Monday, July 28, 2014

The Last Night on the Water - Bequia to St. Vincent

Soon after we were securely anchored to the bottom of Admiralty Bay, Capt'n Chris went home to Trubador for several hours and then returned in time to show us some of the night life available ashore in Bequia.  

My elbow was not working as well as my shipmates so they both had managed to down one more Rum Ti than I while the Capt'n was away.  Naturally the task of driving the dinghy ashore fell to me.  The extra Rum they carried in their bellies could have contributed to a wet tour of the town.  No way would it have led to a disaster; the water was only four to seven feet deep.  It would take serious effort to drown. 

Mostly, the challenge involved missing the rich boy toys scattered all around the place.  The boats can get ridiculously  huge.  I mean, really, does anyone need a hundred and twenty foot schooner or a hundred and eighty foot yacht to have fun in the Caribbean? 

You bet they do!  If I could afford it, I'd have one of these monsters so I could haul around a couple dozen buddies to help celebrate the new oil well turning out to be a gusher.  

Actually, once again I've overstated the danger.  The biggest challenge was pulling the rope to start the outboard engine on the dinghy without falling into the water.  There was no way we were going to run into other boats if we couldn't start the engine.  

Capt'n Chris, still grading our performance, sat in the bow and watched as I, being the most sober sailor in the harbor, held on to Joe while he pulled the rope.  He was successful the first time he pulled but managed to fall on top of Doc, who was in the lowest point he could find.  I quickly fought my way to the top of the pile and held the tiller hard over so we would go in circles until everything got calmed down.  After a short while all three of us were still dry and at our stations for the trip ashore.  

Capt'n Chris was taking notes much faster than his crew was getting underway.

Soon after the dinghy was brought under control and everyone had secured their seats, we turned towards land and brought the power up.  The controls work much like a motorcycle - the throttle, located at the end of the tiller, is turned much like the one on the handlebar of the bike.  Of course, there are no brakes..............

We managed to find a pier without incident and clambered onto it.  The first order of business was to lock the engine to both the boat and the pier using a quarter inch stainless steel cable, and then we locked the boat with a second cable.  Only then could we wander away and have a look around.

It seems the main business of the entire town involved the selling of Rum drinks to tourists.  A second source of income looked to be that of feeding drunken sailors.  There were a ton of places, some really unique, where we could drink and eat.  This one, The Whaleboner, had bar stools made from the whales vertebrae and used rib bones to trim the bar!  Originality counts for a lot here, and the natives are creative as the devil.


We wandered around, exploring the sights, until the sun started to go down.  Then we used the stone paved path that runs the entire length of the curving harbor to a restaurant the Capt'n recommended.  This picture of that path as the sun was setting is one of my favorites from the entire trip.  I have no words to describe the beauty of the islands and sea.  The best way, I guess, is to say I need to return to see it again.  

It was completely dark by the time we finished our meal, and time to return to the boat.  Yeah, that's a heck of a bunch of empty glasses on the table.  And, finding the right hull in an ocean of sailboats was the most difficult task we faced that day, even counting the squall that earlier blew out our jib.  I'm happy to report we made it back aboard completely dry and without help from any official Navy or Coast Guard personnel. 



Wednesday, July 9, 2014

Day 6: Union Island to Bequia

Our planning session the previous night did little to help us determine how long it would take for us to make the passage to Bequia.  The weather forecast winds from the northeast and our course was to the northeast!  A sailboat has the ability to head into the wind a bit, but there is a zone, usually 45 degrees to either side of directly into the wind, where a boat may not sail.  (At least not most boats - there are newer designs that CAN sail directly into the wind using hydrofoils.  But these new tech toys are used almost exclusively for racing and cost tens of millions of dollars,) We would not be able to determine how fast we could sail until the morning dawned and we could feel the wind in our faces.

NOT PART OF THIS STORY BUT WORTH A MENTION.   This is a photo of one of the America's cup racing sailboats that uses a sail (airfoil) when sailing directly downwind, a combination of airfoils and hydrofoils when sailing with the wind on the beam and that uses its' hydrofoils to sail INTO the wind.  On all points of sail, even running (which will confound most physicists), the boat is capable of speeds much in excess of the actual or apparent wind.  Speeds of 55 miles per hour are common in winds of a mere 20 knots!  More info on how they work: http://terrytao.wordpress.com/2009/03/23/sailing-into-the-wind-or-faster-than-the-wind/    This might get a little technical for some, but it is the most lay person oriented I could find.  This really is fascinating stuff; the first new idea in sailing for the last couple thousand years or more!

