid in, which I removed of course. 280 ml + 420 ml = 560 ml??. Yeah, I better see the math shrink too. I used to be brilliant in math. I also used to be normal before I had a boat. Ana doesn't call me Martelo Godzulo for nothing.

Boat Budget

Boat expenses are falling! The time has come, once again, to review my yearly boat expenses.

From 2002 - when I crossed the Atlantic and sailed into Peniche - until 2012, I was averaging about €6,000 in boat expenses per year. That's way too much for an underpaid translator. I'm now shooting for €4,000 on average: €4,981 in 2013 (including haulout, new dinghy and Rocna anchor) and €3,524 in 2014.

How did I cut costs? 

- by being assigned my own marina berth, which is much cheaper than subletting a spot;

- by reducing the insured boat value, from € 100,000 to €55,000, for a savings of about €400. If the boat sinks, I can get a damn nice used 32-foot boat for €40,000;

- by upgrading only what is really necessary and doing it cheap;

- by not staying at marinas when I'm cruising;

- by using cheaper antifouling paint, for a savings of about €300 per haulout;

- by not giving a fuck about trivialities, such as scraping the flaking paint on the mast instead of painting it.

Expenses in 2014

Date	Item	Quantity	Cost in €
Jan. 25	Circulation tax		85
Jan. 29	Marina		1,676
Feb. 26	4 m of hose to protect dock lines		12
March 3	10  l of Galp 15W40 engine oil		36
March 10	2 Barlow 20 winches from US $250 + Shipping $47 Import $105		302
April	Two bearings for Rutland 913		25
May 19	Engine battery (70 AH, maintenance free),  previous one still good after 6.5 years, so I paralleled it to the house bank battery)		94
May 19	Squeegee and handle for bottom scraping – no good.		8
June 7	Insurance		586
June 19	Barlow 28 winch on Ebay from US (cheap)		74
July 12	Two LED light bulbs for anchor light		40
July 29	Diesel and gasoline		130
Aug. 5	Diver to look for Rocna anchor/chain in Sesimbra		100
Aug. 6	Two bottles of wine to weep over my lost Rocna		10
Aug. 7	10 m of 8 mm calibrated chain for spare anchor*		68
Aug. 7	8 mm stainless shackle (pin retention)		5
Aug. 26	Small grapnel anchor (to search for the Rocna)		15
Sept. 2	Rockfish 1.3 kg grapnel anchor to look for Rocna		20
Nov. 4	Magnet on Ebay (in hopes of finding my Rocna)		21
Nov. 14	Shore plug + connections		5
Nov. 26	15m short link 10mm chain for my plow anchor* chain + knife + engine battery cut-off switch		192
Nov. 30	2 liters of ATF (automatic transmission fluid, type A)		20
	TOTAL		3,524

* Spare anchors are almost useless if not attached to a least some chain.

No haulout this year. 

I lost the anchor and chain at Sesimbra, so that will put me back about €900 in 2015 for a replacement. My new escape-from-life routine these days implies leaving the boat anchored and unattended in the Algarve for brief periods. Obviously, I need a good anchor and all chain rode - I like to sleep well. On the other hand, I've been told that the insurance doesn't cover losses when a boat is left anchored with nobody aboard. So I do lose a bit of sleep after all.

To counterbalance the cost of buying a new anchor and chain, I'll skip the haulout this year, again, unless the hull is really ugly down there. I'll have to dive soon to check it out. If it doesn't look like Fidel Castro's beard, I'll scrape the worst and adjust to slower sailing/motoring speeds. I'm in no hurry. 

Having a clean prop is what really matters. When motoring, a badly fouled propeller will vibrate your transmission to an early death, make the boat go really slow, heat up the overburdened engine that, additionally, will burn twice as much diesel (at about €1.15 per liter).

I will take the wind generator to the shop once more; if Luis can't fix it, I've already researched a way to install a 100 w solar panel for about €350 euros, including the regulator and mounting on the wind generator pole.

It's no fun being on a tight budget, but it would be absolutely boring if I had millions to spend.

Attitude-changing Event

Climbing a 51-foot mast solo can be an attitude-changing event.

Scraping the top of the mast and having some soul-searching thoughts.

It took about 10 minutes, a lot of grunting and two stops on the spreaders to climb the mast all the way up. When I reached the top, I was tired and not very enthusiastic about scraping for 2 hours. Maybe its' because I've put on some weight (the bathroom scale says 94 kg), maybe it's because I stopped doing my morning 30-minute Rambo exercises last summer, maybe I'm getting older!! 

Once there, I rested on the Top Climber chair, regained my strength and admired the landscape. That's when the trouble started.

What trouble? Thinking trouble, that's what. I have a bad habit of either thinking too much, not enough or not at all.

Being busy thinking didn't prevent me from taking some pictures. After all, we're in an age when life doesn't seem to exist unless you photograph it. It won't be long before lovers have sex wearing a camera. But I digress.

Jakatar looks smaller from this perspective.

Beautifully calm day.

Most of the fishing boats are out catching fish in the morning. It's best to climb the mast before they return in a hurry, way over the port's speed limit, creating wakes that turn the marina into a corral of bucking rodeo boats. Even a little wake amplifies motion at the top of the mast and will bang you against it like a bell knocker.

The yellow stains are what's left of the etch primer that was supposed to adhere to the aluminum. I also hope this shackle is better than the one that parted and cost me my Rocna anchor and 150 feet of BBB chain. 

So, what was I thinking up there?

First, it was hard work climbing the mast, and I absolutely need to go on a diet. Weighing 94 kg is simply unacceptable. I don't look fat, I'm simply heavy. I also need to start exercising again.

