Trial By Fire

Listening to "20th Century Boy" by Placebo

Convoy - To accompany or escort, or a group of ships steaming together, usually under protection.  Its origin, via Middle English, is the French convoyer, to convoy or conduct. -From Origins of Sea Terms by J.G. Rogers  

It had been six months since we motored into the protected harbour of Kinsale, Ireland and settled down for the winter.  Over the winter we worked on the boat, settled into a routine, and got used to not being on the move.  As spring came our thoughts turned toward the coming voyages and everything we needed to do to be as prepared as possible.

Enjoying the last cushy marina nights by the light of the moon

We inspected every part of the boat, mended things that were fixable, and replaced things that were beyond repair.  The local charity shop was the recipient of at least three large bags of extraneous stuff that could be passed on, and the dumpster was filled with broken bits and bobs that had never found their way off the boat.

Changing out burned out bulbs in our AlpenGlow lights

We spent at least half of the month of April living at anchor in the River Bandon, getting used to being off the dock and testing out systems that had laid dormant for the winter.  Several storms came screaming down the coast, but Paragon held her own and we began to feel ready to leave.  

Going over the checklist, we were pleasantly surprised by all the check marks...did we really complete our repairs?  

Replenish SAE 30 marine oil (20 litres) and diesel (400 litres) - ✓

Dispose of used oil and dirty diesel - ✓

Spare fuel lift pump for the Perkins diesel engine - ✓

Repair and replace several dock lines - ✓

Replace several outdated pieces of safety equipment - ✓

Replace the depth/speed/wind speed transducer - ✓

Engine examination including oil change and fuel filter changes - ✓

Scrub and inspect the hull - ✓

General inspection, stowing, and provisioning - ✓

Very serious!  We're blasting mussels and algae

This is just a short list, but it gives an idea of how we spent most of our days leading up to our departure.  Some tasks were more fun than others.  We spent a day tied up to the wall near the town dock where, as the tide goes out, the boat is left on a ramp to dry out.  With the help of friends we power washed the hull, inspected the propellor and rudder, and replaced all the zincs.

Drake bonding with Paragon

So excited to have a clean hull!

Other things were not so much fun.  After refueling at the town dock, we headed back out to our anchorage spot in the river and, without warning, lost our engine.  One moment we were chugging along and the next the engine was slowly losing power until it stalled completely.  We were lucky that we were able to unfurl the staysail and sail to the anchorage where we dropped the hook, but the reason for the engine failure was a bit of a mystery. 

After trying every solution he could think of, Drake rowed to town in search of a mechanic.  He returned with Graham.  Graham owns and operates Ocean Addicts, a dive center and B&B based aboard motor vessel Embarr in Kinsale harbour.  He also has a Perkins diesel engine, though a slightly different model, and was a wealth of information and help.  After methodically checking the engine he discovered that an improperly installed fuel filter was stifling the flow of fuel.  A quick reset of the filter and the engine fired up beautifully.  

We also discovered that the air intake was almost completely encrusted with debris and goo which certainly didn't do the engine any favours.  After a good scrub the filter was put back and all seemed well.

Our extremely clogged air filter

Our departure date of the first of May came and brought with it high winds, hail, and rain.  We spoke with our friend Kevin, who we planned to convoy with up the coast of Ireland, and it was agreed that we should wait out the bad weather.  The next few days were spent at anchor, preparing for our journey as the winds buffeted the boats.  

The fourth of May dawned cloudy but calmer and we decided the time to leave had arrived.  At precisely nine in the morning s/v Exodus, Kevin's boat, and Paragon lifted their anchors and motored out of Kinsale.  There was little wind, but a tiny bit of chop bounced the boat as we secured the last remaining items.

It had been so many months since we had been out that I had...I don't know, been lulled into a false sense of reality.  The plan was to sail/motor approximately 35 miles along the coast to Sherkin Island where we would anchor and wait out an upcoming storm.  Surely I didn't need to take sea sickness medication for such a short trip down the coast...especially when there was such little wind predicted. 

