Getting in the Water Again, Again

Last week, the marina Travelift parked around Papillon. The operators adjusted the straps, picked up the boat and drove her to the water's edge. We climbed aboard and were lowered into the murky Brisbane River. And once we splashed down, Erik and I inspected the boat.

We found four leaks.

We Dig Dig Dig Dig Dig Dig In Our Mine The Whole Day Through

Snow White and the Seven Dwarves isn't one of my favorite Disney movies. I am going to generously describe the heroine as "insipid" and leave it at that. But the film does have a few snappy tunes, among them the first half of Heigh Ho. Oh, you didn't know the beginning was a completely different (and superior) song? Before all of that boring whistling, the dwarves sing about working in their mine. To wit:

We dig dig dig dig dig dig dig
In our mine the whole day through
To dig dig dig dig dig dig dig
Is what we like to do

It ain't no trick to get rich quick
If you dig dig dig with a shovel or a pick
In a mine! In a mine! In a mine! In a mine!
Where a million diamonds shine!

We dig dig dig dig dig dig dig
From early morn till night
We dig dig dig dig dig dig dig up
Everything in sight

We dig up diamonds by the score
A thousand rubies, sometimes more
But we don't know what we dig them for
We dig dig dig a-dig dig.

Back in the day, preschool-Stylish immediately took to this song, and we both learned the words. Don't ask me why, but we used to sing it in the car as we drove around on errands. This was long before Erik got into mining, so I am going to claim that we were prescient. Perhaps this was the clairvoyant version of, "if you can't beat'em, join 'em."

Aluminum + Copper: A Horror Story

Q:  My friend has a metal boat.  I had him over for beers last night, and all he talked about was electrolytic corrosion.  I love boat talk as much as the next sailor, but I nearly threw him overboard.  What is it with you metal boat people and your corrosion issues?*

A:  Electrolytic corrosion is the worst.  The worst!  It is a creeping horror ready to eat away our hulls and leave us sad and boatless.  I'm sorry your imaginary friend bored you, but this is a real concern for us.  Why?  Because a penny and a little saltwater could send us to the bottom of the sea.

For those of you in need of a chemistry review, galvanic corrosion (or electrolytic corrosion - same thing) happens when two metals are in contact in an electrolytic solution, like salt water.  Essentially, one metal will corrode preferentially to save the other.  The bad news for us is that Aluminum likes to give up its electrons to almost every other metal.

"Really?" asked Stylish after we explained for the 8,793rd time why Copper pennies do not make good toys.  "Can we try it?"
Hurrah!  Science day!

Surviving a Cyclone in the Marina

March is almost upon us, and with it comes New Caledonia's big cyclone month.  We have been very, very lucky up until now; only Cyclones June and Ian have come anywhere near us.  But the weather has gotten rainier and rainier, and I'm reminded that the country was rocked by Cyclone Erica in March a decade ago.  As Mad Eye Moody would say: constant vigilance!

The old wisdom tells us that, in a storm, a boat is safer at sea than in a harbor.  And I can see the point: there is less to hit out there.  But, as the sad story of the Bounty shows, being out at sea isn't always the greatest strategy.  Even if it were, I'm not about to sail Papillon out of the lagoon or into the mangroves every time the weather looks dicey.  So how are we going to get by in the marina without coming out the other end looking like a crumpled bit of aluminum foil?

Is That a Cyclone Coming?

I opened my email this morning and found the unwelcome subject line: "Not liking the look of weather toward the end of this week."  I put my head down on the table.  Erik had sent me the note from a land far away; apparently not even being up to his eyeballs in work could keep him from checking on the weather.  Sadly, when we "don´t like the look of the weather" around here, it doesn´t mean a little rain is going to ruin our picnic.  It doesn´t mean it will be too windy to hang out laundry.  It means something bad might be coming.  And something bad at this time of year means a cyclone.

Stop number one: the local marine forecast.  I called up meteo.nc.

