So, we're in Port McNeill, feeling lucky to have a spot in the boat basin with all the traffic... it's a far different place than the sleepy, windy little town we passed through last year. The floats are abuzz with cruising boats and cruisers, and the harbourmaster is working double time trying to fit in those who are late ducking out of the straits.
Mandy is working (yes... it's that sort of honeymoon) and the combination of having to be quiet while she records and the fact she has all our cushions and bedding spread about to air out leaves may able to do very little other than enjoy the brief Internet connection. Not that there is an awful lot to do; we broke a sail slug on the mainsail yesterday and I have to dig out the spares to replace that, and the oil is about due to be changed but our reliance on and use of the engine will drop dramatically from here on so I am not anxious to get on with that. There's something to be said for not messing with things that are working, as I found two days ago after trying to replace a balky zinc on the engine.
The zinc is screwed into an elbow in the cooling system which is in turn screwed into the engine block. Try as I might, I can't get the zinc to budge without the whole elbow unscrewing itself. It's such an awkward shape and there is such effort involved that I can't apply counter-force in a reasonable amount. I worked at it for forty-five minutes, disconnecting the hoses from the elbow and really whaling at it, but was defeated.
The next day, we sailed a bit, then started the engine when the channel got narrow and we had to make time. Mandy was at the helm; I went below when I smelled something funny, then noticed that steam was boiling out of the engine compartment. I yelled for Mandy to kill the engine and pulled the cover off to see that one of the hoses I had removed the night before had worked off the elbow again, and was chugging water back all over the engine and into the drip pan. Fortunately we caught it quickly; the water never overflowed into the bilge and the engine didn't overheat. Two minutes with a hose clamp and screwdriver and we were back in business. But it illustrates what can go wrong with well-meaning maintenance. I may run another five or ten hours on this batch of oil if it will get me further south (closer to civilization) before I have to change it.
Today is the cruise ship conga line up Johnstone Strait, and predictably, they came with fog. But it was light, the radar was in a good mood, and the current was with us. We ran past a pod of orcas rummaging around for breakfast as the fog burned off and imagined they were quite unimpressed with our tiny little boat after watching all the big liners go past.
I feel much more relaxed here this year than last. Last year this was the last bastion of civilization before jumping off into the wildest part of our trip, and it's much the same this year. But this time around, we're almost to where we are going instead of only half-way there. This year, our destination is right around the corner from here.
The forecast is good but even if it weren't I wouldn't mind, because we can slow down now, take our time and enjoy the scenery. The long slog up the trench is done. I'm not a big fan of the Goletas Channel, our last passage before rounding Cape Scott, but it seems a small thing to bear. I don't imagine it will have sprouted more hospitable anchorages since last year, but maybe it won't be foggy and rainy this time around.
Monday, July 27, 2009
Who edits these things, anyway?
You know you are bored when you start looking for typos in the Tide and Current tables. But there it is: an extra parentheses on page 127 of Volume 6 of the 2009 Canadian Tide & Current Tables, right there on station index 5048, Blind Channel. Blind Channel! The editor is blind, that's who!
Rather than slowing down and winding our way through some of the most magnificent geography in the world, we elected to stay in the main channel of Johnstone Strait for as long as we dared today, which put us some way further toward our destination but didn't leave us with many options for settling up for the night. Rather than holing up in the large and placid Port Neville, less than two miles away, we are pinned by wind and waves into the marginal, bumpy Blenkinsop Bay.
It's just as pretty, and the wind is calm here, but the big rollers out on the Strait sneak in from time to time and leave us lurching... the occasional gust comes in and takes a shot too. We may be able to get around the corner later tonight if things calm down but they might not and so we're probably looking at an evening here.
Mandy is frustrated because she had her first successful outing with her crab trap last night, snagging what looked to be a little rock crab that was just barely of the requisite size, and was hoping to repeat her triumph in the idyllic confines of Port Neville. Port Neville is a very large, shallow, well-sheltered bay and one can easily imagine kicking back and enjoying a fine sunset with a glass of white wine and some slimy crab innards, but alas, it is not to be.
We spent last night off the Chained Islands in Kanish Bay, the same place I stayed coming up last year, and it was just as beautiful and adequate. Only adequate; the shelter isn't all that spectacular, although the holding is good, so we got bumped around a bit. We watched “Master and Commander” before bed. I got up to put the computer away and turn on the anchor light and there was a Macgregor with three guys aboard and no running lights wandering around the island nearby. I hailed them as they drifted by and they said they were looking for a shallow anchorage since they didn't have much rode. I pointed them further into the bay, which is better sheltered and shallower. From some remarks they made, I got the idea that maybe they didn't have any lights. But heck, with a Macgregor, you could practically just run up on a beach somewhere and spend the night... flat bottoms and plenty of horsepower.
We actually got some decent sailing in this morning, when I was still in my “stop and smell the roses” mood. The wind was good and the waves hadn't built yet, and with a strong following current we made pretty good time for a few hours. Things were starting to build as Mandy took over; we had the option of taking the back channels still then, but elected to fire up the engine and try to cover some ground instead.
I don't really think it was a mistake, just a choice, and we chose discomfort over enjoyment. It's possible I didn't emphasize that enough in the conversation we had. Anyway, we'll probably make Port McNeill tomorrow where I can post these log entries and get some laundry done. I just changed my underwear this morning, and what is the first thing that happens? That's right, I sit in a puddle of salt water. So now I will have stiff and itchy underwear, since I refuse to put on and possibly ruin another perfectly good pair.
For all that, we're better off than the other guy who just pulled in to the bay here. Mandy swears he came out of Port Neville and if so he has got to be regretting the choice... in those two miles he managed to shred his headsail and beat the crap out of himself and his boat. He struggled for a half hour or more getting the main down, then motored over to chat. He was with another boat, heading for Forward Bay, and got into trouble out in the Strait. He was single-handing and almost went aground when the sails got out of control. He still wanted to get to Forward Bay, but his partner boat encouraged him to take a time out and rest a bit so he anchored a bit inside of us. Unfortunately he dropped the hook right where a gap in the shoreline lets the wind through. He's not having a good day! I offered to help him get the headsail untangled (he made the same mistake we did in a similar situation of furling it once it was torn; they are almost impossible to unfurl or drop after doing that, and have to be cut away) but he was beat and sounded like he just wanted to motor to some place better. At least he can; Forward Bay is downwind, we can't hardly make two knots going upwind right now. So in Blenkinsop Bay we will remain!
Rather than slowing down and winding our way through some of the most magnificent geography in the world, we elected to stay in the main channel of Johnstone Strait for as long as we dared today, which put us some way further toward our destination but didn't leave us with many options for settling up for the night. Rather than holing up in the large and placid Port Neville, less than two miles away, we are pinned by wind and waves into the marginal, bumpy Blenkinsop Bay.
It's just as pretty, and the wind is calm here, but the big rollers out on the Strait sneak in from time to time and leave us lurching... the occasional gust comes in and takes a shot too. We may be able to get around the corner later tonight if things calm down but they might not and so we're probably looking at an evening here.
Mandy is frustrated because she had her first successful outing with her crab trap last night, snagging what looked to be a little rock crab that was just barely of the requisite size, and was hoping to repeat her triumph in the idyllic confines of Port Neville. Port Neville is a very large, shallow, well-sheltered bay and one can easily imagine kicking back and enjoying a fine sunset with a glass of white wine and some slimy crab innards, but alas, it is not to be.