I would come to regret this decision.

As we exited the protected harbour that had been our home for the past winter, we immediately encountered a 15 knot headwind and choppy swells.  It was necessary to motor directly into the chop and wind for approximately six miles, in order to clear the Old Head, before turning to the west. 

Heading out into the chop.  The Old Head can be seen in the distance.

The Old Head is a craggy peninsula, topped with a striking lighthouse, that extends into the sea just south of Kinsale.  Home to nesting birds, a world class golf course, and spectacular kayaking, it is also a treacherous area surrounded by jagged rocks and swift currents.  The Old Head is known for being the nearest land point (11 miles) from where the RMS Lusitania was sunk in 1915.  The further we motored out of the harbour the larger and more confused the seas became.

We watched as Exodus began to bob and roll in front of us and knew our time was coming.  As we lost the last of our protection of land on the port side we began to encounter even greater swells.  Suddenly we were getting lost in the trough of the waves, riding up the crest before slamming once more into the trough.  

I lost what little breakfast I had managed to eat and felt my limbs ache with general malaise.  

After rolling about for an hour hour we finally cleared the Old Head only to be hit with the full force of the swells that had built up over the course of several windy days.  Paragon was no longer a boat, but rather a mad carnival ride that shuddered with every new white cap.

Looking out towards the Old Head from the top of the cliff.

With the Old Head in the distance off our starboard side and the wind buffeting our port side, I took the wheel as Drake prepared to unfurl the staysail when...

*POW*

I saw it coming.  We were sliding up from the trough of an enormous wave, but not fast enough to escape the massive curling crest looming over us.  The wave rammed the port side of the boat with a force that made me cringe and covered us with with furious foam.

There was an instant silence as my eyes widened and Drake turned to look at me in disbelief and horror.  

"WE LOST THE ENGINE!  WE LOST THE ENGINE!"

With my words still hanging in the air, Drake leapt over over to the helm and feverishly began checking instruments while simultaneously telling me to get the staysail out.  

"Get it out...get it out...get it out..."

I fumbled with the furling line, got sick, flaked the line, got sick, started to unfurl the sail, got sick.

"Dammit!"

I turned and saw Drake fumbling with the auto pilot which was refusing to engage.  It was on our list of things to check before we left port, but somehow we had let that very important task slip through our net and were paying dearly for the transgression.  

Paragon was a sitting duck at this point.  20 knots of wind and giant swells on her port side were slowly pushing her towards the barbed rock face of the Old Head that had claimed so many boats over the years.  A quarter of a mile of water was all that separated us from disaster.  

With sails unfurled, we called Kevin on the VHF to let him know what had happened.  When he asked what we wanted to do, Drake simply said that he just wanted to get away from the rocks.  

As I gripped the wheel with shaking hands and a stomach that refused to settle, Drake headed down below to the engine room.  His enviable steel stomach faltered as he lay in the quaking room surrounded by diesel, heat, and fumes.  Meanwhile I lay draped over the helm, staring at the sails and rocks...too sick to be scared.  

Back and forth Drake went, from the cockpit to the engine room, until he bounded up shouting that he had found a blockage in the center tank fuel line (the tank we were running on).  Fuel wasn't even making it out of the tank and had left the engine futilely sucking air.

He had switched tanks, bled the engine and, with a quick "Dear God, please don't let me fuck this up", turned the key.

The engine turned over for several seconds as the fuel made its way to the injectors and then we heard the sweet sound of the Perkins roaring to life.

Drained and reeking of diesel, Drake grabbed my plastic bag and was violently sick.  I half-heartedly asked if a couple who played together stayed together, what did couples who shared a sick bag do? He only stared and then asked if I could stay at the helm for another ten minutes so he could lay down and try to recover from his time below.  

Thus the relay began.  I steered for a time, then he did, then back to me, and both of us getting sick.

During one of his off-watches Drake finally figured out why the auto pilot was not working.  A simple loose connection was the culprit and, with the CPT back on line, we were both able to relax a bit more.   

