First Leg: Peniche to Cascais

Poor visibility, but I've seen worse.

On Sunday morning I woke up to fog so thick I could hardly see the port entrance. Large water drops fell from the soggy sail flaked on the boom ready to be hoisted. The lockers were stocked with sufficient food, the water tank half-filled, and I had enough diesel for 60 hours of motoring.

Out of frustration I washed the deck and cleaned the inside some, but not that much....a boat is a boat and shouldn't look like a clinic.

While sipping my mid-morning instant coffee I spotted a red sailboat, a Challenger called Jane, docking at the transient pontoon across from me. What!! I ran over and asked them if it was less foggy out on the water.

"No, we got caught in it while sailing from Porto," said a recently-retired-looking English woman. To which her husband added, "At one point I couldn't see the genoa. Our radar is ancient but it still works." They looked vaguely familiar, and Google proved me right.

It was less foggy the next morning. At 7 a.m. I pulled in the bow and stern lines and started doing the pivot-propwash manoeuvre. On passing by the Challenger's stern Jane's head popped out of the companionway. 

"We're leaving as soon as we finish breakfast. See you Cascais."

They never showed up.

The Cascais anchorage fairly empty in July.

I motorsailed most of the way, even after the fog lifted. And for the first time in 14 years, instead of wind blasting down Sintra Mountain and across Cabo Raso, I motored around the cape with limp sails. 

After anchoring, I celebrated with a glass of red wine and spent the evening lying in the cockpit happy to be alone. Cascais is a beautiful town, and even more so when seen from the peaceful bay.

I've been mute, deaf and dumb since April 19, but I'm still alive.

And I'm hoping to sail south next week, all the way to the anchorage in Culatra.

I offer you a photo-story of what's been going on.

I sailed - wind, not engine - to Nazaré, spent the night at the marina and got hauled out the next morning.

Installed a new thru-hull with a ball valve for the galley sink. It's barely above the water line so it could potentially flood the boat if, for example, the anchor dragged and the boat ended up lying on this side in the water.

Typical boat mess when working.

This was the first time in 16 years I had a docking accident. When leaving the travel lift pontoon at very low tide with little room to maneuver, the wind blowing in the wrong direction and, if you must know, in a big stupid rush, the boarding ladder caught on the pontoon cleat and this was the result.

Although I had a beautiful fast sail to Peniche, this misshaped mess in my face spoiled the ride.
Later I tied a line to the top pipe, ran it to a snatch block on the railing and back to the big winch and managed to straightened it to a semi-respectable condition.

That's Jakatar on the far right raising sail for the annual regatta in Peniche.

And here's Jakatar flying for the starting line with all 3 sails up. With a freshly painted bottom got a big lead on everybody and gybed around the first buoy, where the wind was blanketed by the cape. Everybody else tried to tack and went into irons.

Then I started yapping with my inexperienced crew of 2, went way off course, bungled the next buoy twice, got caught by a lobster pot which we dragged for quite a while, finally god rid of it, went way off course again, the wind died down and we finished 4th. Don't have the racing mentality, I guess.

See you in Culatra.

Downsizing to a Pocket Cruiser

Sooner or later sailors, specially solo sailors, with a somewhat large sailboat will face some harsh realities: 

   a) the need to downsize to a smaller boat
   b) life without a boat

   b) death

I prefer option a). I Can't imagine not having a boat, and death is a problem I'd rather worry about after I die. In contrast, planning to downsize to a smaller boat is obscenely titillating. 

Downsizing will give me the opportunity - and the illusion - to finally buy the perfect sailboat, in other words a boat perfectly suited to my needs.

Why do I need a pocket cruiser (ideally under 8 m)?

• I'm tired of struggling to keep up with never-ending maintenance and costs
• I can spend more time sailing instead of fixing
• I can still continue with my yearly coastal cruise south
• It's easier to sail single handed
• It's more exciting - closer to the water is better (sometimes wetter too)
• It makes it easier to step into and out of the dinghy
• Docking is easier even on windier days
• Etc. 