We spent last night off the Chained Islands in Kanish Bay, the same place I stayed coming up last year, and it was just as beautiful and adequate. Only adequate; the shelter isn't all that spectacular, although the holding is good, so we got bumped around a bit. We watched “Master and Commander” before bed. I got up to put the computer away and turn on the anchor light and there was a Macgregor with three guys aboard and no running lights wandering around the island nearby. I hailed them as they drifted by and they said they were looking for a shallow anchorage since they didn't have much rode. I pointed them further into the bay, which is better sheltered and shallower. From some remarks they made, I got the idea that maybe they didn't have any lights. But heck, with a Macgregor, you could practically just run up on a beach somewhere and spend the night... flat bottoms and plenty of horsepower.
We actually got some decent sailing in this morning, when I was still in my “stop and smell the roses” mood. The wind was good and the waves hadn't built yet, and with a strong following current we made pretty good time for a few hours. Things were starting to build as Mandy took over; we had the option of taking the back channels still then, but elected to fire up the engine and try to cover some ground instead.
I don't really think it was a mistake, just a choice, and we chose discomfort over enjoyment. It's possible I didn't emphasize that enough in the conversation we had. Anyway, we'll probably make Port McNeill tomorrow where I can post these log entries and get some laundry done. I just changed my underwear this morning, and what is the first thing that happens? That's right, I sit in a puddle of salt water. So now I will have stiff and itchy underwear, since I refuse to put on and possibly ruin another perfectly good pair.
For all that, we're better off than the other guy who just pulled in to the bay here. Mandy swears he came out of Port Neville and if so he has got to be regretting the choice... in those two miles he managed to shred his headsail and beat the crap out of himself and his boat. He struggled for a half hour or more getting the main down, then motored over to chat. He was with another boat, heading for Forward Bay, and got into trouble out in the Strait. He was single-handing and almost went aground when the sails got out of control. He still wanted to get to Forward Bay, but his partner boat encouraged him to take a time out and rest a bit so he anchored a bit inside of us. Unfortunately he dropped the hook right where a gap in the shoreline lets the wind through. He's not having a good day! I offered to help him get the headsail untangled (he made the same mistake we did in a similar situation of furling it once it was torn; they are almost impossible to unfurl or drop after doing that, and have to be cut away) but he was beat and sounded like he just wanted to motor to some place better. At least he can; Forward Bay is downwind, we can't hardly make two knots going upwind right now. So in Blenkinsop Bay we will remain!
Captain Aubrey never got bored
One thing that seems clear already is that I did not pack nearly enough Patrick O'Brian books for this trip. I'd forgotten the long, boring watches that go into a trip up the western side of the Strait of Georgia and the deep, long trench of Johnstone Strait. Other than watching for deadheads and cruise ships, there is little to take your mind off the incessant dull throb of the diesel. The autopilot does all the steering, there are no sails to trim with the wind right on the nose, and the only goal is to make as much mileage as possible while the tide holds.
While I'm not on watch, I spend time fiddling with my Eee PC trying to get the drivers for our fancy new wireless adapter to work with it. I chose this adapter in part because it does have moderately well supported Linux drivers, but the Eee is such a whittled down system that it doesn't work out of the box. I am comfortable rooting around in the Debian distribution on which the Eee is based, but I am a little hesitant to do anything dramatic out here far from regular Internet or easy recovery. There are probably few places to get access on the West side anyway; in the meantime, it keeps me busy.
Our stay in Nanaimo was pretty brief. We slept, recharged, hit the chandlery (I found everything I needed except one chart, which was for a place we might not stop anyway; Mandy finally picked up her crab trap), and took off again as soon as the tide was right. The wind picked up and a massive converted trawler moored outboard and pinned us in the dock just before we were going to go; the wind was blowing right down the dock and we were stern-out, with maybe fourteen feet of clearance between the trawler and the boat on the next float over. I recalled my last undocking in Nanaimo in such winds, swallowed my pride, and went up to ask the wharfinger if anyone could lend a hand. The dock hands were pros. They took the lines, walked the bow around, and gave a couple of hearty pushes to keep us pointing upwind while the Yanmar labored to put some way on, and we got out without a scratch.
We fueled up and it looks like we have been burning about half as much as I had calculated, a half-gallon an hour (that's assuming my metric conversion is correct!). That's pleasant news.
We anchored the next night in Ford Cove of Hornby Island. It's not an ideal anchorage but the weather was dead calm and it had the virtue of being entirely unoccupied, which left us with as much swinging room as we could stand. Even so, we only put out about 3:1 scope, as we planned to get up and out early the next day and didn't want to spend a long time hauling the anchor in. We calculated the run to Seymour Narrows and figured that with an 0500 departure we would hit the 1430 slack there. Strong winds were forecast in the Strait but our timing would put us with the tide and wind together, hopefully calming the seas. If not, we could always bail and duck into Campbell River until the weather cleared.
Mandy was excited to put out her crab trap in Ford Cove, though no others were deployed there, but she only managed to catch a plaice (flounder? halibut? I don't know anything about fish, it was a bottom-feeder that swam on one side is all I know. I'm going to make names up until someone tells me different).
Disappointed (her, not me) we turned in early, only to have the wind pick up almost immediately. I sighed and went up on deck to veer out more rode... nothing more worthless than spare rode in the anchor locker, and we didn't have to worry about swinging into anyone. We held fast but it was an uncomfortable night and I didn't sleep all that much. When we got up, the rode was caught on the keel and the current and wind were opposing, pinning us so I couldn't haul it in; some judicious application of the engine and flailing with the boat hook freed us up and we got underway at dawn. Being up and on the water on a clear day at that hour is better than coffee, though I had coffee too.
Right now we're making good time motoring toward Campbell River. The forecast has gotten even worse for Johnstone Strait, with up to 40 knot gales predicted, but I find for some reason that I am more relaxed now than before. I always get agitated rushing through the beautiful islands, towns, and anchorages in the southern Strait, always vaguely suspicious that I am leaving the better part of the trip too quickly behind in favor of the unknown and uninhabited north. Might it not be better to forgo the long-distance and enforced motoring to just hang out and enjoy what is right in front of us?
But I'm happy now; it's another beautiful day and the Strait is broad and empty. I'm no longer concerned about the time table... if we are delayed getting north through Discovery Passage, then so be it; we can't fight such winds and if it takes longer than I had hoped, then it simply will. And in the meantime we can poke northward through the many nooks, crannies, and back channels of the Discovery Passage, places we bypassed last year forecasting their availability in future voyages. This is one of those voyages now, and perhaps it is no bad thing to be forced by nature to slow the pace a bit and wind our way through some of the most magnificent geography in the world.
While I'm not on watch, I spend time fiddling with my Eee PC trying to get the drivers for our fancy new wireless adapter to work with it. I chose this adapter in part because it does have moderately well supported Linux drivers, but the Eee is such a whittled down system that it doesn't work out of the box. I am comfortable rooting around in the Debian distribution on which the Eee is based, but I am a little hesitant to do anything dramatic out here far from regular Internet or easy recovery. There are probably few places to get access on the West side anyway; in the meantime, it keeps me busy.
Our stay in Nanaimo was pretty brief. We slept, recharged, hit the chandlery (I found everything I needed except one chart, which was for a place we might not stop anyway; Mandy finally picked up her crab trap), and took off again as soon as the tide was right. The wind picked up and a massive converted trawler moored outboard and pinned us in the dock just before we were going to go; the wind was blowing right down the dock and we were stern-out, with maybe fourteen feet of clearance between the trawler and the boat on the next float over. I recalled my last undocking in Nanaimo in such winds, swallowed my pride, and went up to ask the wharfinger if anyone could lend a hand. The dock hands were pros. They took the lines, walked the bow around, and gave a couple of hearty pushes to keep us pointing upwind while the Yanmar labored to put some way on, and we got out without a scratch.
