Servicing our Inflatable PFDs

On the continuing theme of safety*, which has overtaken our lives… This morning we were witness to one of those near-tragedies that reminds you how quickly it can all go wrong. A neighbour pulled into the dock and rather than hitting the kill switch she bumped her boat back into gear. This caused it to sheer off and dump her in the water. The dinghy started doing tight circles around her—and terrified she tried to get a hold of it, rather than swim to safety.

It was sheer luck that the prop didn’t get her legs. It circled over her twice before a skipper in another dinghy was able to grab it. The lesson was, ‘always wear your kill switch’—like most cruisers we’re really bad at this. But also, she should have swum away from her dinghy—there was a dock right there to jump up on and other boats to hide behind—a swimmer simply can’t gain control of a run away dinghy.

 

We wear them faithfully at sea, but want to be sure they are still in good condition.

So with that lesson in mind Ev and I continued on our checking and inspecting of safety equipment and pulled out the inflatable PFDs. Ours are West Marine brand and are going on 20 years old. I’m planning to replace mine with one that’s more comfortable—but Ev is fond of his (and loathes spending money when we don’t need to), so we decided to hold off replacing both based on a complete inspection.

Maia orally inflates the PFD

In AU, annual professional service inspections are required for inflatable PFDs—this strikes me as overkill. Personally, we’re comfortable with doing our own inspections on a more ad hoc basis. Roughly what this means is we’ve manually inflated ours every few years and looked them over before packing them back away. This time we decided to go an extra step and pull the rip cord on mine. We wanted to be sure all the seams held with the higher pressure inflation. And I’ve always wanted to pull the cord…

 

The stitching looked good and it also passed the pull and tear test

The manual inflation valve--it's a simple valve and easy to inspect

Before I got to pull, the first step was an exterior inspection for visible wear and damage. We checked that:

1. the cover closures are in good condition (our Velcro is a bit worn—but nothing terrible)
2. the webbing straps have no visible damage
3. the buckle works smoothly and isn’t cracking or aged looking
4. the stitching is all strong
5. and the harness components are all in good condition

 

The whistle worked fine and the string holding it was strong and secure

The spent CO2 cartridge showed some minor corrosion

 Then I pulled the cord. It wasn’t as exciting as hoped—put the thing sure does inflate quickly and puffs up in a most gratifying way. While I inflated the easy way, Maia blew up the other one. It didn’t take long to get it firmly inflated. Then we checked that:

1. retro-reflective tape is mostly firmly attached and more or less undamaged
2. the whistle works
3. the oral inflation tube has no visible damage and lets out pressure as needed
4. fabric itself is in good condition—we inspected around the fold lines and at all the seams especially
5. the inflation valve is in working order

 

Minimum weight is 145.5g for this unused cartridge it weighed 147

The seams and folds all looked in great shape and the bladder was holding air just fine

The next step is to let them sit overnight and make sure they hold air. While they sit we inspected Ev’s CO2 cartridge and made sure it was corrosion free and weighed at least what the minimum weight requirement is (it’s stamped on each cartridge).

At this point though, those old PFDs are looking remarkably good…

* Safety seems to be spreading from our cruising plans and daily life, to my work life with a story for Outside on how to survive a trip and another for Men’s Journal about getting rescued by the crowd…

What to do When the EPIRB Goes Off

 

 

Evan just wrote about updating our EPIRB. Then we argued for a while about where to keep the thing. Ev says it should go in our ditch bag, which is stored in an easy grab location. Our old EPIRB used to be wall mounted in the port hull until I had a long (and very, very detailed) nightmare about being capsized and trying to get into the port hull and find the thing. Which given its location near Maia’s books and toys meant it was both under water and buried beneath piles of stuffed animals). Seriously—the memory of that nightmare made me ditch half her stuffies and come up with a plan B for the EPIRB.

I’m still not convinced the ditch bag is the best location. But we have two EPIRBs so we’ll keep the new one in the ditch bag and choose a place for the spare that seems more reassuring to me…

Which brings me to, “what the heck happens if we set the thing off?” My sister is first in line for the phone call should something happen. As we were getting all her numbers she wisely asked, "so, what do I do when you're sinking?”

the hope is for a successful rescue

It’s a really good question. Having been witness to a few too many failed rescues I can’t emphasize enough that whoever is going to get that phone call really needs to:

1)      Want you back

2)      Be really organized and prepared to work hard to find you

3)      Have enough information to know when to work quickly

So with a few changes this is what Evan wrote my sister (credit should go to Beth and Evans who he paraphrases heavily--http://www.bethandevans.com/seamanship.htm). Feel free to chime in with your thoughts. We’d like to have the best plan possible. I respect those folks who go out there and take risks and let what happens, happen. But if I’m in trouble—I want to be found:

A high percentage of EPIRB alarms are false alarms. So, the first thing the agency will want to know is "is this a real alert"?  With us, it's a good assumption we haven't thrown the EPIRB in the garbage and had it go off by accident (like someone in Ev’s company did recently). Because our blog is typically updated daily on a passage it’s pretty easy to confirm if we might be in trouble—though we realize we need to do a better job of always including a tag at the bottom that includes our GPS position, direction and speed. Weather info is also a good one for us to throw in there. 

