That's the Life for Me!

Traveler on the Hard

Poor Traveler sits up on stands in a dusty lot in Guaymas, Mexico, her decks covered in tarps, her running rigging tackle wrapped in foil, and her windows taped over with sun screens.  It's hot there at the Guaymas Seca boatyard where the lowest temperature at night is 85 degrees, too hot for us mere gringos.  I personally need LESS than 85 degrees in order to sleep at night.  The folks who live in Guaymas have concrete, block, and stucco structures shaded by trees.  The families move between the cool inner rooms in the heat of the day out to the fresh breezes found at the doorways in the afternoon. Then they move onto the porches or spill into the street as the cool of the night settles in.  In the darkness the kids play and the adults sit and enjoy the relief of the night airs.

Deer on the Mountain

Here on the mountain we do the same, opening up the windows at night when the outside temperature is finally cooler than the inside temperature.  Here in northern California it's chilly at midnight and roasting hot by noon.  The drill is: windows open at night, closed in the daytime.  Connie and I are staying in a house under construction.  Our sleeping room will someday be a nice large bathroom.  Right now it's simply a room with tiled floor and walls and unconnected pipes where the fixtures will eventually go.  The beautiful tile work keeps the room cool even when it is 95 degrees outside, great for napping. We like our room.

Bountiful Harvest

We are lucky to have such a place to spend a few summer months, a quiet place with deer, quail, and three sweet cats.   Our friends are building a guest house off the back side of the shop that presumably we could use for our sleeping quarters if we visit next year.  Digging holes for its foundation we found solid rock so we hauled a big compressor and a 90 pound jack hammer up the hill from town so we could break up the rock.  I took a one minute stint on the jack hammer just for fun and it totally kicked my butt.  Better a younger man than I for that job!

Scott Jack hammers

With the current three year drought some local wells have run dry and many people are getting their water tanks topped off by tanker trucks you can hear slowly grinding their way up the gravel roads in the mornings.  Fires are a constant hazard.  Two weeks ago a fire blew up east of here, coating the horizon with billowing smoke.  I set up my lawn chair where I could see across the valley and watched through binoculars the California Fire spotting planes circling then guiding the airborne tankers with their red-dyed, flame retardant drops.  The fire moved off to the north and was finally contained and doused.

Four days ago a fire far to the south of us blew up from 10,000 acres to 50,000 acres in one day, forcing evacuations in a 30 mile radius.  Local hotels are booked and farmers are boarding livestock for their neighbors across the county.  An entire small town burned to the ground.  My heart goes out to those who not only lost their homes but their jobs as small businesses went up in flames.

Ezrah, Michael, Connie, Tom

I've been researching various places where we might want to settle down once our sailboat cruising lust dies down. One of the reasons we left Puget Sound is because of the dark, wet, cold winters there.  In contrast, we found Mexico to be heaven in the winter time.  For sunny warm days and cool nights, northern California has a  perfect climate so we were starting to consider settling here but now, as we see the increased fire danger and water shortages, we're rethinking the suitability of this area for our little retirement ranchette.  As we look toward a warmer, dryer future perhaps we should place more importance on locating where there is an ample water supply and less risk of fire.  This brings us back to Puget Sound, the new sunny place in the Pacific Northwest.  Who knows? With the melting polar caps Connie's little Tumwater house might someday be oceanfront property!

Connie and Tesla

Yesterday we were remembering how nice it was to live on the boat, having our private little nest where we make our own schedule and decide fresh each morning what we'd like to do that day.  It's nice visiting with friends and family during the summer but we do miss our independence.  When you stay with someone, you live their life style.  You immerse yourself in the comings and goings of the house and subjugate your interests for theirs.  This is grand fun for a while, and we've been lucky to experience such a varied existence but after a while we find we yearn for more privacy and want to take back some control of our lives.

Both Connie and I love exploring the sea and the land, and we've become comfortable doing so, even feeling that when we are traveling we ARE at home. We decide which way to turn and how long to linger.  Connie's suggestion? Let's arrange it so we can live on the boat full time!  Come November we hope to get back to the boat and spend the winter in the warm Mexico waters.  Then we'll try for Hawaii again and end up in Puget Sound in the summer.  When autumn rolls around, instead of heading south, we'll find a place to tie the mooring lines and see what it's like to spend a nice warm and dry winter on the boat in Puget Sound.  Now that's the life for me!

Coming Back Alive

                                                             Copyright
Keith Dekker
Connie Bunyer 2011

This ship it has it's problems, the anchor’s made of wood.
It floats around up on the top, it doesn’t hold so good.
The sails are torn and tattered; they let the wind go through.
We lost the tiller yesterday, the charts and compass too.

The food is spoiled, the cooler stinks, I think I saw some mice.
The meat is gray, the cheese is green; when can we get more ice?
There is no fruit or veggies, the scurvy’l reappear.
The thing that really scares me most is we’re running out of beer.