We fueled up and it looks like we have been burning about half as much as I had calculated, a half-gallon an hour (that's assuming my metric conversion is correct!). That's pleasant news.
We anchored the next night in Ford Cove of Hornby Island. It's not an ideal anchorage but the weather was dead calm and it had the virtue of being entirely unoccupied, which left us with as much swinging room as we could stand. Even so, we only put out about 3:1 scope, as we planned to get up and out early the next day and didn't want to spend a long time hauling the anchor in. We calculated the run to Seymour Narrows and figured that with an 0500 departure we would hit the 1430 slack there. Strong winds were forecast in the Strait but our timing would put us with the tide and wind together, hopefully calming the seas. If not, we could always bail and duck into Campbell River until the weather cleared.
Mandy was excited to put out her crab trap in Ford Cove, though no others were deployed there, but she only managed to catch a plaice (flounder? halibut? I don't know anything about fish, it was a bottom-feeder that swam on one side is all I know. I'm going to make names up until someone tells me different).
Disappointed (her, not me) we turned in early, only to have the wind pick up almost immediately. I sighed and went up on deck to veer out more rode... nothing more worthless than spare rode in the anchor locker, and we didn't have to worry about swinging into anyone. We held fast but it was an uncomfortable night and I didn't sleep all that much. When we got up, the rode was caught on the keel and the current and wind were opposing, pinning us so I couldn't haul it in; some judicious application of the engine and flailing with the boat hook freed us up and we got underway at dawn. Being up and on the water on a clear day at that hour is better than coffee, though I had coffee too.
Right now we're making good time motoring toward Campbell River. The forecast has gotten even worse for Johnstone Strait, with up to 40 knot gales predicted, but I find for some reason that I am more relaxed now than before. I always get agitated rushing through the beautiful islands, towns, and anchorages in the southern Strait, always vaguely suspicious that I am leaving the better part of the trip too quickly behind in favor of the unknown and uninhabited north. Might it not be better to forgo the long-distance and enforced motoring to just hang out and enjoy what is right in front of us?
But I'm happy now; it's another beautiful day and the Strait is broad and empty. I'm no longer concerned about the time table... if we are delayed getting north through Discovery Passage, then so be it; we can't fight such winds and if it takes longer than I had hoped, then it simply will. And in the meantime we can poke northward through the many nooks, crannies, and back channels of the Discovery Passage, places we bypassed last year forecasting their availability in future voyages. This is one of those voyages now, and perhaps it is no bad thing to be forced by nature to slow the pace a bit and wind our way through some of the most magnificent geography in the world.
Thursday, July 23, 2009
Chug chug chug goes the engine
We got a late start out of Victoria on Wednesday; it turned out that the power cable (and cookies... thanks Mom!) I was waiting for was NOT just waiting up at the marina office for us. There was an import duty due on the package, and for some reason the Harbour Authority couldn't find or use the credit card information we had used to pay for our berth, and couldn't get us on the phone, and consequently it hadn't been paid so Fedex didn't leave the package. I gave them my credit card that morning when they told me about the problem, but Fedex didn't re-attempt delivery until 1330 or so and we didn't get away from the float until 1400, three hours later than I had planned. Also, I had no chance to actually charge up the Powerbook.
There was fog and wind reported out in the Strait but we found neither when we exited the harbour. We had to motor around the Trial Islands and only then found a light southeasterly breeze to push us along. We hadn't entirely lost the tide, though, so we made good time weaving through the rocks and shoals inshore of the Discovery Islands. I lost the tide north of there, but Mandy took over and picked up a patch of brisk wind that saw us in almost to Sidney Island, where we dropped anchor at Spencer Spit.
It was much quieter there than at our last visit, most likely on account of it being mid-week. All the mooring buoys were still taken, however... damn retirees! It's an easy anchorage, though, plenty of room and good, shallow holding throughout. We decided to use our walky-talkies to coordinate the anchor drop, particularly since they had worked so well when Mandy was up the mast working on the radar. Unfortunately, it turns out that the clips are not so secure... I had mine clipped to my life vest, and when I bent down to unhook the anchor, it slipped off without the slightest hesitation and plopped right into the drink. Didn't even have a chance to use them once for their intended purpose!
I did get a chance to try out my new longish range wifi adapter, and was pretty impressed that it was able to pick up a mid-strength signal from the marina in Sidney, a distance of nearly two miles. The signal was okay but our alignment was shaky even using an omni antenna so it wasn't steady enough to do much other than check e-mail.
The rest of the night at the Spit was uneventful and we pulled out relatively late the next day, waiting (although not long enough!) for more favorable tides. There was a timing issue; we had to hit Dodd Narrows south of Nanaimo at or around slack, which meant we had to have a very specific speed to cover the distance involved. This precluded all but an hour or so of sailing through the day; even though the wind was good, and at our backs, it wasn't quite good enough.
So, we dodged traffic up Trincomali Channel under power for most of the trip, listening in passing to the whale watching vessel Explorasaur going down on the other side of Mayne Island from us... all 34 passengers and crew were rescued, although the captain and mate had to be fished out of the water at the end.
We're in Nanaimo now, tucked away at the port boat basin near the chandlery so we can stock up in the morning. The store here has better selection than what we found in Victoria (there is probably someplace better in Victoria, but we hadn't found it) and the prices will be comparable if they're similar to last year.
The radar has been working normally, but of course I suspect this is only because we haven't had any need for it lately.
We're both tired of motoring so much, but motor we must... we were more delayed than I had hoped in Victoria, although it was a fun time, and we want to spend most of our trip in the hardest to reach places: the other side of the island, in other words. With the wind generally ahead of us and a number of current gates to pass to get there, about three more solid days on the engine are probably what we are looking at. I'm looking forward to taking my time on the other side; I hope that things work out that way, although I have a suspicion that once you start rushing on account of some deadline or other you never really stop. We can be gone through the end of August if need be, but life would be a little easier if we get back with a couple weeks to spare before the end of the month there.
There was fog and wind reported out in the Strait but we found neither when we exited the harbour. We had to motor around the Trial Islands and only then found a light southeasterly breeze to push us along. We hadn't entirely lost the tide, though, so we made good time weaving through the rocks and shoals inshore of the Discovery Islands. I lost the tide north of there, but Mandy took over and picked up a patch of brisk wind that saw us in almost to Sidney Island, where we dropped anchor at Spencer Spit.
It was much quieter there than at our last visit, most likely on account of it being mid-week. All the mooring buoys were still taken, however... damn retirees! It's an easy anchorage, though, plenty of room and good, shallow holding throughout. We decided to use our walky-talkies to coordinate the anchor drop, particularly since they had worked so well when Mandy was up the mast working on the radar. Unfortunately, it turns out that the clips are not so secure... I had mine clipped to my life vest, and when I bent down to unhook the anchor, it slipped off without the slightest hesitation and plopped right into the drink. Didn't even have a chance to use them once for their intended purpose!
I did get a chance to try out my new longish range wifi adapter, and was pretty impressed that it was able to pick up a mid-strength signal from the marina in Sidney, a distance of nearly two miles. The signal was okay but our alignment was shaky even using an omni antenna so it wasn't steady enough to do much other than check e-mail.
The rest of the night at the Spit was uneventful and we pulled out relatively late the next day, waiting (although not long enough!) for more favorable tides. There was a timing issue; we had to hit Dodd Narrows south of Nanaimo at or around slack, which meant we had to have a very specific speed to cover the distance involved. This precluded all but an hour or so of sailing through the day; even though the wind was good, and at our backs, it wasn't quite good enough.
So, we dodged traffic up Trincomali Channel under power for most of the trip, listening in passing to the whale watching vessel Explorasaur going down on the other side of Mayne Island from us... all 34 passengers and crew were rescued, although the captain and mate had to be fished out of the water at the end.