BACK TO THE STORY

Since we did not possess Larry Ellison's money and boat, we decided instead to get up early enough to have our teeth brushed and the engine fired by nine AM.  That would give us seven and a half hours to get the skipper home for dinner. For sure we could do that, even with the wind directly from our next anchorage.  The passage was just about 30 miles long.  With the wind on our nose we could veer 30 degrees off and motor back for a maximum of two hours east from where that course would take us.  Still lots of time to get The Skipper home in time to make his wife happy enough to welcome him. 

I just reread that last paragraph and feel the need to apologize.  For all you navigationally challenged folks, sorry.  Deal with it.  For all you navigationally adepts - hang in there; I know I've simplified things.  One hour @ 6 Kt and 10 degrees off course will  put a guy one nautical mile off course.  If he can motor back at 51/2 knots without straining the engine then he can get back in ...............hell with it.   You figure it out.  Doc says it'll all be OK.

We, being among the navigationally challenged, did just that.  Said the hell with it.  We figured things would work if we got up at 8:00, did what we did every morning, and readied the boat to head into the wind to raise the sail around nine.   

A friend has asked that I explain "heading into the wind" to raise the main.  About all I can say is the main sail produces most of the power needed to drive the boat.  If it is at any angle at all to the wind, it is producing power.  However, if it is in line with the wind as it freely flows over the boat, it will just flap about and make a bunch of noise.  While it is in this condition, one guy, with the help of a winch, can raise it.  This is hard to explain if you've never raised a sail, but believe me, a sail that is producing power is not a thing to be taken lightly.

I've been blown overboard by grabbing a parted jib sheet (broken rope attached to a corner of the sail closest to the front of the boat) and the only reason I can relate this tale is I was strong enough to hang on till the breeze blew me above the deck, where I let go.  A Dacron sail and a fresh breeze are not things with which one can trifle.  They will kill you and take no notice.  It happens.  Heading into the wind, while the sail is not producing power, is the only time a mainsail can safely be raised or lowered, and it's best to raise or unfurl a jib on a broad reach, the wind at your back, where that sail is in the windless lull created by the main.  At that time it is producing very little power and is safe to handle.


 It was hard to leave our beautiful and safe anchorage on the lee side of Union Island, at Chatham Bay.   Last night's view from a bar stool of the rock falling to the sea at the south entrance to Chatham Bay was just as fair seen from the boat this morning.  But,  it was almost 9:00, and that was the time we had determined we must be on our way.   Joe turned the key to fire the engine and checked to make sure cooling water from the exhaust was burbling from the aft port side of the boat.  With the engine running and it's alternator providing enough voltage to run the freezer and refrigerator, I turned them on.  Ice is expensive in this part of the world and every opportunity to cool these appliances must be taken.  Most charter companies want the engine to run for an hour in the morning and an hour in the evening.  This allows the batteries to be kept in a charged condition, helps keep perishable foodstuffs from, well, perishing, and insures a Captain who is by nature frugal (a cheapskate) will motor to and from his anchorage.

We had become a well coordinated crew by this point and as I was turning on the appliances, Doc was hooking up the halyard to the head of the mailsail, stowing the lazyjacks and undoing the sail ties and cover that had protected the main from harm overnight.  Both of us finished at about the same time, me below decks, Doc above, and then both of us went forward to raise the anchor.  Doc opened the chain locker and prepared to engage the electric winch.

The winch uses a one and a half horse motor.  The boat has a fifty horsepower engine.  Of course it's better to use the boats engine to motor toward the embedded anchor than it is to use the winch to pull the boat to it.  During this particular weighing of the anchor it was my job to tell Joe when and where to drive the boat to the anchor using hand signals, and it was Doc's job to release and stow the snubber and to make sure the chain was taken in and safely flaked in the locker.  Joe's job was to drive the boat.  All of us were fully capable of performing each task required to get the boat underway, and we took turns at each station.  Capt'n Chris had done his job; we were an able crew.