Hmm.  Kind of gusty, a couple of days of 20 kt winds, heavy rain - nothing too terrible.  But I know perfectly well that I made this stop number one because I knew I wouldn´t have to believe a single thing I saw.  The local forecast is strangely inaccurate and incomplete.  This was a brief attempt to reassure myself that nothing was going to happen.  But I know better.  Cyclone Ian just flattened Tonga.  Thinking it can´t happen here a few days later is only a foolish wish.

Cyclone Choices: Making the Decision

Over the past few months, I have sent a lot of emails with a line that looked like this: “Our current and almost definite plan is to head to Tasmania for cyclone season.  We’ll check in at Newcastle or Sydney, and wait for the weather to be right early in January to make the last hop to Hobart.”

Now, because you have been paying attention, you know that cruisers are totally unreliable when it comes to reporting their own plans.  And so it was with us.  Erik and I were 98% sure we were going to Tas.  We were keen on Tas. We had heard nothing but great things about the place: not many boats make the trip down, the cruising is spectacular, the people are great.  They understand cruisers there, which has not always been our experience in Australia.  In short, it sounded perfect.

But we’re not in Tasmania.  We’re not even in Australia.  We are still in Noumea, with a cyclone-secure berth waiting at the marina and the kids enrolled in school.  What happened?  In a phrase, the cruising life happened.

How Wild Is Your Wildlife? Part II: A Campsite Full of Snakes

A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away, I travelled to Indonesia to do some research for my undergraduate thesis.  I was working with a prof who did coral research, which meant our group spent all day every day on the reef.  It was a sweet gig.  Our fearless leader, Dr R, was unflappable.  He had a thousand stories of things that had gone wrong here and there in his travels, but, since nothing really fazed him, somehow those stories never came across as scary.  So when he told me in all seriousness that I should be afraid of sea snakes, I was afraid of sea snakes.  Investigating the matter supported that point of view.  The very pretty sea krait (genus Laticauda), or tricot rayé as it is called in New Caledonia, is more poisonous than a cobra.  Oh, and did I mention there is no antivenin?  Right.  Not good.

So let's get down to business on sea snakes.  Here I am, all blasé about sharks, but I'm afraid of a wiggler hardly the length of my arm?  In a word: yes.  Not terrified, not panicky - I just intend to give sea snakes a very wide berth.  Luckily, the tricot rayé is with me on that.  They live in the rocks ashore, hunt in the reefs, and don't want anything to do with you.  Once again, our "don't be an idiot" advice applies.  Don't bug the snakes, and they won't bug you.

This is sometimes easier said than done.

Putting the Foul in Antifouling

By my reckoning, the Dad-Kid Humour Index peaks when the kids are about ages 3-6.  Dad specializes in Kindergarten funny.  Puns, bodily functions, and even the odd dubious word are used to hilarious effect.  When I opened this photo of Erik yesterday, Indy laughed until she almost cried.  Dad with a blue head?  Comedy genius.

I, on the other hand, closed my eyed and pursed my lips.  I know that shade of blue all too well.  Even without the subject line, I could see that Erik had been sanding the hull in preparation for fresh antifouling paint.  Which means he is covered in old antifouling paint.  And what is the purpose of said paint?  Oh, that's right.  It is biotoxic.  It exists solely to keep creatures from growing on the hull.

"Well," said Stylish, turning back to her book, "I guess Dad won't have any barnacles growing on his head."  Indy broke out in fresh peals of laughter.

5-0

When you find yourself bouncing along in the back of a Colombian police van, there are questions you should ask yourself.  “How did this happen?” is probably the best one.

Looking back, I suppose this really came of trusting people.  At every step of this trip, people have softened us up, worn us down with their kindness.  Bringing us banana bread.  Offering their condos and cars.  Touring us around the area.  Giving our girls birthday parties.  In the Vivorillos, unpopulated islands off the tip of Honduras, we were alone except for the shrimp boats that anchored there during the day.  One day, two shrimp boats came by and gave us 15 pounds of shrimp.

