Octopussy has Arrived

Another sunny day without work. As long as I can pay the bills, I'm happy.

A catamaran called Octopussy.

Does this skipper have any women aboard? If so, how do they feel about sunbathing on a boat called Octopussy. I realize that it's the title for a James Bond movie; nevertheless it gives you a funny tingle the first time you see it. At least it gave me a funny tingle, maybe I'm biased toward certain words!

I Googled "Octopussy" and found it on Facebook. At one time it was based in Greece and had a huge octopus painted on both hulls. Have a feeling that it must have changed ownership - but not the name.

Checked out the steel boat up closer. It may have some style, but it rusts - looked prettier from a distance. Later, the owner started grinding steel on deck. Good thing the wind was blowing the shavings away from the marina. Have you ever had steel shavings embedded into fiberglass? Hopefully not.

A wind generator without blades - one way to solve the vibration problem.

While I was there, I snapped this picture of Jakatar.

It really does look naked and dirty.

The humidity in the boat dropped to 63%. That's closer to what I had in mind. Don't want it to get too dry or the woodwork will start shrinking, and who knows what will happen.

Had a leisurely lunch with red wine. After doing the dishes, I put on my 3-euro sunglasses and walked to the end of the pier. My original plan had been to take a walk through the narrow streets in town, take some pictures and give readers a sense of what Peniche is all about. That will be my next project on a sunny day.

Haven't you seen enough ocean water and boats, you may ask? No.

That's my foot, by the way.

I sat here for about 45 minutes watching boats of all sizes and colors coming and going. The sunshine, the rhythmic gurgling of water and the inner peace that comes from not being in a rush really do have a strong soothing effect. I call it "escaping from life's constant chatter."

Sitting there I got the bright idea of buying a fishing pole so that I can stand, sit or lie down anywhere near the ocean pretending that I'm fishing. I'm in need of some variety as long as it's spelled s-i-m-p-l-i-c-i-t-y. Yeah, that's it.

The Life of Horatio

Anchored in Alvor - July 2013.

This summer I was fortunate to be anchored in Alvor, among other places. I'm now back to "real" life. I tell you, real life wears thin pretty fast when your heart is in Alvor, Culatra, Sagres - anywhere with a good anchorage, palm trees and cafés.

"Real" life is what most of us do nearly all the time - as opposed to what we dream of doing. Once you've indulged in what really makes you come alive, real life can get a bit tedious.

You see, although I had an enjoyable day on the boat, I don't really have anything exciting to write about. I'm just your average Horatio, a sailboat owner, a translator, a holiday home renter and occasional small-time adventurer living in Portugal. 

Well, in a worst case scenario I'll have a few laughs reading this narcissistic crap when I'm 80. Really, I'm serious.

But when you have nothing exciting to say, you borrow somebody else's stuff direct from Youtube.

This is what I should have been doing when I was 24 instead of founding a greenhouse construction company and a greenhouse farm in Portugal immediately after I realized I'd never be a writer (which I knew all along - the writing delusion was merely a good excuse to delay Real Life).

Searching for something to say. As I worked on a small translation after lunch, I photographed myself with my new Samsung Laptop. Since I'm not exactly the handsomest dude in town, less pixels work to my advantage.

I'd rather be here, one of the most fun sailing adventures without an engine on a friend's boat.

Motoring against a light breeze just before the engine died.

Enough philosophizing and back to real life!

I arrived at the marina at 8:30 and performed my ritual: checked the battery charge with a cheap digital voltmeter and looked into the bilges for rainwater that sneaks in through the emergency tiller pipe, the anchor chain hawsepipe and the mast step. 

The dehumidifier, timed to run about 12 hours per day, decreased relative humidity to 70% from the usual 85%. Not as good as I had hoped; I changed the timer to 14 hours per day. 

Next, I managed to finish the job of replacing the heat exchanger zinc. I also re-arranged the fenders and added another dock line in preparation for winter. Then I had lunch. 

Another ritual is my after-lunch walk. It was threatening to rain so I walked around the marina, ran into Ryker, talked about boat stuff, and then returned to Jakatar to find a small urgent translation and a larger document for next Tuesday waiting in my mailbox.

Now that wasn't so painful was it? How was your day in real life?

A Sunny Day in the Sweatshop

I had a hat-trick day: 1) it was my boat day; 2) it was a gorgeous sunny day; 3) and I had no translation work - not one single word to be translated.

