Merry Christmas, everyone! What do you mean, Christmas is four and a half months away? You wouldn't know it around our boat. The girls have been a festive mood for weeks now. They sing Jingle Bells and Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer (not to digress, but a song with a horrific message about the power of celebrity. I hope Rudolph ignored those reindeer phonies who suddenly loved him until his dying day). Stylish plays Good King Wenceslas on her recorder. And tonight we endured Barbie, A Christmas Carol. Which is a wonderful film if you like totally implausible British accents, bad animation, and you don't actually listen to the plot points. (Scrooge McBarbie only reforms once she discovers that she will become poor if she continues to be mean and work too hard. Enough said.)
And now that I've been all high and mighty, I must come clean and admit we bought ourselves a present today. It isn't easy to buy things on Fatu Hiva. The prices here make Paris look like a bargain basement. A dozen eggs costs $7 US, for example. Since the supply boat from Tahiti only shows up twice a month, supplies are limited and priced accordingly. So we've tried to keep our pennies in our pockets and live off our reserves as much as possible.
However, trading is quite popular. Mostly, we have traded for fruit and fish. I also scored some onions, which is a bigger deal than you might think. Fishing line, hooks and beer are happily accepted in return, although we have also given out aluminum, rope, garlic and antibiotics (not currently available on the island). Today, after long deliberation, we traded for a rosewood-handled stone adze carved by a friend in town (photo forthcoming). The Tiki carvings here are quite beautiful, and it was all we could do not to leave with a boatful. But after our mola blowout in the San Blas, we're trying to hold back a little. The future Papillon Crew homestead is going to be a collection of world art and fond memories, I tell you truly.
So, Merry Christmas to us, as we prepare to leave Fatu Hiva. We've enjoyed the waterfalls, the mountains, the long hikes (except perhaps Indy, who, dropping to the ground while tromping down the mountain today, whined, "I wish we could apparate!"), and the people. We'll move on to Nuku Hiva within a couple of days, where I hope finally to rediscover the internet, and to read the millions of notes from you people waiting in my inbox.
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Wednesday, August 8, 2012
Thursday, August 2, 2012
Paradise attained
Cruising is a funny business. There are two distinct phases to life aboard: time at sea, and time near land, and the two have precious little in common. Some people are equally comfortable in each, but I think it will come as no surprise that I am firmly on Team Phase II. For some the endless weeks of rolling on the high seas, but I like to go for a walk now and again.
When we first arrived at Fatu Hiva, tired and bedraggled and with more things to fix than I care to list, I´d planned to write about the end of our passage. After an excellent two weeks (and change) at sea, we approached the island asymptotically. We lost our wind about 250 NM from here - and I do mean, lost. Papillon needs about 10 knots of apparent wind to even get going. We had five. So, for three long days, we noodled along at 2 knots, destroyed some more bits of the boat (fun fact: light winds are far more destructive on equipment than heavy winds), and tried not to fight too much. It was frustrating. Eventually, after tearing the mainsail, ripping the track off the boom and bending the outhaul, we had to motor the final 30 NM. To add to the fun, our dinghy motor pooped out when we got here, so we spent 45 minutes just trying to get the final 200 m to land. Ridiculous.
And that can all translate to a hilarious story. But I find, now that we are here, those memories are taking on a flat and distant quality. The secret to cruising - or, at least, cruising successfully - is to have a limited and selective short-term memory. As soon as an annoyance is in the past, it is dead and gone. No grudges held. In the Customs and Immigration area of the brain, bad memories are granted a visitor´s visa. Only good memories may apply for permanent residence status.
This is my long-winded way of getting to what I really want to talk about, which is Fatu Hiva. We arrived, and all of the tiny stresses of the past few weeks melted away.
This island is a series of raw, craggy old volcanoes covered in palm trees, scrub and goats. Mist clings to the peaks, and periodically rain and wind rush down the valley and swirl our boat around. It looks very much like a chunk of Scotland dropped into the tropics. Yesterday we hiked inland and spent the afternoon at the base of a waterfall. We were alone in the forest, laughing and swimming. We discovered that crayfish are partial to orange seeds - who knew? One crayfish, a determined soul about five inches long, was bent on stuffing three seeds in his mouth at once. One kept dropping, leading to a comical routine of picking up the old seed, stuffing it in his mouth, and dropping a new one. Stylish in particular was very entertained.
When we first arrived, we made friends with the Swedish/Ecuadorian family on the boat next door, and they in turn introduced us to their friends in the village. Instead of working on the boat and getting back into sailing shape, we unexpectedly spent our Sunday sitting around the table with our new friends. Sitting on their breezy porch, surrounded by fruit trees and banana plants, we ate, and we ate, and we danced, and we ate, and the girls splashed through the river, and we ate some more. Shark ceviche and garlic bread on real baguette (!) and pamplemousse and oranges and coconut brittle and crepes and ice cream and patacones and my belly is so distended I may start getting questions about when the baby is due. We gave our French a workout, and poor Erik, possessed of the greatest number of relevant languages of the group, was kept busy as a French/Spanish/English translator as the need arose.
After three weeks at sea, we were down to our last sour grapefruit. Now, thanks to a little trading and a lot of generosity, we have so many limes, bananas, plantains, mandarins, oranges and pamplemousse that I wonder how we will finish it all. I´ve never been a fan of grapefruit, but the pamplemosse here has changed my mind. For one thing, it is sweet. For another, it actually tastes good. Our meat reserves are getting low, but we now have some wahoo steaks in the freezer, so I think we can happily live without ground beef for a while.
This is a place you´ll likely never see - Fatu Hiva doesn´t have an airport; it can only be reached either by sailing from thousands of miles away, like we did, or by flying to Tahiti, then to Hiva Oa, then finding someone with a boat to take you the last few hours to the island. Under the circumstances, I undertake to enjoy it on your behalf. And when we eventually move on to Nuku Hiva or Hiva Oa, I´ll post some pictures.