While the EPIRB agency is asking questions it will be a good idea for my sister to ask them a few too:

- the exact location of the emergency signal (latitude/longitude)

- time of the first EPIRB signal fix

- the location and time of the last fix (when the EPIRB batteries ran down) or the latest fix (if it is still transmitting).

This will give her some indication of whether the boat is disabled and drifting or still under its own power/sail, and help "define the optimal search area/pattern." We're a light boat with a lot of surface area, even when the sails are down the boat can drift quite quickly in a strong wind. One data point is we drift at 4 knots in 25 knots of wind with NO SAILS UP.

Locating a cruising boat that is nearby can help with coordinating a search and rescue. We’re not loners and typically go where the crowd goes—so that means chances are another boat may be within a few hundred miles of us. We’ll also be passing along the email contacts of a couple of our sailing guru friends who can hold her hand and offer additional advice.

- The WinLink position map is a helpful way to identify other cruising boats in the region, which can then be communicated with via e-mail. We told her she can look at the map here:  www.winlink.org/userPositions

If she finds a cruising boat near our distress position she can send them an emergency email even if her email address hasn’t been white listed:

Message Precedence Categories

Precedence categories are Flash (Z), Immediate (O), Priority (P), and Routine (R). Flash and Immediate messages are reserved for urgent.

                     

The precedence indicator is included in a Winlink message by adding one of the following to the beginning of the subject line in a message whether originated from Internet email or within the Winlink system.

//WL2K Z/ - Flash (for urgent message use only)

//WL2K O/ - Immediate (for urgent message use only)

Send an email to (the boat's call sign @winlink.org).  e.g. KE7MZB@winlink.org with this: ‘//WL2K Z/Missing boat’ in the subject line. She should give them as much information as possible, a description of our boat and ask them for help and to spread the word amongst other local cruising boats. Ask them to contact authorities ashore too.

- There’s also a map of SailBlogs boat positions at www.sailblogs.com/member_map.php.

- www.marinetraffic.com/ais/ shows a world map with positions of vessels transmitting AIS.  It may be possible to find an email for those vessels by googling their ship/boat name.

She should also post messages at www.boatwatchnet.org/ and the 'Distress call/missing yacht" section of   www.cruiserlog.com/forums/ . This will get the ham nets involved in helping contact/search for the vessel in trouble.

Communications with non-English speaking local SAR people can be difficult. It is useful to involve both the Canadian embassy (and the US embassy—I know we had an American baby for a reason…) and a local yacht club in the country where the SAR is underway. They will both tend to have senior government contacts and be able to communicate in the local language.

Finally, if at all possible, she should get a designated point of contact/communication with our local agency (who will handle the initial EPIRB signals) and the foreign SAR agency (who hopefully actually look for us). This helps make sure that information gets to everyone as it comes up. A helpful site with additional collected information of SAR contacts, procedures and resources is: www.rcc-net.org/ .

One thing to keep in mind is that in many under resourced countries looking for foreign yachts is not a priority and it’s asking them to do more than they do to find their own lost citizens… So the more my sister is able to coordinate herself—the better off we’ll be.

And thanks in advance, Sis…

The Day Job--storm story

Because I'm pretty sure most of you don't care where Scarlett Johansson might go for a romantic escape, or which Olympic stadium was the coolest--I don't normally link to the stories I write for a living on this blog. But this one for Cruising World was one that I first wrote about here--way back in Feb 2010. So I thought it fit.

Safety at Sea: When Fury Overtakes a Cruisers’ Safe Haven

Anchoring lessons are learned, some the hard way, when a freak winter storm blows into Mexico's Bahía de Banderas.

by Story and Photos by Diane Selkirk 

David Norton

The harbor off La Cruz de Huanacaxtle, in the northern part of Bahía de Banderas, on Mexico’s Pacific coast near Puerto Vallarta, is a popular anchorage for cruisers. In winter, it’s known for providing protection from north winds, though it’s exposed to the south.

Bad weather is something we’re prepared for—at sea. But when the passage is over and we’ve dropped the hook, hurricane-force winds and 6-foot seas are the last things we expect. But we realize that extreme weather can happen just about anywhere. We experienced this firsthand when winds in excess of 80 knots ripped through Bahía de Banderas, on Mexico’s mainland near Puerto Vallarta, toppling trees, blowing windows out of high rises, and cutting power to towns around the bay. Over half of the 60 or so boats anchored in La Cruz de Huanacaxtle, in the northern part of the bay, dragged or lost their anchors, and dozens more ended up with shredded sails or impact damage. Two boats went aground.

