Kobra Anchor

You lose plenty during your lifetime; it can be frustrating and sad but you shouldn't dwell on it for too long. When you lose your life, you won't even give it a second thought. ~ Martello Mateus

My new mistress...the others are history.

Over the years I've had enough anchors to become a semi-qualified expert on the matter, at least on how to lose them.

I lost my first anchor - a genuine and brand new 45lb CQR the first time I took Jakatar for a sail on Lake Erie, Canada. An anchor-roller pin was supposed to hold it in place, but it didn't...and, no, it wasn't attached to any chain or rode. I was really clueless back then.

Years later, I lost an almost brand new 35lb CQR at the marina in Peniche. I had two anchors on the roller, the 35lb CQR and a knock-off 45lb CQR. I assume a transient sailor decided that two anchors was one too many and pinched the genuine one. Either that or it worked itself free and swam back to Canada.

Last year, I lost a nearly new Rocna 25 plus 150 feet of excellent chain in the bay of Sesimbra on my way to the Algarve. It's a long, long expensive story.

Last year I also cracked the hinge on a 55lb Chinese no-name anchor when it got stuck in a rock. The damn thing was useless anyway, total crap, good for scraping the ocean bottom. It's in my garden now as a decorative piece.

So now I bought a new 25 kg Kobra II and 60 meters of calibrated 10 mm chain, plus 50 m of 10 mm line for my third reefing lines. All for a cool 1,003 euros.

Painting the chain depth markers in funky colors.

Kobra vs. Rocna - I chose the Kobra for a number of reasons:

1. It's half the price
2. According to tests, it has almost the same holding power and sets quickly
3. In thick mud it doesn't bring up a ton of black goo like the Rocna. Tests reveal that the Rocna may not reset quickly because of all this mud sticking to it, while the Kobra will. Since I leave the boat anchored in the muddy bottom of Culatra, this may be a big advantage.

Anyway, if I lose this anchor and chain, I'm going to sell the boat and buy a horse that knows how to swim.

I also picked up my solar panel mounting pole from the metal shop. I adapted the Rutland wind generator pole, and it looks pretty good, I think. The job cost 60 euros. Not bad.

Now I have to find the time to get all this metal aboard, scrape the propeller, put in the 3rd reefing lines, wash the boat, buy some groceries and untie the lines on July 26. I'm motivated.

Pussy Sailors

Yesterday, in a very popular sailing blog I read that sailors who lead all their lines into the cockpit are mostly pussy sailors who don't venture more than 5 miles from the marina. The "expert" blog also listed all the merits of keeping the halyards and reefing lines at the mast. It sounded good in theory, and maybe it really is good, but I like my system better, only from experience you understand.

Except for the topping lift, I lead all my 17 lines into the cockpit:

• 3 halyards
• 4 reefing lines
• 4 sheets
• 2 preventers
• 2 running backstays
• 1 boomvang line
• 1 mainsail downhall

That must make me the biggest sailing pussy ever!

Sailing upwind during a regatta.

I'm no sailing hero. And to be honest, I didn't even learn much when I crossed the Atlantic from New York to Portugal, which included a rough 3-day storm (9 m waves). On the other hand, I have learned a few things on my annual sailing cruise from Peniche to the Algarve (12 times/years), either solo or with relatively inexperienced crew.

It's not the notorious Portuguese northerlies, the fog or the fish-net buoys that make sailing this coast challenging - no, it's the damned capes. In summer the wind near the capes can pipe up from 5 kt to 40+ kt winds while you're having a pee in the head. 

But after a few trips, hopefully you learn exactly when, where and at what time to reef and prepare for the fury. I say "time" because a cape can be sleepy calm in the morning and furiously wild in the afternoon on the same day.

The problem is when you're expecting bad and, instead, get a taste of hell.