The process began when I fell in love with a Frances 26. 

The "Frances 26" infatuation lasted for a while, until it hit me that they're too slow for my solo cruising in Portugal where I need to sail between a number of anchorages ranging from 45 to 60 miles apart. Small classic boats, besides being generally slower, are also more prone to high maintenance because of their construction materials and age.

With this in mind, I started focusing on a sailboat offering a balanced combination of speed, ease of use, affordability and low maintenance. Before I knew it, I was salivating over an  Etap 21i.

These boats are amazing. They're unsinkable and, astonishingly, can be sailed even after opening the bottom sea-cock and leaving it open. A family of 3 sailed an Etap 21i around the world and it only took 3 years, although they, like the boat, looked very compact in the photograph I saw.

Four men (the other one is in the cockpit) aboard an Etap 21i after having opened the head's sea-cock, and this is as bad as it got. ~ Courtesy of Yachting Monthly

But...and there's always a but...as you can see in the photograph, it has a maximum headroom of 1.4 m and about 1.2 m above the marine toilet. That didn't faze me at first, until I placed a 1.2 m mark on the wall above the toilet at home and tried using it while keeping my head below the mark. I'm 6 foot 2 and let's just say that in a rolling boat I'd most likely end up crawling around the floor with my pants around my knees. Next boat!

Next, browsing for something a bit larger I came upon the Jeanneau 2500, a well-built high-performance beauty. Headroom is 1.60 m and 1.65 in the toilet. So I went back to the bathroom at home and raised the mark on the wall to 1.65. Not bad at all. But like I said, I'm tall.

Production began in 2001 and the asking price for one with an inboard diesel is normally 25,000 euros or higher. That's still a hefty price for an 1.85-m-tall guy to pay for 1.6 m of maximum headroom. Next!

I then began looking at the Etap 26i, which appears to be a better deal with asking prices ranging from 27,000 (1995) to 35,000 (2003). It seems well worth the slightly higher cost for a much more spacious boat. At first I was discouraged because all the ones I could find are for sale in far-away ports. But, on second though, what could be better than starting out with a long leisurely cruise back to Peniche. To think of it, I bought Jakatar in Toronto, Canada, and sailed it here.

I try not to look at this photograph too much. 

And then there is also the Jeanneau Sun Fast 26, a bit cheaper than the Etap 26i but a good boat nonetheless. Food for thought.

The bad news is that none of this will happen any time soon. It will be at least a couple of years before I'm ready to sell Jakatar and before Jakatar is ready to be sold. In the meantime, I have a plan.

Notes:

A friend has suggested that I should downsize to a 32 footer and then, lastly, to a 26 footer when I get older (old). But I'm a solo coastal sailor. A 26-foot boat has a good bed, a marine toilet, enough storage room for me, why would I want more space just for the sake of space.

I also considered something like a 1970s Invicta 26 with encapsulated ballast in running order with an asking price of €6,000. But then I began asking questions and doing the math: is the standing rig OK, are the 40+ year mast and spreaders OK and will they still be OK in 15 years, are the chainplates pitted, is the deck mushy, is the engine going to last as long as me? One thing you know for sure, it's narrow, gloomy down below and needing all kinds of TLC. So I'd be back to maintenance/refit mode, albeit on a smaller scale but the cost and time still add up. Nope, once around, big or small, is enough. I want to go sailing, not fixing.

Deck Leak - Quick Fix Artist

On a rainy Thursday afternoon, I was in the boat talking to the Dutch Sailor about boats - specifically about living aboard in winter and dealing with cold humid conditions. 

I was bragging about Jakatar's dry warm interior when he interrupted me. "I believe you," he said, "but a drop of water just fell on my head."