Read the rest of the story here: http://www.cruisingworld.com/people/passage-notes/safety-at-sea-when-fury-overtakes-a-cruisers-safe-haven

Rescuing a Neighbour

An easy to deploy rescue system is essential on a boat

First a lifejacket drifted past us, then a shoe. We were driving our dinghy down the pile moorings, looking for open slips for a boat arriving from New Caledonia but what we found was our elderly neighbour in the water.

Falling in is always a risk on a boat—and having some easy way to get out again is essential. But we discovered that because most of us don’t practice and test our escape out of the water methods, they might not work as planned.

In our neighbour’s case he had a ladder. But after a quick attempt on his own he realized not only that he couldn’t climb it but he dislodged it with his efforts. He started yelling and a couple from a nearby boat arrived just before we did, but even with help from the five of us it took about 20 minutes to get him aboard.

We had so many precarious moments in the process. None of us could lift him—but our efforts to support him hampered his efforts to help himself. And not knowing his boat (which was a real mess) we weren’t able to find any sort of lifesling system to help us get him up.

Eventually though (one painful step, and a few heart-wrenching slips at a time) we got him aboard. Getting emergency service was something else though. The emergency number here is ‘000’
(which I only recently learned--shame on me) but the automated system for mobile phone users was difficult to activate while actually trying to help someone. So I ended up calling Evan—who then called for help and relayed the information back through Maia.

With the police boat located well down the river from us, we ended up ferrying land-based emergency personal back and forth, and finally (once he was stabilized and in agreement—he’s a stubborn old fellow) we took our neighbour to the dock and to the waiting ambulance.

This was our third major rescue since cruising. And I wondered yesterday how they must affect Maia. The first time we rescued people it was her who heard the faint yells for help in San Francisco Bay. A group of teens had jumped off a wall to swim but two of them got swept away by the current. By the time we pulled the second boy out he was too weak to even help himself. Then there were the two men who had been adrift with no engine, no battery power, and were out of food and water from a difficult Pacific crossing. Evan and Maia took the dinghy out into heavy (for a dinghy) seas to try to manoeuvre them safely into harbour before their boat drifted further away.

The funny thing is I thought being involved in these high stress rescues might make Maia fearful, but instead they seem to make her even more alert to helping other people. Not a bad record for a kid: helping to five people in three different emergencies by the time you’re 11.

Fellow boaters--anyone have tips or links for simple to rig recovery systems that would work on someone else's boat? It retrospect we should have had some sort of line around him--there were so many moments when I feared that even several sets of hands wouldn't be sufficient for hoisting him up.

Is Sailing Safe?

The fate of the Aegean might be found in her SPOT track

 There’s a stark image available on the internet right now that shows what most likely occurred to the sailboat Aegean when it disappeared at 1:30 am April 28 while competing in the Newport Beach to Ensenada Yacht Race. The image shows the race boat’s route as it motored in a straight line then slammed into the unlit rocky cliffs of North Coronado Island at 6.5kts. Several hours later a debris field and bodies were found.

Those who don’t sail are wondering how these things can happen—and so close in the wake of the tragic loss Low Speed Chase there are even people questioning if offshore racing is actually safe. Meanwhile keyboard sailors all over the world are speculating about the how’s and why’s of two accidents that simply shouldn’t have occurred—all while mourning the loss of nine of our own.

Sailing is safe. I’ve been telling Maia’s grandparent’s this for years—and statistics back me up. People killed or injured while sailing barely make a blip on either the Canadian Red Crosses’ Boating Immersion and Trauma Deaths in Canada or The US Coast Guard’s Recreational Boating Statistics. If you want to know who dies on the water—it’s wakeboarders who drink, are male and who are between the ages 18-24. Not middle aged sailors.

Perhaps it’s because devastating accidents like these are so uncommon that these two have become international news. Or perhaps it’s because they are so inexplicable—how do two boats, both with experienced crew end up destroyed and with multiple fatalities?

As details still come in—it looks like the tragedies have less to do with inexperience and more to do with the over-confidence that comes with expertise. When you do something often it’s easy to become complacent—you skirt the surf line just a little closer than you should, or perhaps you take a look at the chart plotter, zoom way out to your destination and set the waypoint without ever seeing that smudge of solid island on your route. Then you turn on the autopilot and enjoy a beautiful night…

Almost every sailor can tell you about a moment when they realized they've charted a course directly over a reef, or how in a moment of distraction they typed the wrong waypoint into an autopilot and found themselves aiming at land. Or maybe they went forward without clipping their harness on and just missed being swept away by a wave, or maybe their hat was knocked off as they failed to duck when the boom came crashing past.

Sailing, like life, is a series of near misses punctuated by tragedy.

Accidents happen. And despite radar, AIS, and chartplotters, autopilots and EPIRBs, which should make us safer, we can become too dependent on them and make mistakes. And so now we mourn the loss of our fellow sailors and do our best to be mindful. Sailing is only as safe as we make it.