We're in Nanaimo now, tucked away at the port boat basin near the chandlery so we can stock up in the morning. The store here has better selection than what we found in Victoria (there is probably someplace better in Victoria, but we hadn't found it) and the prices will be comparable if they're similar to last year.
The radar has been working normally, but of course I suspect this is only because we haven't had any need for it lately.
We're both tired of motoring so much, but motor we must... we were more delayed than I had hoped in Victoria, although it was a fun time, and we want to spend most of our trip in the hardest to reach places: the other side of the island, in other words. With the wind generally ahead of us and a number of current gates to pass to get there, about three more solid days on the engine are probably what we are looking at. I'm looking forward to taking my time on the other side; I hope that things work out that way, although I have a suspicion that once you start rushing on account of some deadline or other you never really stop. We can be gone through the end of August if need be, but life would be a little easier if we get back with a couple weeks to spare before the end of the month there.
Tuesday, July 21, 2009
Now departing Victoria
It's been a swell visit but it's time to get rolling; we're heading north out of Victoria today and we'll see how far we get on a flood tide and with the wind at our backs.
We may get trapped by the current gate at Dodd Narrows, but it would be surprising if we get that far today anyway, so I'm not going to worry about it much.
We just need to grab some coffee, some provisions, and my Powerbook cord (we got a call that the package came in yesterday but the marina office was closed before we could pick it up) and we will head out. The weather is still beautiful and it's another place we sort of hate to leave, but we have places to go and things to see.
The radar issue is still unresolved despite my having put Mandy up the mast yesterday. When she snugged down the data cable, it fired up, but then when I turned off the charger, it went back down again. It turned out the hardware I got to replace the battery cables was (of course) just barely the wrong size, so I just cleaned them up and put them back on again. When she came down, the thing was working, but I still don't trust it. Fortunately, no fog in the forecast today, and it shouldn't be much of a problem along the inside route so we still have a week to work on it.
We may get trapped by the current gate at Dodd Narrows, but it would be surprising if we get that far today anyway, so I'm not going to worry about it much.
We just need to grab some coffee, some provisions, and my Powerbook cord (we got a call that the package came in yesterday but the marina office was closed before we could pick it up) and we will head out. The weather is still beautiful and it's another place we sort of hate to leave, but we have places to go and things to see.
The radar issue is still unresolved despite my having put Mandy up the mast yesterday. When she snugged down the data cable, it fired up, but then when I turned off the charger, it went back down again. It turned out the hardware I got to replace the battery cables was (of course) just barely the wrong size, so I just cleaned them up and put them back on again. When she came down, the thing was working, but I still don't trust it. Fortunately, no fog in the forecast today, and it shouldn't be much of a problem along the inside route so we still have a week to work on it.
Monday, July 20, 2009
Life in the Inner Harbour
For our extended (and by extended, I mean four days) we are lucky enough to be moored at the Causeway floats directly in front of the historic Fairmont Empress hotel. In thousands of tourist photos taken this week, we'll be one of the boats floating scenically in front of the massive ivy covered hotel. It will be easy to pick us out in all those pictures... we're the small, messy one.
One of the interesting side effects of this excellent location, right in the heart of downtown, is the sheer amount of activity in the area. There is almost constant foot traffic past the boat, even though we're near the end of the dock. Just now a small group went by speaking Russian. Small, tubby harbour taxis go past our portholes every few minutes between 0900 and 2100. Seaplanes sweep in or take off every half hour or so. Music and clapping pour in the hatches at all hours from the performers on the walkway above. And the Clipper or Coho ferries blow horns at unexpected intervals through the day, causing Mandy to jump out of her skin unpredictably. In most harbours... well, for starters, most small craft harbours are well away from the heart of the city (Victoria and Vancouver are the notable exceptions I can think of in this area... I don't know Nanaimo well enough to say for certain whether it counts or not), but even when they aren't, they're rarely an open tourist attraction in and of themselves. You either can feel stuck on your boat, away from the action, or find yourself only stopping in to sleep or eat.
There is none of that here. We're right in the middle of it anytime we prairie dog up out of our hatches. It's like pitching a tent in Pike Place Market. We don't have to go anywhere to see and do fun and interesting stuff, it's all right here, parading past the boat. It's a unique experience, even more intimate than False Creek in Vancouver due to the smaller scale of the floats.
This morning, after Mandy's mandatory Starbucks stop, we walked around to the west side of the harbour, about a mile walk, and then took a quick harbour ferry hop back across to Fishermen's Terminal. There is a large chandlery over there, Trotacs, which we thought might be likely to have better prices than the small specialty shops on this end of the harbour, but even so they were pretty expensive. The American dollar should have a ten percent advantage over the Canadian right now, but even so things simply seem more expensive here. I'll be holding off on all but the most important purchases until we're back in the states.
But anyway, it was a nice walk, and there were a lot of people out... we're in the city's living room, it seems, and it's not a bad spot to be.
Wedding Pictures!
Thanks to our friend Sonia, I have a few pictures to share from the wedding!They are pretty self-explanatory, so I'll just let them be.
A special thanks to Linda Graebel for her help with the wedding dress, and Terry Moon for arranging the truly beautiful bouquets.
Lindsay, Kymberly, Veronica, Don, Matt, and Loyd, thanks for being a special part of our perfect day!
Love,
Mandy
Well that's it, then
Well, we've done it... the knot has been tied, the die has been cast, the leap has been leapt: we're married.
The wedding was wonderful and we want to thank everyone again for making it so. We were thrilled that so many people were able to make it out and be with us for the occasion. On top of the challenging trip to our wedding site in scenic but out-of-the-way Port Hadlock, friends and family alike chipped in and helped out with the hundreds of details, major and minor, that go along with a mostly do-it-yourself wedding. Woven in with our memories of the day and each other, we will always have the recollection of the spirit and generosity that came from all of you before, during, and after the event.
We've been working our way through our cards, and have been absolutely blown away by the generosity of both those who attended and those who were unable to make it. We had not requested gifts, since traditional wedding gifts would only be a hindrance aboard the boat, but what people have given us is amazing and is certainly making our honeymoon a wonderful and memorable experience! Nothing but fine dining and the best hotels from now on!
We're in Victoria now, finally having had a chance to catch up on a good night's sleep in a nice hotel overlooking the Inner Harbour. We had about an eight hour crossing from Hadlock, despite a slow start in light winds. There was still patchy fog on the Strait once we turned the corner at Point Wilson, so we ended up motor-sailing much of the way, because the balky radar seems to have a slightly higher proclivity toward working normally when it is powered off the starting battery bank... and we have a rule that if the starting bank is in use, the engine must be on to keep it charged. Either way, it was a fairly quick trip and the Strait was largely well-behaved (relatively speaking--Mandy still got queasy), but we hadn't gotten much sleep the day before and were both pretty beat.
Today feels like a new world after eight solid hours in a real bed, and multiple showers apiece. The weather is as gorgeous up here as it was in Hadlock for the wedding, and tourists abound. We're happy to take our place among them; we had a coupon for the boat show for a deal with three nights moorage with the Harbour Authority here and so we will spend the next few days here relaxing and seeing the sights we have missed on previous trips. It will also give my computer power adapter a chance to catch up with us; I forgot it when we left so the Graebel's are having to ship it up to us. I'm writing this on my little Eee PC, which is okay but a little challenging in the typing department. It also is missing some of my programs and passwords for work stuff, so I am a little crippled without the PowerBook. I suppose that will force me to take a break for a couple days, though.