Chorus:     We’re coming back alive, we’re coming back alive.
            Didn’t think we’d make it, looks like we’ll survive.
            When we get back to dry land, I’ll never go back to sea.
            I’ll walk on land that doesn’t move.
            Hey, that’s the life for me!

The cook he hates the captain, the captain hates the crew.
The first mate yells at everyone, especially me and you.
I might just jump, I'll swim away, get off this lousy boat.
The bosun tried it yesterday, he sank he didn’t float.

The dinghy sank last Friday, it was an awful sight.
It’s where we kept the Cuban rum, I must have cried all night.
The captain says, “Get over it!” he says, “We’ll do just fine.
We may still have some whiskey left and the bilge is full of wine!”

Chorus

If we get back I tell you, I’ll kiss that flat ol’ ground.
Shake hands with everybody, big hugs for every hound.
Then I’ll be movin’ inland yes, that’s the life for me,
Far from this old ocean and the Salish sea.

I heard the ship go bump last night; it was ‘bout 2 or 3.
I went outside to have a look; it was too dark to see.
First mate went out and came back; his shoes were full of sand.
I looked and yelled, “Holy cow! I think we’re close to land!”

Chorus

Once we made it back to dry land, it didn’t sit so well.
The traffic it was crazy, the weather hot as hell.
I really miss the water, yearn to be afloat.
So back we went double time and now live on this boat.

We’re comin’ back alive, we’re comin’ back alive.
Didn’t think we’d make it, looks like we’ll survive.
When we get back to the water, where the wind blows free,
I’ll sail on seas that always move.
Hey, that’s the life for me!
Hey, that’s the life for me!
Hey, that’s the life for me!

The Bishop of Norwich

Hats off to John Vigor for this one.  See his July 19 post.

As the hands finish their evening repast it is the custom on Traveler and many other naval vessels to close the meal with a glass or two of ruby red port.  Traditionally, the decanter starts at the right hand of the host who pours himself a glass and passes the port to the left.  It then makes it way around the table in a clockwise direction as tradition dictates.  "Why clockwise?", you might ask. Some say this represents the passing of time, others say it frees up the sword hand for fighting.  Most likely it is only because most people are right handed and find it easier to pour with their right hand.   John claims it has roots in the Coriolis effect, that which makes high pressure weather systems cycle clockwise in the northern hemisphere.  He also claims we should pass the port counter-clockwise when we venture south of the equator but that is a matter of debate.  Sailors remember this clockwise tradition with the saying, "Port to port."


When at table, it is considered bad form to ask the neighbor to your right to "Please pass the port."  Instead, you can say, "Do you know the Bishop of Norwich?"  If he knows the tradition he will pass you the port.  If not he might say something like this, "No sir, I don't.  Why do you ask?" and your reply would be, "He is a terribly nice chap, but he always forgets to pass the port."

To get the decanter moving, you might also say something along the line of, "Do you have a current "pass... port?" while looking at the decanter.  But back to the Bishop....  The Bishop of Norwich (John Sheepshanks 1893 to 1910) was quite a drinker in his early years and was known to hog the port decanter through two fill ups before passing it to the left.  In his later years he'd developed the habit of nodding off at the table just as the port was making its rounds and so had to be prodded to pass the port.


At our table we have another tradition around the passing of the port, or the drinking of anything for that matter.  We toast. To propose a toast, just hold up your glass, make your statement, then while clinking your glass with all others at the table make eye contact with one and all. Sometimes, like the Bishop of Norwich, a non-eye-contact guest at the table must be nudged to look up. Once everyone has establish eye contact, then down the hatch it goes.  Proost! Cheers! Salute!

Popeye's Last Supper 

From Left to right - Alice the Goon, the Sea Hag, Poopdeck Pappy, Brutus, Professor O.G. Wattasnozzle, Olive Oyl, Popeye, the Jeep, J. Wellington Wimpy, Rough House the cook, Swee' Pea, George Geezil, Castor Oyl

Seven Fires Across America

Esta Ton on Angel de La Garda

We left you last in May in Puerto Don Juan, way up the inside coast of Baja California Norte. Since then we've traveled thousand of miles, mostly on pavement.  I thought it was time to catch everyone up on our doings.

Leaving the calm waters of Puerto Don Juan behind we sailed Traveler over to the Bay of LA Village and anchored just  off the beach.  What followed was some provisioning and a nice little lunch/internet break at Guillermo's RV park, restaurant, and hotel.  After rowing  back out to the boat in a building sea we had a wonderful sail north to a little anchorage on the west coast of Isla Angel de La Guarda called Esta Ton.

