Sheep on the Road

Ana is on holiday and at home, which altered by routine. As a result, my boat day began after lunch and I didn't even bother taking the laptop. I'm ahead on a translation and don't expect to receive any more work until tomorrow.

Once in a while I cross paths with this shepherd near Paimogo. Today I was able to take a few photographs.


There's normally a small flock of egrets following the herd, but I only got two, the others flew away as the jeep approached

It took a while to pass the herd. The dog barked and the shepherd shouted, but the placid sheep couldn't care less. What's the hurry when you're a sheep; some have a milking appointment in the evening - big deal. That was fine by me, I was in no hurry either.

Does he have an iPhone in his bag?

If I loved my job half as much as this German Shepherd dog loves his, you'd never hear a complaint out of me again, ever!

At the marina I saw Manuel motoring around the port testing his new Beta engine. If you're a faithful reader, you'll recall that his Volvo engine, which was running like a clock, imploded unexpectedly as we were returning from the Algarve this summer. The camshaft broke and everything went to hell. What was destined to be a peaceful 4-day trip turned into an exciting adventure, in a minor way.

I called him on the mobile, he came along my boat, I stepped aboard and off we went motoring around trying all kinds of maneuvers, speeds and all that stuff boat owners get excited about.

The one great advantage of owning a boat is the socializing benefit in the real world, which is a lot better than doing it on Facebook. Hey, I'm on Facebook too, but I can't hear the engine running or feel the wind on my face.

A Scavenger

This blog is turning me into a scavenger...a vulture looking for tidbits to write about.

It will be about 4 months before I sail to Nazare for a haul-out and a gearbox replacement. Then it will be another 2 months before I sail to the Algarve and make my innovative mooring. That's the plan. But right now the blog menu is looking pretty damn thin.

And it's getting worse by the day. This morning, out of desperation, I squeezed the camcorder between the passenger seat and the headrest to film my trip to the marina. Shit, as if that's a big deal everybody is dying to see, right?

Since I drive a jeep and the roads are rough, the short clip was mostly a vibrating mess. I got dizzy just from watching it. I've heard of worse ideas, but not many.

Then I decided to speed it up and to apply Youtube's stabilization option and voilá, here it is.

So yeah, went out to the boat, did some translation work, had lunch and then started the engine. The new, and obviously stupid, thermostat hose also leaked. Gave up and went for a walk.

Came across Ryker on his fishing boat and he said that it wasn't the hose. "two hoses don't leak in the same spot." He told me about the days when he worked on oil drilling rigs and had to find tiny leaks even in pouring rain using compressed air. He said he could find a leak even underwater and that he'd come over later to have a look.

That was good to know, so good I went over to Nigel (the unlucky sailor) who was untangling a big pile of lines on the pontoon. His ribs are much better and he had finally pumped most of the water out of his boat. It turns out that a couple of his batteries were still usable so he bought a portable battery charger and got his bilge pumps going. He also told me somebody stole his electronics while the boat was at dock unlocked and he was in hospital.

Back at my boat, I discovered the famous leak all by myself. Took a strong flashlight to it and by squinting real hard discovered that it's coming from the thermostat gasket right next to the hose fitting. A little persistence goes a long way.

The wind generator is up and running again, but looking like it has been rolling in the mud.

The Rutland 913 was spinning when I took the picture.

Life After Death

It's Thursday, my boat day, and the rain started falling as I drove into Peniche.

Don't ask me why, but I decided to take photographs as I drove into town. Why hadn't I ever though of that before. Here is a good way to enhance the virtual show. There was a slight problem though, the camera's flash was switched on. On my second shot, the FLASH exploded in the jeep just as I saw a police car approaching from the opposite direction. Damn, here I was driving and taking photographs. As we crossed paths, the two policemen slowed down and looked at me but kept going. I could almost sense what they were thinking: "Is that legal?"



Rainy day in Peniche

The port and the new Clube Naval building in the completion stage, as seen on the far left

My heart was still beating a shade above normal when I slowed down to a crawl before turning left into the port's parking lot. Just then a guy in an old Mercedes came speeding down the blind curve in the road ahead. He must have thought I wasn't going to stop, put on his brakes, went into a skid and nearly sideswiped some parked cars. Can't you just see the policemen if the guy had hit something..."hey, that's the dude taking pictures, handcuff the lunatic!"

I've been crossing paths with a lot of birds lately. Must be a sign, who knows?

Seagull invasion

Fernando the electrician and his employee arrived and got to work setting up the charger, AC breaker panel and a power socket. It was too wet to install the wind generator and the through-deck AC socket. Tomorrow, there's always tomorrow.

And yes, there is life after death. After one week without any charge the battery showed 12.72 volts and the hydrometer float reached the 100% charge level. So yes, all you boaters and battery owners, if your battery is on the blink hook up a dinky battery charger without a cut-off sensor and boil that sucker at 14.8 V until it resuscitates. But no more than that or it will die for real.

One week after intravenous shock treatment and it's healthier than ever

And here is the new stuff nicely concealed in the pilot house locker.

AC breaker panel on right charger on left

Blackbirds Leaving Me Behind

“To know how to free oneself is nothing; the arduous thing is to know what to do with one’s freedom”

- Andre Gide

Stole this quote from Alex at Project Bluesphere, but I did pay to download one of his video clips as a way of saying thank you. The funny thing is that although many people are lusting to be in his situation - living on a sailboat in exotic places - they would most likely become bored stiff and miserable within 2 or 3 weeks.

I think I'll write an essay about the above quote someday. For now I'm going to write about blackbirds and fireplaces. It's important because I'll want to read it when I'm 80 and have nothing better to do.

The blackbird migration has begun. At first I thought they were forming a huge flock and getting ready to fly south, but then I realised that dozens of thousands of blackbirds couldn't just have popped out of nowhere overnight.

They've flown from somewhere farther north and stopped for a breather. I'd also guess that they pick up smaller flocks as they fly on their route to some warmer climate. Lucky birds.

Anyway, huge flocks of birds were flying everywhere and all I got was this photograph showing a couple of hundred of them on the wing (I was driving). Obviously, you'll have to take my word for it. It was quite the sight and reminded me of Hitchcock's movie "The Birds".



Migrating Blackbirds

I wish I was going south with them (on the boat of course). Instead I stayed home and lit up the fireplace. The weather changed from a balmy day to a chilly night pretty quick, if you consider 10º C chilly. To maintain the tradition, I once more apologise to all the Swedes, Icelanders, Norwegians, Russians (you bet, I got Russian readers too...or maybe they just look at the pictures and daydream) who are freezing their butts off somewhere in tundra land.


Fireplace and thermometer - 15º C is way too cold for me.

Another fact I have to clarify is that, by looking at this and other pictures, you may suspect that I'm wealthy or a least well off. Nonsense! I got a little deal going with the bank: as long I pay them a chunk of my income every month, they will let me live here. Mighty nice of them; mighty stupid of me. I should be living on my boat just messing around doing whatever I desire. More on that later.






 

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.