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When we first arrived at Fatu Hiva, tired and bedraggled and with more things to fix than I care to list, I´d planned to write about the end of our passage. After an excellent two weeks (and change) at sea, we approached the island asymptotically. We lost our wind about 250 NM from here - and I do mean, lost. Papillon needs about 10 knots of apparent wind to even get going. We had five. So, for three long days, we noodled along at 2 knots, destroyed some more bits of the boat (fun fact: light winds are far more destructive on equipment than heavy winds), and tried not to fight too much. It was frustrating. Eventually, after tearing the mainsail, ripping the track off the boom and bending the outhaul, we had to motor the final 30 NM. To add to the fun, our dinghy motor pooped out when we got here, so we spent 45 minutes just trying to get the final 200 m to land. Ridiculous.
And that can all translate to a hilarious story. But I find, now that we are here, those memories are taking on a flat and distant quality. The secret to cruising - or, at least, cruising successfully - is to have a limited and selective short-term memory. As soon as an annoyance is in the past, it is dead and gone. No grudges held. In the Customs and Immigration area of the brain, bad memories are granted a visitor´s visa. Only good memories may apply for permanent residence status.
This is my long-winded way of getting to what I really want to talk about, which is Fatu Hiva. We arrived, and all of the tiny stresses of the past few weeks melted away.
This island is a series of raw, craggy old volcanoes covered in palm trees, scrub and goats. Mist clings to the peaks, and periodically rain and wind rush down the valley and swirl our boat around. It looks very much like a chunk of Scotland dropped into the tropics. Yesterday we hiked inland and spent the afternoon at the base of a waterfall. We were alone in the forest, laughing and swimming. We discovered that crayfish are partial to orange seeds - who knew? One crayfish, a determined soul about five inches long, was bent on stuffing three seeds in his mouth at once. One kept dropping, leading to a comical routine of picking up the old seed, stuffing it in his mouth, and dropping a new one. Stylish in particular was very entertained.
When we first arrived, we made friends with the Swedish/Ecuadorian family on the boat next door, and they in turn introduced us to their friends in the village. Instead of working on the boat and getting back into sailing shape, we unexpectedly spent our Sunday sitting around the table with our new friends. Sitting on their breezy porch, surrounded by fruit trees and banana plants, we ate, and we ate, and we danced, and we ate, and the girls splashed through the river, and we ate some more. Shark ceviche and garlic bread on real baguette (!) and pamplemousse and oranges and coconut brittle and crepes and ice cream and patacones and my belly is so distended I may start getting questions about when the baby is due. We gave our French a workout, and poor Erik, possessed of the greatest number of relevant languages of the group, was kept busy as a French/Spanish/English translator as the need arose.
After three weeks at sea, we were down to our last sour grapefruit. Now, thanks to a little trading and a lot of generosity, we have so many limes, bananas, plantains, mandarins, oranges and pamplemousse that I wonder how we will finish it all. I´ve never been a fan of grapefruit, but the pamplemosse here has changed my mind. For one thing, it is sweet. For another, it actually tastes good. Our meat reserves are getting low, but we now have some wahoo steaks in the freezer, so I think we can happily live without ground beef for a while.
This is a place you´ll likely never see - Fatu Hiva doesn´t have an airport; it can only be reached either by sailing from thousands of miles away, like we did, or by flying to Tahiti, then to Hiva Oa, then finding someone with a boat to take you the last few hours to the island. Under the circumstances, I undertake to enjoy it on your behalf. And when we eventually move on to Nuku Hiva or Hiva Oa, I´ll post some pictures.
----------
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Tuesday, July 24, 2012
Day 17 Roundup
July 23, 2012, 1926 UTC
09 21.310 S, 130 18.278 W
Day 17
Hello, friends. Greetings from the morning of Day 17. As we were warned, long passages are a bit of a roller coaster ride - sometimes everything is great, the sun is shining, the fish are biting, and you are blistering along at 9 knots. And sometimes, everyone is turning into Jack Nicholson at the end of the Shining, and you wonder if full complement of Papillon is going to arrive at the other end.
Here is a brief overview of the past week:
Day 7: A winner! With the main and mizzen spinnakers flying, we were making great time. Erik caught a mahi-mahi for dinner. A great meal to end a great day.
Night of Day 7: Worst. Night. Ever. In short: tack ring tore out of main spinnaker. Repaired. Tack pennant blew on main spinnaker => snap shackle failed on mizzen backstay (in only 10 knots of wind) => mizzen mast bent forward like a bendy straw. Stabilized the mizzen. Skied a halyard. Yelling ensued.
Day 9 - A pod 20-30 dolphins swam with the boat for about half an hour. It was the absolute highlight of the passage. I will post a video when we reach the Marquesas, and you will all cry with jealousy.
Day 10 - The once-again-repaired main spinnaker tore itself apart completely. We are now without a light-wind sail. We are getting by sailing wing-in-wing (main out one side, jib poled out the other.) This is rolly, slow, and less than ideal.
Day 11- Freighter Forest Kishu kindly agrees not to run us down in the middle of the night.
Day 12 - The One That Got Away. Erik hooked a huge fish, fought it for ages, then lost it when the hook chafed through the leader cable at the eye.
Day 15 - Erik caught a tuna for dinner. Good, but not as good as the mahi-mahi. We are now very picky about our fish. I can no longer tell the difference between Velveeta and Roquefort, but fish we know.
Day 16 - The freighter Manon passed by in - you guessed it - the middle of the night. Thankfully, collision was not imminent.
Every Darn Day - Erik travels up and down the main mast hanging and adjusting chafe gear. Because stuff on a boat likes to break other stuff on a boat! Yours truly mans the winch handle, and is developing overly-muscular arms. The girls and I spent a morning making new baggywrinkle, but we didn't have enough old line aboard to make as much as we'd like. Hopefully we've covered the worst of it.
We should reach Fatu Hiva in a few days. We'll take a more serious look at the mizzen, then move on to Nuku Hiva. Wish us some boring, routine sailing between here and there.
----------
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09 21.310 S, 130 18.278 W
Day 17
Hello, friends. Greetings from the morning of Day 17. As we were warned, long passages are a bit of a roller coaster ride - sometimes everything is great, the sun is shining, the fish are biting, and you are blistering along at 9 knots. And sometimes, everyone is turning into Jack Nicholson at the end of the Shining, and you wonder if full complement of Papillon is going to arrive at the other end.