So.  Much.  Shrimp.

Trust and kindness.  Look where it gets you.  Looking out at the world through a metal grate, that is where it gets you.

We arrived on a small Colombian island with happy smiles.  We’d had calm seas, the place was beautiful, the people (once again) friendly.  What could be better?  Checked in, clean(er) once again, the next day we decided to go exploring.  Sometimes this is an easy business, sometimes not.  We decided to go by land for once, and asked our customs agent for advice.  The bus (singular) wasn’t around at the moment, so he walked us down the street to look for a taxi.  No taxis.  Hmm.

Back in the police van, the rain was starting to pound the metal roof, little rat-a-tat-tats asking me “what-did-you-do? what-did-you-do?”

The agent spotted a man he knew parked at the side of the road.  They chatted for a minute, then seemed to come to an agreement.  We were told to climb in, as the man would take us where we wanted to go.  Relaxed, trusting, we smiled and climbed aboard.  Accepting rides with strangers?  Pfft.  Small potatoes for Papillon.  What could possibly go wrong?

And then we were attacked and robbed and beaten and shot full of drugs and left for dead bleeding in the gutter and I cried out “Why oh why did I ever trust anyone?” and I then I died.

No.

Nothing went wrong, of course.  That man parked on the road was an off-duty cop, and he had use of the police van for the day.  So he took us all over the island – to a dive shop, the beach, a great seafood restaurant.  We chatted about the neighbourhoods and people there, his life, our lives.  At the end of the day, well after dark, we got back to the dinghy, waited out the rain, then gently roused the sleeping girls in my lap, and headed back to Papillon.   Another new friend, another invitation to visit a new corner of the world.

Kids love sleeping in police vans!

I have to tell you, people, all this is making me cast a stern eye on some habits and attitudes from back home.  Too much watching the news and not enough interacting with the neighbours is making people suspicious of their fellow man.  It is a crying shame, I have to tell you.  Yes, we all have to be careful in this ol’ world, but it is not as bad and scary as you might think.  That homeless guy shuffling over to your kids?  He just wants to tell them about the Australian pine tree they have been playing under.  He actually knows a lot about them.  And that hard-faced lady at the small hotel?  She’s just tired of being talked to like she wants to screw you over.  If you talk to her like a human being, you’d be surprised at how nice she is.

More than once we’ve heard from other cruisers, “be careful here – the locals all want to rip you off.”  And then we have seen how those same people treat the locals, and I’ll tell you – I’d want to rip them off, too.

All I can say is, it hasn’t been our experience.  And I’m pretty sure I know why.

 
 

Nighttime adventures

One of the exciting bits of living on a boat is the constant sense of imminent disaster.

It is the rainy season in Cartagena, which means that we get afternoon thunderstorms, and occasionally something blows through during the night.  Regular stuff, you say.  You get thunderstorms, too.  Yes, I daresay you do.  But unless you live in a tornado zone or the hurricane belt, the drama of a storm means comforting an excitable dog, or maybe checking on a leaky roof.

Let’s imagine you live in a house in the city.  You look out the window, and see lots of other houses in neat little rows.  You are snugly packed, but still have space.  So far so good.  Erase about two-thirds  of those houses from your mind, so your street looks a bit like a checkerboard.  Now you have lots of room, right?  Okay.  Now.  All of those houses are tethered to the ground by a chain.  Some chains are long, others short.  You don’t know – the chains are hidden underground.  And now, the best part: a very windy storm blows up, and all of those houses in your neighbourhood start to move.  They blow down to the end of their chains.  And some, the unlucky ones, start to drag.

