Mota's Post Trip Summary

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Editor's Note: This is a post sent by Mota to an email list we subscribe to. It is a summary of his trip, plus some commentary on the San Blas islands.

Hey y'all,

The Summary: I had a fantastic time with an amazing crew of people.

More Deets: I arrived on Trinidad on April 23rd, looking forward to a little bit of work to keep the fingers limber and some relaxing on the beach. Instead, I spent 10 days rebuilding fuels systems, attaching safety gear, and bleaching Rob's underwear so that the ship would have a proper flag to fly. Luckily, Herzbach showed up a couple of days later to tackle the really crappy jobs of fiberglassing the the engine compartment and attaching a light to the top of the mast. The rest of the crew trickled in, and after 10 long days getting the boat ready, we set sail on April 5. We faced light to moderate seas, which provided the perfect balance of relaxation and challenge for us newbies. 4 days later we arrived in Aruba where we relaxed for a couple of days and picked up Anne Marie.

On April 11 we headed out from Aruba for the final leg to panama. We faced some more challenging weather and some bigger seas, but since we were all pros by then, it was not a problem. Well, it would not have been a problem had we not lost the auto-pilot. For those of you that don't know, modern sailing largely consists of setting the sails and putting your direction into the autopilot. You then then let the boat cruise along as you drink your drink and keep and eye on conditions until you need to change direction - which generally occurs every few hours. Re-set the sails and auto pilot, repeat. When you loose your autopilot you now have to actually STEER the damn boat. Imagine steering a double-wide semi on an undulating, curvy road, and you may get the picture. Luckily, there is not much to crash into out there.

After 3 days of this we arrive in Panama, where we learn that we can't actually get through the canal for at least two weeks! 4 of the crew depart back to the US because they have things like jobs (weird), leaving Rob, Jeff and I to go exploring. We turned the boat around and headed out to the San Blas Islands. You know the picture that pops into your head when someone says "tropical desert island"? That picture was taken in the San Blas Islands. It is a chain of 400 little islands, about 1-5 football fields in size each, with nothing but palm trees, coconuts, and white sand. All of the islands are abutted by coral reefs. The Kuna indians still live in small palm-frond huts on their islands, collecting coconuts and fishing. Everyday they paddle up to the "cruisers" in their dugout canoes to sell us fresh fish, coconuts, avocados, and embroidered "molas." Our days were spent lounging, snorkeling, visiting with the other cruisers, watching Rob massacre the fresh fish, and then barbecuing the remains for our evening feast. I finally learned the joy and secrets of the "do nothing in a beautiful location" vacation.

After a week in the San Blas we headed back to Panama so that I could catch my return flight. Rob, Jeff and I sat down for final drinks. We had been laughing our asses off most of the time, yet could not remember a single thing that were were laughing about. We decided that the trip had been one long location joke. So, I could tell you more, but it really would not make any sense.

mota



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We Are Not Going To Cartagena!

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Editor's Note: Not all the letters were distributed at the time of their writing. Some didn't get mailed, for whatever reason, others didn't get published because they got misplaced, others didn't because they violated national security and/or obscenity laws.


Fellow Readers,

Sailing is not always wonderful. In fact, most of the time, it is like having small grains of sand dropped into your eyes, with brief periods where you are able to look on the face of God. You are forced to buy the sand, by the way; it's a buck a grain, and God turns out to look a lot like Mel Brooks.

The last twenty four hours were like that; the previous night was windy with gusts above thirty knots, the seas were eight to ten feet of an annoying following swell almost dead on our stern, the current was against us and the chop came from whatever angle it could to bang into us, and the auto pilot stopped working. Whoever was at the helm had to work extra hard to keep us on course, and the thought of accidental jibes (and the captain's unpleasant reaction to them) sat heavy on their minds. At night, with only the red light off the compass to focus on, your concentration becomes intense. At one point, as Jeff was hunched over the helm, a flying fish jumped out of the water, sailed right past his face (about an inch away) and slammed into the salon door to his left. It scarred the shit out of him, and when he told us about it we laughed for hours. We call them kamikazi gefilta fish.