The previous week when I ran the engine I noticed that the transmission was vibrating more than  it should. So, instead of going for a sail, I got down to business and dug out my underwater camera kit.

Setting up and using my cheap and nearly useless black&white Chinese Ebay version of what you see below would have been sufficient material for a post in itself. For some strange reason I always forget to photograph the good stuff! A bad habit that needs to be fixed.

I lashed the camera to the boat hook, slid it into the water and managed to see that nothing was wrapped around the propeller just before the screen went dead - for ever I fear. I suspect water seeped into the camera casing.

Why didn't I dive down for a close look? Because the police boat is nearby, and diving anywhere in the port is absolutely illegal unless you're an authorized diver working with an assistant.

Since the propeller was good, the alignment had to be off. I spent the next two hours on my knees and forehead aligning the propeller shaft to the transmission, and I'm happy to announce that it's almost perfect. Running in gear the engine and transmission are rock solid.

I still had enough time to change the heat exchanger zinc before lunch...then I'd go out for a short sail, I thought. If I were smart, I would have removed the exchanger's end cap and would have seen that the zinc pencil was still in good shape, still erect and doing its job. I'm not going to bore you with the grunting and sweating required to remove that stupid stubborn zinc. Somehow it welded itself to the sleeve fitting, and the result is illustrated below.

Notice that the wrench handle clearly says "professional". A professional tool in the hands of an amateur can do wonders.

Anyway, the zinc stick snapped. That means I was left with a plugged zinc hole; which called for more grunting, sweating and expletives while working on my knees and forehead, with my arms down in the engine gutter. I had the hole almost cleared when I suddenly ran out of grunts, sweat and expletives. To hell with it; I screwed the little stub back on and took a deep breath. Enough is enough!

Easy to look at, not so easy to work on with both hands - thus the knees and forehead technique.

Ran the engine in gear for a while, had lunch, and went for a walk.

There Ain't No Sunshine Anymore

The sun has suddenly vanished, and I'm not exactly thrilled about it. Winter's first grey days reminded me of this song performed by Joe Cocker.

I'd rather be on Jakatar Motor sailing north than sitting in the boat listening to rain and wind. "Strong-willed individuals are not affected by the weather," the experts say. Send the experts to Alaska for a couple of years and then ask them what they think!

Although Jakatar is of closed-cell airex sandwich construction above the water line - which makes it condensation-free - I still went out and bought a dehumidifier/heater. There's nothing like a cozy, warm bone-dry interior.

Sorry about the picture quality. It's dull, drab, grey...like somebody's basement.

Look at the flag. It was nearly perfect last week. Lucky the police didn't fine me for insulting Portugal's symbol of glory. Kinda of looks like what's happening to my hairline.

The entrance is rough and murky. This heavy trawler was dancing in the swell before it entered the port.

See the ketch in the middle. It's on the mooring I sold to Antonio and consists of three 1-ton concrete blocks placed in a triangle joined by about 500 kg of ship's chain. The blocks are probably buried in the mud by now. And, yes, I really do feel like an idiot - you could moor an oil tanker to that.

Funny thing too - when I sold the mooring I was the only boat out there. What's not so funny is that I sold my bullet-proof mooring, and the marina is falling apart. We may be looking at a change of scenery in the not too distant future. Hey, when you're alive and kicking, anything can happen.

Boat Comparison Expertise

This week I went to my floating office on Wednesday instead of Thursday; blame it on a dentist appointment.

Instead of the fabulous hybrid sailboat (featured in my last post), I found this beauty parked across from me.

The French Sailing Adventure.

I don't care what you say, this boat has style...well, maybe more so 20 years ago. It's a classic that sails,  has a big anchor, and plenty or deck space for surfboards and a dinghy. Most of all....most of all, I like the way it stands out. Additionally, it makes you want to see the adventurous crew, which surely includes at least one gorgeous woman wearing shorts and a loose blouse.

Behind it, there is a no-name cat.

I bet it's better than it looks.

It's definitively worth way much more than the other boat, but somehow I'm not interested in the crew that I never saw by the way. To think of it, the gorgeous woman is probably on this boat.

The Rip Curl world surfing championship is taking place 500 m from here at the Supertubos beach, and I'm too busy translating to have a look.