Almost every year I sail solo from Alvor to Sagres in late August. It's only a 20 mile trip, and by the time I have breakfast, go ashore and get ready, it's nearly lunch. Normally there's no morning wind in these parts, so it makes no sense to leave early anyway.

So you leave with a nice north-northwest breeze all sails up, go past Lagos between Ponta da Piedade and the fish farm sipping on a cup of coffee and enjoying the view. Later, as the air over land starts to warm up and rise, the cooler ocean air rushes in to fill the gap, picks up speed and blows a stiff breeze down the cliffs on the southern side. The wind increases progressively and you start feeling uneasy as the boat shoots forward under sails drawn hard and tight.

That's when I go through the paces of putting in the first reef in the main and then roll in a third of the big genoa. As I sail toward Sagres, it gets even hotter and and more windy. Soon I've put in the second reef and also furled the genoa to half its size.

Sooner than expected, and without warning, the shotgun blast comes thundering down the cliffs making the water boil. The mast creaks tight, the boat heels sharply, and my ears are full of wind as the boat picks up even more speed. I'm sailing a Corbin 39 and it's built for the fight.

When the hydraulic autopilot starts struggling against the weather helm, I ease out the main and then slowly roll in the genoa all the way while slacking the sheet. The hank-on staysail always stays up no matter what.

I pull in the main a touch to keep if off the spreaders. I've still got weather helm, but it's manageable. Then I cross an invisible line into hell and the blast rips the hat off my head, the boat lunges over and, shit, you know its going to get worse. I ease out the mainsail, this time to the spreaders, and manage to roll in the genoa all the way. My ears are full of howling wind and I'm gritting my teeth and curse for never having installed the third reef line...and I probably never will.

In the distance I see a sailboat motoring toward me with no sail up and heeling, and I also see the surface froth over the dark ripples. The Rutland wind generator is whining insanely like a low pitch siren, then breaks into a loud free-spin swisssssh when the thermal cutout is triggered, only to repeat the whining-swisssssh cycle over and over. When the wind generator does that you know you're in over 40 knots.

My mouth is dry and I have to act fast. I tap on the autopilot "+10 button" 3 times, the boat slowly turns toward land, stabilizes, and I tap the "+10 button" once more. I release the mainsheet and the main sail almost goes limp, the boat straightens to nearly normal and my mouth is getting drier than dust.

I release the main halyard clutch, pull on the downhall line until the sail is nestled in the lazyjacks, not too neatly but good enough, and I cleat it off. Now I press the autopilot "-10 button" 4 times and continue sailing toward Sagres with my staysail and hardly heeling.

I relax in the spaghetti-filled cockpit which I haven't stepped out of and cross paths with the sailboat that is motoring. I can't help notice that they have winches on the mast and no sail up at all - pussy sailors!

Mid-life Crisis - Unfaithful

I'm not a rock star blogger, but I'm rock solid. ~ Martello Mateus

That's the best I can say about my sailboat too - rock solid. 

I was looking at Jakatar from the transient dock and sadly noticed that it's dirty below and above the waterline, has a ridiculous mast rash, looks naked...abandoned. Besides, I fell in love with a cute Frances 26 that is not only rock solid but also beautiful, cheap, and easy to please. I think I'm going to have a mid-life crisis!

Naked, dirty and peeling...and check out the "no parking" sign.

Even the fenders are beginning to look like trash.

Then there's the Frances 26. I can see it's small. I realize it's cramped inside. I know it's not as fast. Yes, the water tank won't last 2 or 3 weeks, or the diesel for a year, like Jakatar. But look at it; it sets my boat hormones on fire.

The FRANCES 26 is a classic cruiser with a traditional profile built in hand layed-up fiberglass using the best materials and craftsmanship. She is the ultimate combination of comfort and sailing ability in a pocket cruiser for coastal or offshore sailing.

