Downrigging the Mizzen

The work continues on Arcturus. Mia is on day four of scraping Cetol, and the rigging project is making progress.

After school yesterday we headed back down to the boat on our bikes, the best purchase I've made in a long time. Mia had been at the boat all morning, but the scraping was still not complete, so she got back to work. Meanwhile I was trying to figure out how to get mizzen mast down on deck without breaking it in half. 

We rigged the main halyard to the top of the mizzen mast by connecting it to the mizzen staysail halyard. With the main halyard tight, we slacked all the mizzen shrouds, and rigged the topping lift as a hoist to the stern (the boom had already been taken off). Mia manned the main halyard and I stood aft at the mizzen, and slowly it tipped forward out of its step. We lowered it to the deck using the mainmast halyard like a crane, and the operation went off without a hitch. 

The deck was a tangle of wire and halyards from the mizzen, so I started about taking everything apart and cleaning it up. I must admit that it was nice having a sloop for a while - the  cockpit nearly doubled in size without the mizzen back there. But I still want a two-masted boat, so it will go back up. The shrouds came off very easily, including the tangs on the mast, which I need to replace to accommodate the synthetic rigging. We were able to recycle one of the lower shrouds as a bike lock! The mast is currently laying on deck, radar and halyards still attached, but all the rigging coiled up and stowed away. I will begin splicing and installing new 7mm Dynex Dux to fit to the mizzen.

I re-designed the rigging on the mizzen to eliminate the triatic stay and remove the spreaders. By moving the chainplates for the upper and lower shrouds aft about 10 inches, I will be able to eliminate the need for running backstays in all but the worst weather, as well as eliminating the spreaders - by moving the uppers aft, it widens the shroud angle at the mast to within the acceptable 10 degrees, thereby making the spreaders an unnecessary complication. I'll also be installing two intermediate shrouds that will 'drift' forward about 25 inches from the mast, thereby letting us remove the triatic. All of the mizzen shrouds will be lashed to the toerail in place of chainplates.

Fitting Out Arcturus, Part 1

Mia and I have been steadily chipping away at our long list of projects to prepare for the upcoming trans-Atlantic to Sweden. The Miami Boat Show starts next Thursday, so we've been focusing on getting the boat ready for that, primarily.

Unfortunately that's meant making the boat look pretty, which wasn't exactly one of my priorities for ocean sailing, but nonetheless I think the effort will pay off at the show. Mia has spent the past four or five days scraping old Cetol off all of the exterior wood. I bought her a heat gun the other day, which has made the process slightly more bearable. You don't realized how much wood the boat has until you start a refinishing project like this. The only saving grace is that Ben, the former owner, replaced the teak toerail with aluminum, saving hours of labor. Mia's about 3/4 of the way done scraping, which will be followed by three stages of sanding (60, 150, 220), and finally slapping on 8-10 coats of varnish. We'll be happy if we can get just three coast by the show, continuing to build it up after that as the weather permits. 

I, on the other hand, have been up and down the mast re-doing the standing rigging one shroud at a time. The re-rig was our number one priority before the trip - the old stainless rigging was going on 25 years of service - nearly all the swage fittings were cracked, and I wanted to upsize the wire. Plus, the reason we're in the boat show in the first place is to display the new synthetic rigging we're using, thanks to John Franta at Colligo Marine for the sponsorship (www.colligomarine.com). He sent us  a spool of both 7 and 9mm Dynex Dux synthetic rope (for the mizzen and main, respectively), and all the requisite fittings (deadeyes, thimbles, lashing line, etc.), plus new titanium mast tangs. 

Yesterday I cycled almost 15 miles to Broward Bolt to pick up a new 1/2" stainless bolt to attach the new mast tangs with. I swung by Lowe's to pick up rubber washers for insulating the titanium against the aluminum mast. Surprisingly, the old bolt and tangs came off quite easily, even with the added difficulty of dis-assembling it from the bosun's chair. When it came apart, I found the bolt bent alarmingly, and the pin holes on the tangs severely deformed. The new titanium tangs are vastly stronger, lighter and thicker, and should prove a definite improvement. They went on without any trouble. (I would have had to replace the tangs regardless of the wear on the old ones - the thimbles that the Dux are spliced to are significantly wider than a swage or Sta-Lock wire end fitting, and would not fit next to each other on a typical double-lower-shroud tang).