Despite the humor, it is still work to sail this boat in unfavorable winds without an autopilot. Two hour shifts suddenly became an unpleasant chore. The boat's motion isn't as comfortable, the weather isn't inviting, and everyone disappears into their bunks to nap. The wind shifts often, and waves bang around the sides and bottom of the boat. I think I didn't get more than an hour of uninterrupted sleep, popping up on deck each time I felt the wind back around, or seas shift, or boat move differently. I felt like a mother whose colicky child has deprived her of sleep, but can't relax until she knows her baby is doing better. At least boats don't require diaper changes.

The next morning the sun came up, the weather warmed, the seas flattened out, the wind came more on our beam, and everyone relaxed into it. It was a beautiful day for sailing, we had gorgeous weather, everyone ran about with as little on as possible, dolphins swam along side, we played music and sang, had brunch in the cockpit, lazed on the trampolines, and just enjoyed ourselves. We stopped to swim in the ocean, and took pictures using Jeff's water proof (well, resistant, actually) camera of each other doing silly things. It was a glorious few seconds in an otherwise long journey against the weather. We had really hoped for better conditions overall, and would have been a lot better off if we'd brought an asymmetrical spinnaker, a symmetrical spinnaker, a whisker pole, and perhaps a second autopilot, but you can't have everything - at least not just yet.

We still haven't installed the radar unit. We looked around for a rigger in Aruba that could do it, but it isn't the place to find them. Trinidad just wasn't someplace I'd trust anyone to do the work, as it would have been overpriced and probably wrong. Maybe we'll find someone in Panama City. So far we haven't needed it, but the further North we get, the more we will want it.

I'd have also liked to have installed a few more solar panels. The one we have is only 55 watts and it really isn't enough to compensate for the frig, lights, fans, radio, stereo, and various other loads on the batteries. We have to run the engines every day to recharge them, which is loud, smells bad (especially since the wind is at our backs and the exhaust fumes blow over the boat) and it wastes diesel. My goal is to build a hard bimini (the roof over the cockpit area) and cover it with 120watt panels, enough to satisfy our thirsty electrical needs.

I'd also like to add a wind generator off the targa wing (the large fiberglass arch at the aft end of the cockpit, or, more likely I'll build another arch out of stainless steel just aft of it, and run the wind generator off a pole above it. There are so many things I'd like to do to this boat, but I need to get it back home before I can begin. I don't trust that the work will be done right if I'm not standing right there watching, so I might as well do it myself. Plus the cost will be significantly cheaper if I do it - not to mention the satisfaction of being able to say I did. SF is a fabulous place to get parts and equipment, and technical knowhow abounds there, so the real work starts when I get home.

AnnMarie is aboard now, and between her and Mike we are eating like kings. It is amazing how lucky we've been to have two professional cooks (Mike was a chef before becoming a firefighter/paramedic and AnnMarie was the pastry chef for the Fog City Diner in SF) and our appetites have never dimmed. You are supposed to be lose weight on deliveries, but so far I haven't gotten any thinner.

Editor's Note: The above probably isn't true, judging from the photos, but there was definitely real weight loss when Robb spent two weeks in the San Blas Islands, with Jeff and Mota - with no one to cook, eating nothing but canned pineapple, octopus and mayonnaise.


We are heading past Columbia, the hippest place you can travel these days, which is a tantalizing forty miles off to our port side. About once an hour Jeff, or Mota, or Jen, or Mike, or MaryAnn will ask if we can stop at Cartegena. My job as captain, mostly, has been to say (repeatedly and without cessation) "No, we are not going to Cartegena, where the women are famed for their beauty and amazingly large, artificial breasts." or "No, we are not going to Bonaire, famed for its magnificent diving and topless beaches", or "No, we are not going back to lovely island of Aruba, adult playground for Cruise Ship passengers throughout the world, we are going to the Panama canal, the dirtiest ditch of water on the Western hemisphere."