The original FRANCES was designed and built by Naval Architect Chuck Paine for his own use. He decided to reduce the size of the well known Colin Archer double ender and, as such, also reduce the problems (crew requirements, maintenance costs, original cost, restrictions to cruising waters due to deep draft) inherent to larger blue water cruisers. But the features that have gained acceptance, as necessary for safety and comfort at sea - heavy displacement, a double ended design, and sufficient ballast - were retained. The FRANCES is an alternative for sailors seeking quality and economy in a modern yacht.

Small is beautiful. Small and beautiful is even more beautiful. Small, beautiful, practical and affordable is incredibly beautiful. 

Sailing a Dirty Bathtub

The first sail of the year on my boat was like sailing a dirty bathtub in sloppy waters.

Family visit from Canada: my brother Luis (a sailboat owner) and my nieces Erika (a sailboat owner) and Michelle (an adventurer).

We motored out of the port nose-punching the waves at 2.5 kt, raised the stay sail, unfurled the jib, killed the engine, after which Erika shouted, "Yeah, we're doing it!!" But we were doing it so slow I had to start the engine to tack.

Erika has a sailboat on Great Slave Lake in Yellowknife Canada where it's so inhumanely cold I can't even imagine doing anything there other than complain until they ran me out of town in disgust.

Anyway, except for some sunshine, the conditions were all wrong (unless you compare it to Yellowknife): 10 kt SSW wind; lumpy west seas; a dirty bottom and and an encrusted propeller. We had fun anyway. After all, day-sailing is more about doing it than speed. 

Changing the topic - or maybe not, depending on how you look at it - I fell in love with a Frances 26, online of course, despite the fact that I'm already married to a Corbin 39. 

I know she's small, but big enough, full of style, easy to handle and built for cruising...and affordable to own. There's a Morris Frances 26 for sale in Portugal with an asking price of €29,000. 

I wish I could say more, but I have work to finish. In the future you might be hearing more from me because a small but significant change has happened.

The Drink and Piss Method

How long does it take to change a boat engine's antifreeze? About 6 weeks. That's how it goes on a naked boat.

I discovered that you shouldn't mix different types of antifreeze. After that, I discovered that pink antifreeze may be bad for seals in older diesel engines. Lastly, I can't open the little tap that drains the coolant from the engine block.

I couldn't open the little tap with my bare hand, even after soaking it with DW-40, and I'm not about to use a wrench. It's hidden behind the oil filter in a hard-to-reach place, and snapping it would imply a major headache. In this stage of the game I need less pain and more pleasure.

After finally finding blue antifreeze at an auto parts store, I got to work using the drink and piss method, which is not painful at all.

Pee into the pan please.

The whole Kubota engine takes 7.5 l of coolant. Because I can drain only about 3 liters from the coolant tank, I decided on the following procedure:

• drain the coolant tank
• refill it with distilled water
• run the engine until the tank is hot
• shut the engine down and let it cool
• drain the coolant tank again
• repeat the process 8 times
• in the last operation, uncouple the long hose connecting the heat exchange to the engine to remove another 1/2 liter
• pour 3.5 l of pure blue antifreeze into the tank, run the engine to mix it up.

One more drink and piss operation and I can finally add the antifreeze and move on to the task of scraping the propeller and checking the bottom growth. If it's really bad I may haul out this year.

In the middle of all this drinking and pissing I took a trip to Gibraltar, to be covered in my next post.

Surviving on Vegetables and Fish

Lately, it's been nothing but hassles and work.

The other day, taking a break in the backyard soaking up some sunshine, I began thinking about how my life is slipping into a boring routine, and who's to blame? Me, of course. Having a sailboat, living in a semi-exotic place and being a freelance translator is no guarantee for an exciting life, I tell you. You have to work for it.

Although I don't have any revolutionary plans to make life more exciting (actually I do, but I'm not going to tell), a really small idea popped into my head.