I'd found the GPS coordinate for Esta Ton in one of my guides and was sure glad to have it as it's impossible to find with the naked eye when approaching from the west.  We tucked in there for the night and headed south in the morning, sailing slowly then motoring around the end of the Island for an anchorage at Isla Estanque, staying well away and upwind of the lagoon to avoid the swarms of bobos, little non-biting flying insects that swarm by the thousands.

Angel de La Garda and the Midriff Islands are in the northern Sea of Cortez

See some fantastic pictures of Angel de La Garda by photographer Blake Crosby  here.

We continued south the next morning and soon arrived at Isla Partida where we motored the dinghy out to the sea lion colony to watch hundreds of the stinky fat fellows frolic and bellow.

That evening, the bugs descended on us like a plague.  Bobos, mosquitos, gnats, everyone came to visit our little house on the water.  After many assassinations that left our walls and ceiling spattered with bug guts we finally got to bed, the caterwauling of millions of birds echoing off the cliffs making the place a spooky retreat.  We'd read about Isla Raza, the next island South as being a protected breeding ground for Heerman’s Gulls and presumed that's what we were hearing from our quiet anchorage.

Isla Raza

The next day we hopped down to Isla Raza and sailed in close to see that every square inch of shoreline was covered in birds.  Heerman's Gulls and Elegant Terns mobbed the place.  Staying upwind to avoid the guano stink we rounded the corner and made our way to the next island south, Isla Salsipuedes where we cautiously found our anchorage on the rocky west side of the narrow island.   We had a great  hike, loved the location, and vowed to return.  That evening we were attacked fiercely by the little flying demons and decided it was high time to get away from these bugs and high winds and head back over towards the mainland.

Isla Salsipuedes

The morning brought fresh northwest winds that freshened up even more as we galloped along sailing east out of Salsipuedes then just north of San Esteban.  By that time the seas were pretty rough and we wanted nothing more then to find someplace sheltered from the wind, waves and swell coming in on our port quarter.  The swift tide swept us north as we closed with the southern shore of Isla Tiburon so while we were making 6 knots over the water we were really crabbing northeast at about 4 knots or less on the GPS.  We finally found the anchorage of Bahia de Los Perros around the southeast corner of Isla Tiburon where we stayed for two nights, getting good shelter from the stiff northwest winds.  That layover day we took a nice long hike finding hundreds of Murex shells.  At the end of the beach on a little elevated point was a  little concrete memorial.  You see these everywhere in Mexico and they usually mark where someone died.  Inside this mini house we found some plastic flowers, a few little shells and tokens and a lit candle.  Yes, a lit candle.  Looking around we saw no boats in sight, no fishermen, no ghosts, no pangas, nada.  A little creepy.

Our whole cruise from Conception Bay north to the Bay of LA and across the Midriff Islands was marked by the absence of other power and sailing vessels.  Most of the time we had anchorages to ourselves and saw only occasional small fishing boats as we made our transits.

Leaving Tiburon, the last of the Midriff Islands, we headed towards Bahia Kino on a southerly hoping to find a little protection in the bay there from the south wind.  As the day progressed, the wind rotated around westerly then settled into a blasting northwest wind... again.  The waves built and as we approached Bahia Kino we realized there was no way we'd anchor in that shallow bay on a lee shore.  Reluctantly we beat our  way out of the shallow water and set a course south, veering away from the land to try to get more water under the keel.  What followed was a rough night, no sleep, and the problem of arriving at our preferred anchorage before the sun came up.  At 4:00 AM we changed our destination to Bahia San Pedro further down the coast and arrived there just at sunrise.

We "farmed" a huge ball of sea grass on the anchor on our first attempt in the bay.  After tediously pulling off the weed we joined the crowd just off the beach, got the anchor set well, ate a quick breakfast and went to bed, thus finishing up our solitary journeys in the the almost-northernmost Sea of Cortez. 

One night in Marina San Carlos and one night in Marina Fonatur Guaymas and the boat was clean enough to haul out at Marina Seca Guaymas, our old familiar yard.  The same day we hauled out we caught the Tufesa night bus to Phoenix, arriving in the morning to buy a 1998 Oldsmobile mini van off of Craig's List.  A few days later, fully licensed and insured we drove back down to Guaymas and began to get the boat ready for the long hot summer.  This time, in order to keep our sanity in the 90 degree heat, we got a cheap hotel in town (Suites del Sol) with a working air conditioner.  We'd get up at 6:00 AM, drive to the yard, and work until about noon.  Then we'd run some errands and go back to crash in the hotel AC til 6:00 PM or so then go back to the yard to finish up a few projects before the sun went down and the mosquitoes came out.  Working this way we finished our tasks in three days flat!