In addition to sightseeing and restaurant grazing, we'll take the opportunity here to take a more in-depth look at the radar. I want to replace some of the battery cabling on the house bank, which has some corrosion... the tendency of the radar to work more often on the starting bank has me looking at power again. But since it still cuts out on the start bank, that can't be the only problem, so Mandy is still going to have to go up the mast and check the wiring.
We'll also probably do some laundry, and I will have to find a Canada Post office and master the intricacies of international mail... I also forgot to leave my truck key for the Graebels and am blocking in their lawnmower! I imagine they need a break from yard work right now anyway, though. We'll be working our way through thank-you cards as well. Don't be offended if gift checks aren't cashed for a month or more... we can't take care of some of the name and bank related changes we need to make from foreign soil.
Figuring out those and other things are good practice for living aboard, however, and although we haven't completely moved out of the house yet, this is really the beginning of that stage of life. It's interesting and a little exciting and not so frightening as I had imagined. Living aboard provides its own element of "island time" where the cares and concerns of real life are not wholly absent, but are frequently subsumed or replaced by the exigencies of the moment. Dodging tanker traffic in the fog in the Strait of Juan de Fuca is no time to be thinking about work or mortgages or banking. And if I have to think about those things at some point, it's fun and challenging to do so in such a beautiful place as this.
The stop is less hectic than most of our port stops so perhaps I am getting a somewhat jaded view of life aboard. But I think I can put up with the bad parts if the good parts continue to be this good.
The wedding was wonderful and we want to thank everyone again for making it so. We were thrilled that so many people were able to make it out and be with us for the occasion. On top of the challenging trip to our wedding site in scenic but out-of-the-way Port Hadlock, friends and family alike chipped in and helped out with the hundreds of details, major and minor, that go along with a mostly do-it-yourself wedding. Woven in with our memories of the day and each other, we will always have the recollection of the spirit and generosity that came from all of you before, during, and after the event.
We've been working our way through our cards, and have been absolutely blown away by the generosity of both those who attended and those who were unable to make it. We had not requested gifts, since traditional wedding gifts would only be a hindrance aboard the boat, but what people have given us is amazing and is certainly making our honeymoon a wonderful and memorable experience! Nothing but fine dining and the best hotels from now on!
We're in Victoria now, finally having had a chance to catch up on a good night's sleep in a nice hotel overlooking the Inner Harbour. We had about an eight hour crossing from Hadlock, despite a slow start in light winds. There was still patchy fog on the Strait once we turned the corner at Point Wilson, so we ended up motor-sailing much of the way, because the balky radar seems to have a slightly higher proclivity toward working normally when it is powered off the starting battery bank... and we have a rule that if the starting bank is in use, the engine must be on to keep it charged. Either way, it was a fairly quick trip and the Strait was largely well-behaved (relatively speaking--Mandy still got queasy), but we hadn't gotten much sleep the day before and were both pretty beat.
Today feels like a new world after eight solid hours in a real bed, and multiple showers apiece. The weather is as gorgeous up here as it was in Hadlock for the wedding, and tourists abound. We're happy to take our place among them; we had a coupon for the boat show for a deal with three nights moorage with the Harbour Authority here and so we will spend the next few days here relaxing and seeing the sights we have missed on previous trips. It will also give my computer power adapter a chance to catch up with us; I forgot it when we left so the Graebel's are having to ship it up to us. I'm writing this on my little Eee PC, which is okay but a little challenging in the typing department. It also is missing some of my programs and passwords for work stuff, so I am a little crippled without the PowerBook. I suppose that will force me to take a break for a couple days, though.
In addition to sightseeing and restaurant grazing, we'll take the opportunity here to take a more in-depth look at the radar. I want to replace some of the battery cabling on the house bank, which has some corrosion... the tendency of the radar to work more often on the starting bank has me looking at power again. But since it still cuts out on the start bank, that can't be the only problem, so Mandy is still going to have to go up the mast and check the wiring.
We'll also probably do some laundry, and I will have to find a Canada Post office and master the intricacies of international mail... I also forgot to leave my truck key for the Graebels and am blocking in their lawnmower! I imagine they need a break from yard work right now anyway, though. We'll be working our way through thank-you cards as well. Don't be offended if gift checks aren't cashed for a month or more... we can't take care of some of the name and bank related changes we need to make from foreign soil.
Figuring out those and other things are good practice for living aboard, however, and although we haven't completely moved out of the house yet, this is really the beginning of that stage of life. It's interesting and a little exciting and not so frightening as I had imagined. Living aboard provides its own element of "island time" where the cares and concerns of real life are not wholly absent, but are frequently subsumed or replaced by the exigencies of the moment. Dodging tanker traffic in the fog in the Strait of Juan de Fuca is no time to be thinking about work or mortgages or banking. And if I have to think about those things at some point, it's fun and challenging to do so in such a beautiful place as this.
The stop is less hectic than most of our port stops so perhaps I am getting a somewhat jaded view of life aboard. But I think I can put up with the bad parts if the good parts continue to be this good.
Monday, July 13, 2009
New to us dinghy
I forgot to mention, or at least forgot to highlight, that we picked up a new dinghy earlier this summer... that's it over on the left. It's an eight foot West Marine inflatable with a fold-up wooden floor, locking oars, a single inflatable seat (although there is a spot for another toward the stern if we should decide to add another), dual air chambers, and a strap-on motor mount for an outboard up to 3.5 horses. We're still on the lookout for an affordable outboard in that range; considering that we have been rowing everywhere so far, though, I think we'll manage with just the oars in this suitably for a while anyway. They are much smaller than the oars on our old dinghy, but they don't roll around as much, so the overall velocity made good is probably similar.
I should also note how remarkably similar this model appears compared to our all-time ideal dinghy as encountered last summer in Campbell River. Eery, isn't it? We have almost as many patches (some of which seem to be leaking... that or the valves, I'll have to take a spray bottle to it this week to see for sure) but have yet to cultivate the growths of green stuff on the bottom. Give us time! It's still the height of growing season, I'm sure we can get a nice carpet of foliage going before fall!
Friday, July 10, 2009
Flip-flopping like a politician
So, I've decided it is the radar acting up again; not a small burr on the connector, not the batteries, but the Raymarine 2KW radome itself.
I may flop back again, but that's where I am at with it right now.
When we took the cat up earlier this week I took the opportunity to go out and take a more in-depth look at the problem. I had become convinced (erroneously, it turns out) that the radar had failed to work on our most recent sail due to low battery voltage... low voltage that should not have been there considering they've had several months on AC shorepower to soak up juice. This theory was formed when the unit failed to function while we were under sail (resulting in a "No Data" message on the radar display of our C80 chartplotter), but fired up immediately when we turned on the engine (consequently engaging the alternator to supply electricity), and was reinforced when I checked the voltage the next day and found it hovering around 10.5v... fully discharged in a 12v system.
Turns out that it was my multimeter that should have been "discharged" since when I took Graebel's much better device out, together with a specific gravity tester, they both showed the house bank at nearly full charge. Moreover, the radar wouldn't engage either off the house bank or when the engine was on and the alternator putting a full 14v into the system. Same "No Data" message (which isn't, incidentally, covered anywhere in the Raymarine documentation that I can find).
I checked all the connections on the low side of the system again. I verified that the C80 unit is putting out 12.5v through the radar cable connector, and I tested the impedance on the necessary data pair as shown in the Raymarine troubleshooting document, and it comes in at 113Ohms, lower than the 160 they specify. I think that is better, isn't it? But nothing I tried could get it running, and nothing I tested on the deck end showed any trouble.
Someone is going to have to go aloft and check the internal connectors at the radome. Hmm... I wonder who?