Here is a brief overview of the past week:
Day 7: A winner! With the main and mizzen spinnakers flying, we were making great time. Erik caught a mahi-mahi for dinner. A great meal to end a great day.
Night of Day 7: Worst. Night. Ever. In short: tack ring tore out of main spinnaker. Repaired. Tack pennant blew on main spinnaker => snap shackle failed on mizzen backstay (in only 10 knots of wind) => mizzen mast bent forward like a bendy straw. Stabilized the mizzen. Skied a halyard. Yelling ensued.
Day 9 - A pod 20-30 dolphins swam with the boat for about half an hour. It was the absolute highlight of the passage. I will post a video when we reach the Marquesas, and you will all cry with jealousy.
Day 10 - The once-again-repaired main spinnaker tore itself apart completely. We are now without a light-wind sail. We are getting by sailing wing-in-wing (main out one side, jib poled out the other.) This is rolly, slow, and less than ideal.
Day 11- Freighter Forest Kishu kindly agrees not to run us down in the middle of the night.
Day 12 - The One That Got Away. Erik hooked a huge fish, fought it for ages, then lost it when the hook chafed through the leader cable at the eye.
Day 15 - Erik caught a tuna for dinner. Good, but not as good as the mahi-mahi. We are now very picky about our fish. I can no longer tell the difference between Velveeta and Roquefort, but fish we know.
Day 16 - The freighter Manon passed by in - you guessed it - the middle of the night. Thankfully, collision was not imminent.
Every Darn Day - Erik travels up and down the main mast hanging and adjusting chafe gear. Because stuff on a boat likes to break other stuff on a boat! Yours truly mans the winch handle, and is developing overly-muscular arms. The girls and I spent a morning making new baggywrinkle, but we didn't have enough old line aboard to make as much as we'd like. Hopefully we've covered the worst of it.
We should reach Fatu Hiva in a few days. We'll take a more serious look at the mizzen, then move on to Nuku Hiva. Wish us some boring, routine sailing between here and there.
----------
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Wednesday, July 18, 2012
Pets At Sea
July 17, 2012, 1608 UTC
8 deg 31.595 S, 115 deg 45.228 W
Day 11
It is inevitable that, after travelling 1600 NM over ten days and being completely alone on the water, the very first boat we should see would:
a) Be a freighter.
b) Appear at midnight.
c) Be on a collision course with Papillon.
I mean, honestly. Thankfully, the good people aboard the freighter Forest Kishu answered our hail and were very accommodating about not smashing into us. And that's why, boys and girls, even in the mid-Pacific, we keep a careful watch. Thus ended day 10.
Growing up, we always had a cat. I love cats. Not to court a dog-vs-cat debate, but cats have it going on. It was to my everlasting sorrow that I finally had to admit to my cat allergy. It was only when I moved out to attend university that I discovered the joys of breathing. I still didn't want to admit it was that bad, but allergy testing a few years later proved me wrong. It was that bad, and no house pets for me if I want to enjoy the continued use of my lungs.
Stylish has wanted a pet from the moment she could talk. As a baby, her hands were a flurry of activity as we would walk in our neighbourhood, signing Cat and Dog with great excitement whenever she saw one. The writing was on the wall.
I explained early and often why we couldn't have a pet at home. (I took the blame on myself, but the truth is, I suspect Erik loves my allergies. Having grown up in his parents' veterinary practice and being possessed of a sensitive nose, I think he exceeded his lifetime quota on animal smells quite some time ago.) Stylish accepted my explanation, but her desire for a pet was undiminished. We bought some goldfish. And while Goldie, Blackie and Speckles were fun to watch, you can't cuddle a fish. So Stylish gave her love to her stuffed cat named Dinah, and continued to quietly hope.
As the years rolled by, I heard a lot about her friends' pets. I knew every new animal that passed through her peer group. And each time, Stylish would turn to me with big eyes, wondering if today would be the day Mom cracked.
And I wanted to crack. Having a snuggly, cuddly, purring, hair-shedding, asthma-inducing… no. The answer was still no. Stylish consoled herself with the notion that, as soon as she moved out, she could get any pet she wanted.
I've been amazed at how many cruisers have pets aboard, and a goodly percentage of those animals are big dogs. Like, German shepherd-sized dogs. I don't really see how that works - washing the decks of enormous doggy-do at regular intervals... where does that get fun? But, more to the point, Stylish (and now Indy) got to play with more cats and dogs. And desire grew.
In Cartagena, friends found a tiny kitten near the marina, seemingly abandoned. They poured this bit of fluff into Stylish's hands, and begged us to please consider adopting her. Well, I ask you. Stylish actually tried to steal off the boat a few hours later to mount a rescue attempt. Tears ensued. Mom still said no. (Mercifully, we saw said kitten a few days later with her mother and a sibling, slipping through a crumbled wall. Phew.)
Yesterday, the cat discussion came up again. We had received an email from friends who were battling a rat issue (it swam out to their boat from shore). This gave Stylish ideas.
"Mom, what if a cat swam to our boat?"
"We would take it back to shore."
"But what if we were already at sea?" She looked at me anxiously. "You couldn't just kill it."
"You can't kill it!" piped up Indy.
"What? Since when do I kill cats? Of course we wouldn't kill it."
"Then it could stay," said Stylish.
"Until we got to shore."
"But we aren't going to get to shore for another three weeks."
"That's true, but we don't have a cat onboard."
"But, Mom, what if a cat got onto Papillon and it has been hiding?"
"We've been out for almost two weeks, honey. I don't think a cat would hide that long."
"But what if it did? What if there is a cat hiding on the boat right now? You said you wouldn't kill it," she reminded me.
"I'm not going to kill anything!"
"So we'd have to keep it," concluded Stylish.
"Keep it! Keep it!" shouted Indy.
"Look," I said. "If there is a cat aboard right now, you can have it."
"REALLY????"
"Yes."
A frenzy of searching ensued. The hypothetical cat had become real in their minds. If they could only find it, the holy cat grail would be theirs.
After a day of looking, the urgency wore off a little, if not the desire. They still think that, maybe, there is a cat here somewhere, somehow.
But I'm a little disappointed. I kind of hoped they would find a cat.