I had previously measured and spliced the lower shrouds from the 9mm Dux. It rained much of the afternoon yesterday, and after having gotten soaked while up the mast, I sat in the cabin in my underwear getting dry and splicing line. The 12-strand Dux is very easy to splice - with practice, I am able to complete a perfect splice in about 10-15 minutes. The thimbles have deadeyes built into them where the lashing line is then rove through, attaching to another deadeye that gets pinned to the chainplate. This eliminates the need for turnbuckles and adds a very traditional look to the boat, which I rather like. Tuning is more laborious, but once set-up, it works very well.

Due to the lashing line, measuring the shrouds is not as imperative as with turnbuckles, because any  length difference can be made up with the lashing line. I measured the lowers with each other, meaning both the aft and forward lowers are the same length, but they are not as long as the wire ones were. The lashings are about 24" long, making the lower thimble of each shroud come to about the top lifeline. It's important to measure the shrouds to matching lengths so it looks nice, but the actual length of them is  less important.

I'd previously spliced and installed twin backstays in place of the original split backstay (due to the twin chainplates of the yawl configuration). A challenge remains of finding a way to efficiently attach both thimbles at the masthead, where only one wire was attached before. Currently there are several shackles and toggles doing the job, but we'll need a better solution before heading offshore, as there are simply too many links in the chain, so to speak, and I need to simplify and strengthen this. However, having twin backstays seems vastly superior to a split stay for ocean sailing.

I've also reconfigured the mizzen mast to do away with the triatic stay, thereby independently staying each mast. To do this, I consulted both Brion Toss' book 'The Rigger's Apprentice' and Donald Street's 'The Ocean Sailing Yacht.' Both books agree that to get a sufficient staying angle on a shroud, there must be at least one inch of 'drift' for each foot of height. I'll be installing intermediate shrouds on the mizzen mast to act as forestays - they will attached 16' off the deck (21' total mast height), and will 'drift' forward a full 25 inches, which is plenty of drift to support the mast when going to windward. This will eliminate the triatic. Similarly, I will be eliminating the spreaders, and moving the chainplates for both the uppers and lowers aft about 10 inches, to get a wider mast angle, and create enough 'drift' aft so as not to have to rely on running backstays except in heavy weather. I basically copied the proportions of Donald Street's yawl 'Iolaire' when doing the calculations. Since the mizzen is so small and the forces so little, I'll be able - using the synthetic shrouds - to lash the shrouds right to the toerail (whichis through-bolted), using shackles smooth enough to accept the lashing line, providing a myriad of options for placing each shroud, instead of having to move the chainplates. 

When it's all said and done, I'll have what I believe to be the ideal ocean-sailing setup - a wire forestay that will accept a hank-on 100% jib; a synthetic inner forestay, with a hank-on storm staysail; a genoa furler, independent of the forestay for my 150% big sail, which can be lowered in rough weather without interfering with the forestay; an independently stayed and vastly stronger mizzen mast; and, finally, outboard chainplates, also of titanium (from Colligo), that will eliminate deck leaks and make for better shroud angles. 

Photos and more on the final product next week.

The Secret Band

The village of Morne rests at the top of a mountain in the green interior of St. Lucia. On Sunday, Mia, Suzana and I made an accidental visit there and got to enjoy part of an island culture I had assumed didn't exist here.

Rodney Bay Marina, where more than 200 yachts participating in the 2009 edition of the Atlantic Rally for Cruisers are berthed, is typical Caribbean tourism at its worst. Restaurants serve 'western' food at ridiculous prices, taxi drivers continually bark for your business and locals remain virtual slaves to the visiting yachts. Apparently this works for all parties involved - the St. Lucians demand a pretty penny for the services rendered to the yachties, and the yachties get the 'developed' services and facilities they're after. It's just not for me.

On my second day off from working - and after just completing the 2am-8am graveyard shift - my ARC partner Suzana, who is from Portugal, Mia and I took the car and went for a drive. The plan was to have no plan. I was at the helm, Mia riding shotgun and Suzana in the back, and we agreed that if anyone wanted to turn at any time, simply to say so. As driver, I was happy to oblige their whims.