The rest of our journey to Sherkin Island was uncomfortable yet uneventful.  The swells never did settle, but having the auto pilot allowed us to conserve energy.  Drake eventually felt well enough to stand a constant watch and let me retreat to a berth below to curl up and attempt sleep.  Unconsciousness lay stubbornly beyond my grasp, but I managed to evade being sick for the first time in several hours as I lay wedged between pillows.

The swells immediately settled as we entered the protection of Baltimore Harbour in late afternoon and I popped my head into the cockpit as Drake circled the anchorage.  Kevin dropped his anchor and we quickly followed suit.  For the second time that day the engine went silent.  However, this time it was intentional and oh-so welcome.

The Baltimore Beacon, also known as Lot's Wife, marks the entrance to the harbour.

Begging off a dinner invitation from Kevin, we promised to meet up for coffee the next morning after we had cleaned up from the day.

s/v Exodus safely anchored in Baltimore Harbour

Silence enveloped us as we stared at the beauty surrounding the boat.  The anchorage had a bit of a roll, but nothing compared to the seven hours we had just endured.  

"We could have died.  We could have lost the boat.  So much more could have gone wrong after we lost the engine.  We were lucky."

Drakes words quietly drifted over to me as I thought about what he had said.  It was true.  We could have died, or certainly have lost the boat.  If we hadn't managed to unfurl the sails in time and get away from the rocks we would have become another statistic...another boat lost at sea.  I don't think there would have been time for a rescue boat to reach us before Paragon's hull met her fate upon those razor sharp rocks.

But luck...?

There was certainly a bit of luck and, despite not being a religious person, some powerful guardian angels were watching over us that day.  However, we made a bit of our own luck as well.  All the years Drake has spent learning about the operation of the boat and its mechanics, the endless hours trouble shooting problems in a quiet anchorage, and taking notes as more experienced mechanics helped him with problems had paid off.  

In terrible conditions one of the worst things had happened and, though the stress level was high, panic never set in.  We worked as a team, held it together, and stayed focused and on task. 

That being said, despite all the preparation this could have been a very different story.  Over the years sailors have lost their boats for a variety of reasons, and sometimes all the preparation in the world makes little difference.  

So yes, we were lucky.  

The day had been a trial by fire (and water!) and we had survived to sail another day.  

Looking out over the calm water I simply whispered the most heartfelt thank you before retiring for the evening. 

Paragon safely anchored in Baltimore Harbour

Welcome Back Cotter

Listening to "Hotel California (Spanish Mix)" by the Gipsy Kings

Shrouds - The major side stays of a mast.  (16th century) The term as used ashore came from the shipboard sense; the shrouds were heavily wrapped for their protection from the elements.  The derivation of the word is somewhat uncertain, but it is probably Old Norse, scruth, for wrapping.  -from Origins of Sea Terms by J.G. Rogers

Today was a productive day.  It started a bit late (I blame it on the festivities of the previous evening), but a lot has been accomplished.  We had hoped to spend the winter here in The Faroe Islands so that come spring we would be in an optimal position to sail to northern Norway.  This beautiful place has also seduced us with it's striking landscape, captivating history, amazing hiking and, most of all, the people.  We have met so many cool people here - some real friends - that we looked forward to spend the winter getting to know them better and hanging out.  

Unfortunately the word has come down from Denmark that our visa has not been extended.  (Though The Faroe Islands are autonomous, Denmark handles certain aspects of foreign affairs and defense, including visas.)   Technically we can stay until the first week in September, but with the fall storms starting to brew here in the north Atlantic we need to get out in the next week or two.  Last summer we stayed just a bit too long in Greenland and paid for our delay with tempestuous and storm-tossed seas for most of the sail to Iceland.  This is something we do not care to repeat.  

Now that we are preparing for our departure in earnest we are turning a sharp eye to every section of Paragon.  The diesel tanks have been filled,the oil has been changed, the staysail has been taken down to be stitched up (by hand...yay!), and every line, nut, bolt, and cotter pin is being checked.  