Second, there was no reason to moan about the never-ending boat work. Isn't this what makes life more exciting. It's surely better than boredom, illness and death. This would sound really cliche-ish, I know, if a friend who is my age hadn't died a few days ago. He got up from the couch, keeled over and died, just like that. If that weren't bad enough, another friend, also my age and who lives in town, has just been told that his persistent toothache is jaw cancer. Who's next?

Moral of the story: I'm alive - climbing the mast to scrape for hours, repairing stuff, losing an expensive anchor and chain, spending way too much money on an over-sized boat, and having a stress-filled profession is "life." Luckily, I'm not the type to feel sorry for myself, although I like to complain once in a while.

What makes this a life-changing event, you may ask? It fortified my positive attitude which, next to health, is probably one of the best things in life.

You don't need to be totally free to feel alive, having a good attitude goes a long way.

Purpose of Life

I woke up with a kayak in my head, feeling restless, needing a purpose in life on a day without plans.

It's winter now and I'm unlikely to do much sailing until the weather warms up to a decent temperature; so why not go paddle a kayak instead? It made perfect sense as I lay in bed in the early morning, like it always does lying in bed.

I leaped out of bed, ate, showered, and made the short drive to Paimogo. 

At Paimogo, I checked the wave conditions on a calm day. Looks ideal near the ramp. Fighting your way in a kayak past breaking waves might be fun on a hot summer day, but miserable in cold weather.
(Photograph taken with my new Galaxy S3 Neo smartphone. Bought it for 5 reasons (excuses): can use it as a road and marine chartplotter; takes decent pictures; it's great for reading E-books even without my glasses; it's useful for my holiday home rental business; and it was on sale.

Next, I roared off to the nearest Decathlon store, in Torres Vedras about 15 km away, to buy a wetsuit. The one I already own is a full-body suit that I use for scraping Jakatar's bottom and cutting lines wrapped in the propeller; besides, it's dirty with antifouling paint.

At Decathlon, I found myself trying on a XXL suit going for €54.95. During the struggle to slide it up my torso, I worried I was going to tear the thing apart. Should have stripped down naked. Should have asked the salesgirl for instructions.

OK, maybe this is why I really bought the smartphone! We're living in strange times, I tell you.

XXL is tight. It must be the height problem, I only weigh 94 kg! So I tried another model, size 2XL, with a price ticket of €59.95.

Perfect height, but a bit baggy.

Then I had a dilemma: one suit felt tight but, on the positive side, it won't fill up with water in the event of an accidental capsize; the other one felt comfortable and better for paddling, but all that extra space would fill with water. Besides, if the kayaking gig falls through, I can always use the tight one for diving, and it's an incentive for losing some weight. The tight one it shall be.

Oh yes, and here is the kayak, a Bic Bilbao, I bought a couple of years ago.

Warmer days in Culatra. 

Today I'm going to hunt for the diving shoes that are stored somewhere in the boat, I think. If I go kayaking only once or twice, it's still better than blowing 55 euros on fancy sunglasses. While I was at the store, I bought sunglasses for €5, and that's fancy enough for me.

Emergency Tiller

The last time I went sailing, it was still warm, almost.

It wasn't very cold for winter. I was out at the  boat and the wind billowed under my coat and up my back as I bent over the chain locker fiddling with the drain hoses that get clogged with chewed up crab shells dropped by seagulls on the deck and by other debris blown from town over the marina.

My back got stiff, as I knew it would, and I was feeling lazy anyway, so it was a perfect day to mess around doing nothing special.

I remembered that I had promised Peter over at "Sailing Zoot Allures" to try the emergency tiller without disconnecting the hydraulic cylinder. A good thing I did too because the hydraulic steering selection knob was frozen on the "no feedback" position. Better to discover it tied to the marina than floating on the ocean during a steering failure with a rocky lee shore. 

"No feedback is" the default selection of my Wagner hydraulic steering. Tried feedback a couple of times but it feels like the rudder fights back.

I sprayed it WD40 without much conviction other than it would make me feel better for doing something. Waited a while and then tried turning it gently with large vice-grips. It came free and I sprayed it some more and then exercised the knob for a while. 

After switching it to emergency bypass, I snapped the emergency tiller on. The tiller flowed back and forth using one finger.

Yes, I know, the boat is standing still and there's no pressure on the rudder. With that in mind, I fired up the engine, warmed it up, clunked into forward and gunned it. The large 3-blade prop is right in front of the rudder and the propeller wash looked like a stormy river flowing back from under the boat. I tried the same one-finger trick and it was a piece of cake. Of course, there was no weather helm or heeling but, still, I was steering with one finger pushing a stubby tiller attached to a barn-door rudder.

And to cheer you up after such a gloomy post, here's a Sailjet 40, the fastest motorsailor ever built. Don't let the sails fool  you, it's a speedboat. This is radical. I'm not sure if it makes any sense, but it probably does.

Tara Comes to Peniche

A legendary boat built for extreme conditions, Tara is the platform for high-level scientific research missions. Website
Luckily, I and my entourage were invited to take a tour aboard in the morning before they laid out the gangplank for the public in the afternoon.

It's an amazing ship and the French crew were super friendly. Another benefit was that it made my boat look small, so maybe I'll stop bitching about owning an oversized boat, maybe but I doubt it. Here's Tara leaving Peniche.

Uhhhm, Ana never looks this happy when she's on my boat. Maybe size does matter!

Tara's galley.

Checking out the work bench down below. I have to stop looking so "out of it" in photographs, maybe I should start drinking coffee again.

A big bad-ass bare aluminum schooner designed for ramming icebergs. No paint (except the orange square) and no varnish.

My brother Cesar deep in thought.

The entourage before lunch at the "O Sardinha" restaurant. Kathleen, Cesar's partner, took all the pictures.