Hybrid Sailboat

I'm home. This means work, having the boat at the marina and getting mentally prepared for winter. Without snow, winter is merely a cooler, rainy version of summer.

Being home also means making the boat my office on Thursdays. I love going to the marina because it's a playground for grown men and the odd woman. With a transient dock, there's always something going on or something new to see.

Now look at this sailboat berthed across from me and which I baptized the hybrid boat.

What is it?

Without the masts it would be a sleek trawler. It could also be a motorsailer or a a funky sailboat. The masts are tall, and it has a generous sail area so I wouldn't be surprised to see it sail fast (maybe not upwind). It's also difficult to ascertain whether it's a very expensive factory-made boat or an affordable but excellent home-made vessel.

The unlucky sailor is back. The boat is in the water and, by the look of things, it's getting ready to go somewhere.

The 46-foot Bowman yawl in the center, low and sleek compared with the hybrid boat.

I was talking to Ryker (who's also back for the winter season) when the 68-year-old owner walked slowly down the pontoon - tall, shoulder-length blonde hair, in a T-shirt, jeans, sandals, amazingly looking like Neil Young, or what I image Neil Young to look like these days - the perfect match for his boat and a perfect contrast to the snappy dressed, well groomed owners of the hybrid boat.

I have a translation to finish, but I'll be back. Ciao.

Cascais to Peniche

Going home...going back to life on land.

The wind howled in the Cascais anchorage. I checked out my food supply: a can of baby mackerel, a few onions, 4 very old rusty cans of whole tomatoes, lots of pasta, olive oil and a big bag of cheap cookies. Oh yes, and plenty of wine.

If you read the last posts, you'll know that every attempt to go shopping had been aborted. I did go ashore in Sines, but it was late and all the shops were closed. I had rushed straight to the Adega de Sines restaurant, which is way more important than hunting for an off-hours grocery store. 

Anyway, I fried the onions in olive oil, boiled plenty of pasta, added some spices, poured the wine and finished with a few cookies for dessert and more wine. A perfect meal.

Then Délio, a former neighbor's son, called me on the mobile. I had ran into him in town before the trip, and he was really keen on joining me on the Cascais-Peniche run. Now he was all gung-ho for it along with his younger brother (younger as in 25 or so) and another friend.

I described the conditions, but he said it was a perfectly calm evening in Praia da Areia Branca.

"OK, be here at 6:30 am and bring food because I'm cleaned out," I told him. I knew rounding the cape might be hell tomorrow, but saying so would give them the impression I didn't want them to come along.

"Where will we meet?"

"Go to the marina fuel dock, and I'll pick you up."

They called at 6:30 sharp the next morning. It was dark and I was awake but still lying in bed listening to the wind blowing not so hard anymore.

I pulled up anchor and re-anchored closer to the fuel dock and reception pontoons that were packed full with boats that either had been too scared to enter the marina the previous night or whose anchor had failed to hold.

I ferried Délio and the others to the boat in the dinghy, and then we motored along the sheltered coast toward Cabo Raso where the nasty stuff happens. As we approached the cape I could see the whitecaps like little waves breaking on the beach. I thought about the towed dinghy but, being an idiot, rationalized that it was the wind and not the waves that had capsized it the day before. Conditions would improve after 5 or 6 miles, and the wind was nothing compared to yesterday.

Right! As we rounded the cape, the wind blasted in our faces and the enormously steep chop had the boat bucking like a rodeo bull. The engineless dinghy capsized immediately. As hard as we tried we couldn't upright it. Instead, we hung it from the transom high enough so that only the end of the tubes were dragging through the water. But it was bouncing around, the secured oars were flapping all over and I felt like shit for torturing my new dinghy.

Fortunately, these guys were well prepared with delicious sandwiches, fish sticks and other goodies. They're all surfers so they were having the time of their life. They wanted to raise some sail. I explained that we'd end up in the Azores if we attempted to sail, and their food supply wouldn't last that long.

Conditions settled down after Cabo da Roca. We released the dinghy back in the water and plodded on to Peniche.

I can't tell you how melancholic I always feel on reaching home. If I could, I'd sail back south the very next day. Home means working long hours, cutting the grass, going to the dentist...ad nausea. Home is where you get old waiting for next year.

I get over it or, rather, I surrender to it after a week or two. What else can you do? I won't answer that. 

This is home. Could be worse, right?