The Big Small Plan - instead of packing a pile of cans, jars, bags and whatnot, why not try surviving on fresh vegetables and the fish I catch on my next cruise, even if it means going hungry. Going hungry is better than being bored numb. Besides, I need to lose a few pounds.

I began by experimenting with sprouts to decide whether sprouting on a boat is feasible. I tried lentils and the results were pretty good. It consumes a fair amount of water, but that shouldn't be a problem considering the size of my water tanks. Besides, I'm not planning to eat sprouts for breakfast, lunch and dinner!

My first lentil sprout crop

I also know a thing or two about vegetables because I used to be, among many other professions, a farmer - both in Canada and Portugal, and not a hobby farmer either - a real big-tractor, big-truck, big-machinery bad-ass, straw chewing farmer.

So anyway, here's my provisioning list:

Butternut pumpkins - they last for ages and are delicious even when simply boiled, better than bland potatoes (as far as I know, I introduced butternut pumpkins to Portugal 30 years ago).
Carrots - will last quite some time if kept cool and dry, not in a plastic bag.
Onions - hard onions without any soft spots will easily stay fresh for a month.
Dry chickpeas, lentils, beans, etc. - will last forever and you can soak them for a few days or sprout them.
Nuts - a variety of shelled nuts (the last thing you want is nut shells all over the boat).
Cabbage - the dense head variety will last for a couple of weeks; the outer leaves will gradually get yellow but you can peel them back and eat the inner compact leaves.
Green tomatoes - will last quite a few days until you go ashore to a market.
Green bananas - no brainer.
Green apples - no brainer.
Peppers - green without a speck of bruises, but will only last a couple of weeks.

I haven't researched about edible seaweed yet, but I'm not too optimistic, not to mention enthusiastic.

Fish
I'll need more lures for fish and squid to use both while sailing/motoring or when anchored. A good way for catching octopus is drop a clay pot to the bottom when anchored. Octopuses use it as a hiding place and, when you pull it up, instead of fleeing they hunker down even more because they feel safe inside the pot.

At anchorages with a rocky shore, I can also go "pole poking" for octopus. You secure a dead fish to the end of a pole with a bit of netting and you poke the stinky fish into rocky holes, preferably at low tide (sardines are best because they stink, but you can also use a small crab or even white rag tied like a bow-tie). When you feel the octopus grab, you gently pull up until you're able to net it much like you would net a fish, and then you bite it hard and repeatedly between the eyes. If you're a wuss, you can knife it. They take forever to die good and proper. For the record, I've gone octopus pole poking many a time, and usually you end up catching a lot of small crabs too.

If all that fails, I can go shelling in the mud flats of Alvor and Culatra and pray I don't get toxin poisoning.

See, it doesn't take all that much to get a grown man excited. Most women will never understand, they just roll their eyes and look at you pitifully. As one guy once asked me, "you sailed across the Atlantic? Wouldn't it be easier to fly?"

I spent today on the boat and started practicing. Since I was too busy working to go fishing, I ate vegetables.

The recipe, bottom to top: olive oil, onion slices, carrots, leek, tomato, lots of red pepper. No salt, no herbs...nothing more.

I have to admit that I cheated a bit halfway through the meal. I dug up some 8-month-old packaged toast from the last trip. Eight months and it's still edible: it's gotta be bad for you.

How to Buy a Sailboat - Do the Math

If you're planning to buy your first sailboat or even a different type of boat, don't ask how much it will cost. Instead, ask how much it's going to cost you. 

Although you can easily answer the first question by checking price tags, you'll probably have no idea how much it's going to cost you until it's too late.   

Two Scenarios

Scenario 1
A friend of mine bought a 39-foot sailboat in the year 2000. It was an unfinished, overbuilt go-anywhere cruiser. In 2002, after having blown his budget, it was ready for the Atlantic crossing but still unfinished, quite rudimentary and naked: no roller furling, no self-tailing winches, no fridge, no radar, no dodger...well, not much of anything. The price tag, however, had reached €100,000.