Tasks:
Measure things and make lists of supplies needed from the states.
Remove center seats from mini van and stow inside boat cabin.
Build a bed in the back of the mini van.
Remove genoa and fold.
Remove main and fold.
Stow all sails below.
Remove the Bimini.
Remove running rigging or use messenger lines.
Wrap blocks, winches, clutches in tin foil.
Take fuel out of the outboard, and Honda generator.
Defrost, clean, refrigerator.
Empty water tanks, pull off inspection ports, clean thoroughly.
Remove all food from cabinets - give to guards or stow in the car.
Clean cabinets, put down boric acid.
Deflate dinghy and stow on cabin top.
Move clothing and camping gear to the car.
Wash and stow bedding in plastic bags.
Stow all cushions in plastic bags.
Stow all galley stuff in plastic bags.
Exercise thru hull valves and stuff them with green scrubbies.
Cover windows with foil.
Unplug power and water.
Disconnect house batteries.
Tarp front deck, lower mast, top deck, solar panels, and cockpit.
Tighten the jack stands under the boat.
Make our escape.

Escape:
One night in Phoenix with Eva, Brevin, Blake, Diane and Tom.
One night in a Motel 6 on I-40, what luxury!
Two nights with Barb in Albuquerque talking about right wing christian terrorists.
Two nights bandit camping in central Colorado.  Visit hot springs.
Three nights at Desiree and Damon's Cruiser's retreat in Palisade. Such sweet people.
Six more nights camping in national forests... Visit hot springs.
brought us to Mount Rainier National Park in Washington state and a wonderful, end-of-trip hike.

When we camped, we would find a forest service road, usually gravel or dirt and we'd go a mile or so off the pavement until we found a turnout and a fire pit.  These encampments are everywhere in National Forest or BLM lands.  We'd ALWAYS make a fire and heat up a little dinner on the camp stove.  Connie would play some music and we'd share a bottle of wine before going to bed in the back of the mini van.  Quiet, peaceful.. nice.

Another guiding aspect of our road trip was the search for hot springs.  We'd stop at a library or coffee shop and use the laptop to find hot springs near our route, then try to visit them later in the day.

By the time we got to Washington state the burn ban was on.  Luckily for us we were home by then.

Gosh how I enjoy the fires.  Connie too.  I didn't realize what a firebug she is, but get a fire going, put a stick in her hand and she's at it poking and rearranging to perfection.  We experimented with various methods of building the fire.  We'd gather the wood, stack it in little piles by size, then create the base and the structure.  Connie prefers the crisscross method and I mostly used the teepee model.  Over our seven glorious nights of fires I adopted Connie's crisscross method as the best on the planet.

I know that when contrasted with the larger issues effecting your life here in the modern times talking about the different methods of building a fire might not seem very important.  Connie and I are leading more simpler (though sometimes more complex) lives so the mundane can take on great importance for us.  KISS!

Sort wood by size

Stack in crisscross design

One match if the wood is dry

Teepee method. 

We arrived in Olympia smelling like bums.

One of the many Michaels that we know loaned us his Oly apartment for the summer so we settled in there, washed our dirty bodies, clothing, and car and set about finding me a wardrobe for when I go back to Harborview Med Center to do some hourly work through July. Connie's enjoying spending time with her kids and weeding the garden beds at her rental house.  On the weekends I'm taking Amtrak from Seattle to Olympia to re-consummate my marriage and during the week I stay with Seattle friends, do the standard bus commute, and clock my eight hours catching up on open work tickets with the HMC Finance IT team.

So that's what we've been up to, the standard stuff that we do every summer for the last three summers.  Jim Kitchen at Puget Sound Sails is making us a new main sail. We are ordering new isinglass for the dodger, giving the sewing machine a tune up, researching how to mend or replace a steel diesel tank, and talking to Scott and Karen about another attempt next spring to visit Hawaii.  What?  Yes, we are thinking about attempting Hawaii again.  Sounds like a mountaineer saying, "Yep, we're thinking about attempting Kilimanjaro again this season.

Life is so different here (in the states).  It ain't Mexico.  Here you have clean sidewalks, smooth roads, nice parks, and big trees!  I was very happy to be back in the States and enjoyed our cross country trip immensely .  Then at the end of the trip in Seattle there was that first morning when I walked up the hill to work.  As I walked my nose was accosted by smells of stale tobacco smoke, diesel, urine, and believe it or not, rats. Yes, I can smell rat pee and poop wafting up from the basements of old buildings.  The city air is filled with sirens. Most everyone is really white and they constantly stare at little flat electronic devices.  Catch someone's eye and smile and you get a little shy grin or a quick cut to the side.  People drive fast and talk loud.  Look, what's that? Some campers, right here in the city.  There are tents pitched on the sloping ground next to the freeway overpasses. Those guys look a little scruffy, huddled in small groups smoking cigarettes.  No glorious fires for these folks!  Would they use the crisscross or teepee method?

Thanks for listening. Now get out of here and do something worthwhile with yourself!