----------
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8 deg 31.595 S, 115 deg 45.228 W
Day 11
It is inevitable that, after travelling 1600 NM over ten days and being completely alone on the water, the very first boat we should see would:
a) Be a freighter.
b) Appear at midnight.
c) Be on a collision course with Papillon.
I mean, honestly. Thankfully, the good people aboard the freighter Forest Kishu answered our hail and were very accommodating about not smashing into us. And that's why, boys and girls, even in the mid-Pacific, we keep a careful watch. Thus ended day 10.
Growing up, we always had a cat. I love cats. Not to court a dog-vs-cat debate, but cats have it going on. It was to my everlasting sorrow that I finally had to admit to my cat allergy. It was only when I moved out to attend university that I discovered the joys of breathing. I still didn't want to admit it was that bad, but allergy testing a few years later proved me wrong. It was that bad, and no house pets for me if I want to enjoy the continued use of my lungs.
Stylish has wanted a pet from the moment she could talk. As a baby, her hands were a flurry of activity as we would walk in our neighbourhood, signing Cat and Dog with great excitement whenever she saw one. The writing was on the wall.
I explained early and often why we couldn't have a pet at home. (I took the blame on myself, but the truth is, I suspect Erik loves my allergies. Having grown up in his parents' veterinary practice and being possessed of a sensitive nose, I think he exceeded his lifetime quota on animal smells quite some time ago.) Stylish accepted my explanation, but her desire for a pet was undiminished. We bought some goldfish. And while Goldie, Blackie and Speckles were fun to watch, you can't cuddle a fish. So Stylish gave her love to her stuffed cat named Dinah, and continued to quietly hope.
As the years rolled by, I heard a lot about her friends' pets. I knew every new animal that passed through her peer group. And each time, Stylish would turn to me with big eyes, wondering if today would be the day Mom cracked.
And I wanted to crack. Having a snuggly, cuddly, purring, hair-shedding, asthma-inducing… no. The answer was still no. Stylish consoled herself with the notion that, as soon as she moved out, she could get any pet she wanted.
I've been amazed at how many cruisers have pets aboard, and a goodly percentage of those animals are big dogs. Like, German shepherd-sized dogs. I don't really see how that works - washing the decks of enormous doggy-do at regular intervals... where does that get fun? But, more to the point, Stylish (and now Indy) got to play with more cats and dogs. And desire grew.
In Cartagena, friends found a tiny kitten near the marina, seemingly abandoned. They poured this bit of fluff into Stylish's hands, and begged us to please consider adopting her. Well, I ask you. Stylish actually tried to steal off the boat a few hours later to mount a rescue attempt. Tears ensued. Mom still said no. (Mercifully, we saw said kitten a few days later with her mother and a sibling, slipping through a crumbled wall. Phew.)
Yesterday, the cat discussion came up again. We had received an email from friends who were battling a rat issue (it swam out to their boat from shore). This gave Stylish ideas.
"Mom, what if a cat swam to our boat?"
"We would take it back to shore."
"But what if we were already at sea?" She looked at me anxiously. "You couldn't just kill it."
"You can't kill it!" piped up Indy.
"What? Since when do I kill cats? Of course we wouldn't kill it."
"Then it could stay," said Stylish.
"Until we got to shore."
"But we aren't going to get to shore for another three weeks."
"That's true, but we don't have a cat onboard."
"But, Mom, what if a cat got onto Papillon and it has been hiding?"
"We've been out for almost two weeks, honey. I don't think a cat would hide that long."
"But what if it did? What if there is a cat hiding on the boat right now? You said you wouldn't kill it," she reminded me.
"I'm not going to kill anything!"
"So we'd have to keep it," concluded Stylish.
"Keep it! Keep it!" shouted Indy.
"Look," I said. "If there is a cat aboard right now, you can have it."
"REALLY????"
"Yes."
A frenzy of searching ensued. The hypothetical cat had become real in their minds. If they could only find it, the holy cat grail would be theirs.
After a day of looking, the urgency wore off a little, if not the desire. They still think that, maybe, there is a cat here somewhere, somehow.
But I'm a little disappointed. I kind of hoped they would find a cat.
----------
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Friday, July 13, 2012
Pacific crossing, day 6
5 22.864 S, 103 40.145 W
875 NM from the Galapagos
Hello, friends! Papillon greets you from the wilds of the Pacific ocean. We are on day 6 of our passage, with 14-18 days to go.
It has been an exciting time, filled with sail rearrangement, broken sewing machines, bored and cranky children, and, of course, seasickness. Thankfully, that last faded around day 4, so I can now rejoin the functioning complement of the crew. To wit, I am cooking again, which everyone appreciates. Hooray for me, because I calculated correctly beforehand. Before leaving San Cristobal, I cooked a big pot of chili, a roast chicken and two pizzas. Those things ran out just as I was feeling better, so no one was subjected to endless peanut butter sandwiches this time, a la the Chesapeake.
Stylish lost a tooth this morning, so we had a Lost Tooth Party at lunch, complete with fresh hummus, vine leaves and other tasty treats. She is preparing a note for the Tooth Fairy, so she can find us at sea tonight. This fiesta doubled as a Spinnaker Party. The winds have slowly been dying and moving astern of us, so we sadly packed away the main and jib, said goodbye to our 7-8 knots of speed, and pulled out the light wind sails.
For those of you not familiar with a spinnaker, these sails are very big and very light. It is rather like flying a house-sized K-Way jacket in front of the boat. For all that, they pull like heck. At the moment, we are flying two - a main spinnaker and a mizzen spinnaker. Erik hastens to mention that we tried to fly the mizzen staysail (which the girls named the candycorn sail for its orange and yellow stripes), but it tore after two hours. He then broke the sewing machine trying to repair it. I think he only did that so he would have something to fix this afternoon - we all make our own fun on passage - but that may be untrue. Then again, yesterday he spent the day running new cable for our SSB. Some days, I shake my head at the gulf between us. Anyway, the current sail configuration is giving us 6.5 knots, which is not bad in 9 knots of apparent wind. May the K-Ways hold out.
As for the ladies, it isn´t all bickering and kicking. They are busy doing crafts and playing Barbies and Duplo. They stroll the decks, clearing the scuppers of flying fish and small squids, and throwing them back into the water. We´ll start school in a little while, which is fun and eats up the hours. We are all working on our constellations when the sky is clear (I highly recommend H.A. Rey´s The Stars - A New Way To See Them). And the days roll on.