How to Wreck a Boat

So here’s the deal—even with lots of ocean miles and plenty of experience you can still wreck your boat—in the span of a few heart beats.

When we came down the river Friday morning it was on a spring tide (it’s a full moon thing—not a season thing) which meant there was a lot of water pushing us to the sea adding 3+ knots to our boat speed in places. There was also 15 knots of wind in our face.

We needed to pull into a fuel dock—so the choice was dock into the wind? Or into the current? A sustained strong gust made us choose the wind—but as we approached the dock, and the wind died, we realized we chose wrong. But we bounced onto and along the dock and managed to stop ourselves after losing only a little paint.

But then it was time to leave. Leaving into a strong current is a cake walk if there is nothing directly ahead of you—but if you have mega-yacht row downstream, with the first big shiny yacht a boat length away—leaving gets trickier. Or technique was to angle our bows out into the current by going in reverse—then when we were pointed into the middle (and past the power boat) we hit it with full forward throttle and the wheel hard over.

The boat was promptly pushed back into the dock by the current and we were now hurtling toward a huge, expensive looking powerboat. Evan called for me to turn harder and raise the rpms to redline—hoping to get the boat to turn. Which it did, inch by inch. We could have kissed the powerboat as we swept by—literally.

Then the engine died.

We are still on Fiji fuel. But we filter fuel as we it bring aboard and we have two more inline filters. But the engine still laboured and died. And then laboured and died again. Evan decided it was a fuel issue. I decided we needed a sail. So we unfurled the genoa and tacked down the river until we reached a wide spot where we could anchor. Only to discover that the hateful Italian anchor windlass, had after three months of non-use, had turned bitter and seized up.

So you got this? We just about flatten the boat, and live. Then the engine dies on a busy river and we set a sail and live. We get to a safe place to drop the anchor and the windlass won’t work… It feels like we should just go home. But can’t.

But Ev drops the anchor manually then set about replacing the fuel filter. The engine starts—so he sets out to fix the windlass. His multimetre (which would diagnose the problem) has a flat battery. So we decide to haul up the anchor by hand and fix the windlass out on the bay.

So we head off—and after ten mellow minutes the engine starts to die. A freighter is coming—so I aim for the river bank where we drop anchor—again.

 This seemed like a good time to sit down, have lunch and decide if we really wanted to go out for the weekend after all. Because it sort of seemed like maybe we weren’t meant to. But then Maia mentioned the Easter Bunny and we rallied. Evan completed a repair on the windlass sans helpful tools and changed the fuel filter and the next morning we headed to join our friends.

the sort of sailing mishap that is fun--rather than fraught

Don’t Just Do It

navigation error

One year ago we were in countdown mode: finishing boat projects, compiling lists, making plans, and in our spare moments dreaming. Dreaming about the months to come where we’d sail across the South Pacific, stop in extraordinary places and live out the ultimate fantasy.

It’s still a bit surreal to realize we did it—but each time we’re asked for advice, or our opinions, it becomes a little more real. The typical question is a vague one—what advice do we have for wanna-bes? What could we tell those who want to follow in our wake?

I know the popular answer is, ‘Just go! Go now. Don’t wait. Don’t let life hold you back!’ And sure—that’s great advice if your boat, your bank account, and you are ready enough to go.

If not? Our honest advice? Don’t go. Not yet…

I know—this is a very unpopular position. Quite negative really… Especially if you’ve read those blogs and books by the bumbling sailor types who were clueless when they started but then all the misadventures led to grand adventures and finally a book deal. But those sailors are the exception. Honestly.

Too often momentum, money and skill run out before the adventure is done. Want proof? Go look for a cheap used boat—you’ll find them all over the world, abandoned when the cruising kitty ran dry, or the marriage ended or the breakdowns mounted up. No one blogs about these trips and these abandoned dreams—but seriously no one sets out with the plan of selling a boat with a hole in it from Vanuatu…

towed in from the sea

Is your boat ready?

Boats don’t need to be fancy or outfitted with the latest and greatest, but they do need to be well founded and in good repair. Rigging needs to be relatively new (we know of several boats that lost masts in some very isolated locations—and have encountered several abandoned sailboats that didn’t have sticks). Sails need to be in good shape and you should have the ability to repair or swap them out. You need to have spare parts for engines and outboards. In short, every major system on your boat needs to function well and you should have the ability to repair it, or do without.

Is your bank account ready?

How much money is enough? No two budgets are the same… So I can’t offer a number. I can say this—it’s hard to make money when you are travelling, so plan to be financially self-sufficient for as long as you plan to be out. Planning to stop and work is cool—many of us do that—but you need have money enough to bridge the gap. Assume expensive things will break. Assume you’ll need some sort of medical care. Assume you may need to suddenly fly home. Assume you will need to pay to haul your boat or put it in a marina.