And, in fact, a constant drip was falling on the salon's cushions, coming from one of the small skylights that were originally meant for installing ventilation dorades. I hadn't noticed the leak because the white cushions are waterproof and the water was flowing behind and underneath them.

After removing the cushions, I placed an old bathrobe (that's right, a bathrobe) on the settee frame to soak up the drip and called it a day. If you're going to get all worked up about leaks on a sailboat you're gonna die prematurely!!

That night, at home, I woke up in a sweat from a dream about deck leaks and mushy deck coring. Although it was only a dream, it got my mind rattling about the never-ending list of boat maintenance tasks. Than got tiring pretty fast, so I began repeating my fail-proof chant "I'm sleepy, very, very sleepy" and fell asleep. It never fails!

In the morning I went out to the boat determined to fix the problem or, at least, make a temporary fix. So here is the quick fix artist's solution:

1. Removed the skylight trim.

2. Dried the acrylic skylight area with a heat gun. Cleaned the surface with alcohol and repeated the heat gun drying.

3. Searched for silicone. Found a large tube I had bought last summer for a tiny job (long story). Since no silicone would come out the tip, even after penetrating the outlet with a long screwdriver, I cut the tube in half near the bottom where it was still gooey. Then, with a surgical glove, I dabbed gobs of the stuff along the acrylic-fiberglass joint. I kept applying the goop with my index finger until it looked ridiculously sloppy. Repeated the task for three holes, the other three holes looked dry.

4. Then I made a cup of tea, ate a power bar, set up the boat dehumidifier and relaxed.

5. Lastly, I emptied three bilge compartments: the bow bilge collects water from the chain hawser; the bilge under the mast collects water that runs down the wires inside the mast; and the stern bilge by the engine collects water from the emergency tiller connection pipe.

The plan now is to get some real marine silicone, clean up the mess and do a proper job on a long sunny day, probably in June...if I don't forget or if other plans don't get in the way. So many plans, so little time.

It felt very satisfying to get the job done, even if it's only a temporary fix. Action is the best remedy for non-action. How's that for a truism?

Sailboat Assets and Liabilities

Another victim of a fouled propeller...Everything that could go wrong went wrong - a one-month saga and still counting in both time and money.

Speaking of expenses, in the "Jakatar World" the year is almost over and it's time to compare sailboat assets and liabilities.

2015 Sailboat Assets

A 500-mile round trip to the Algarve. I departed from Peniche on July 26, returned at the end of August and visited Cascais, Sines, Sagres, Alvor, Albufeira and Culatra. Zero days at marinas, always at anchor, always solo sailing.

During the rest of the year, on average I spent one full day at the boat per week, either translating, just messing around or both.

2015 Sailboat Liabilities

Insurance and marina -----------------------------   2,186

65 m of 10 mm chain -----------------------------      690

Oberdorfer pump N202M7 ----------------------       486*

25 kg Kobra anchor --------------------------------     312

80W Bosch Solar panel+mounting+regulator --     339

Diesel -------------------------------------------------    300

Miscellaneous ---------------------------------------    450

TOTAL ----------------------------------------------- 4,763

* Shipping and customs doubled the pump's retail price.

The Bottom Line

If I didn't have the boat, I'd most likely spend the money on crap I don't need, or even want. It's a reasonable addiction, and I'm sticking to it.

The Dutch Sailor, who is in town, came by the other day, looked up at the mast, frowned at the peeling paint and said: "That sure gives you sore eyes." He's right, Jakatar has the ugliest mast I've ever seen, but I got used to it.

The air has been windy and cool and the ocean rough and wet; instead of going fishing I went for a drive to Baleal with Ana.

Sailing, Fishing and Being Lazy

Peniche in the background, fish lurking somewhere underwater.