We stopped to buy drinking coconuts not five minutes outside the marina complex. I will never tire of coconut water, which is without a doubt the most refreshing and enjoyable beverage one can experience, and it comes in it's own container. The guy on the street hacked a few open with his machete and Mia and I drowned them in a few large gulps. Then we continued up.

We made a left turn off the main road as soon as we could - another side effect of the influx of tourists and yachties is the incredible traffic on an island where there is only one road leading to anywhere. Only half a century ago an overland journey on St. Lucia could have taken days on foot or horseback. Today it takes about an hour to traverse the island from north to south, and the roads are in amazing condition. Up we went, on a roller coaster of a road. We came to a fork in the road, and Suzana shouted 'Left!' so I went left. The road continued up, passed a few small shops, and turned into dirt. And we found ourselves in Morne.

Little more than a few houses on the hills lining each side of the road, Morne is a family village, and we had stumbled upon a family party. The party was not all that different from the summer pool parties at home. Chicken was roasting on several grills, a man behind a bar that known as the 'No F-ing Credit Bar' was distributing 'Piton' lager beer, and the family was playing music. Incredible music, actually. About a dozen or so St. Lucians - all related - were banging away on metal chairs, bamboo poles, plastic barrels and bongo drums, while another was tooting a conch horn and a woman sang the lyrics in Creole. They called themselves 'The Secret Band,' and I was happy to be in on it.

We were only passing through on our 4-wheel adventure, but they insisted we stay. I had no problems with this request, and was handed a beer. Several generations of the Morne Village family were present, from the smallest baby to old men with no teeth, and everyone was happy. The music continued with new members joining and leaving the band at will. Even the little ones had a go, and it was apparent that these islanders, at least, had music in their blood. 

They would only allow us to pay for one beer each - after that, everything was on the house. We ate grilled curried chicken, fried bread and fish cakes. We drank beer. A teenager opened a dozen coconuts with his machete, and we drank the water, with rum of course. 

The party continued into the afternoon. We were invited by one of the younger guys to go for a trip down to the beach, on the Atlantic side, where he'd show us around to the Carib Indian ruins that lay among the palm trees, the first settlement on St. Lucia. Happily, we obliged.

Once beyond Morne, the dirt road began its descent to the beach. The little Daihatsu bounced along on the rutted and rocky path, but managed well enough. To our right a valley opened up, at the bottom of which stood a small pig and banana farm, a thousand feet below us. To the left, cows and goats grazed on the steep hillsides. This was the St. Lucia that the ARC participants were missing, and I was okay with that.

At the beach, which was volcanic black sand, dwarfed on two sides by enormous cliffs, the Atlantic surf pounded on the sand. Debris from passing ships had washed up on the shore. Bookcases, old bottles, even a telephone pole were strewn about the ground. We hiked beneath the cliff on the southern side along a barely discernible path through a grove of coconut palms. Our de facto guide pointed out the Indian ruins, which became quite obvious after a second glance. Soon the remains of a large Indian 'church' appeared out of the trees. An enormous tree had grown right up through one of its walls, betraying the age of a rather mystical place. 

After our walk, I helped Lloyd (our village guide) load the two bookcases into the back of our car - he was going to fix them up and use them for his house, which I thought was a grand idea. Similarly, the grills back at the village were made from old propane and gas tanks cut in half and hinged, mounted on legs made from rebar. The kettles they boiled their pots on were old car and truck wheels, mounted in a similar fashion as the grills. They waste nothing in the village.

Upon our return to the mountain top and Morne, I expected Lloyd to announce his fee for our afternoon tour. Instead, he called to his two kids, who appeared holding a machete and more coconuts, and he offered us another drink. He was incredibly proud of his family, of the house he built with his own hands, and of the village life where his entire extended family lived close together on the top of that mountain. 

I arrived into Morne with the initial impression that I was an intruder, 'stealing' photographs and somehow tainting an otherwise 'pure'  atmosphere. I wondered to myself if there was anything I could give to those people to make their lives better. 

The villagers at Morne want for nothing. They are quite obviously far happier than any western family I've encountered, my own included. Their happiness comes not from things or money, but from togetherness and passion. Passion for their land, their music and for each other. I left thinking instead how the world might be different, if we all had the same attitude about life.

Southbound

Arcturus made it to Florida. Barely.