After the anchor had been secured to the deck, we motored seaward close by the northern headland of the Bay.  When there was enough open seaway, we turned back into the wind and raised our main.  Turning back, we unfurled the jib and were on our way.  Not bad - we had the anchor on deck at 9:05 and both sails were producing power by 9:30.  We were a little behind our schedule but it was no big deal.  I've saved the good news of the morning for the last - overnight the wind had shifted and was blowing a little more from the east.  If it held its current direction, we could make the passage close hauled on a single tack!  Maybe it would be possible to have the Captain home for some afternoon delight before dinner!  He had spent a week with us and the week before with a different boatload of goof offs.  I'm sure it was time for some home time.

We ran the boat wing and wing, the main to port and the jib to starboard til we gained the point.  As we turned, the main was brought in and the jib was set to port.  Now close hauled, our course was determined more by the knot meter than the compass.  That instrument let us know even more quickly than the luffing sails when we were steering too close to the wind.  A difference of five or seven degrees would almost instantly take two knots off our speed.  More than that would start the sails flapping (a loss of power) and we'd lose way altogether.  It was great fun to see just how close we could run and maintain 5 1/2 on the knot meter without dropping to 4 and a half.  Of course Joe was the best, next came Doc, and I was the least proficient.  Seems I was more in tune with my surroundings than the instrument.  I was enjoying the sea.

To me, close hauled is the best point of sail.  The boat heels over (tilts), the bow pounds into the waves (lots of spray in six foot seas) and God is beside me.  The lines are straining; you can feel them working.  The sails are full and tight.  When not at the wheel or otherwise engaged in handling the boat, I most enjoy sitting on the lee side as the boat heels, where I am closest to the water as it rushes by.  I'll let my hand drift into the water and feel its force.  Then I'll turn to the Lord, who is beside me, and thank Him for the ride. 

Capt'n Chris emerged from the cabin just in time to remind us we were supposed to be keeping track of our position.  "Where the hell are we," he said.  We looked at each other, then looked around at the other each others and finally figured out we had no clue.  "Uh, on the way to Admiralty Bay??" I offered.

"Where on the way." he asked.  Doc said "Just a sec." and scrambled into the cabin to retrieve a compass and chart.   He took a couple of bearings, noted the time and location, marked the chart with a circle indicating a fix, and handed it to the Captain.  "We're right here."  It was enough to remind us that part of our test depended on being able to fix our position every hour.  From then on we were careful to do so.  Later, we discovered the Captain had a secret GPS device and could pinpoint our position to within five feet.  He checked each position we marked on the chart by taking line of sight bearings, one after the other, with his GPS.  I guess all of us were close enough............

About half way through the passage I noticed a squall to the east, the direction the wind was blowing, and mentioned it to the other guys.  No one seemed to be overly concerned so I let it pass with no further comment.  After all, Doc had the helm and with Chris demoted to a mere passenger today, that made him Captain.  Half an hour later I was wishing I had been a little more vociferous.  I knew better than to just let it ride.  Forgetting that I was the only one of our crew (other than Chris, who was only a passenger today) who had had open ocean sailing experience, I put my faith in the judgement of sailors who had not experienced a squall.  It was easy to do, I had come to trust their ability over the last week.

When the squall hit us, we were flying the main at the first reef point, which was well.  Our jib, however, was all the way out.  We should have reefed it at the first sighting of the squall but did not.  Remembering previous squalls, I was fearful the boat would be damaged.  "Head up!," I shouted to Doc.  "Head up!''  He didn't do it and we really needed to pull some power out of that jib. "OK, then, bear away," I yelled.  He held course.  Capt'n Chris, hearing the commotion on deck, climbed the companionway and started screaming "We're gonna die!  We're all gonna die."

It was enough to clam us down.  I shut up, Doc continued on course and Joe hung on.  The squall passed and the only damage done was a two foot tear in the jib.  The sheets had held, which was my main concern.  Oh well, the jib needed some work anyway, and the charter company, who also conveniently owned a sail making shop,  didn't send anyone a bill.  Got lucky is all I can say about that.

Several hours later, as we approached Admiralty Bay, our path was lighted by a rainbow shining directly above our anchorage.  It was a little before 2:30 as we rounded the southwesterly point of the island of Bequia.  We debated sailing into the wind for a hour or so before furling the jib and motor sailing into the Bay but since it was my turn at the wheel I elected to do the easy thing.  We furled the jib and fired the engine.

An hour later we were in sheltered water and dropped our anchor.  Capt'n Chris hopped into the dinghy and headed to his home on the water and his bride, right on time.  After a while, he returned. Here he is, on his way back to Andato.

The day was not yet finished but all of us were ready to relax and clean up.  It had been a great week but all of us needed a couple of hours down time.