Not long ago I wrote a post about the purpose of sailing in which I listed 4 reasons to go sailing ranked according to the "fulfilment/excitement" factor:

1. Cruising 
2. Sailing to a nearby destination and back
3. Racing 
4. Taking the boat out for a relaxing sail

Since then I have discovered 2 more reasons for sailing: 

1. Fishing
2. Escaping boat maintenance tasks (aka being lazy)

The time has come to flash the trench coat and reveal the naked truth.

Not only am I bone-weary tired of boat maintenance, I also discovered fishing. Or maybe I discovered fishing and now I've convinced myself that I'm tired of maintenance work. 

After 14 years of fixing, replacing, sanding, polishing, varnishing, painting and all that stuff, I need a break!

Every summer in the Algarve, in the early morning or early evening, when it's not so hot, you'd see me anchored polishing the stainless, scrubbing the topsides or whatever. Every summer, except for the last two years. So, I suppose my laziness began two years ago. That's about the time when the recently painted mast began blistering and shedding paint real bad. That was a real downer and probably the catalyst for my lethargic ways. I feel lazy and I don't give a shit.

Don't get me wrong, I'll still be doing mechanical maintenance - anything that's important, anything that's really ugly (for example, I do intend to slowly scrape all the paint off the damn mast to a naked pole, and leaving it that way). Other than that, screw it.

So I went fishing the other day and got hooked (lots of puns today). Not hooked on the fishing itself but, instead, on sailing and trolling a couple of lures. 

I didn't get hooked on fishing this summer in the Algarve, where I caught one fish and one seagull (the gull survived unharmed, by the way). I was too busy sailing and having fun being free. But now, back in Peniche, I will either go fishing between my annual trips to the Algarve or the boat will be doomed to collecting cobwebs at the marina.

Not a big catch, but it's a start.

The important part is the sailing part. And since the best speed for trolling is about 3 to 4 knots, I unfurl the genoa and forget about the other sails.

What I need now is a fishing paravane to drive the lure deeper where, hopefully, I'll catch some bass and bigger fish. I may also get some squid lures for days when there's no wind because I love grilled squid...or perhaps I love sitting on the boat indulging, forgetting what's not worth remembering, shedding crap, being still, quiet and appreciative.

As you can see, I don't need much, mostly fair weather and free time.

No Respect

It's autumn and the French cruiser migration has begun. The transient dock is cluttered with interesting and unique steel sailboats skippered by equally idiosyncratic owners. It's like turning the clock back 30 years. I don't speak French and have no clue where they're going.

Speaking of steel boats and winter cruising. Here's a flick about a couple that has been living aboard their home-made steel boat Emerald Steel for over 30 years. The video starts as the usual "here we are sailing" flick until the adrenaline starts to flow at a stormy anchorage. If you're in a rush, just skip to minute 10.

Now forgive me but I'm going to rant about the lack of respect for my naked boat. Despite the "Private, no parking" sign on the transom, I'm nonetheless victim of boaters who see Jakatar as a good docking pontoon. 

A friend of mine used to keep his shiny new Beneteau 50 on a hammerhead berth jut like mine and nobody ever tied up to him. I guess money talks, and real loud too. Everybody knows the score. If given the choice would you tie up to a shiny luxurious boat or to an older scuffed-looking boat?

The result is shown below. I'd love to "speak" to the ass who tied up to Jakatar using tar-encrusted fenders. No respect, I tell you. Assholes should be blacklisted from marinas.

More bitching. Because my berth's south finger is falling apart, I'm now tied only to the north finger and the pontoon. That's because when fingers break away from the pontoon, they flip on their side. And when that happens, the mussel-encrusted floats or, even worse, the jagged metal attachments will continuously bash against the hull.

The bolts connecting the finger to the pontoon are incredibly sloppy because the connection plates (not visible) have rusted to hell. The finger is so wobbly I nearly fell in the water the other day. Luckily I have enough space to move Jakatar forward. That way I eliminated the strain on the finger and also moved out of contact range in case it goes belly-up.

On the positive side, it's a beautiful warm calm sunny day and it's the 9th of November.