I'm writing from St. Lucia actually, sitting in the restaurant at the Palm Haven hotel, where across the street at Rodney Bay Marina over 200 boats are tied up, having just completed the Atlantic Rally for Cruisers, a 2800 mile Atlantic crossing from Las Palmas, Gran Canaria, to the Caribbean. Which is why it took us only two weeks to cover the 1100 miles between Annapolis and Ft. Lauderdale. We were in a hurry.

Arcturus is resting comfortably in Pompano Beach, about one mile down the road from my grandparents winter home. Incredibly, Mia has agreed to live with me in their guestroom for the winter - hard to imagine that this is actually the second winter in a row that I've lived with my grandparents. Though I shouldn't joke, they are wonderful people and it's equally wonderful being able to spend time with them. Pappap is supposed to be bringing my golf clubs down in the car with them after Christmas, so hopefully I'll get into the weekly team matches, maybe even win some money (though more likely will lose it).

I'm hoping that our boat hasn't sank yet at the dock. During the first three days of the trip down the ICW, we noticed a small leak in the bilge. I knew that the packing gland needed re-packing, but the bilge was starting to fill faster than it had in the past - so fast as to require 100 strokes of the manual bilgepump per hour while motoring. It turned out to be a pinhole exhaust leak in one of the hoses - which, of course, was directly underneath the engine. I cursed it, though didn't bother fixing it. This trip was about getting south south south, and any delays were out of the question. I could cope with 100 strokes per hour, as long as it didn't get worse. We'd deal with it over the winter.

On day one, the engine decided to quit. This before we discovered the exhaust leak. Rather inconveniently it was in the first 50 yards of the Dismal Swamp Canal, which is rather narrow, to say the least. Thankfully there was one boat behind us, a Canadian single-hander, and he offered us a tow while I changed the filters. We didn't miss a beat. An hour later the engine roared back to life, though I had given in an arranged for our fuel to be polished in Elizabeth City the following morning.

Dave from USA Fuels dropped by early in the morning and had our fuel filtered and back in the tank before 10AM, so the delay was minimal. The engine purred like a kitten, though it was still an enormous struggle to motor 5 knots. It's incredibly how easy she sails, and how difficult it is to make her motor.

After a lovely stay in Oriental, where we took an accepted delay, laying over for the day in the rain. We met Roy of Aeleolus, a sistership to Arcturus. Roy was a reminder of how very interesting and welcoming it is to be a Seabreeze owner. His boat was gorgeous, docked just behind his equally beautiful house on a small creek near Oriental, NC. He had dinner with us onboard. Afterwards Mia and I joked  that between the US and Sweden, we have more friends in their 80s than we do our own age. I guess we're just very mature beyond our years. We love them all.

I got fed up with the engine when we left Roy's the next morning. It sputtered to a stop again only 30 minutes out of Oriental, before the sunrise. I changed the filters yet again, and we rumbled on, finally making Wilmington, NC a few days - and a few more engine shutdowns - later. 

That was it. Between the engine shutting off and the 100 pumps of the bilge every hour, I'd had enough of inland 'sailing.' We decided to go offshore at Wrightsville Beach. I know little of diesel engines, but I know lots about sailing, so that's what we decided to do. At the dock in Wrightsville I spliced twin backstays from Dynes Dux, the synthetic rigging that Colligo Marine is supplying us for the entire boat. It was all we had time to do, and I thought it a good idea before heading offshore. The splicing was surprisingly easy and rather entertaining, and after 1 hour up the mast trying to figure out how to modify what was once a single backstay into two, we had a sturdier mast and a more confident skipper.

With the seawater intake seacock shut, we set sail outside the inlet and headed south towards Fernandina Beach, 300 miles away. We'd save nearly 500 ICW miles and let Arcturus stretch her legs, for she loves to sail. By sunset, the northerly wind had built enough that we were reduced to jib and mizzen, surfing down wave crests and having a hell of a ride. It was just Mia and I, and with no autopilot, we hand-steered for three on / three off for the entirety of the trip. This was challenging in large following seas. You became a prisoner to the helm, not even able to trim sails efficiently without calling the other up from their berth, so it became sail, eat, sleep for the next three days. 

Incredibly, with only a 24-foot waterline, we reeled off 160 nautical miles in the first 24 hours, averaging a speed faster than our boat is theoretically supposed to go. The good sailing wouldn't last though, and far too quickly a low pressure system was upon us, and we were in the middle of our first storm at sea in Arcturus. And of course, it was at night.