Budget for these things—then if nothing unexpected happens, you get to cruise a little longer. But if you hole your boat on a reef, or need surgery, or your dinghy is stolen—the unexpected expense won’t end your trip.

Are you ready?

Bumbling sailors do make it across oceans and around the world—and they learn as they go. But they also make mistakes. Last year one set of sailors came in to Nuku Hiva after more than 50 days at sea, they were out of food and water, their batteries were drained, the boat had a good deal of damage—it turned out they didn’t know how to sail. Seriously. Sail trim? Not a clue...

We encountered other boats that went out in terrible conditions because they didn’t understand how to read Grib files or obtain weather faxes. We met one family that drove up on a reef because they didn’t realize Fiji charted with different symbols. Not knowing the basics—like how to reef—makes a funny story, unless you trash the boat beyond repair. So learn—and do it somewhere safe. Join a racing boat, sign up to crew on a long passage, take classes in navigation and weather and then take your boat through a challenging shakedown cruise.

anchorage after a squall

 So I know—I’m a total killjoy. Saying, ‘just go’, is way more fun. But here’s the thing—cruisers look out for each other. Which means we offer advice, but we also rescue each other: we haul each other off reefs, or tow each other in through bad weather, we help fix broken stuff, and patch up wounds. And when there are too many sailors who don’t have well-founded boats and competent skills out there—it puts us all in danger.

Safety at City

“So you’re giving it up.” The comment came from someone we know and seemed to be heavily laden with relief.

The topic was cruising.

I explained that no—we’re not quitting, but if the chance came for us to stay in Oz and work for a while we’d take it.

“But you’ll move ashore and Maia will go to school?”

Not exactly.

I can tell many people are sceptical about our ability to childproof our chosen lifestyle. Hurricanes, tidal waves, mosquito borne viruses, stinging jellyfish, third world sanitation, uncertain medical care and horror of horrors, home schooling. The list of perils seems endless and, the inference is, it’s irresponsible to expose an innocent child to them.

I pretty sure it’s not really that dangerous to cruise, it’s simply the exotic nature of the risks that accentuates them. Hurricanes, for example, are pretty predictable and sailors have a far better chance of avoiding them than a Floridian homeowner does. We protect against jellyfish stings by wearing a rash guard. And by not eating unwashed fruit and veggies, practicing good hygiene and drinking our own water we can avoid a whole range of ills.

And then there are benefits of life aboard. Nothing can beat the education that comes from in depth exposure to different cultures, or match the level of self-confidence that Maia has developed by working beside us to accomplish various tasks. And I’ve tried to explain the connection that Maia has to the natural world; that she understands the role she plays in the greater ecosystem and can also identify a whole bunch of weird creatures.

But each point can be countered. Endless travel through new cultures could leave her unrooted and friendless. Too much time with her parents might make her weird. Too many hours outside will leave her unprepared to navigate the wilds of a mall. And she could fall overboard during a storm.

Occasionally, I do try to describe the beauty of it all: Slipping into a foreign country at first light; Arriving as ancient seafarers did, the land slowly revealing her secrets as the boat ghosts unnoticed into a silent harbour. Will children rush down to the beach and welcome us warmly? Will a stroll through the village market expose us to foods we’ve never seen before? Will hiking the trails in the hills behind town lead to hidden ruins, friendly locals, or awesome vistas?

Until now all I’ve been able to do is tell those who ask that this life is the best gift I know to give my daughter. And try not to absorb their doubts and fears.

But then we rejoined civilization.

 Charlie the Cat fell overboard within 48 hours of being back aboard.

We don’t know what he was doing or how he did it—he just startled Evan by coming through the hatch sopping wet late one night. Lucky for him (and us) he made his discovery that the boat has a moat around it while the current was near slack. If it had been running at it peak (upward of 4 knots), his swim may have been a much bigger adventure…

Charlie falling in made me think what could happen if Maia fell in.

swinging over the river is a favourite activity

 She’s a strong swimmer but living on pile moorings on a fast moving, murky river that has loads of traffic, and more than a few underwater hazards means we have a few new safety considerations to take into account.

And it’s not just the river. Somehow two and a half years of sailing have turned my urban child into one of those clueless kids who is oblivious to cars. And when she does think to look, it’s inevitable that she looks the wrong way. Then there are the bike paths, where--like cars on the street--the bikes go the wrong direction and Maia is forever darting in front of them. And cars—do you know how unsafe those things are to ride in?

It’s now occurred to me that sailing across an ocean might actually have been the safest part of this trip. And as we settle into Brisbane, and have to make an active effort to keep our kid from doing herself in, I realize it’s this civilization that thing comes with the biggest risks…

Pay it Forward

In my dream goats are surrounding our boat. The bleating made me wonder if they would disturb our neighbours so, coming awake only gradually, I popped my head out our hatch to see what they wanted.

