Tag Archives: Sailing

I Guess We’re Safe Now

Posted on by

John Rousmaniere talks about doing equipment checks.

Another beautiful day with sunshine and wind, contrary to what the weather guy predicted, and yet another day spent sitting inside somewhere rather than out practicing our ‘heavy weather’ sailing techniques. This time, at least we were attending the Safety At Sea Seminar, sponsored by The Sailing Foundation. We figured we’d take the class as it would help us feel as though we were preparing for our voyage, even though it’s still several years in the future. After all, it’s marketed for both experienced and novice mariners. So we figured, “That’s us!” What they don’t really state, but what I could have figured out had I read between the lines a little more, is that their target audience is racing sailors. That’s why it’s conveniently timed to coincide with the Vic Maui and Pacific Cup races. And, after all, it’s designed to satisfy the US Sailing requirements for sailors in offshore races. Duh. Why didn’t I notice that before we signed up?

The day started off pretty cool with all the big names that were there to share their wealth of information and experience: John Rousmaniere, Chuck Hawley, Carol Hasse, Paul Miller. What a line up of speakers! I had stars in my eyes, imagining asking for autographs. The morning was spent listening to them talk about how to avoid conditions that lead to accidents, communications at sea, storm sails,  in-water safety equipment, losses of masts, rudders, and steering, and how to organize your crew and establish watch schedules. It was during this last session that I realized they weren’t really talking to me, with my ‘crew’ of just myself and Mike. They were talking to the racing sailors. Oh. Still, good information for the most part, especially since things learned in the world of racing have a way of trickling down to the cruiser/voyagers among us.

Carol Hasse talks about storm sails. Wish she had had more time.

Toward the end of the morning, I noticed that many of the presentations seemed rushed, like the presenter had to talk fast to get it all in. And no one had an opportunity to go into much depth on their presentation. Between 8:30 and noon, we had six different presentations. My mind was a-whirl. My head was heavy with words. I didn’t have anything to rest my head on. The room was so crowded Mike and I were sitting in chairs by the wall with no table to use.  All students know the importance of a desk.  It gives you something to keep your head from bumping your knees when you begin to fall asleep. I was ready for lunch.

The afternoon included examining recent fatal accidents in the racing sailing community, heavy weather boat handling, man overboard prevention and rescue, assisting other vessels, and medical concerns. Does that sound like way too much to cover in an afternoon? It was. By 2:00 I was falling asleep, and it wasn’t from low blood sugar. It was from the sheer number of words entering my brain as one presenter after another rushed through topics. It was also from sitting in an overly crowded room that was hot and stuffy.  I barely made it through the medical presentation, and I had been waiting for that one. Good thing the doctor who presented basically just read his slides to us. We can find them on the seminar website. So I didn’t really have to listen after all.

Paul Miller talks about what makes a good ocean boat. He's a good teacher. I would not be bored in his classes. I learned more from him than from any other speaker.

So if you are cruisers who would like to take a voyage across the sea someday and you haven’t taken this class, here’s my recommendation: this is really designed to satisfy an education requirement for sailors who sign up for these big ocean races. There is nothing wrong with that. And there is still a lot of useful information that we can all relate to and use.  But if you want to really hear what these speakers have to say, and learn more than just the bare minimum about any of these topics, this isn’t the venue for it. Go hear them talk somewhere else where they have time to do their topics justice and share some of their personal experiences. I wanted to hear their stories. Pretty much anyone could have delivered the information they provided, because they didn’t have an opportunity to really flesh out the details from their personal experiences. (Except for Paul Miller, who is a professor, and a really good teacher. He was able to tell all kinds of stories to get his points across.)

I guess the real lesson of the day is that there is plenty of opportunity to spend a lot of money taking classes that have to do with sailing. Not all of them are going to be worth your money as a cruising sailor. We paid $250 for both of us to attend the first day of this seminar, and I came away with precious little learning of new things. I don’t begrudge the amount because I know these things are very expensive to organize. However,  I already know how and why I should use my PFD, safety harness, and jack lines. Likewise, I already know it’s easier to prevent falls from the boat than it is to rescue someone once they are in the water. I’m already well aware that sleep deprivation and long watches make for bad company and even worse mistakes. I know there is no shame in heaving to in heavy weather, and I know how to do it (at least around here). I’ve been a firm believer in ‘preventers’ (that prevent booms from swinging wildly and killing people) ever since I knew they existed.

So did I get 250$ worth of learning? Nope, I did not. But I did get to see some pretty famous people in the sailing community. I also now understand why having someone like Carol Hasse come and assess our sail plan and make recommendations would be money well spent. And, I will probably find a first aid class for cruisers as I learned just enough during the doctor’s presentation to make me a danger to self and others.

In the end, I’m glad we didn’t sign up for the second day, which would have cost even more. That’s the day where people get to jump into the swimming pool with all their foul weather gear on and practice getting into a man-overboard raft. I think I already did that back in 1974 when I was training to be a lifeguard. We don’t need the certification offered by this seminar in order to go voyaging. Maybe we’ll figure out some other way to get wet and cold and swim around in our clothes. Lesson learned.