The wind and seas built and built, until finally we were making 8 knots under a scrap of jib, with lightening all around and rain coming down in sheets. Mia had just woken me up to hand the mizzen and reef the jib, and it was just in time. The storm only lasted a few hours, but managed to shake up the sea fairly quickly. Strangely, when it passed, it took all the wind with it, and we sat becalmed for the next 12 hours in a wretched sea that was coming from all directions. I layed down in the cockpit on my watch, with no sails up, drifting without a trace of wind, and had to hang on to the  coaming so as not to get thrown off the seat. Mia actually did fly out of bed, for we don't have lee cloths yet and it was a rather violent motion.

The next morning dawned clear and the NW breeze finally arrived with the sunshine. We took showers in the ocean, hung out our foulies to dry, and set full sail, close-hauled in a gentle wind that quickly flattened the sea from the storm. We made Fernandina after another 24 hours, taking just under 3 days to get there, our good average destroyed by the 12 hour calm. We did manage to sail all the way in the inlet for fear that the engine wouldn't take us in safely. We anchored for the day, now two full days ahead of our most optimistic schedule, ate an enormous breakfast and slept.

The rest of the ICW trip was uneventful. Arcturus seemed to thank us for the wonderful sail, for after one more filter change, the engine didn't cough one time in the next 5 days. It still took 100 pumps per hour on the bilge, but at least we were moving. We tied up in Pompano and immediately went ashore to "Checkers," the surprisingly authentic German restaurant that I'd become a regular at last year and devoured 2 litres of beer and a 2lb. pork leg each. 

Now the boat sits again, awaiting our return from the Caribbean, where we have so many memories from the summertime. St. Lucia has proved less touristy that originally thought, at least if you get off the beaten path. We're headed to St. Martin on Sunday to do another Broadreach trip, this time dive-focused and with college kids. Three weeks sailing and diving in the Leeward islands shouldn't be too bad. We return to Florida in the end of January, with the hopes that our boat - newly rigged with synthetics by then - will appear in the Miami Boat Show, representing Colligo. Good times.

Cafe Rustica

My back hurts from sitting on the sofa. It was comfortable for the first hour or so, but you can only change positions so many times before you've gone through them all. 

I'm back in Ft. Lauderdale, back at the Cafe Rustica where I spent a lot of afternoons last spring either before work at the River Taxi, or after school at MPT. The same dude is still running the place, the music is still excellent, and the atmosphere stimulating. The only difference is that Mia is sitting across from me, instead of 4000 miles away on the other side of the Atlantic. This is a good thing.

We arrived in Pompano on Sunday night, after deliriously navigating through the 22nd and final drawbridge of our longest day yet on the ICW. It was only 63 miles, short by comparison, but took an agonizing 14.5 hours of hurry-up-and-wait motoring. Most of the bridges on that southern section of the waterway are restricted, and it's easy to get in sync with their hour and half hour schedules - if you're a powerboat. Arcturus was about half of a knot slow, and we continually arrived at the next bridge exactly as it was closing. We waited the full half-hour four times, adding two hours to our journey's last day, a day when we were tired but excited, a day when all I could think about was that frosty German bier and two pound pork shank waiting for me just behind our new dock. That thought alone, after ten days without meat or alcohol was enough to drag those half-hour waits into infinity. 

But we finally did make it, and Checkers, as it's known, was still open, even though it was 8:30 on a Sunday night. We were the last patrons, but we were without a doubt the most appreciative of the lot that day. The Bavarian music played over the speakers, and that first bier was a waterfall running down my gullet. Mia and I had eaten so little in the previous ten days that I actually couldn't finish the pork leg, a first. I did manage to drown a second liter of bier though, and it was delightful.

We've got the rest of the week to figure out how to stop Arcturus from sinking at the dock - the packing has been leaking so badly as to fill the bilge in little over twelve hours. Without an automatic pump, we resorted to manning the hand-operated pump in the cockpit, pumping nearly 100 strokes per hour underway, an exhaust leak adding to our troubles. On Sunday we fly to St. Lucia for the Atlantic Rally for Cruisers, where we'll greet the incoming yachts en route from the Canaries, 2800 miles across the ocean.