I'm a little nervous about it, actually; the only way to test the power at that end is to actually have the system powered up, which is usually not recommended. It is possible to have the system powered, but not in transmit mode, which will save the tester on any RF exposure, but if I recall correctly, the default startup state is "transmit." So, say it's not working, she accidentally wiggles whatever wire is causing the problem, and it fires up? I'll probably have to call Raymarine and see what they recommend.
Anyway, this is my number one problem at the moment. I am relieved that the batteries are in good shape, but no radar, going onto the rocky west coast, coming into the month known affectionately as "Fogust" by locals, is not a pleasant prospect. It need not be dangerous; we will simply have to sail in good weather and our options will be impeded by that requirement.
That said, the intermittent nature of the outages leaves me with some hope that this is simply the result of a loose connector somewhere, and hopefully it will be something easy for Mandy to spot once she gets up there and gets the lid off the radome.
I may flop back again, but that's where I am at with it right now.
When we took the cat up earlier this week I took the opportunity to go out and take a more in-depth look at the problem. I had become convinced (erroneously, it turns out) that the radar had failed to work on our most recent sail due to low battery voltage... low voltage that should not have been there considering they've had several months on AC shorepower to soak up juice. This theory was formed when the unit failed to function while we were under sail (resulting in a "No Data" message on the radar display of our C80 chartplotter), but fired up immediately when we turned on the engine (consequently engaging the alternator to supply electricity), and was reinforced when I checked the voltage the next day and found it hovering around 10.5v... fully discharged in a 12v system.
Turns out that it was my multimeter that should have been "discharged" since when I took Graebel's much better device out, together with a specific gravity tester, they both showed the house bank at nearly full charge. Moreover, the radar wouldn't engage either off the house bank or when the engine was on and the alternator putting a full 14v into the system. Same "No Data" message (which isn't, incidentally, covered anywhere in the Raymarine documentation that I can find).
I checked all the connections on the low side of the system again. I verified that the C80 unit is putting out 12.5v through the radar cable connector, and I tested the impedance on the necessary data pair as shown in the Raymarine troubleshooting document, and it comes in at 113Ohms, lower than the 160 they specify. I think that is better, isn't it? But nothing I tried could get it running, and nothing I tested on the deck end showed any trouble.
Someone is going to have to go aloft and check the internal connectors at the radome. Hmm... I wonder who?
I'm a little nervous about it, actually; the only way to test the power at that end is to actually have the system powered up, which is usually not recommended. It is possible to have the system powered, but not in transmit mode, which will save the tester on any RF exposure, but if I recall correctly, the default startup state is "transmit." So, say it's not working, she accidentally wiggles whatever wire is causing the problem, and it fires up? I'll probably have to call Raymarine and see what they recommend.
Anyway, this is my number one problem at the moment. I am relieved that the batteries are in good shape, but no radar, going onto the rocky west coast, coming into the month known affectionately as "Fogust" by locals, is not a pleasant prospect. It need not be dangerous; we will simply have to sail in good weather and our options will be impeded by that requirement.
That said, the intermittent nature of the outages leaves me with some hope that this is simply the result of a loose connector somewhere, and hopefully it will be something easy for Mandy to spot once she gets up there and gets the lid off the radome.
Thursday, July 9, 2009
Kitty moving
We are just back now from ferrying our small cat, Rosie, up to the Graebel's place, which is to be her new home. The house is an empty and more lifeless place without her here, but she has grand new places to explore and sleep, and people who will pet her and spoil her extravagantly and we are trying to take heart in that.
We had known several months ago, as we started to talk about plans for the coming years, that we would have to find a new home for her. Our plans right now involve extending our honeymoon trip on the boat more or less indefinitely; we'll be renting out our house and living aboard, sticking around Puget Sound perhaps, but not ashore. Rosie is no spring chicken and we didn't want to disrupt her by trying to get her to adapt to life aboard, nor did we want to risk her in what can be a risky environment for a cat.
Things became more complicated two months ago, however, when she was diagnosed with feline leukemia. It's a terminal condition, and the vet gave her six to eight months. She had an episode at the time that made it look like it could be a lot less than that, but, always resilient, she bounced back and with medication has been doing quite well more recently. Still, we didn't want to dump her off on anyone new, both for her sake and theirs... it seemed dramatically unfair to take her out of her comfort zone in her last months, and equally so to ask new owners to become attached to and care for a cat with a fast-approaching expiration date. Were circumstances otherwise, we probably would have simply delayed everything (well, not the wedding, but the honeymoon) and stayed with her in our home until the end. Finances and her returning robustness would not allow that sort of unforeseeable delay, however.
Fortunately, my parents offered to take her in. They already know her, and she them, so it's not a dramatic shock to either party. They're located near enough that we will still be able to see her frequently, and should they take off RVing this winter, we can house-sit with her (and the chickens, who frequently have trouble finding good caretakers). There is a vet right up the road from them, and what with the proximity, there is a good chance that if she starts to go south we will be able to be there to take care of her at the end and not have to force the unpleasant task on anyone else.
Stress isn't good for her with the depressed immune system so we were most worried about the car ride up to Port Hadlock. Rosie has never traveled well; when we got her from my friend Steve, who lived in Spokane at the time, she meowed through the entirety of the four hour trip back from there, and made at least one spirited escape attempt from the confines of her cardboard box. We have a cat carrier now, but the anxiety level was approximately the same.
True to form, when we loaded her up in the carrier, she started meowing like the world was about to end. Mandy drove while I was tasked with calming the cat, but the best option while she is in the box is simply put towels over it and hope she forgets we are there. This did not work. Still, we had a plan, which worked out quite successfully in the end.
We kept her in the box until we were through the ferry tollbooth downtown and could roll the windows up. Then, while we were parked and waiting in the lot, we let her out of the carrier. She snooped around the car, frightened and hiding at first, then simply curious, then intensely curious with all the other cars pulling in and people walking back and forth. It gave her time to get used to the interior of the car without anything particularly scary happening, though. Then, when the ferry arrived, we got to expose her to the noise of the engine and rolling around slowly as we loaded, all while she was loose in the vehicle. It was such a short interval that she didn't have time to get loopy, but enough to see what it was all about.
Then, after a break while the ferry went across the Sound, she was pretty well okay with the car moving. There was a little meowing, a lot of shedding, and some episodes of hiding under the passenger seat, but on the whole she did very well. Other than some mysterious urge to crawl down between Mandy's feet and the pedals, she stayed put with me on the passenger side without much complaint. By the time we actually got to Hadlock, the sun was out, and she crawled up on my lap instead of hunkering down in the footwell, and though she wasn't purring she at least deigned to be petted.
We spent the night up there with her so she would know it was safe. The Graebels had things all set up for her already. Rosie is an indoor/outdoor model, having grown up in a barn, and doesn't stay inside for extended periods very well (although she will use a litterbox in extremis). A traditional wandering-around outdoor cat won't last long that far north on the Peninsula, however, on account of eagles, coyotes, raccoons, etc. So, Linda built a rather sizeable cat run along one side of the house. Completely fenced in, containing plants, resting places, and intriguing features, Rosie can pop out through an open window anytime and either enjoy the wilderness or answer the call of nature in complete safety. I have no doubt she'll still meow at doors for a while, but I think she'll be sated by her run.
The new house is already being taken over. At our place, it was never work of more than thirty seconds to establish her whereabouts when she was inside. Up there, she can disappear sufficiently that four people searching for five minutes have trouble finding her. She will no doubt appreciate that sort of insularity. She found no shortage of quiet places to curl up and sleep after exploring the place thoroughly.
It's very quiet around here now, clumps of cat hair blowing like tumbleweeds through the living room, but in the end, it is better than leaving her here with a stranger or having to move her later, when she is sicker. We feel better thinking of her half-buried in pillows up there or lounging in the sun room like she used to do on the deck here.
