Tag Archives: Sailing

A Tour of Moonrise

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Moonrise is a 1975 Cal 34 that is perfect for sailing and adventuring in the Puget Sound and the Salish Sea. Over the years that we’ve owned her, we have fine-tuned her interior to make her perfect for 2-3 adults, or for a couple with 2 children.

After owning the boat for a few years, we decided that we’d had enough of the large, cumbersome and heavy table that took up most of the cabin space. The table made it almost impossible to use the settee to its full potential as a lounging area. Mike and I like to have a place that is comfortable to lay around and read or nap in the cabin and the table began to be our nemesis. Because of its size it made access to the settee very difficult. We decided to change that.

To replace the table we really wanted one of those cool Island Packet tables that double as a bookcase/liquor cabinet. Unfortunately we’d have to buy an Island Packet to get one. No can do. So our woodworker friend, Larry Simonds, built us a bookcase/table that would mount on the bulkhead. We use it for lots of things besides books, and we really like it. It folds up easily, making the cabin much more open and spacious, and the settee is so easy to access now. The table doubles as an extra work space for the galley. On a boat, most things have to do at least double duty.

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The table is also a useful work area for the galley. We love it. The striped cushion above the settee is a cushion we use in the cockpit. It is easily stored above the settee and makes a good head rest as well.

The settee is very comfortable with its new dense foam and pillows. I can lie there and read all day long. And the table works great. It’s one of the best things we’ve done for the boat. Mike put electrical outlets on the bulkhead below the table so we have a place to plug in our computers. He has built cabinetry to hide the electrical in that area. He’s getting to be very skilled! I like to sit there to write posts.

In the photo you can see a flat bungee cord. It is a simple way to keep the table in place when it is folded. There is also a hole in the side where you can use a pin to keep it in place. We find the bungee actually is quieter while under way.

New Cable Covers

Teak battens made great covers for the electrical cable running up to the mast.

There is a lot of storage underneath the cushions. Removing the bulky table also allows us to access those spaces more easily.

Next time we’ll look at the galley. Stay tuned for Part 2.

 

A Tragedy, and a Promise

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If you do not regularly follow news of the ‘sailing community’, you may not have heard about the recent very tragic death of experienced sailor Jan Anderson from San Fransisco. Jan and her husband Rob were sailing on their Island Packet 380 ‘Triple Stars’,  in the North Atlantic Rally for Cruisers (NARC) which started in Rhode Island on November 1 and ended in St. Martin. The weather this time of year in the North Atlantic can be troublesome at best so a good weather ‘window’ was awaited before the group cast off.

It sounds like all went as planned until an unexpected low pressure system off South Carolina traveled south and created a front with 40 knot winds and 20 foot seas lasting several days. Many of the faster boats had already reached Bermuda and safety, but several boats were caught in the really bad stuff.  The Andersons had to heave to and try to ride out the storm. They made the best decision they could with the information they had at the time and posted to their blog during the storm that they were prepared to ride it out and were in good spirits with plenty of supplies. These people were not newbies. They were experienced sailors on a good, solid boat.  Even so, Jan was washed overboard by a 30 foot wave, never to be seen in this world again. Her husband notified the Coast Guard. He was rescued. They searched for Jan. Their beautiful “Triple Stars” was abandoned to the sea. It’s one of the saddest things I’ve heard in a lifetime of hearing sad things.

After reading the news about this tragic death, I immediately wanted to know so many things. Don’t we always try to understand tragedy logically, so we can control whether it will happen to us or not?  I guess I’m just human on this point. So I wanted to know if she was wearing a life vest. Was she wearing a harness that was meant to keep her on the boat? Was it in good condition? Was she on watch single-handing it? Or did she leave the cabin ‘just for a minute’ to check something? We still don’t know the details, but I’m sure they will come out in time. And I plan to learn from them, as do many sailors around the world looking for updates on this each day.

While I wait for further news, here’s what I have learned so far, and what I hereby promise to my family and friends: I promise that when Mike and I are in bad weather on our boat, we will always wear life preservers and be harnessed to the boat with harnesses that are in excellent condition and that are meant to withstand many thousands of pounds of load. When keeping watch alone, we will be harnessed to the boat so that neither of us will ever have to come through the hatch to discover the other one gone. That’s the best we can do. Maybe it’s what Jan did.  The ocean is a powerful force.