During the 13 years since the Atlantic crossing, he has spent €66,000 euros on boat operating costs and a few minor upgrades, but the boat is still naked and now even a bit scuffed.

Let's do the math:
   Initial cost                                        €100,000
   Operating costs/upgrades                   €66,000 
   Total                                                 €166,000
   Minus optimistic resale value          - €50,000 
   Total spent in 13 years                   €116,000

So, he wasted spent €116,000 in 13 years, which is equivalent to €9,000 per year, not including his labor. Ouch! I didn't know he was so rich, you'd never guess it by the car he drives, the clothes he wears or the restaurants he eats at...to think of it, he rarely goes to restaurants. What a cheapo!

Scenario 2
I have another friend who, coincidentally, 13 years ago purchased a roomy second-hand 26-foot well equipped production boat in great shape for €35,000. He spends about €2,000 per year to run it and does very little work other than keeping it shiny and clean.

Let's do the math:
   Initial cost                                          €35,000
   Operating costs/upgrades                  €26,000 
   Total                                                  €61,000
   Minus realistic resale value             - €20,000 
   Total spent in 13 years                    €41,000  

This owner spent €41,000 in 13 years, which is equivalent to €3,150 per year.

That's a staggering difference between the two scenarios. Additionally, we could also say that owner 2, besides spending 70% less money, also enjoyed his boat twice as much. Therefore 3 x 2 = 6 times better investment.

Also remember that these two owners keep their boats at the same marina and use them for nearly identical purposes: 1 month of coastal cruising to the Algarve in summer and day sailing in between. In reality, owner 1 did very little day sailing because he was too busy doing boat work and also because of the hassle of spontaneously taking out a bigger boat for an afternoon sail.

Admittedly, owner 1 crossed the Atlantic, whereas owner 2 would never dare do so in his smaller production boat.

Please, keep in mind that these are facts, based on people I know very well, and not mere theory. I'm aware that every boat is unique and every owner is also unique, which can greatly alter the equation. But I know a lot of boat owners, and I could make many other comparisons with similar results.

Also note that these observations apply to local sailing and occasional coastal cruising, not to bluewater cruising or living aboard full-time. That's a completely different gig.

With this in mind, I have come to a few conclusions about boat ownership based on real life experiences - mine and of people I know well.

Never build a sailboat unless it's small or you don't like sailing anyway.

The resale value of your work of art will be a tiny fraction of what you spent - if you actually finish it. I've seen enough boat-building tragedies to make me want to cry and one, in particular, that would make the very devil cringe.

Never borrow money to buy a sailboat

Owning a sailboat is a horrible financial investment. Borrowing money to pay for a boat is like borrowing 100-dollar bills to light cigars with. 

New vs. Used Boats

        

  New Boats

• New is good for buyers looking for ways to spend their cash. That's what money is for, right? 
• New is peace of mind. You can wear white pants aboard, go sailing or sip drinks in the cockpit looking sophisticated instead of sweating down below like a grease-monkey boat slave.
• If you buy a smallish new production boat, say 30 feet, it will depreciate at least 5,000 euros per year over a 10-year period. If you buy a new 50-foot production sailboat, it will depreciate around 12,000 euros per year during the same 10-year period, not to mention the exorbitant cost of maintaining it. After 10 years, boat depreciation begins to diminish if the boat is kept in reasonable condition...but the cost to  maintain it will begin to increase slightly.

Used Boats

A 10-year-old boat may have a neglected or abused engine, it may have been run aground on a rock or had holes drilled into the deck without being properly sealed. Other than that, what you see is pretty much what you get.

An older boat may look incredibly pristine and boast a good engine while concealing, pitted chainplates, mushy deck or hull coring, unreachable rot in interior woodwork, a corroding rudder post or fatigued rudder frame, messy wiring, questionable mast fittings, etc.