Connie Bunyer, Adventurous Diva Athlete

Holed up here in Puerto Don Juan for three days we finished reading our current novels and started in on some more.  Connie made pizza dough then cooked the monster calabasa squash we'd been saving for our Hawaii trip.   We spoke with the fishing boat Dora, (Three 100 hp Yamahas and a flying bridge), and loaned them our jerry jugs  so their skipper could go to Bahia de los Angeles Village and load up more gasoline to power those three 100 hp Yamahas.

On their sunset return to the safe anchorage, Dora nosed up to Traveler and the crew handed us the fuel jugs.  “Want some fish?”  “Let me get a bucket,” I said. They wrestled across a big yellow tail tuna and then handed us a bag of sea bass.  Nice!  The next hour was a blood bath on the side deck.  By dark, we’d fileted all the fish.  By 9:00 PM we were having sashimi from the belly of the yellow tail.  By bedtime we’d finished a couple of slices of pizza, cleaned up the galley, and secured the boat for yet another windy night.

Calabasa Squash

 
Maybe a little more background to the story is necessary…Last Wednesday morning while recovering from a sleepless, windy night in Bahia San Francisquito, I was able to bring up the Sonrisa weather on the single side band.  When we heard Gary’s gale warning for the northern sea, looked at each other and said simultaneously, “Oh Shoot!” or something of that nature.  We quickly brought up the anchor and started motoring the 46 nautical miles north towards the best hurricane hole in the Bay of LA area, Puerto Don Juan.  During the day as I lay napping down below, I heard the engine slow down.

Sea Bass

I looked up into the cockpit at Connie just as she was saying, “Oh Shoot!” or something of that nature.  Sure enough the boat had slowed.  We cut the throttle, put it in neutral, and coasted along.  I took up the floorboards and checked the engine and drive train.  It looked good.  We put her in reverse, thinking maybe we’d hit some seaweed and that would back it off the prop.  After some futzing around we got her underway again but now she was making a slight whirring sound.  The water was pretty murky with bits of seaweed floating about and the sea was pretty choppy.  Should we dive the prop?  With this red tide, current, wind, chop and swell it would not be pleasant or even safe. So we continued on to Puerto Don Juan which was another hour or so just around the corner.

Every night for the last five, no matter where we anchored, the wind would come up from the southwest at about midnight and howl along at 15 to 25 knots until daybreak.  Our sleep patterns had been to sleep from 10 to midnight, be awake until about 5 AM, and then sleep in until 9:00 AM so we were a little sleep deprived.  Once snugged down in Puerto Don Juan we were sleeping a little better with all the lines and gear tied down and two anchor drag alarms set.

Ensenada el Quemado

The morning after the fish blood bath we had vowed to somehow get off the boat.  After breakfast we got the dinghy into the water and mounted the outboard on it.  We motored around the mother ship looking underneath and could see some murky wreaths of kelp or seaweed coming off the propeller area.  For certain, we’d have to dive the propeller before we left the anchorage. 

We ran the dink south to the beach, about a quarter mile upwind from the boat and hauled her onto the shore.  We pulled her above a tide line while noticing that there were other tide lines further up the beach.  It was wonderful to get off the boat after five days aboard.  Connie had on her hiking boots and I had on my Keen sandals.  We saw the tracks of coyote and land crabs and marveled at the cactus varieties. Our hike took us across towards the next bay south, Ensenada el Quemado.  Looking for a view we headed uphill and in a half hour found a wonderful summit point where we could see our anchorage and the many islands to the north and east. 

Connie's panorama shot #1.  Notice our dinghy just now floating off the beach.

Connie's panorama shot #2.  Notice SV Traveler anchored way down there in the bay.

Connie's panorama shot #3.  The precise moment Scott notices the dinghy is afloat!

I could see Traveler down below, anchored dead center in the Puerto Don Juan and on the south beach I could see our little dinghy.  Connie figured out how to take a panorama picture on the camera and as she rotated around towards me, splicing the scenes into one, I looked over her shoulder at our dinghy on the beach.  No, not on the beach!  It was slowly drifting north, back towards Traveler and we were not in that dinghy nor was anyone else!  Connie told me to hold still, as she had not finished the panorama.  I told her the dinghy was loose and we had to go get it quick.  We uttered our favorite phrase (as of late) and started scurrying down the rocky slope.
  

 Below, there was a little point of rock protruding about 100 yards into the bay.  If we could make it down to that point fast enough we could swim out and intercept the dinghy before it drifted too far from shore.  What followed was rock, scree, cactus, boulder hopping, and gravel in my sandals.  After negotiating the steep hill and the gully we came out on flatter ground where Connie kicked into gear and left me in the dust, her boots flying over the rough terrain.  By the time I got down to the water she had jettisoned the boots and socks, dropped the camera and dove mightily, and without caution I might add, into the water.  I arrived at the shore panting and started taking pictures as she did the crawl then the backstroke.  A side note:  I notice in myself, when faced with a tough situation or an emergency condition, my first reflex is to get out the camera so as to document what could be a future blog entry. The dinghy had caught the building south wind and was zooming along, free at last.  Connie was on an intercept course. Would she make it in time?  The wind was blowing from the south.  The lightweight dinghy was being wafted sideways along on a northerly course.  Connie’s intercept was from the east so her angle of approach was the shortest possible.  I was able to triangulate the vectors from shore, doing my best to help.  It was do or die.