Awake now, and squinting into the rising sun, I discover we’re in a tranquil bay—looking across reef strewn shallows toward an uninhabited island. But then the goats went off again and I realized it was inhabited—that the offspring of goats first brought by the explorers were running wild on the island, munching their way through the native plants and waking their sleepy visitors early in the morning.

A visitor with a headache.

Not long after dropping our anchor off of Nanuya Balavu and Drawqu islands we decided to swim ashore and check out Manta Ray Bay—a small eco-resort on Nanuya. After visiting, and deciding it would be the perfect place to have dinner (and get a break from cooking) we headed down the beach across the frothy sand and onto slick volcanic stone—where I slipped and cracked my head.

The rest is a blur of feeling sleepy, and not being permitted to sleep, and the annoyance that comes when someone roughly pokes you awake to shine a light in your eyes and take your blood pressure every time you drift into a peaceful dream. Happily Steve on Connect 4 has had medical training and between him and Evan they decided we didn’t need to test our medical evacuation insurance. And within a couple of days I was feeling like myself.

helping Karinya recover their anchor

So often we’re reminded that while we are on our own out here—it really is the network of other cruisers, friends and family at home, and supportive locals that makes this lifestyle work. Cruising is an endless game of Pay it Forward. A game that means when our inverter died in the midst of shaping our new dagger board (it has since resurrected itself) we had offers of help and a generator on our deck within hours. When Karinya lost their anchor overboard (a link broke in the chain!) within minutes Evan was there with scuba gear. And when Connect 4’s dinghy engine threatens to die—we’re there alongside to be sure they get in.

It also works in the fun stuff. Having a compressor means the whole Connect 4 family has been diving with us—the kids having their first ever chance to try and Cheryl getting down for her second and third times. It also means we share our skills—I’ve paid my wonderful sushi making lesson (courtesy of Meri on Hotspur) forward a couple of times. While my new jewellery making skills and several recipes in my recipe box that came from our buddy boating group are making their own appearances.

The goats, it seems, are satisfied with having woken me and are moving on. My headache is easing with the thought of the day ahead: snorkelling, finally having that meal at Manta Ray resort, and spending time with friends.

This is a good way to live. Goats, head bangs and all.

*we continue to have slow internet but will try for pictures soon

The Last of the Circumnavigators?

Pirate activity 2011

There is one conversation that has been coming up again and again lately with cruising sailors—pirates. And how the heck are we going to get home...

If you’ve missed the news, piracy in the Indian Ocean and Gulf of Aden (GoA) has increased dramatically this year (attacks are up some 90% from 2010 to 2011). As the pirates have hijacked larger vessels they have been able to range further a field with these mother ships. And they now operate in a region consisting of 2.6 million square miles of sea—an area that includes much of the Northern Indian Ocean.

It used to be cruising yachts joined convoys to get through the GoA—thinking there was safety in numbers. But sailors who used to run these convoys say that as commercial vessels have added sophisticated security systems, including armed guards, their capture rate has decreased dramatically—making slow moving, undefended yachts a more attractive option (the current estimated capture rate of yachts is 1 in 20). And with large mother ships near by—the possibility of attacking several boats in a convoy at once is now a real risk.

the expanding range of pirates

 For the past couple of years the safer alternative has been rounding the Cape of Good Hope. But considering the increasing range of pirate mother ships which have attacked vessels as far south as Mauritius and Madagascar, the only remaining safe route is far offshore, avoiding the Seychelles, Mauritius and Madagascar—islands that break up the long journey and let small boats choose safe weather windows. The problem is this offshore route is notoriously stormy—not to mention a huge detour of several thousand miles when you’re trying for the Med.

So the options are narrowing for those who are circumnavigating (or simply trying to get home to Europe as many French families are). We can ship our boats for USD 30,000+, or remain in the South Pacific or SE Asia indefinitely in the hopes the situation will eventually resolve.

But for now it seems the pirates have won—and 115 years after Joshua Slocum first set off on a solo-circumnavigation (inspiring so many of us) it seems that the era of sailing around the world, just for the heck of it, is coming to a close.

Bumping and Dragging in Barra

 “Attention the fleet, there’s a powerboat dragging down on two sailboats on the north side of the anchorage.” The VHF squawked the message and we wandered outside to take a look. Indeed, there was a big trawler drifting downwind toward two sailboats.

“I guess I’ll go,” Evan said, hopping in our dingy and joining the small flotilla setting off on the day’s latest rescue. Once aboard the powerboat they discovered the windlass was turned off and there were no keys in the engine. So the guys hauled up the anchor by hand, used their dinghies to manoeuvre the boat (neither would have been possible in a big wind), then re-anchored the boat on the available chain (an amount that wasn’t quite adequate…)

note the boat in the back--showing her bottom

 I don’t want to sound blasé about a dragging boat. But today has been weird. Two boats dragged in very little wind, and three went aground (including the navy…) And while it’s not out of the ordinary boats to go aground in the shallow estuary—most of them do it while underway, not while anchored…

If I were the critical type, I’d point out that some cruisers anchor really badly. I’d suggest it’s a really good idea to know what’s going to be under your boat no matter which direction the wind comes from; I'd say that you should always let out enough scope for a blow and I'd argue that it’s an excellent idea to give your neighbours plenty of room. I’d also mention it’s really good practice to leave your windlass on and a key in the engine so good Samaritans can help you avoid the embarrassment of bowling through the fleet…

But the thing is--stuff happens. And sometimes it’s more fun to be bemused and good humoured about (5!! Before lunch!!) stupid boating moments than it is to be critical about them—especially when they happen to other people…

So I won’t criticize, nope, I won’t.