Does this story make me second-guess our plans? Does it make me afraid to go cruising? Absolutely not. People are killed every day on the highway, and yet I drive my car. People die in plane crashes, but I get on the plane. Some things we have no control over in this world and I don’t have time to worry about things I cannot control. But I can control whether I have on my safety equipment. And I can control what kind of boat I have and, to some extent, my knowledge about bad weather that’s coming. After that, I take my chances. Just like I do every day when I get out of bed and leave my house. I take my chances. I’m not willing to live my life in fear.

What this story does is remind me not to be glib. Sailing on big oceans is serious business and we haven’t done it yet. Not really. When I think of 40 knot winds and 20 foot waves, our little jaunt to Barkley Sound hardly counts.  I think we will enjoy blue water sailing, even with difficult times. But it’s possible we won’t and we’ll just decide to come home. (Don’t hold your breath. It would have to get very bad very fast for that to happen.)  I know we need more heavy weather experience. And the only way to get that is to get out in heavy weather. (Winter is coming…)  It reminds me yet again that I want to be able to completely trust the boat I’m on. It reminds me to be careful, stay aware, and not to take the sea for granted. And it is so terribly, terribly easy to get comfortable on the boat and take for granted the solid feel of the deck under your feet. And the story reminds me how very much I rely on my husband, not only on the boat, but every day. And how much I love him.

But mostly it reminds me that life is short. And it doesn’t get any longer, either.

As tragic as this death is, I have to believe that Jan died doing something she loved with someone she loved. I have to believe, too, that her death was quick and merciful; that she didn’t have time to be terrified. These beliefs protect me from having to think about the full force of this loss, so I’ll keep them, thanks. And I have to think that people will be able to use whatever knowledge her husband has of this accident and learn from it and benefit from it in her name. I know that each time I see my life vest and harness hanging close to the hatch, I will forever think of Jan Anderson, even though I don’t know how she was washed away. They will remind me nonetheless. When we’re out in bad weather practicing in the relative safety of Puget Sound, I will think of Jan Anderson each time water splashes over the bow.

Jan, if your soul lingers, I’d like to say I wish I had met you. You’ve taught me so much.

 

Keeping the Dream Alive

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This is the time of year when long-term dreams have a way of sliding helplessly into the black hole of winter rain and darkness, and holiday plans. Some days it’s comparable to driving on black ice: you think you’re tooling along just fine when suddenly you realize the car is sliding backwards. Or maybe a better comparison would be the sudden accidental jibe at night in 30 knots and 10 foot seas in the middle of the Strait of Juan de Fuca, your heading suddenly 180 degrees off.  Been there, done that.  So I approach the coming winter with fear and loathing, knowing it looms just beyond the horizon and wanting to stay the course.

This knowledge really lights a fire under my hiney to get out here and take advantage of every bit of sunshine that is left in this year. It feels, somehow, just wrong for anyone to have to be working inside when there is so little sunshine to enjoy. So I spend as much time as I can on the boat. In fact, I’m sitting on the boat right now as I write this. Of course, it’s at the dock, but I’m still there.  Heck, if I lived here, I’d be home by now. Sitting in the cockpit with a blanket on my lap, computer keeping me warm, my mind tends to wander a bit, probably in response to the cold. I think about what it would be like if we actually DID live on the boat. Is this what happens when people begin to have hypothermia?

It’s pretty hard to type wearing fingerless gloves and shivering to this degree, but no one is going to call me a quitter. Moonrise is a great boat, I tell you. A perfectly great boat! Especially in the summer when the sun is shining. As soon as we get to Mexico, I’m going to love being on Moonrise in the winter. Of course, in order to GET to Mexico, we have to have a bit of money in storage. You might know we have a child in college. We love our boy desperately and we want him to be in college. So we’re thinking we could save money by renting out our house and living on our boat, thereby cutting our monthly expenses down considerably. It’s a good plan if we ever get to that point.

But could I actually live on Moonrise during the 10 months of the year (more, lately) when the weather is disgusting? Moonrise is a great boat for coastal cruising, but she offers a number of drawbacks for year-round living.  Let’s start with the salon with its one settee. This is the land equivalent of having one loveseat available for lounging. I know there are billions of people who live with less than this, but I am in the U.S. of A. here.  If the table is folded down, the person behind the table will not be able to get up without disturbing the person at the end of the table. Am I making myself clear here?