It is a hard job being captain, mostly because I really want to go to all those places, and I'm watching myself turn into the Grinch while refusing to do it. At one point I caught myself yelling at the crew for roughhousing on the aft deck, I was about to say "Stop that this instant or I'll pull this boat over!" It occurred to me that perhaps I needed to just chill a bit. I made AnnMarie take off all her clothes and lie next to me in our bunk, a well known relaxation technique I learned from reading sailing books, and let the crew make as much noise as they want. I'm not sure if it improved everyone's moral, but at least two of us were happier.

Well, there's more to come, so to speak, but we'll close for now, at sea and rocking and rolling along.

Cheers,

Robb


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Arriving in Aruba!

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Land Ahoy!!

We arrived in Aruba around 11:30 on Monday, April 9th. The sail over was mostly uneventful.
We had a stiff breeze (20 knots gusting to 30) almost dead astern with a following sea on our quarter, which made for some tricky helm work. When ever you are running that close to the wind there is always the possibility of an accidental jibe (where the boom gets back winded and slams from one side of the boat to the other) which can be very expensive if not life threatening, given the very large size of our main sail. To prevent this we used a very complex device called a "preventer". It consists of a fifteen foot long line tied to the end of the boom at one end, and lashed to a stern cleat at the other. This forces the boom to one side. You can still unintentionally jibe, but the boom won't fly across the boat. Its kind of tacky to use, but it works, especially with a new crew.

Our course out of Trinidad had us following the coast about 70 miles off shore. Given the wind direction and our lack of a spinacker (a sail designed especially for sailing down wind) we had to tack back and forth a couple of times before we reached the island. We had to sail around the top (northern most) part of the island and then down along side its western shore to reach the main port of Oranjastad. At first we weren't certain where to go so we drove around a bit looking for the Customs Dock. We eventually were told to pull up along side this cement pier and wait. A few minutes later two customs officials drove up in a car and checked us in. It took less than 3 minutes and they never left their vehicle. Then an Immigration official showed up in another car and drove me to the Immigrations office (less than a block away) and processed our papers. We were cleared into port in under a half hour, and there was absolutely no fees for anything. The difference between this landing and Trinidad couldn't have been more stark.

Aruba itself is basically a tourist attraction. It was formerly a Dutch colony (and is slowly working its way towards independence) so many of the names of things seem to be spelled with far too many consonants. Pulling into the harbor we passed an enormous cruise liner. You just can't believe how large those ships can be. It had a fifty foot high TV screen on the top deck that we could clearly see from the harbor. It also had an ice rink, bowling alley and several swimming pools, yet as soon as the boat pulls up there is a stampede of passengers trying to get off. Each day a new cruise liner pulls in and unloads thousands of pasty white, middle class Americans wearing very bad shorts. Aruba is littered with them.

Once cleared through customs and immigration we parked the boat at the local casino's marina. A young man by the name of Nageen (who worked for the marina) came up and explained that it was a holiday so the marina was closed, but we could stay there and check in tomorrow. He then managed to get our power and water lines turned on. This was on his day off, he just happened to be at the dock waiting for a friend. This kind of service stunned us - if this were Trinidad we'd of had to sail back out to sea and wait until next week! Pretty much everyone we dealt with on the island was like this. Helpful, happy, hardworking, outgoing.

We asked him about security at the dock, and if it was safe to leave our boat unattended. He looked at us as if we were asking if water is wet, then pointed out the twenty or so security cameras that lined the docks. "There is no safer place on this island" he said, "the casino doesn't like crime". He was right. If there was any problem with muggings or theft we never heard tell of them. The island is sort of like a Caribbean Disney World for adults. There wasn't much in the way of amenities for cruisers per se, but it is definitely an island for rich tourists.