 

 

 

Boat Show? No Go!

Posted on by

This weekend we were planning to attend the boat show in Seattle. Seattle has a huge boat show every winter and you can go from booth to booth seeing all the new technology available for boats of all kinds. You can also go on new sailboats and see what the designers have been up to lately. That part is fun as long you you avoid looking at the  prices. The danger of shows like the boat show is that you can walk away feeling as though sailing is a sport for the rich only. What is the solution to that problem?

Go sailing, of course! So that’s what we did. We skipped the boat show entirely this year and instead we spent the weekend on Moonrise. We had an unseasonably ‘warm’ (a word which here means 50 degrees) and sunny weekend so, despite the probability of no wind, we took Moonrise and headed south to Anderson Island. We got lucky and there was enough of a breeze to actually do some sailing. Lest people forget why we do this, here are some photo reminders.

Only one other boat on the water, and it was a sailboat. A sailboat which overtook our boat and passed us smartly, making us feel like novices. Actually, he just stayed in the middle of the channel rounding Pt. Defiance, so he kept the wind.

Drinking hot tea, under a blanket, to stay warm. Thank goodness for the sunshine.

Mt. Rainier, as seen from our quiet anchorage. The water was as still as a lake.

Sailing home under jib alone, into the ubiquitous Pacific Northwest photo of the ferry with the mountain in the background. Sorry it's fuzzy. I had one hand on the wheel.

Final shot of the mountain as we approach the marina.

 

 

The Doldrums of Winter

Posted on by

When the power is out, there is time to do things like build a Snow Queen.

My usual routine of posting something every few days has been decidedly interrupted by a winter storm that I have determined must be called ‘the doldrums of winter’.  After posting how lovely the place looked with all the snow, I thoughtlessly wished it would stay around for awhile. Never did I realize how my powers of manifestation would be abused!  We entered into a storm cycle that left us literally withOUT power for 4 days, with a large hole in our kitchen window, and a yard that looks like a cyclone thundered through. And the snow did, indeed, linger through all of this.

It is this time without electricity, during the darkness and cold of winter, that I am referring to as the ‘doldrums’. Sailors will recognize that term as referring to the areas of low pressure around the equator that are famous for having little to no wind. Sailboats can sit for days, or even weeks, until the wind, their source of power, returns. I’m imagining some sailors have been driven insane by this waiting.

I’m reading Miles Hordern’s book Sailing the Pacific, his story of sailing from New Zealand to Chile and back by himself. In his book, he describes his experience of the doldrums thus:

” There was nothing to do. Or perhaps, I could do nothing. I turned on the radio, but its talk was of a world I no longer knew. A book was hopeless: I could seldom read a sentence before my concentration dissolved. …Again and again I found myself climbing to the deck….Each time I hoped that finally there might be something there…..But each time there was nothing.”

I believe this aptly describes Mike’s behavior during this brief time of living without electricity and internet service while the storm raged on. The word ‘raged’ here means the sound of exploding limbs, falling trees, and continued snow. Mike was actively involved in ‘waiting’, which everyone knows is a verb of action. He waited at the window, watching. He waited outside, until I got just a little upset at him for wandering around underneath the deadly trees and called to him in a rather loud voice to come inside. He talked on the cell phone to our neighbors to coordinate experiences and wonder out loud when the power would be restored, when another limb might hit the house, whether a tree would fall. Would our little enclave of a few houses warrant the attention of the power company? Did they KNOW we were powerless? How long would we have to wait? Days? Weeks? The stillness that was usually my husband was nowhere to be found. Perhaps men are like this when their homes are threatened.

The remains of the birch tree.

I, on the other hand, was the essence of feminine patience. I sat placidly by the window, doing crafts by lamplight, occasionally getting up to stoke the fire. It was as though I was gestating in some way, although what I would be giving birth to is beyond me at this point. I hope I am creating here a dramatic enough picture. The exploding trees interested me in a sad kind of way, but I felt deeply the fact that I had absolutely no power to do anything about the storm. It would do its devilry to our trees and property, and then we would clean up later. My birch tree was snapped in two pieces. I barely batted an eyelash. My smoke trees were smashed to smithereens by huge branches. I will recover.  We were warm, dry, fed, and together. Maslow’s hierarchy of needs had never been better met. It’s true that should a tree land on our house, we could be injured, but worrying about it would not change that. Why this logic generally escapes me when it comes, say, to my children, is beyond me. Still, I sat smugly enjoying the slowness of life.

A hummingbird on my frozen rhododendron. We kept our feeders full during the storm.

In fact, when the electricity came back on yesterday, I was a bit disconcerted at first. And then I felt a little mournful. It’s not that I don’t like having the convenience because, after all, I am not crazy. But I do love those times when life is pretty simple and small. Having a power outage makes life very small and contained, and only the basic things are important. Now that the power is back, we live large again. In some ways, this is unfortunate.

Somewhere underneath these branches are my beautiful mature smoke trees, sacrificed to the god of winter.