Playmobil Clogs Emergency Bilge Pumps—and other lessons learned whilst bailing…

 “Is it meant to be wet down here?” my step dad, Frank called from the head in the port hull. “There’s water all over the floor.”

Evan was dropping the main and I was off-watch and napping. We’d been traveling for almost 24-hours and were sort of used to my parents asking land-lubber type questions. So neither of us rushed to go see--who knew, it had been a bit rough and maybe water had sloshed out of the toilet, or maybe Maia was extra enthusiastic in her face washing. Frank called again, “It’s spraying all over...”

That made us jump. Evan hurried down and found the pre-filter housing on the spectra water filter had cracked and dropped right off. So rather than pumping water through the water maker, we were pumping seawater all over the hull.

Evan shut off the water maker and pried opened the overflowing bilge. We know units can fail and can make things wet—so we installed it above a deepish (for a cat) bilge. Evan grabbed the emergency bilge pump and started pumping the water into the shower sump (located just aft and technically where the bilge should be draining). Midway through pumping we both had the same horrible thought at once, “The charts!”

Just forward of the water maker bilge is a deep compartment where we store all our charts, and loads of spare electronics. It’s supposed to be a watertight compartment—but when Evan was doing some plumbing he breached the bulkhead with a hose, and rather than fixing it then he added it to his ‘someday’ list for repair.

Even before he’d pulled off the last cover board I could hear the sloshing.

Nothing sucks quite so much as half-sinking your boat—especially when you have witnesses. We had already had a challenging trip: the weather wouldn’t co-operate so we were a few days late heading south from La Cruz to Tenacatita. Then the weather we did get was chilly and the seas were big and lumpy—leading to an ‘are we there yet’ atmosphere that didn’t make for happy sailing. Now we were soggy and about to put wet crap all over the boat in the hope of drying it.

Evan fed the bilge pump into the bottom of the compartment and I started pumping—marvelling at how much water our boat could hold with no apparent change in her sailing ability. Then the bilge pump stopped sucking. Evan shook it and blew in it, but nada. So he took it apart and found some long lost Playmobil pieces had been sucked up inside.

 Once the compartment was dry we starting pulling out the contents and assessing the damage. New Zealand’s charts were soaked through, as were Central and South America (which I guess reinforces our plan to skip those destinations for now…)  The rest—barring a bit of Australia, were tightly enough wrapped in plastic that they were unharmed. The same can’t be said for our spares—we’ll need to test those in the days to come.

 But considering how many times we’ve left the water maker running when we’ve headed to town or to a friend’s boat—we feel like we got off lucky (actually we sort of think it sucks that we always get to learn stuff the hard way, but whatever…). We think the water maker only ran for a half-hour or so after the housing failed but in that short time it pumped in a hell of a lot of water.

 A few hours later we pulled into a gorgeous but rolly Tenacatita and started hanging out our charts to dry. We watched the sunset as we ate dinner. And late in the evening as I watched the Southern Cross rise over the horizon I couldn’t suppress the feeling that I’m just a little bit fortunate. As for my parents—they’re going to a hotel. They seem to think life is more peaceful on shore…

Stupid Steps

This will be one of those mostly photo-free blog posts. Not because I don’t want to share my stupidity, but because my stupidity lead to something that would make for ugly pictures…

One of the first things we tell visitors who are coming to Mexico is to bring comfortable shoes, suitable for rough terrain. Even if they insist they’ll never leave the city, we explain that Mexican sidewalks aren’t for sissies and frivolous shoes really have no place here.

 Then, once they get here, we point out all the dangers: crumbling pavement, stairs with big drop offs, loose cobble stones, collapsible sewer covers, leg eating gratings, washed out streets—that sort of thing. Once you get over the initial shock that people actually brave these hazards rather handily, and often in towering heels, you sort of forget about them.

 Which is how I found myself mid-intersection with my leg wedged up to my knee between the street and a metal grating.

Initially, my biggest concern was that I get myself removed from the street’s grasp quickly enough that I didn’t miss my bus. Then I realized I was sort of blocking the bus and it was dark, and there was a lot of traffic around. So my next concern was I extract myself before I was killed.

Once I was free I had other worries. My leg had a few large dents and less skin than I’d like, and it was also swelling and my toes had gone numb. I hobbled home with Evan and Maia watching me nervously but ended up looking better with a bit of first aid and a good amount of ice.