This was our situation a few nights ago (these problems only happen at night.  What fun would it be if you could actually see?).  Every bit of wind in a new anchorage is a test.  Is the holding any good?  Did our anchor set as well as we thought?  When the wind came up and the rain came down, Erik and I went through our routine of closing hatches and making sure the deck was clear, then sat in the cockpit to watch our windmeter and our little GPS to check for drag.  Our anchor held (hooray for the Manson!)... oh yes, we were fine.  But others were not so lucky.  We saw at least four other boats drag through the anchorage, silently streaming backwards through the rain.  All of which is entertaining at a distance, but one of those boats loomed ever closer to us.

Remember your house on its chain?  When other houses start dragging, you are pretty much stuck.  You can’t move your house much – it is on a chain, and boy do you not want to horse around with a well-set anchor in a blow.  But when another house is coming at you, what do you do?

The other boat slid alongside us, and stopped.  Curses.  That was a bad scenario.  If it had blown past before catching on something on the seafloor, we would have been fine.  But this boat sat directly alongside Papillon, sixty feet away.  We peered at the captain through the driving drain, and he peered back.  When the wind let up enough, he called to us that his engine was dead, so he couldn’t haul up the anchor and reposition.  He was stuck until he fixed it.

We looked glumly at each other.  The wind would catch one of us, and we would drift ever-so-close, then blow apart again.  We hunched in the cockpit, fenders at the ready, hoping we wouldn’t need them, and watched, and waited.  The minutes and hours ticked by.  Then the wind started to swing around.

As I said, the wind blows you to the end of your chain, bow forward.  When the wind shifted Papillon and our new neighbour were no longer side-by-side.  We were, inevitably, end-to-end, Papillon in front of the drifter.  As the wind shifted, he would barely eke past our stern, giving the dinghy hanging on the davits a light bump each time he passed.  Erik kept the engine on, moving us gently forward to keep us from crashing.

Around 2:30am, our new neighbour finally got his engine started, and left to find a roomier spot to anchor.  And we got some sleep.

So the next time a storm comes through town, you can sleep soundly in your bed, knowing that your house isn’t going to blow down the street.

Q & A, part I

Eliciting questions from you, dear readers, was an interesting exercise.  Most people want to know about the same things: our route planning, our kids, and above all, our safety.  Oh, boy, did I get questions about safety.  In contrast, Stylish’s best friend, a girl we will call Gemini as the two are practically twins, asked the best question of the crop: What good things have you done on your trip?  I leave it you to decide who is focused on the right things in this scenario.  I know where my vote goes.

I am going to split this into two posts.  First, we will deal with some nuts-and-bolts practical issues.  In a couple of days, we’ll look at the touchy-feely aspects of our trip.

Well, then.  On with the show!

Question the first: destinations

Are your plans secret?  Where are you going?  When are you going to get there?  How precise is your route?  Where do you cruise to stay comfortable? 

As a reminder, here is a quick look at where we have been:

Follow the red line.

Cool, right?  We’ve gone pretty far, considering we max out at about 8 knots.  (That is about 9 mph, or 15 kph, to you land-based types.)  But that is the past.  What is our future?

First of all, we do not have secret plans.  I find it difficult to believe that anyone is trolling the internet looking for sailing blogs so they can accost said sailors.  Seriously.  Desperate people are either a) too busy trying feed themselves or b) just generally have bigger fish to fry.  If we have trouble, it will be a crime of opportunity.  So, no secrets.  We just kind of don't know.

Some of the first advice we received when researching this trip was: when people want to visit, give them a place or a date, but not both.  Sailing is too uncertain.  I’ve repeated this so many times to so many people.  And everyone nods sagely, says they understand completely, and then asks where we are going to be on such-and-such a date.

I understand this is a difficult concept.  I clearly remember speaking to a woman last summer about our upcoming trip.  She shook her head and said, “I couldn’t deal with that much uncertainty.”  And she nailed it: cruising is all about uncertainty.  Sometimes we don’t know where we are going tomorrow, much less next week or next month.

