Adventure on Small Sailboats

Our marina ferry has been upgraded to an improvised trimaran.

Despite the horrible weather lately, the Swedish sailboat in the photograph below arrived in Peniche some time during the week. I'd say it's barely 20 feet long. 

Later, while adjusting the fenders on Jakatar, I saw the young long-haired, bearded skipper standing in the cockpit. He was talking to the young French skipper who owns the smallish boat with the red stripe on the other side of the pontoon. Curiously, the smallish French boat now looks luxuriously large compared with the tiny Swedish one.

Funny thing is that I envy the skipper of this magnificent little yacht. Why? Because he's living it on a shoestring budget, because he took the saying "go small, go now" to heart. Think about it. When you were young (or if you are still young - as opposed to being merely youthful) would you rather backpack around Europe or stay at 5-star hotels?

After reading a discussion about a brand new 42-foot abandoned catamaran due to a rudder failure 300 miles from land, I can't help thinking that you could probably steer this baby with a frying pan lashed to a boat hook.

You could scrape the bottom in four dives, wash the deck with one bucket of water, hoist sails without winches and, best of all, have bloggers write about you. Nothing but advantages all the way to the tropics. 

Back to reality, either I'm imagining things or the pontoon leading to Jakatar is looking worse.

Working, Sailing and Lies

“Life is more or less a lie, but then again, that's exactly the way we want it to be.” -  Bob Dylan

On the other hand, life is so complex there's no sense talking about it much, except when you feel like getting drunk. You can talk and dream all you want; one day you take a wrong turn and end up an overworked hack translator with a sailboat constantly begging for TLC and a bunch of nonsensities clinging to your coat.

OK, now that I got that off my chest let me tell you about what's going on around here. 

The marina is temporarily an island, so the club rigged up this charming self-service miniature ferry.

Pull on the line on the left and way you go. No rush-hour crowds on this public transport system.

Anyway, I'm working like you wouldn't believe. And you probably don't believe it because if it were true, you say to yourself, I wouldn't be visiting the marina or even writing this blog for that matter. 

And you'd be right, except that I stopped watching TV (well, almost), stopped reading books and looking in the mirror. I don't smoke (smoking is a time thief), I hardly ever go shopping, I don't commute to work, I Facebook about twice a year, I Twittered 3 or 4 times, and that's plenty enough (still don't know what all the fuss is about and don't care), I mow the lawn only when the grass looks like my hair and I cut my hair when it looks like the grass. Instead of going to the gym, I have my own sweat-producing gig in the attic. Sometimes I go for long walks but walk really fast, and I shave only every other day. However, I do shower every morning, except when I'm living on the boat.

Storm Damage

The storm knocked on the door and broke it down.

In my last post I showed an amazing video of a marina being destroyed by a storm. Never imagined the same thing would happen yesterday evening here in Peniche. Hard to believe, but 14-meter waves were recorded by wave buoys.

It didn't look good when I arrived early this morning. Waves were still coming over the breakwater, just babies compared to the monsters that came crashing right into the marina yesterday. Six boats sank, others were damaged, but Jakatar is fine. I couldn't get a dinghy ride out so I went back home to work on a translation.

I came back in the afternoon and got a ride to a marina that is now an island. There's no water, no electricity, no access, probably no funds for repairs - might as well be docked on a desert island. Doesn't look good.

I have to walk this now to reach Jakatar...What am I thinking, from now on I'll have to take a dinghy ride and tie up to Jakatar. I could kick myself repeatedly in the butt for having sold my bullet-proof mooring.

The power of water.

1 minute after I took this shot, the boat splashed back into the water and the crane was left holding a couple square feet of fiberglass and two cleats.

I'm OK, Jakatar is OK, what are you gonna do when you're a boat slave?

Storms and Marinas

I woke up in the dark to the sound of howling wind and rain pummeling the shutters, just like Windguru had forecast, plus 8.5 m waves.

Ana is visiting her family up north, so I got up right away, had breakfast, fed the cat and drove up to Peniche. I wasn't seriously worried about Jakatar; it's not as though I was expecting the hellish scene that took place in Machico, Madeira Island, a few weeks ago.

Imagine showing up at the marina and finding this. A good time to own a steel boat, I suppose.

When I arrived, the wind was already subsiding and only some waves were timidly leaping over the breakwater. There was nothing to worry about, for now.

I ran the engine engaged in reverse for 10 minutes, dried the bilges, sprayed the hydraulic fittings, the engine and the stern post with WD40 and checked the dock lines. After that I checked on the other sailboats and headed back home to WORK. Needless to say, I haven't done a stitch of work yet as I write this. 