I thought, “What if she does not make the intercept?”  Then she’d be way out there in the cold water and she might have trouble swimming back to shore.  I’d have to dive into the water.  No, scratch that. I’d wade in first, and then swim out.  When I reached her she’d be at the end of her strength. I’d take her in tow but before making it back to land I’d get a big leg cramp from the 65 degree water and we’d both go down to the bottom together, hand in hand.  They’d later find Traveler with breakfast dishes in the sink and the dinghy washed up on shore a half mile to the north. 

Connie is almost to the intercept point.

Yea!  Now swim it back to shore.

Back to reality…  She made it, just barely, then held onto the dinghy painter while she got her breath. At first she tried to swim and tow the boat until she realized that was a bad idea.  The water was cold and she’d drifted far away from the shore.   It took two tries for her to haul herself out of the water but she finally flung herself into the bottom of the boat and laid there for a few seconds breathing heavily.  I got a great shot of nothing but her legs shooting up from the bottom of the dinghy.  Then Connie got out the oars and started rowing.

I watched her row and I did that thing where you hold out your arm and sight along your raised index finger to see if the item being viewed is moving relative to the land or not.  She was making zero progress.   She also realized that she was making zero progress and that there was a perfectly good outboard motor aboard.   Soon boat, motor, and Connie showed up to rescue Scott from shore.   And was I ever proud of my dear wife.  She hiked, ran, swam, and rowed.  She’d done a quadrathlon!  What could top that? Well, there’s more… 

Note the feet in the air.

Back at Traveler a dry Scott and a wet Connie secured the errant dinghy and climbed aboard.  I reminded Connie that we’d have to check the seaweed on the prop later today.  Looking at her dripping clothing she decided, what the heck, I’ll just do it now.  I’m already wet.  So Connie got the mask, snorkel, and fins out of the closet.  She strapped on the brawny dive knife to her thigh and hurled herself into the choppy water.  My heart swelled up with pride at my quadrathlon running, adventurous diva athlete wife.








 

Connie returns the errant dinghy and saves Scott's life.

 
It took five submersions for her to saw off the weed from the propeller shaft and one more to check the zinc.  By the time the diva shivered her way up the swim ladder she was studded with goosebumps head to toe.

Right back into the cold cold water to cut off the kelp.

We rubbed her down, rinsed her off, and scuttled her below into bed with a hot water bottle and some Havana Club. I, myself stepping and fetching trying to make her comfortable by bringing in hot ginger tea and warmed pesto noodles, the two of us finally cuddling there together talking about our brush with death and Connie’s heroic efforts to save us both from dying abandoned on a desolate beach.

 

What To Do With the Dink

Sonrisa Weather Report Saturday May 9, 2015.  for Santa Rosalia and Punta Chivato

Morning Wind NNW 13 to 17 knots
Afternoon Wind NNW 16 to 21 knots
Sunday Afternoon Wind NNW 17 to 22 knots
Monday Afternoon Wind ENE 8 to 10

I just measured 13 knots of wind here inside the breakwater.  Outside the harbor the white caps extend as far as the eye can see.  Traveler will stay put a few more days before we continue our trip north up the Sea of Cortez.  We couldn’t have picked a better place to hunker down for a while.  Santa Rosalia is an interesting little port.  The breakwater made from slag blocks has been here since 1922 and is doing a great job sheltering us from the swell.  The copper mines have been closed for years but their legacy remains in the French style architecture and the crumbling smelter works in town.  It’s a good place to do laundry, provision, walk the historic streets, and catch up on our communications.  With a little time on my hands I thought I’d write a little something about a very important piece of cruising gear, the dinghy.  Some people lovingly call it the dink.

Punta Pulpita Anchorage

When we bought Traveler she came with a 10.5 foot Caribe fiberglass RIB (Rigid Inflatable Boat) dinghy.  She’d been exposed to the sun’s UV for many years and had sprouted a few slow leaks.  As time went by and the glue started to fail we tore off an oarlock and a rubber cleat and she started to look pretty beat up.  It was always a heavy dinghy.  The two of us could barely haul it up on the rear dinghy davits or try to crank it up on deck.  We found that the inner hull leaked into the outer hull so we were carrying around a few extra pounds of water. 

Big Eye Jack fun to catch, not too good to eat.

We started carrying around the air pump so we could re-inflate the boat before returning from shore.  Finally, last season we pulled the plug on the old Caribe and gave it to one of the yard workers in Guaymas.  We returned the next fall with a new, smaller, lightweight aluminum RIB.