We had known several months ago, as we started to talk about plans for the coming years, that we would have to find a new home for her. Our plans right now involve extending our honeymoon trip on the boat more or less indefinitely; we'll be renting out our house and living aboard, sticking around Puget Sound perhaps, but not ashore. Rosie is no spring chicken and we didn't want to disrupt her by trying to get her to adapt to life aboard, nor did we want to risk her in what can be a risky environment for a cat.
Things became more complicated two months ago, however, when she was diagnosed with feline leukemia. It's a terminal condition, and the vet gave her six to eight months. She had an episode at the time that made it look like it could be a lot less than that, but, always resilient, she bounced back and with medication has been doing quite well more recently. Still, we didn't want to dump her off on anyone new, both for her sake and theirs... it seemed dramatically unfair to take her out of her comfort zone in her last months, and equally so to ask new owners to become attached to and care for a cat with a fast-approaching expiration date. Were circumstances otherwise, we probably would have simply delayed everything (well, not the wedding, but the honeymoon) and stayed with her in our home until the end. Finances and her returning robustness would not allow that sort of unforeseeable delay, however.
Fortunately, my parents offered to take her in. They already know her, and she them, so it's not a dramatic shock to either party. They're located near enough that we will still be able to see her frequently, and should they take off RVing this winter, we can house-sit with her (and the chickens, who frequently have trouble finding good caretakers). There is a vet right up the road from them, and what with the proximity, there is a good chance that if she starts to go south we will be able to be there to take care of her at the end and not have to force the unpleasant task on anyone else.
Stress isn't good for her with the depressed immune system so we were most worried about the car ride up to Port Hadlock. Rosie has never traveled well; when we got her from my friend Steve, who lived in Spokane at the time, she meowed through the entirety of the four hour trip back from there, and made at least one spirited escape attempt from the confines of her cardboard box. We have a cat carrier now, but the anxiety level was approximately the same.
True to form, when we loaded her up in the carrier, she started meowing like the world was about to end. Mandy drove while I was tasked with calming the cat, but the best option while she is in the box is simply put towels over it and hope she forgets we are there. This did not work. Still, we had a plan, which worked out quite successfully in the end.
We kept her in the box until we were through the ferry tollbooth downtown and could roll the windows up. Then, while we were parked and waiting in the lot, we let her out of the carrier. She snooped around the car, frightened and hiding at first, then simply curious, then intensely curious with all the other cars pulling in and people walking back and forth. It gave her time to get used to the interior of the car without anything particularly scary happening, though. Then, when the ferry arrived, we got to expose her to the noise of the engine and rolling around slowly as we loaded, all while she was loose in the vehicle. It was such a short interval that she didn't have time to get loopy, but enough to see what it was all about.
Then, after a break while the ferry went across the Sound, she was pretty well okay with the car moving. There was a little meowing, a lot of shedding, and some episodes of hiding under the passenger seat, but on the whole she did very well. Other than some mysterious urge to crawl down between Mandy's feet and the pedals, she stayed put with me on the passenger side without much complaint. By the time we actually got to Hadlock, the sun was out, and she crawled up on my lap instead of hunkering down in the footwell, and though she wasn't purring she at least deigned to be petted.
We spent the night up there with her so she would know it was safe. The Graebels had things all set up for her already. Rosie is an indoor/outdoor model, having grown up in a barn, and doesn't stay inside for extended periods very well (although she will use a litterbox in extremis). A traditional wandering-around outdoor cat won't last long that far north on the Peninsula, however, on account of eagles, coyotes, raccoons, etc. So, Linda built a rather sizeable cat run along one side of the house. Completely fenced in, containing plants, resting places, and intriguing features, Rosie can pop out through an open window anytime and either enjoy the wilderness or answer the call of nature in complete safety. I have no doubt she'll still meow at doors for a while, but I think she'll be sated by her run.
The new house is already being taken over. At our place, it was never work of more than thirty seconds to establish her whereabouts when she was inside. Up there, she can disappear sufficiently that four people searching for five minutes have trouble finding her. She will no doubt appreciate that sort of insularity. She found no shortage of quiet places to curl up and sleep after exploring the place thoroughly.
It's very quiet around here now, clumps of cat hair blowing like tumbleweeds through the living room, but in the end, it is better than leaving her here with a stranger or having to move her later, when she is sicker. We feel better thinking of her half-buried in pillows up there or lounging in the sun room like she used to do on the deck here.
Sunday, July 5, 2009
The Fire Ship
This post doesn't really have anything to do with sailing, or with Insegrevious, but it does have to do with floating stuff on fire, and who doesn't want to read about that?
Every year on the Fourth of July, our friends Ed and Terry have a party. For many years, this was at their houseboat on Lake Union, a great venue for the Lake Union fireworks show (although transportation was always a challenge, as all their neighbors also had a great venue and parties with which to enjoy it). For a few years now, though, they have been on the waterfront down in Burien and the spectacle of the grand, professional fireworks show (although several of these are also visible, if more distantly, from there) has been supplanted by the simpler joy of lighting up stuff that burns or goes bang oneself.
The big event of the evening is the floating bonfire. Together with neighbors, they build a raft, pile it with various flammable and/or explosive items, float it out off the beach, and light it up when darkness falls. The great challenge of this endeavour has always been figuring out how to light the thing in the most dramatic and spectacular fashion without simultaneously burning down nearby homes or boats. Because this is a once-a-year event, opportunities for testing lighting techniques are limited. Each year sees certain, subtle improvements, with the occasional disastrous setback, and I think at this rate in ten years or so we may have a reliable ignition method worked out for the enjoyment of posterity.
Attempts from years past have ranged from the laughable (simply shooting bottle rockets and/or Roman candles at a heap of waterlogged wood) to the dangerous (shoving a lit flare into a gasoline soaked rubbish pile from a nearby inflatable boat) to the inspired (rigging a zip line to carry a lit flare down into the raft). Over the last few years, however, we have started to make incremental but steady improvements revolving around a combination of white gas in containers to prevent evaporation, and massed Roman Candle firings.
In recent events, we have used simple plastic grocery bags, positioned strategically around the wood pile on the raft, to hold the white gas, counting on the heat of the burning fireballs to penetrate the flimsy bags and ignite the gas. This has had some limited success, last year going down to almost the last available Roman Candle before achieving ignition. Chief among the problems is the tendency of the bags to oscillate in rhythm with the often heavy wake from the ample marine traffic, resulting in much spillage and tearing hours before the event. The gas would soak the wood, but evaporate before darkness. Redundant bags solved this to some degree but never to our satisfaction, as the bags which remained full might not be on the visible side of the raft at lighting time. Also, the penetrative power of the average Roman candle projectile through thin flammable plastic is not quite what one might assume it to be, and with some consternation we have watched flaming balls bounce right off plastic shopping bags without so much as scorching them, much less igniting the contents.
This year, we hit upon a much more successful mechanism. A plastic water jug was appropriated, half-filled with white gas, and an axle of sorts was whittled and inserted near the center of gravity. The jug was hung near the top of the superstructure framed in on the raft, from the axle, upright and sealed. Myriad holes were punched in the top of the jug at various angles, with a view toward providing a sprinkler effect when it was overturned. To tip it on schedule, twine was tied to the handle and run down through an eye-screw secured to the raft base (ensuring a downward pull regardless of the true angle from raft to shore) and then back to the deck of the house. Numerous safety lines, chafing protectors, etc were rigged to safeguard the jug through the day as it would bob around unaccompanied. Due to a relatively high low tide and a limited window, we only had about an hour and a half to do the whole job this year.