We spent the rest of the day relaxing in the marina's two pools and waiting for AnnMarie to arrive. She had been visiting her folks in Florida and was due to fly in around 3pm. When we checked in with her we found out that her flight had been canceled, so she wouldn't arrive until tomorrow. The next day she showed up, and we began getting ready to set sail. This meant taking on fuel and going through the checkout process with Customs and Immigration. We were told we needed to sail over to the next dock for fuel. We didn't understand which dock and ended up at the wrong one. A few minutes later a woman from the marina drove over to us, got on board and directed us to the correct dock. She then escorted me through the Customs & Immigration process and even convinced them to allow me to stay a little longer after we checked out. This could never happen in Trinidad.

We got the boat fueled up, and were ready to go when we noticed that the fuel gauge wasn't reading correctly. It turned out to be a faulty sensor, but in the process Mota noticed that some fuel lines we'd installed last week were leaking a bit, so we decided to change them out. This ended up taking several more hours. We stayed at the dock until almost midnight, yet no one complained or charged us more for it - even though we were supposed to be gone by noon. It really was an amazing place, and if you are ever sailing past I recommend it highly. From what we were told the island has thousands of great dive sites, and there is no end of beautiful beaches around it.

We set sail and are now headed for Panama. Up until now the crew had been getting used to the routine of sailing. Now everyone knows exactly what to do, when to take a shift, and what needs to happen. It is mostly dull. Until something goes wrong. Today we lost the autopilot. That means that each watch has to actually steer the boat. This doesn't sound like all that big a deal, until you've been spoiled by an autopilot for several hundred miles and are suddenly forced to man the helm in thirty knots of wind and a nasty cross current. What were relatively peaceful shifts are now work. I tried to determine what had failed - it appears as if the rudder angle sensing unit has gone bad. I tried rinsing it with alcohol and letting it dry. This got it working again for a few more hours, but it started acting up again. I'll need to replace it once we get to Panama.

During the day we had good winds (around 20 knots) and smallish swells, but tonight the wind has picked up to 30 knts and the seas have gotten bigger. Every few minutes a wave slams into the side of the boat and makes everything in the salon bounce straight up. Its called "bridge deck slap" and sounds like someone is smashing the bottom of the boat with a giant hammer. We haven't seen much traffic at all, a few freighters here and there, nor have we spotted any other sea creatures (except Jen said she saw a turtle) and we have been completely unsuccessful in catching any fish. We are forced to eat the meager rations we brought on board, including such hard tack as deli lunch meats, fresh fruit salad, mac'n'cheese, cool whip and other such gruel.

At one point we stopped to test the sea anchor. It is a largish parachute like arrangement you release off the bow when the wind/waves are so severe you can't safely sail. A line is tied from it to the bow of the boat, and it allows the boat to drift slowly backwards (maybe a half a knot) while keeping the bow pointed into the wind. If ever you're in a really bad storm and just need to stop and rest, this is the just the ticket. We'd never used it before so I wanted to see how easy it was to deploy (it was very simple) and how well it worked (it worked great). Since we were sixty miles from anything, and just drifting in the sea, we decided to jump overboard and go for a swim. If you've never done this before, I recommend it highly. There is something magical about being in several thousand feet of water with no land in site and swimming around naked.

Afterwards we had a great meal and began sailing again. We are still several hundred miles from Panama, but are on track and hope to arrive in a day or two. I'm not sure how many of the crew can stay for the journey through the canal, it all depends on what we find out when we get there. Needless to say, it has been a wonderful time at sea, we've enjoyed each others company and remain unmolested by pirates, Trinidadian Customs Agents or the US Coast Guard. It looks like we might be sailing into a local storm tonight, but otherwise we are doing well.

We'll keep you posted on our progress.

Cheers,

Robb

Oh, for those that care, our location is N12.20.66 W074.10.31. We're the white catamaran with the naked people running around on top.


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