Used sailboats can be classified roughly into 4 categories, mostly depending on their age, but not necessarily so:
1) All systems operational
2) Requiring some upgrades
3) In need of many upgrades
4) Derelicts

All systems operational
In the first 10 years sailboats depreciate at about 5% per year. A 10-year-old boat will give you the biggest bang for your buck. And you don't need to be a genius to do your own survey. If it "looks good" and the engine doesn't cough up black or blue smoke or overheat, you're in business. I believe that surveys are more important for older or larger boats. Nevertheless, if this is your first boat, hiring a surveyor may be a good idea.

Requiring some upgrades

You can get real boat bargains here, especially in well maintained boats reaching the 30-year mark. Within this time frame sailboats will most likely require upgrades, especially new sails, dodger and sail cover canvas, electronics, etc. Some have been partially or fully upgraded, some have all the original equipment. You have to do your math. Make a list of what it needs, calculate the extra cost and labor and then compare the final price to a similar boat in better condition.

It may have a questionable engine, a scuffed interior, a suspicious rudder, beer-belly sails, toothy anchor chain attached to an ancient plow anchor, the dreaded mushy deck core, a toilet that squirts back at you. It may also be in pristine condition, for a price of course. These boats may be cheap but not dirt cheap. Do the math.

In need of many upgrades 

If you buy a sailboat that's falling apart, remember this: an old sailboat hull is not worth very much. For example, if you buy an old hull but you need to repair/upgrade most of the basic equipment and start tearing out and rebuilding some/all of the interior, the final cost will be higher than buying a similar-size boat that's ten years old. 

"But I'll have a new engine, new sails, new winches, ...." you may argue, "It'll be like a new boat!" To which I reply, "a 10-year-old boat is almost new and you can start sailing the next day instead of spending all your free time researching and working for the next 4 years, with the added risk of not doing it properly, of ending up with an old-amateur-rebuild-looking boat. 

Derelicts

Derelict boats have many uses: if made of wood, it's great for firewood; if made of steel, you can sink it and create a fish haven; if made of fiberglass, you can paint it and place it in your backyard and make a playhouse for the kids or an interesting place to hang out and write blogs. The possibilities are endless.

What sailboat would I buy now, if I din't already have one?

Because I'm living in Europe, and because of the damn EC boat import rules, I'd have to buy an EC approved European boat. Simply put, I'd go for a 30-foot €40,000 production boat. Low maintenance, easy to handle as I get older, lots of life left in it, enough room for me and the occasional crew member/members, decent turn of speed and, most important, low operating costs.

I also did the math for another interesting scenario:

Let's imagine I traded my boat, Jakatar, for the aforementioned 30-foot €40,000 sailboat. What!!! Are you crazy? You wanna give your boat away?

Let's do the math:

The cost of keeping Jakatar for the next 15 years will be about €4,500 x 15 = €67,500.

The cost of keeping the said 30-foot boat for the next 15 years would be about €2,500 x 15 = €37,500.

That's a difference of roughly €30,000 euros. If you look at it from another perspective, this means that, in reality, by saving €30,000 I would be receiving the equivalent of €70,000 for Jakatar. It also means that I could retire 2 years earlier, have more fun, less work and, perhaps most importantly, have a boat I can handle single-handed when I get older. Scary thought, I tell you.

Notes:

• Not applicable to small boats, say, about 20 feet and under. These smaller boats usually have an outboard engine and very little equipment or interior furniture. 
• There are many exceptions that will prove me wrong. But that's like saying "my grandfather was a heavy smoker and lived to be 94, so smoking isn't bad for your health."
• Not applicable to people who get a lot of satisfaction from restoring an older boat. Someone once told me he got way more pleasure from fixing than sailing. Can't argue with that, it's a perfectly legitimate pastime and probably far more prevalent than we think. I too enjoy many maintenance tasks on Jakatar, but up to a limit, after which it becomes a burden and no fun at all.