We are running the SPOT tracker once or twice a day (to conserve batteries), but it should give you an idea of where we are. Cheer us on!
----------
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875 NM from the Galapagos
Hello, friends! Papillon greets you from the wilds of the Pacific ocean. We are on day 6 of our passage, with 14-18 days to go.
It has been an exciting time, filled with sail rearrangement, broken sewing machines, bored and cranky children, and, of course, seasickness. Thankfully, that last faded around day 4, so I can now rejoin the functioning complement of the crew. To wit, I am cooking again, which everyone appreciates. Hooray for me, because I calculated correctly beforehand. Before leaving San Cristobal, I cooked a big pot of chili, a roast chicken and two pizzas. Those things ran out just as I was feeling better, so no one was subjected to endless peanut butter sandwiches this time, a la the Chesapeake.
Stylish lost a tooth this morning, so we had a Lost Tooth Party at lunch, complete with fresh hummus, vine leaves and other tasty treats. She is preparing a note for the Tooth Fairy, so she can find us at sea tonight. This fiesta doubled as a Spinnaker Party. The winds have slowly been dying and moving astern of us, so we sadly packed away the main and jib, said goodbye to our 7-8 knots of speed, and pulled out the light wind sails.
For those of you not familiar with a spinnaker, these sails are very big and very light. It is rather like flying a house-sized K-Way jacket in front of the boat. For all that, they pull like heck. At the moment, we are flying two - a main spinnaker and a mizzen spinnaker. Erik hastens to mention that we tried to fly the mizzen staysail (which the girls named the candycorn sail for its orange and yellow stripes), but it tore after two hours. He then broke the sewing machine trying to repair it. I think he only did that so he would have something to fix this afternoon - we all make our own fun on passage - but that may be untrue. Then again, yesterday he spent the day running new cable for our SSB. Some days, I shake my head at the gulf between us. Anyway, the current sail configuration is giving us 6.5 knots, which is not bad in 9 knots of apparent wind. May the K-Ways hold out.
As for the ladies, it isn´t all bickering and kicking. They are busy doing crafts and playing Barbies and Duplo. They stroll the decks, clearing the scuppers of flying fish and small squids, and throwing them back into the water. We´ll start school in a little while, which is fun and eats up the hours. We are all working on our constellations when the sky is clear (I highly recommend H.A. Rey´s The Stars - A New Way To See Them). And the days roll on.
We are running the SPOT tracker once or twice a day (to conserve batteries), but it should give you an idea of where we are. Cheer us on!
----------
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Thursday, July 5, 2012
Home Passage Simulator 1.0
Our time in the Galapagos is rapidly coming to a close. I can tell,
because I have a monstrous headache, and wake up in the night
wondering if we have enough onions.
First, pictures. Well, there should be pictures, but Blogger isn't
being my friend right now. So you'll have to imagine a giant sea
turtle swimming about four feet away. Now, a giant tortoise in the
grass. You're in the Galapagos!
Second, The Big Passage is upon us! The maybe-twenty- maybe-forty-day
passage across the Pacific to the Marquesas. Oooooh!!!
I know some of you are wondering about that. Some with a raised
eyebrow, some with a shaking drink in your hand.
Passage-curious sailors, I am here to help. Below you will find
instructions for the Home Passage Simulator 1.0. Experience the
thrills and chills of a long passage from the comfort of your own
home, and see what Papillon is forever going on about.
Simulate the Boat
Before you leave, you have to get ready, and as any passagemaker will
tell you, good preparations lead to a happy voyage.
1. Move everyone into kitchen/living room. Welcome to your new living
space! (Yes, that's all you get.)
2. Disable your telephone, internet, television – all of it. And
don't cry; you'll be okay. Even Erik, the Blackberry addict,
eventually got over the shakes when we moved aboard.
3. It is time to provision. Break out your folding dock cart and get
walking. To accurately simulate your choices, you may either a) do
all of your shopping at your local convenience store, or b) visit your
local supermarket, but you may only buy things from aisles 2,5 and 10,
and you have only 39 seconds to grab what you can in the fruit and
vegetable section. Be sure to take a good list with you, because once
you are aboard, you have what is there. That's it.
Simulate the Passage
All this preparation is well and good, but what does it really feel
like on passage?
4. Prop up the side of your house about 10-15 degrees. Now you're
heeled over. Tip the house gently forwards and backwards, making sure
to add in some random shaking or corkscrewing once in a while.
Doesn't that feel nice? Now try to cook something, or even open a
cupboard. Oh, didn't you lash everything down before you left? Tut,
tut. If you want to avoid getting brained by jugs of olive oil every
time you open the pantry, you will need a strategy to hold it all in
place. Bubble wrap and old fishing nets work well.
5. Paint your ceilings black. Add many tiny white dots. These are
called "stars", and they appear at night. If you live in the city,
you've probably never seen more than three at a time. Don't be alarmed
– they are perfectly normal, and the sky is full of them offshore.
Along with phosphorescence and the sound of dolphins, they are one of
the best parts of doing a night watch.
6. And speaking of watches, you need to set a watch schedule. Someone
needs to be stationed at the window at all times to make sure you
aren't going to get flattened by a car carrier. Watch trajectory of
every car (freighter) or pedestrian (sailboat) going by to make sure
they won't collide with your house.
7. Make a list of every system and moving part you have in your house
and car. Furnace, alternator, toilets, even door latches – anything
that serves a purpose and can conceivably fail in some manner. Cut
the list into individual strips and drop them all on a jar. Set some
alarms on a random timer (preferably set to go off between 11pm and
4am). Whenever an alarm sounds, grab a piece of paper out of the jar.
That is what just failed on your boat. Go fix it.
8. Realize you are eating your fifth uninterrupted meal with your
family, with none of the distractions from point 2. And no one can
leave! Mwahaha! But really, do you see how relaxed you all look?
And how everyone is laughing? You may feel like you are all on top of
each other sometimes, and that can lead to friction, but, for the most
part, passages are relaxed and delightful.