That said, we have ideas.  When we leave Isla Mujeres, we will continue south along the coast.  Belize has beautiful reefs, so we’ll likely do a lot of daysailing with diving/snorkelling in between.  After that, we may go to Rio Dulce (Guatemala).  Or maybe not.  We are aiming for Cartagena in the medium term.  Long term, we want to hit the San Blas islands, and the Galapagos.  Maybe a Pacific crossing waits for us next spring.  In truth, all of that is so far away as to be almost imaginary.  In reality, when we wake up in the morning, we have a direction we want to go and we have the weather we’re given.  We work from there.

As for comfort, I'm not going to lie to you.  It's hot.  We deal with comfort by both toughening up, and swimming a lot.  We have a tiny a/c on board, but we don't use it as it is a power hog.  I'm more worried about the bugs that are to come.  In the end, I think we'll manage by leaving places that are too uncomfortable.

Question the second: kids

Do the girls spend much time with other kids?  Is the age gap an issue?  Has the boat become normal for the girls?  More normal than a house?

One of the tough things about this trip has been the lack of small fry.  Certainly, Stylish and Indy have made friends along the way.  But no one has been around for more than a week, which is tough.  We keep hoping to see more kids as we head further south.  Keep your fingers crossed for us.

The age gap is there, but isn’t too terrible.  The girls can play together, and although it isn’t the same as having a peer, a sibling is a pretty good substitute.  I feel for the solitary kids on boats; I don’t know how they manage.

As for “normal”, that is the big question.  Stylish is starting to forget what our house looked like.  I doubt Indy remembers much pre-boat; she was barely two when we moved aboard.  There are days when I worry the kids are becoming feral, but then again, mainly they seem happy and curious and interested in life.

Just to show how disgustingly wholesome and happy they are, here is a video Stylish riding a horse last week at the ranch we visited:

Question the third: the boat

Does the boat and its systems meet your needs?  Some systems must have performed flawlessly; the hull, for example.

As I feel underqualified to answer this question, we have a guest comment from His Nibs: “Based on the horror stories we have heard, Papillon is above average system-wise.  Happily, we managed to identify and rectify many of the flaws before leaving.  Currently we continue to be plagued by the complexity of a legacy electrical system.  But time and patience will surely get us there as well.”

Doesn’t that sound optimistic?  I know I feel better.

Question the fourth: safety

There are pirates out there!  There are so many pirates in the Caribbean, they made them into a Disney ride and series of terribly boring movies!  What are you doing about the pirates?  Ahhhhhh!

Lookity.  Pirates are no joke.  They are desperate people.  I know that.  But we are not going to the Gulf of Aden.  We talk to other cruisers to get local information.  Trust me, we don’t want to see Bad Guys either.  Seriously, people.  If you are choosy about where you go and use some common sense, the risk is low.  You don’t see me giving you grief about commuting to work along the 401, do you?  Your risk of a car accident is much higher than my risk of encountering pirates.  But cars feel familiar.  They are part of the background of urban life, so you just file Car Accidents in your brain in the Normal & Mundane Acceptable Risk box.  As you never have to think about pirates in your daily life, they get slotted into the Scary & Unfamiliar Excessive Risk box.  But that doesn’t mean they belong there.

But do you know what no one is talking about?  Whale attacks.  Check it out:

This whale attack occurred last summer near South Africa.  And only a few days ago some poor sods were attacked in Oregon.  But is anyone writing to me in a  panic about that?  No, sir.  Because whales are all cute and endangered.  And they didn’t mean to do it.  Ri-iiiiight.  Sure they didn’t.  You keep telling yourself that.

Question the fifth: medical roundup

So, how's about that broken finger?

Why, thank you for asking.  It has finally healed.  The new nail is almost fully grown in, and it looks pretty normal.  I still have a lump of scar tissue inside the finger; it feels like I have a pearl stuck in there when I press on it.  I notice that I don't type with it any longer.  But it works, and that is all that matters.

That about does it for today.  More is forthcoming!