These guys are drying their feathers on a rainy day.

This French boat has a nifty rum keg used as a propane tank compartment.

The next morning I saw some photographs of what happened in late afternoon when the tide rose over 3 m.

Jakatar is docked to the left of the screen.

Looks like a simulated waterfall

Sailing and Sunsets

It's winter and I'm translating like mad. I feel like the sun is going down on me (hey, I'm entitled to a cliche now and then). Most evenings, sitting at my office I see the sun sinking into the ocean. I can also see it rising over the hills too; but for that luxury I have to climb the spiral stairs to the attic and poke my head out the window or walk out onto the terrace.

I've been known to complain now and then about this and that, but I can't complain about the view.

And since I can't take my Corbin out for a sail, I do the next-best thing - watch somebody else sail on Youtube. Here's "The Greatest Sailing Film Ever Made on the Tagus River." It exemplifies the beauty of owning a Sailmar. Many of these small but fast and robust sailboats were made in Portugal by a company called Delmar Conde. Today, they build high quality mid-size cruiser/racer sailboats to order.

Then the sun went down, darkness fell and I had dinner. I can hardly stand the excitement, I tell you.

Seagulls on Land

Then the wind and high waves came, and the hungry seagulls took refuge on land waiting for better days.

You want to know why the seagulls are in town? Look at this.

34-knot gusts today, reaching 42 knots on Tuesday along with 6.4 m [updated to 7.2 m] waves. That'll get us in the Christmas spirit. If you can't have snow, might as well have wind and frothy waves.

There was no electricity at the marina when I arrived in the morning. I have a ton of translation work and was tempted to head back home. But then a thought struck me; why not work on my new Samsung LCD laptop and see how far the battery would go, or maybe even hook it up to the inverter - I do have a Rutland wind generator after all, and it was blowing hard.

I got to work and the sweet Samsung just kept on going and going. When the power came back on before lunch, I still had lots of battery juice. So I've got the perfect laptop for next year's trip.

And that's it. I worked, had lunch, walked around the marina, ran into Ryker and found out that the "Dream Boat" was not made in Poland. It's a boat made in Russia, of all places, and purchased in Spain. The crew is a French guy and an Oriental woman. Think about it: a Russian-made boat, bought by a French sailor in Spain with an Oriental woman aboard, docked in Peniche and going somewhere. Whooo, globalization is getting out of control.

Yesterday I did some laundry, including the dinghy.

Dream Sailboat

One thing I really enjoy about the Peniche Marina is the transient dock. 

It's low season now, so naturally the transient dock is full of French boats. Are French sailors cheap or are they simply more adventurous? Another interesting aspect is that they have a tendency to keep to themselves. Maybe that's why they cruise off-season, to avoid the crowds. Who knows.

Here's a boat, supposedly made in Poland, that is a complete contrast to mine. The cockpit is huge and inviting. The bow is thin and perfect for slicing through water. I bet it's fast, and I like it. Don't know how safe it would be in a storm, but you'd take your chances, wouldn't you? 

A partial hard dodger with roll-up side curtains, mainsheet control near the wheels, carbon mast...and an electric roller furler. On the other hand, the interior is probably equivalent to that of a 32 footer, but I wouldn't complain.

On the other side to the pontoon there's an old, but nicely kept and sturdy-looking, 22 footer with a tiny cockpit. It also sailed all the way from France and will probably end up at some exotic port. The trip likely took three times as long but, as one sailor once said, "when I'm on my boat, I'm already where I want to be."

As I stood on the pontoon daydreaming about owning such a boat - the larger one, that is - I got a phone call informing me that I had been emailed work. Work, what a dreadful four-letter word.

Dragged my feet back to Jakatar with its small cockpit and huge interior. Obviously you can't have both, can you? 

I can't decide if my lunch looks appetizing or revolting. It's turkey beef, baked eggplant, zucchini slices, black beans, rice and the white droopy things on top that look like fishing bait are pieces of onion. I forgot to buy wine, ran out of tea and thus had a cup of water. 

In the morning I decided to give my electronics some exercise to burn up moisture. My inventory consists of 1 fixed and one handheld VHF, hydraulic auto pilot, Magellan chartplotter, computer chartplotter, handheld GPS, depth sounder and an electronic Ritchie compass. That's it. I also switched on the running lights.

Here's my Toshiba laptop I bought about 15 years ago displaying the Port of Peniche. It stopped working once, after having sat idle at home for a long time while I crossed the Atlantic. Somebody told me to whack it hard. I did, and it started working again. Apparently, the hard drive may stick when left unused for long periods. Every photograph I took of it showed that white spot reflecting the flash.