9. Try out seasickness. Drink 18 cups of coffee within 30 minutes,
then spin around as fast as you can. When you come to, you will want
to end it all. Welcome to seasickness. It is horrible, but keep in
mind that even a hard-core mal de mer sufferer such as myself, locked
in a migraine hell and resistant to all treatment, appears to come out
of it by day 4. (I'm trying to keep that firmly in mind right now.)
10. Plan a party. Every long passage descends into tedium at some
point; a party is the perfect way to break up the routine. On the way
to the Galapagos, we had an equator party. It was fun, it involved
planning (read: killed time), was different from our regular day, and
everyone got involved. And any excuse will do.
11. You're in the groove now. Keep going for a month.
Wasn't that fun? No? Well, the real thing is better, I assure you.
Now, for some housekeeping. That is going to shock you, but we're not
going to have email for a month. I know, it's tragic. I'll use the
ham radio to write posts when I can, but that will about do it.
However! Do not view that as a chance to stop writing to us. We love
your notes. They make us feel warm and fuzzy. I expect to hit the
Marquesas and open my inbox to an overflowing heap of mail from you
people. You can also follow our progress on the tracker (we'll put up
a GPS point every day). And we'll see you on the other side…
because I have a monstrous headache, and wake up in the night
wondering if we have enough onions.
First, pictures. Well, there should be pictures, but Blogger isn't
being my friend right now. So you'll have to imagine a giant sea
turtle swimming about four feet away. Now, a giant tortoise in the
grass. You're in the Galapagos!
Second, The Big Passage is upon us! The maybe-twenty- maybe-forty-day
passage across the Pacific to the Marquesas. Oooooh!!!
I know some of you are wondering about that. Some with a raised
eyebrow, some with a shaking drink in your hand.
Passage-curious sailors, I am here to help. Below you will find
instructions for the Home Passage Simulator 1.0. Experience the
thrills and chills of a long passage from the comfort of your own
home, and see what Papillon is forever going on about.
Simulate the Boat
Before you leave, you have to get ready, and as any passagemaker will
tell you, good preparations lead to a happy voyage.
1. Move everyone into kitchen/living room. Welcome to your new living
space! (Yes, that's all you get.)
2. Disable your telephone, internet, television – all of it. And
don't cry; you'll be okay. Even Erik, the Blackberry addict,
eventually got over the shakes when we moved aboard.
3. It is time to provision. Break out your folding dock cart and get
walking. To accurately simulate your choices, you may either a) do
all of your shopping at your local convenience store, or b) visit your
local supermarket, but you may only buy things from aisles 2,5 and 10,
and you have only 39 seconds to grab what you can in the fruit and
vegetable section. Be sure to take a good list with you, because once
you are aboard, you have what is there. That's it.
Simulate the Passage
All this preparation is well and good, but what does it really feel
like on passage?
4. Prop up the side of your house about 10-15 degrees. Now you're
heeled over. Tip the house gently forwards and backwards, making sure
to add in some random shaking or corkscrewing once in a while.
Doesn't that feel nice? Now try to cook something, or even open a
cupboard. Oh, didn't you lash everything down before you left? Tut,
tut. If you want to avoid getting brained by jugs of olive oil every
time you open the pantry, you will need a strategy to hold it all in
place. Bubble wrap and old fishing nets work well.
5. Paint your ceilings black. Add many tiny white dots. These are
called "stars", and they appear at night. If you live in the city,
you've probably never seen more than three at a time. Don't be alarmed
– they are perfectly normal, and the sky is full of them offshore.
Along with phosphorescence and the sound of dolphins, they are one of
the best parts of doing a night watch.
6. And speaking of watches, you need to set a watch schedule. Someone
needs to be stationed at the window at all times to make sure you
aren't going to get flattened by a car carrier. Watch trajectory of
every car (freighter) or pedestrian (sailboat) going by to make sure
they won't collide with your house.
7. Make a list of every system and moving part you have in your house
and car. Furnace, alternator, toilets, even door latches – anything
that serves a purpose and can conceivably fail in some manner. Cut
the list into individual strips and drop them all on a jar. Set some
alarms on a random timer (preferably set to go off between 11pm and
4am). Whenever an alarm sounds, grab a piece of paper out of the jar.
That is what just failed on your boat. Go fix it.
8. Realize you are eating your fifth uninterrupted meal with your
family, with none of the distractions from point 2. And no one can
leave! Mwahaha! But really, do you see how relaxed you all look?
And how everyone is laughing? You may feel like you are all on top of
each other sometimes, and that can lead to friction, but, for the most
part, passages are relaxed and delightful.
9. Try out seasickness. Drink 18 cups of coffee within 30 minutes,
then spin around as fast as you can. When you come to, you will want
to end it all. Welcome to seasickness. It is horrible, but keep in
mind that even a hard-core mal de mer sufferer such as myself, locked
in a migraine hell and resistant to all treatment, appears to come out
of it by day 4. (I'm trying to keep that firmly in mind right now.)
10. Plan a party. Every long passage descends into tedium at some
point; a party is the perfect way to break up the routine. On the way
to the Galapagos, we had an equator party. It was fun, it involved
planning (read: killed time), was different from our regular day, and
everyone got involved. And any excuse will do.
11. You're in the groove now. Keep going for a month.
Wasn't that fun? No? Well, the real thing is better, I assure you.
Now, for some housekeeping. That is going to shock you, but we're not
going to have email for a month. I know, it's tragic. I'll use the
ham radio to write posts when I can, but that will about do it.
However! Do not view that as a chance to stop writing to us. We love
your notes. They make us feel warm and fuzzy. I expect to hit the
Marquesas and open my inbox to an overflowing heap of mail from you
people. You can also follow our progress on the tracker (we'll put up
a GPS point every day). And we'll see you on the other side…
Wednesday, June 27, 2012
When Sealions Attack
People, I've been busy. Not just because we are in the Galapagos, but because...
 |
| Ta da! |
 |
| And ta daaa! |
"All right, Amy, well and good. Your mother is a shining example to us all. Now what is this I hear about a Dangerous Situation?"