Another issue is the V berth, our ‘owner’s cabin’. It is very comfortable once you get settled, but I’m a woman of ‘a certain age’ and rarely do I sleep through the night without getting up at least once, usually more than once. Getting in and out of this berth is challenging, believe me. You don’t want the details. There is crawling involved, and pivoting on my back while trying not to kick my husband’s delicate parts. Enough said about this.

Then there is the issue of the ‘head’, which is boat talk for ‘the bathroom’.  Again, I’ll be brief, sparing the gentle reader details that may lead to abandoning the reading of this post. Suffice to say that boaters of all kinds can have lengthy and animated conversations about the problems with the head in their boats. There is no ‘stealth’ bathroom useage on a boat of this size.  It’s noisy, smelly, and on some level you just have to accept the fact that you are sleeping next to a container of raw sewage. That doesn’t keep me up at night when we’re cruising, but I’m not sure living with it for several months would be okay with me. Never mind how guests would feel.

In many boats, there is a shower in the head, but there is not one in ours. We also don’t have hot water on the boat. These little modern day luxuries start to feel more like necessities when I think of long-term living. (Again, I refer the reader to the fact that I’m an American.) I really do not mind heating up water and pouring it over my body during our cruising trips. Many is the time my husband and son have openly laughed at me because I insist on clean hair when cruising. (How can I enjoy that carefree, windblown-hair look when my hair is plastered to my head by dirt and grease?) But I admit that the idea of having a hot shower on the boat creates a lot of opportunity for fantasizing. Darker fantasies revolve around how I’ll possibly look presentable for work.

Then there is the galley. On Moonrise we are fortunate that we have actual refrigeration. But let’s be clear: As much as I do enjoy cooking meals on the boat on my tiny little Easy-bake-style oven, I really get tired of having to take everything out of the top-loading fridge just to find the mustard. And let’s not even get into how tired I get of having the only available workspace double as the lid of said fridge. Think about it. I’m chopping vegetables for a stir fry and suddenly remember I left the garlic in the fridge. I have to move  the vegetables, cutting board, etc, then clean out the fridge so I can find the garlic nestled among drinks at the bottom, which I have to stand on tiptoe to reach. At this point the cabin is a complete mess.  You never see scenes like this in a boating brochure. And I have a sneaking suspicion that there would be fewer top-loading fridges on older boats if the boat designers of the 1970’s had been women. It would be manageable if it happened only once a meal, but as I mentioned before, I’m a woman of a ‘certain age’. Read ‘short term memory’ issues. Are you getting it now?

The little propane oven is really cute and we’ve learned how to bake in it, too! We’ve learned that one ignores the temperature control knob since the only setting one has is ‘high’. That’s right next to ‘incinerate’ unless one knows to prop the door open. Prop it open about an inch for 500F, and about 6 inches for 350F.  Baking gluten-free is always an adventure anyhow, so it’s hard to know if the outcome is due to the uneven baking temperature. I can roast a mean vegetable in that oven, though. Hey, I love a nice charred green bean!

I was going to talk about storage, but I fear the reader will be overwhelmed if I get into that.

I don’t want to sound like a complainer. Regardless of all of its shortcomings,  I sit on Moonrise enjoying the last bit of sunshine of the year, enjoying just being in the marina with all the boats, keeping the dream alive somehow just by being here. I know there will be plenty of rainy and dark days to come when I can be working inside the house. And while I’m here appreciating a boat that I love in spite of her shortcomings, I think about how much I enjoy the fact that just being on this boat feels like a vacation. And then whether that ‘vacation feeling’ would last if I lived on this particular boat for months at a time. And if it wouldn’t, then what do I need in a boat in order to make that feeling last? What kind of boat would suffice? Do you see how my mind works?

And as it begins to get dark and even colder, I pack up and head home to my house with a beautiful bathroom tiled in stone, a steamy hot shower, a comfortable king size bed that I can get out of easily, a toilet that takes sewage to parts unknown,  a full kitchen, and many choices of seating.  And I am filled with gratitude that in my life I have this choice.

The owner's cabin I want but will never have.