Of course I researched all the dinghy options, talking to fellow cruisers, seeing what worked and what didn’t.  I think the most important consideration is the size and style of the mother ship.  Some boats have a roomy foredeck or a space under the boom for storing a dinghy on deck.  This space can determine the length and breadth of the “tender; “a nautical term for a small boat that runs to shore doing business for the mother ship.  Similarly, if the mother ship is fitted with dinghy davits on the stern the dinghy must fit those davits both in size and weight.  So, where are you gonna put it and how are you gonna get it there?

My list of must-haves included a wind steering system.  When I mounted the Hydrovane on the stern of the boat it was in the way of the dinghy davits.  When I raised the dinghy with the davits it rubbed on the vane.  In Ensenada I took Traveler out for a sail in the bay and got into some good sized swell.  The dinghy hanging off the davits swung back and forth bouncing off the pulpit.  I tied it as tightly as I could but it still banged around.  Thus I knew that I didn’t want the dinghy on those davits for anything but the mildest conditions.  This year I removed the davits entirely.

Egret checking out hoisting tackle.

Taking measurements of the foredeck and calculating the weight, Connie and I decided to get something small and light that could easily be hauled on deck.  Here is what we looked at:

Traditional wood dinghy:   The possibilities here are endless.  You can make one yourself or buy one beautifully handcrafted by a professional.  They usually row well and can be fitted with sailing gear. For us, we didn’t want the maintenance or the weight and didn’t have the deck space.

Porte-Bote folding boat:  68 pounds for the 8.5 foot model.  It disassembles so you can strap it to the deck or lifelines.  Light weight and durable.  We didn’t want to be constantly taking it apart and putting it back together.  They also look funny.  I know, this shouldn’t be a concern but it is.

Plastic Kayaks or Paddle Boards:  These are fun but there is always the chance that you will get wet.  Many people strap these to the lifelines but that’s a windage concern.  Besides, where would you put the groceries?

Polypropylene boat:  Walker Bay makes a good one.  Their 8 foot model weighs 71 pounds. West Marine makes one also.  These hard shell dinghies are tough!  They can be rigged with expensive sails and you can have a lot of fun zipping around the anchorage.  Floatation can be added to make them more like an inflatable RIB.  The only thing that kept us from buying one of these is the fact that they don’t collapse and would take up too much space on our foredeck. Other than that, they are very reasonably priced.

Pelican skipper on West Marine dinghy.  Note the little tank on the outboard motor.

Portland Pudgy:  This unsinkable little tender has some great features.  It can double as your life raft, has storage compartments, is indestructible, and really cute!  If we had a place to secure this boat on deck and the hoisting system to get it there (it’s 500 pounds), we’d consider it as a sturdier option than the Walker Bay.

Standard Inflatable:  With no hard bottom, when deflated these can be rolled into a small package you can strap on deck or put in a cockpit locker.  The downside is that it doesn’t cut through waves well and takes more horsepower or people power to move it through the water. 

We hang it from the side at night.  Nice chaps.

Fiberglass RIB:  This is the standard tender for cruising sailboats.  With a rigid hull, they move through the water easily and can handle large loads.   If you match the engine horsepower to the boat you can plane with two people aboard.  When the tubes are deflated it stores more easily on deck.

Aluminum RIB:  Much like the Fiberglass RIB but lighter weight.  Also consider that where aluminum might merely dent on impact, fiberglass would chip or break. 

V' Ger with soft floor dink upside on deck.

One of the ways to save weight is to do away with the flat floor and just have a single hull.  The downside to this is that when standing inside the dinghy you are on a sloping surface.  The upside is that there is no hidden bilge to collect water.

Once we narrowed our search to a small aluminum RIB we found a good selection at Ballard Inflatables in Seattle, Washington.   I originally went there to buy the AB brand Ultralight but found a less expensive brand named Highfield that suited our needs and budget.  We bought the 53 pound, 7’ 10” RIB and stuffed it into the Toyota Dolphin to carry down to Mexico.

With the engine off, Connie and I can easily carry the RIB up the beach or drag it onto the dock.  When we bring it up alongside the mother ship it’s easily hoisted on the jib halyard.  For passages, we deflate it and strap it to the rear of the foredeck leaving ample room for managing the anchor and the staysail. 

Miss Teak has davits up high on the arch.

Our 6 HP outboard is too heavy for the little RIB but we’re using it anyway this season, being careful not to let following waves swamp the boat.  Next year we’ll replace the 6 hp with a 3 or 4 HP or better yet, an electric motor! Many boaters have larger outboards, the 9.9 hp being fairly common. But then again, many boaters have big tenders; that’s a lot of weight to be hauling up and down on a daily basis. Smaller motors have the gas tank built in so you don’t have to be schlepping a tank and fuel line every time you mount the motor.  For us, as long as we don’t have too far to go, we leave the outboard bolted to Traveler’s stern rail and use oars to go ashore.  