And right you are for asking. As you may have noticed in earlier posts, I am keen on the sealions. They are delightful and adorable. They sleep twenty-three hours a day, and eat and frolic the other one hour. They are truly the cats of the sea.
 |
| Whose turn is it to be cute right now? |
Witness the vicious attack Erik sustained from this baby sealion :
 |
| Come play with meeeeeeee!!!! |
But Baby was not finished. Young Indy was standing at the water's edge, watching everyone else swim, when nip! Love bite.
 |
| Baby strikes again. |
 |
| Not again. |
We decided that was enough fun for one day, and we packed up before Little Red could join the group of Baby's potential playmates. I hope that little sealion found someone to play with, because she was desperate, poor thing.
Saturday, June 23, 2012
Time to Talk
Like many North Americans, my foreign
language skills were never the greatest.
It is a sad fact of life that English is the new Latin. You can get away with anything as an English-speaker
- where is the push to branch out? Growing up, French
was something you studied in school because you had to. Oh, maybe you would visit Quebec someday, and having
a second language looked good on your university application. But mostly, you didn’t have a choice, and it
was more about the grade than the learning.
I’ve hesitated to
write this post. I have held back,
because I don’t want to write anything that well-meaning keener parents are
going to wave at their children and say, “See, this is why we encourage you to
study.” But the fact of the matter is
this: the single most useful skill I’ve brought to this sailing adventure is my
ability to speak other languages.
I learned German for the usual
reason: because my boyfriend spoke German.
Erik took a job in Switzerland, and I thought it might be handy when I
visited. (Of course, Swiss German turned
out to be an entirely different animal, but no matter. I had some basic grammar and vocabulary under
my belt.) And then we got married and
moved to Germany, and German became not just handy, but essential. I practiced, I got over my shyness about my
hideous accent, I got a job, and my German got better. And I met some cool people.
After a stint in Boston, we moved
to Montreal. And you had better believe
that you ought to speak French in Quebec.
So I practiced with the doormen in our building, and my terrible French
became slightly less terrible.
I thought my foreign language days
were at an end... then we moved aboard Papillon. And if I had thought about our intended route
at all, I would have taken a Spanish course.
Because my Spanish sucks. I’ve
never taken Spanish, and I feel lost without the basic grammar. I’ve cobbled together some phrases and worked
really hard to understand the people around me, but I still haven’t mapped out the
basics. I’m pretty much back on “Yo voy,”
“Yo deseo,” and “sobre el barco.”
But here is the thing. And while you are breaking your back for your
95% in French or loafing at the back of the room balancing pencils on your
nose, you might not see this. But the
real, actual, completely-for-true reason we learn other languages is to talk to
other people. Not to order at a
restaurant on vacation or get directions to the Metro. That’s crap.
You learn it because people out there are interesting, and different, and
funny and cool and generally awesome, but you are never going to know that
unless you try to talk to them. Not in
English. In their own language. If you want to get to know people, it is time
for you to do some of the heavy lifting.
One of the conversations I’m most
proud of happened with one of the guys working on the dock in Cartagena. It was Christmas, and I managed to explain
the difference between “wrap” and “rap” entirely in Spanish. I was forever La Señora Rap after that, and my friend would go into a rapper pose whenever he
saw me. That is success, my friends.
We made friends in Cartagena on
the strength of Erik’s Spanish. That’s
how we got to spend New Year’s Eve in the Barrio. We had painters aboard for four months, and
by the end Erik was spending Sunday afternoons at their house playing
dominoes. The man who rented us lines
and tires for the Canal crossing told us about how his son got shot in Colon in
a case of mistaken identity. We talked
to the Kuna people living on Miriadiadup about how village life is disappearing. Our policeman friend from Providencia invited
us to visit him in Cali. And so on. We’ve met so many interesting people – some for
a few minutes, some for much longer – that we never would have known otherwise.
Because here is the thing. You can kind of make friends with someone
when you are making them speak English.
But you are going to come out a lot further ahead when you can speak a
little of their own language back to them. And the other thing? Not everyone speaks English. I know!
It’s a shocker! And even more
shocking is they shouldn’t have to.
When we arrived in San Cristobal,
we found two German boats and a Swiss boat here. We have five kids between us, and we have
seen a lot of each other over the past week.
The kids got past the language barrier right away, just as some of Stylish’s
best friends on this trip have been from France and Quebec. We have had a potluck and a birthday party
with our new friends, and I have hauled out my rusty German to the best of my
ability.
I know I make mistakes. I forget my grammar, I forget my vocab, I
lose the thread of the conversation sometimes.
Once upon a time, it would have really bothered me that I wasn’t
speaking correctly. But now, when I see
the relief in other people’s eyes that they can relax and speak their own
language without catering to the North American, I don’t care how many mistakes
I’m making. It’s worth it. Now we’re moving on to the Marquesas, and I’ll
have to dredge out my high school French.
And I’m actually looking forward to it.
So, kids, learn those
languages. Learn six words if that is
all you can manage. But do it. And use those six words whenever you
can. I promise you, what you will get
out of it is better than any grade in school.
 |
| The kids understand. |
Sunday, June 17, 2012
Swimming with Sealions
I took 127 photos today. I know, I have a problem. And I know this doesn't constitute a proper post, but these are my two favourite pictures from the beach this afternoon:
Tell me that doesn't look like fun.
Tell me that doesn't look like fun.
Labels:
animals,
being a tourist,
kids,
the good
Saturday, June 16, 2012
Fun in the Southern Hemisphere
 |
| Ready when you are, equator. |
Finally, at 0516 on June 14th, the moment arrived!
 |
| W00t! Equator! |
Stylish threw her offering to the gods.
 |
| All hail the gods of the sea. |
 |
| Par-tay! |
 |
| You have the bridge, Number One. |
And soon enough, there was San Cristobal.
 |
| I have tortoises and blue-footed boobies! |
But even before we left Papillon, we saw the sea lions. They are everywhere. They completely own this place.
 |
| At the beach. |
 |
| At the park. |
 |
| On the benches. |
 |
| Along the sidewalks. |
We debated a long time about which island to visit in the Galapagos, and we couldn't be more delighted with our choice. We are all looking forward to a rest and a chance to explore the land of Darwin.
Labels:
animals,
local colour
Wednesday, June 13, 2012
Rolling, rolling, rolling...