Now I just need something to treat my ego…

Sun Safety

 We just learned that a 12-year-old cruising buddy of Maia’s was diagnosed with melanoma (twelve!) something that I find both heartening and terrifying. It’s reassuring because it means the info is out there and people know what to be looking for. It’s scary because, well, it is. (Twelve!!)

If you’ve read this blog for a bit you’ll know I’m a bit obsessive about sun protection. The reason (beyond the fact we’re spending our lives in the tropical sun), is I was diagnosed with melanoma two years before we left--which, while scary for me, also means Maia has a higher probability of getting the disease.

Because of this I’ve spent quite a bit of time talking to cancer researchers and sellers of sun care products and have written far too many articles on the topic. But through all this we’ve worked out a system of sun protection we’re pretty happy with.

So this is what we do/suggest for other cruisers (and anyone, really):

--See a dermatologist for a complete check-up before you set sail. Our doctor walked us through my entire body and showed Evan and I what to watch for and which spots or moles to keep an eye on. Then follow-up annually as you travel. (I’m on a three-month check-up cycle).

--We made sure we had a good bimini/awning set-up that provides plenty of shade in the cockpit and fordeck (while at anchor). Side curtains also really help.

--We avoid the peak burning hours between 10-2. This dovetails nicely with home schooling and lunch inside the boat.

--When we do go out midday we tend to wear sun-protective clothing (either UV rash guards and board shorts for swimming, or long sleeved light-weight shirts like the type made by solumbra, as well as hats and good quality sunglasses (we’re amazed by how many sunglass-free cruising kids we see).

Then there is sunscreen, which is really a post in itself… For us sunscreen (our sunscreen of choice is Ombrelle with Mexoryl) goes on several times a day. But we really consider it the last line of defence. In part because of this:

The Food and Drug Administration’s 2007 draft sunscreen safety regulations say, “FDA is not aware of data demonstrating that sunscreen use alone helps prevent skin cancer” (FDA 2007). The International Agency for Research on Cancer agrees. IARC recommends clothing, hats and shade as primary barriers to UV radiation and writes that “sunscreens should not be the first choice for skin cancer prevention and should not be used as the sole agent for protection against the sun”

And there is the fact that there are stats that show higher skin cancer rates in sunscreen users. This is probably because people over-believe the hype and under use sunscreen. But it may also be that some sunscreen ingredients actually increase cancer growth.

But on with talking about sunscreen… At the risk of boring you with technical stuff, sunscreen needs to protect you against UVA and UVB rays. UVA is what is responsible for wrinkles, and aging. UVB is what causes your skin to darken and burn. While there is conflicting info on the topic, but generally:

UVB (burning) has a wavelength range (in nanometers) of:   

280-320

UVA (aging) has a wavelength range (in nanometers) of:      

320-400

So to protect yourself from the sun you need a sunscreen to contain ingredients that cover as wide a range as possible in the 280-400 spectrum. Here’s how a few of the most common sunscreen ingredients shape-up:

Zinc Oxide 290-380

Mexoryl 290-400

Avobenzene 340-375

Titanium Dioxide 290-340

Octinoxate and Octisalate 280-320

Oxybenzone 320-240

Many sunscreens combine ingredients to cover a wider range of the spectrum. But Zinc Oxide and Mexoryl cover the widest spectrum all by themselves, and they are photo-stable ingredients. This is extremely important, because it means your sunscreen won’t lose effectiveness an hour after you apply it like Avobenzene, for example, which is not photo-stable.

Then there are the issues with sunscreen chemicals themselves. Recently the FDA began investigating a type of vitamin A called retinyl palmitate, which is found in 41 percent of sunscreens. The FDA is investigating whether this compound may accelerate skin damage and elevate skin cancer risk when applied to skin exposed to sunlight—a detail which strikes me as less than awesome… Another well-known problem ingredient is oxybenzone, a hormone-disrupting compound found in about 60 percent of sunscreens…

So it comes down to this: The ideal sunscreen would effectively and comfortably block the UV rays that cause sunburn, immune suppression and damaging free radicals. But there is pretty much nothing that does that. The choice tends to be between “chemical” sunscreens, which are less stable and penetrate the skin, potentially disrupting the body’s hormone systems, or “mineral” sunscreens (zinc and titanium), which often contain micronized- or nano-scale particles of those minerals and can feel sticky on the skin and leave you with a white glow.

In the US they are particularly unfortunate. Two of the best sunscreen ingredients Mexoryl SX (ecamsule) and Tinosorb S and M are either extremely expensive or not yet available. And as far as the SPF level goes—we agree with the researchers that it’s a bunch of bunk—and simply by 30 SPF and reapply frequently.

For more guidance on choosing a sunscreen I love the sunscreen guide at the Environmental Working Group.

But what ever you choose, don’t forget to get a good hat.