Here are some other things to consider when choosing and outfitting a dinghy:

Dinghy Chaps:  Connie made a set of these out of green Sunbrella.  Chaps will extend the life of the hypalon tubes by keeping the UV at bay. They also look good and disguise the age of the dinghy.

Hypalon vs PVC:  Hypalon will cost slightly more but has better UV resistance and might be stouter.  PVC is easier to patch and cheaper.  PVC tube construction has improved over the years and has become a better choice than in the past.  

Cats usually hoist the dink in the rear between the two hulls.

Hoisting cable:  To bring the dinghy on deck you’ll need to rig a triangle of cable or line to two points on the stern and one at the bow.  We leave these permanently in the RIB.

Wheels:  With the outboard mounted, wheels make it easy to run up on the beach.  Our outboard weighs 55 pounds, the same as the dinghy.  At 110 pounds the rig is a bit too heavy to lift the whole thing up to carry ashore.  To land the boat, we flip the wheels down and lock them in place.  When the wheels touch sand, we turn off the engine.  Then we hop out, take the boat by the bow, and walk it up above the surf line.  Easy peasy. 

Dinghy Davits:  When in calm waters dinghy davits are quite handy. However, in large seas a dinghy hanging off the back of the boat will inevitably knock around and break something.  The davits need to be high enough so that no breaking wave can reach the boat but then again the dinghy shouldn’t restrict your view out the back of the boat.  So it’s got to be way up there in the air and it has to be strapped securely.  A tall platform on the stern of the boat is called an arch.  It can hold solar panels, antennae, and radar in addition to having dinghy davits built in.  These are great for coastal cruising.  When offshore, though, bring the dinghy up on deck.

Air Ops with standard davits.  Good in calm seas.

Outboard hoist:  Most cruising boats have some sort of hoist to bring the outboard motor up to the stern pulpit.  Keep in mind that the smaller the motor the easier it will be to hoist up to the rail.  Our hoist has two double tackle lines, one that controls the boom arm and one that hoists the motor.  The cardinal rule when hauling an outboard aboard is to have a separate safety line tied from the motor to the boat just in case you drop the thing into the drink.

Outboard motor hoist on Traveler

Security:  The outboard motor is easy to steal and easy to fence.  Bring the outboard up off the dinghy and secure it to the rail with a sturdy padlock.  Another option is to bring the dinghy up alongside with the jib halyard and lock the engine with a cable and padlock to a heavy deck fitting or chain plate.  When in a risky neighborhood or when leaving the boat for a few days, put the outboard motor down below in the mother ship cabin or at least lie it on its side out of view in the cockpit.  Shane and Tina on the worthy sailing vessel Vagrant put together a gizmo with rotating lights and a siren and ran the switch to their sleeping cabin.  If they hear a burglar they punch the switch and the suspect is scared out of his wits.  Someone else actually told me that they sleep with a fishing line tied from their outboard motor to their big toe.  We were drinking at the time I heard this story so I give it no credence.

Maintenance:  Outside of the typical outboard motor maintenance the dinghy is pretty easy to maintain.  If you bring the boat up out of the water nightly the hull won’t get slimy or develop barnacles.   We remove the oars and stow them away inside the cockpit locker.  At the marina, haul out the dinghy and rinse off the salt.   Then take apart the oars and wash them with fresh water.  Most dinghy oars have locking pins that can rust up, stick in place, then eventually break if they are not cleaned regularly.

The Painter:  This is the tow line.  It is best made from poly so it can’t sink.  If not, set little floats on the line so it stays on top of the water.  The most common mistake here is backing over the dinghy tow line, getting it stuck in the propeller, and losing propulsion on the mother ship.  We always snub the dinghy up close when anchoring or docking.

Caleta Candeleros Chico, our favorite anchorage this year, thus far.

You know, we all benefit hugely from our own and other’s experiences.  I know people who have dropped their outboard motor overboard and couldn’t find it in 20 feet of water.  Multiple friends have backed over their dinghy painter, wrapping it around the propeller.  One guy bent the prop shaft and knocked the engine off its mounts solely from wrapping a line around the prop.  I had an out of control dinghy on davits smash my stern light.  We had our outboard stolen right off the tender hanging on the side of the boat.  Many of us older cruisers pull muscles hoisting up small boats and motors that really should be smaller.  We live, we learn, we evolve.

So far we are finding our little aluminum dink to be quite handy.  It’s a little funky trying to row it straight and it’s a bit of a tippy canoe when getting in and out but it sure is a delight being able to toss it about so easily. 

The wind is still up.  The laundry is done.  I’ll have Connie proof read this mess then maybe, just maybe, we will treat ourselves to dinner out!

Mangos at 65 cents a pound makes Connie very happy.