Good morning, campers! And hello from 01 20.178 N 8 34.136 W! We are seven days into our run to the Galapagos, and the end is in sight. Not according to our navigation program, which consistently claims we are 3.2 days from our goal, but that´s software for you.
The good news: my seasickness diminished to manageable levels after day 4-5. Hooray! This makes me feel much better about the big Pacific crossing.
The bad: Indy, leaping about the cockpit like a young gazelle, fell and split her head open beside her eye. We were two days from shore, so Captain Fantastic stitched her up while I held her hand (and fought seasickness), and Stylish read aloud from Junie B Jones to keep everyone´s spirits up. Success! Indy has three beautiful stitches, and a week in, they look great. All compliments to Erik for performing surgery in rolly seas. At night. In the cockpit.
The other bad: Winds being what they are, we are permanently heeled over at 15-20 degrees. While still rolling around. Trying to cook like that, or even open a cupboard on the wrong side of the boat, means taking your life in your hands. Erik tacked the boat early this morning, throwing Stylish out of bed and earning her a fat lip. The dangers of boat life, I tell you.
The good again: We are all having fun. We have a good routine of school, reading, playing, sleeping, and generally getting along. A week in, we have our pattern, and it works.
More news when we get to an anchorage. We intend to go to San Cristobal, and anchor in Wreck Bay. I know some of you have visited the area; if you have recommendations or advice, please drop us a line.
----------
radio email processed by SailMail
for information see: http://www.sailmail.com
The good news: my seasickness diminished to manageable levels after day 4-5. Hooray! This makes me feel much better about the big Pacific crossing.
The bad: Indy, leaping about the cockpit like a young gazelle, fell and split her head open beside her eye. We were two days from shore, so Captain Fantastic stitched her up while I held her hand (and fought seasickness), and Stylish read aloud from Junie B Jones to keep everyone´s spirits up. Success! Indy has three beautiful stitches, and a week in, they look great. All compliments to Erik for performing surgery in rolly seas. At night. In the cockpit.
The other bad: Winds being what they are, we are permanently heeled over at 15-20 degrees. While still rolling around. Trying to cook like that, or even open a cupboard on the wrong side of the boat, means taking your life in your hands. Erik tacked the boat early this morning, throwing Stylish out of bed and earning her a fat lip. The dangers of boat life, I tell you.
The good again: We are all having fun. We have a good routine of school, reading, playing, sleeping, and generally getting along. A week in, we have our pattern, and it works.
More news when we get to an anchorage. We intend to go to San Cristobal, and anchor in Wreck Bay. I know some of you have visited the area; if you have recommendations or advice, please drop us a line.
----------
radio email processed by SailMail
for information see: http://www.sailmail.com
Saturday, June 2, 2012
The Best Laid Plans
I spent yesterday day reading Dickens (The Old Curiosity Shop, for those interested). And while I enjoy the gentlemen and his humour, he does produce the effect of making one´s prose rather more florid than is usual. So, small doses. Also, not to spoil the book for those who haven´t read it, but the author resorts to his all-to-familiar plot points of killing off the villain by usual way of the Thames (which I don´t really object to), and killing off an innocent child beloved by all (which I do, as this occurs 96% of the way through the book, just before her dear friends find her after a book-long search. Ripoff.)
Shallow literary criticism aside, how did I find the time to read this book all day? Friends, I can´t recommend my methods. Wednesday evening I was decanting pasta from the pot into a colander, and the hot water splashed back on me from the sink and scalded my belly.
It was agony. Erik ran to help me, we iced the area and I lay down, but it was grim. Definite second degree burns over an eight inch by two inch area. I was feeling better with the ice, but as my skin warmed again, the pain returned in force. Out came the first aid kit and the burn dressings. The gel on the dressing helped, but there was a good half hour of teary eyes to endure first.
Before leaving home, Erik and I took a marine medicine course from St John Ambulance. And while you always hope you won´t need that sort of thing, you do. I broke my finger - we used it. Stylish sliced open her chin - we used it. Thankfully we were within spitting distance of a clinic in that case, so a proper doctor did the stitches. But right now, we´re in the middle of nowhere, with not even another boat to call on. Now we have the responsibility to determine whether the burn is bad enough to warrant a return to Panama City. In a few weeks, we won´t even have that option - we´ll be mid-Pacific. But I´m taking my antibiotics and resting as best I can. The medical staff among you may be tut-tutting, but what else can we do?
Oh, and did I mention Erik came down with a high fever Wednesday night and slept all of yesterday? Young Stylish has been my hero, feeding her sister and keeping the pair of them entertained.
In any case, we haven´t moved on today as planned. Soon, I hope. Soon.
Postscript: Just in case you are ever feeling blase about dealing with hot water, I can tell you that it took almost two months for the burn to seal up. It stayed angry for months, and a year later I still have purple scars. And I still think I got off lucky.
Shallow literary criticism aside, how did I find the time to read this book all day? Friends, I can´t recommend my methods. Wednesday evening I was decanting pasta from the pot into a colander, and the hot water splashed back on me from the sink and scalded my belly.
It was agony. Erik ran to help me, we iced the area and I lay down, but it was grim. Definite second degree burns over an eight inch by two inch area. I was feeling better with the ice, but as my skin warmed again, the pain returned in force. Out came the first aid kit and the burn dressings. The gel on the dressing helped, but there was a good half hour of teary eyes to endure first.
Before leaving home, Erik and I took a marine medicine course from St John Ambulance. And while you always hope you won´t need that sort of thing, you do. I broke my finger - we used it. Stylish sliced open her chin - we used it. Thankfully we were within spitting distance of a clinic in that case, so a proper doctor did the stitches. But right now, we´re in the middle of nowhere, with not even another boat to call on. Now we have the responsibility to determine whether the burn is bad enough to warrant a return to Panama City. In a few weeks, we won´t even have that option - we´ll be mid-Pacific. But I´m taking my antibiotics and resting as best I can. The medical staff among you may be tut-tutting, but what else can we do?
Oh, and did I mention Erik came down with a high fever Wednesday night and slept all of yesterday? Young Stylish has been my hero, feeding her sister and keeping the pair of them entertained.
In any case, we haven´t moved on today as planned. Soon, I hope. Soon.
 |
| Do not try this at home. Ever. |
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