The structural stability of the raft, sadly, was not as impressive as the ignition mechanism, and several trips throughout the day were required to retrieve and re-attach parts which had floated off. Come nightfall, however, the craft was reasonably seaworthy and ready for the lighting attempt.
As Ed distributed the ammunition to the assembled crowd, I gently tugged on the tipping line to ease the raft around. The jug was positioned just over an old, tinder-dry Christmas tree which was judged the best target, but wind and tide had swung the raft around so it was out of view from the deck. I was slightly worried that the twine would break but it came around gently, and then I pulled on it more directly to upset the jug. It came right over and immediately started spraying everything below. The weight of the raft had submerged the main deck and well-wetted some of the materials but the sprinkler-like top of the jug distributed the gas on wet and dry fuels alike. Indeed, some went right into the water, forming a small slick running toward shore.
Before I could even get my camera ready, the very first shot landed three feet shy of the raft, but within the gas slick. Flames coursed back up to the raft and lit the trees up with a whoosh. I include the below video started bare seconds after the thing went up to show the effects. The rest of the participants were left with little to shoot at, but they seemed to enjoy making the effort nonetheless.
Every year on the Fourth of July, our friends Ed and Terry have a party. For many years, this was at their houseboat on Lake Union, a great venue for the Lake Union fireworks show (although transportation was always a challenge, as all their neighbors also had a great venue and parties with which to enjoy it). For a few years now, though, they have been on the waterfront down in Burien and the spectacle of the grand, professional fireworks show (although several of these are also visible, if more distantly, from there) has been supplanted by the simpler joy of lighting up stuff that burns or goes bang oneself.
The big event of the evening is the floating bonfire. Together with neighbors, they build a raft, pile it with various flammable and/or explosive items, float it out off the beach, and light it up when darkness falls. The great challenge of this endeavour has always been figuring out how to light the thing in the most dramatic and spectacular fashion without simultaneously burning down nearby homes or boats. Because this is a once-a-year event, opportunities for testing lighting techniques are limited. Each year sees certain, subtle improvements, with the occasional disastrous setback, and I think at this rate in ten years or so we may have a reliable ignition method worked out for the enjoyment of posterity.
Attempts from years past have ranged from the laughable (simply shooting bottle rockets and/or Roman candles at a heap of waterlogged wood) to the dangerous (shoving a lit flare into a gasoline soaked rubbish pile from a nearby inflatable boat) to the inspired (rigging a zip line to carry a lit flare down into the raft). Over the last few years, however, we have started to make incremental but steady improvements revolving around a combination of white gas in containers to prevent evaporation, and massed Roman Candle firings.
In recent events, we have used simple plastic grocery bags, positioned strategically around the wood pile on the raft, to hold the white gas, counting on the heat of the burning fireballs to penetrate the flimsy bags and ignite the gas. This has had some limited success, last year going down to almost the last available Roman Candle before achieving ignition. Chief among the problems is the tendency of the bags to oscillate in rhythm with the often heavy wake from the ample marine traffic, resulting in much spillage and tearing hours before the event. The gas would soak the wood, but evaporate before darkness. Redundant bags solved this to some degree but never to our satisfaction, as the bags which remained full might not be on the visible side of the raft at lighting time. Also, the penetrative power of the average Roman candle projectile through thin flammable plastic is not quite what one might assume it to be, and with some consternation we have watched flaming balls bounce right off plastic shopping bags without so much as scorching them, much less igniting the contents.
This year, we hit upon a much more successful mechanism. A plastic water jug was appropriated, half-filled with white gas, and an axle of sorts was whittled and inserted near the center of gravity. The jug was hung near the top of the superstructure framed in on the raft, from the axle, upright and sealed. Myriad holes were punched in the top of the jug at various angles, with a view toward providing a sprinkler effect when it was overturned. To tip it on schedule, twine was tied to the handle and run down through an eye-screw secured to the raft base (ensuring a downward pull regardless of the true angle from raft to shore) and then back to the deck of the house. Numerous safety lines, chafing protectors, etc were rigged to safeguard the jug through the day as it would bob around unaccompanied. Due to a relatively high low tide and a limited window, we only had about an hour and a half to do the whole job this year.
The structural stability of the raft, sadly, was not as impressive as the ignition mechanism, and several trips throughout the day were required to retrieve and re-attach parts which had floated off. Come nightfall, however, the craft was reasonably seaworthy and ready for the lighting attempt.
As Ed distributed the ammunition to the assembled crowd, I gently tugged on the tipping line to ease the raft around. The jug was positioned just over an old, tinder-dry Christmas tree which was judged the best target, but wind and tide had swung the raft around so it was out of view from the deck. I was slightly worried that the twine would break but it came around gently, and then I pulled on it more directly to upset the jug. It came right over and immediately started spraying everything below. The weight of the raft had submerged the main deck and well-wetted some of the materials but the sprinkler-like top of the jug distributed the gas on wet and dry fuels alike. Indeed, some went right into the water, forming a small slick running toward shore.
Before I could even get my camera ready, the very first shot landed three feet shy of the raft, but within the gas slick. Flames coursed back up to the raft and lit the trees up with a whoosh. I include the below video started bare seconds after the thing went up to show the effects. The rest of the participants were left with little to shoot at, but they seemed to enjoy making the effort nonetheless.
Friday, July 3, 2009
Spot on
So, this year, rather than renting out an EPIRB for the more remote portion of our passage, we decided to purchase a SPOT satellite messenger instead. It's about the same cost for this year, although we will own the device going forward. It will cost about $100 a year for continuing service, but the service includes more than just emergency notification--we can send "OK" status messages with position, an intermediate "Help" message to select people to request assistance below a full-blown emergency, or of course there is the full 911 service, which activates all the normal local and federal rescue apparatus that an EPIRB or Mayday distress call would bring.
There is also a tracking option, which normally costs extra but which we got for a year free from a coupon I happened to have... it basically sends periodic updates to a web-based map to allow people to see your course track. I doubt we will actually use that feature much, however; I don't see any real reason to burn through the batteries like that, particularly considering our rather slow mode of travel.
SPOT is not a full-fledged emergency beacon; it operates strictly off satellite communication, which does not allow it to be used as a final approach homing beacon for rescue crews. The built-in GPS sensor does provide information more accurate than many EPIRBS, but the limitations in signal strength and Globalstar's satellite coverage (the network the device uses for communications; the company is more widely known for satellite phone service) make it less reliable.
We decided for our purposes that it is an adequate solution, however. For one thing, we are going to be operating well within the Globalstar coverage area, so getting a sat in view to transmit shouldn't be a problem. We're going to be out on open water, which doesn't present any impediments to signal. Finally, we're not going anywhere too far outside regular VHF radio range; the SPOT is redundant and would probably be our secondary means of contact in any event.
We also like the ability to send out periodic "Okay" messages, which is something missing with an EPIRB; if an EPIRB doesn't trigger in an emergency, for whatever reason, no one knows anything is wrong until the vessel is overdue. There is no positive indication of well-being, just "no news is good news." While that has been the norm for seafarers for thousands of years, it's quite bad systems design. If you are putting out daily "Okay" messages and suddenly stop, then there is an immediate indication that something is wrong, and a pretty good idea of the area in which it happened (in contrast to overdue vessels, which could have gotten into trouble anywhere along their anticipated course track, or indeed well off of it).
We aren't currently making the SPOT broadcasts public (which basically consists of publishing the map overlay of position messages... I'm not comfortable with that level of exposure in my life just yet, plus I may want to sneak up on people for some reason!) but I am happy to add anyone who is interested to the mail list for receipt of our "Okay" messages... drop me a line or leave a comment here with the e-mail address you would like to receive the messages at and I will put you on the list at the next opportunity.
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