I will be the first to say that checking the whole rig kind of sucks.  It's uncomfortable and somewhat tedious.  Seriously, I'm hanging upside down off the bowsprit checking the bobstay, climbing around the mast and boom, and closely inspecting every single attachment point and piece of hardware for cracks and loose fittings.  This, however, is probably one of the simplest things that can be done to prevent disaster from striking.

While I was fitting a lock-washer onto a loose bolt on the bowsprit, I heard Drake gasp as he called me over.  See if you can find anything missing on this turnbuckle.

Need some help?  Here is her sister.

That's right.  The cotter pin is missing entirely from the top of this turnbuckle.  The only reason it was not able to turn, and possibly loosen the wire on this shroud, is because the cotter pin on the bottom bolt was still intact.  (For those unfamiliar with a turnbuckle, it is a piece of hardware that regulates the tension on the wires attached to the mast.  These wires, called shrouds and stays, support the mast and keep it from tumbling down.)

Such a simple thing to replace now as we sit in a protected harbour, but if missed the consequences could be catastrophic.  It makes me wonder what else is missing so, with renewed vigour, I continue my inspection of Paragon.  Let's hope there aren't any more surprises!

A little cod to keep me warm

Listening to "Left Me In A Hole" by Yonder Mountain String Band

It is almost freezing outside, with snow predicted later in the week, but I'm curled up in the salon with a cup of tea and feeling toasty warm.  We aren't hooked up to shore power and blasting the electric heater, nor are we running the diesel boiler heater and burning through fuel.  No.  The cabin is filled with a warm, dry, and quiet heat due to a little green marvel softly simmering in the corner...our wood burning stove.

When Drake was renovating Paragon in North Carolina, one major concern was warmth.  We were going to be taking the boat further north than she had ever been before, and she was ill prepared to keep us cozy in frigid temperatures.  Insulation was installed in every conceivable area, but there was also much talk about heaters.  We wanted multiple heat sources to give us a certain amount of flexibility, but also so that our backups had backups.  In the end Drake decided that a wood burning stove was an absolute must as one of the heaters.  He felt that it would not only be a good heat source, but loved the ambience it would add as well.

Now, a fire on a boat is usually one of the worst things imaginable...in fact, several people have done double takes when we inform them that we have a wood burning stove on a boat.  However, there is a long tradition of wood stoves on boats and with good reason.  Boats can be damp, bone chilling dens of condensation, but the naturally dry heat of a wood stove counteracts the dampness and replaces it with a wonderful warmth.  Add the fact that it's the perfect place to dry wet clothing and I was sold!

We were prepared for what we imagined would be a taxing installation, but had no idea that the most difficult part would be to find an appropriate stove.  With the explosion of the tiny house movement there were quite a few stoves built for small spaces, but many of them failed to take into account the special needs of a boat.  Not only did it need to fit into an extremely specific space, but it also has to be thoroughly secure in the worst storm conditions.  A fifty-five pound cast iron stove flying through the cabin was the stuff of nightmares and drove us to do as much research as possible.  

What followed was much like the story of Goldilocks, but instead of three bears it felt like there were forty.  Each stove we found had some little aspect that rendered it inoperable for our purposes.  If they fit the space, then the door was on the wrong side.  If the door was on the right side, then the legs were too delicate to adequately secure the weight.  If the legs were sturdy enough then stove wasn't recommended for marine environments.  It was enough to drive us mad until...

The little cod.  

We chose the green porcelain enamel

The little cod is a little marvel made by Navigator Stove Works, Inc. in Washington State.  As stated on their website it is "An old favorite along the Canadian coast.  Built for hard usage in boats and small cabins.  Styled to reflect the traditions of life at sea."  They have several stoves whose cute names belie their durable construction, including the Sardine and the Halibut, but the Little Cod checked all of our boxes.  It fit our space perfectly, the short legs could be firmly attached to a base and also kept the center of balance low, the door could be on either side, a porcelain enamel coating was offered to protect the stove from rust, and there was even an optional glass front so the fire could be seen.  

The legs are sturdy and can be secured

Stainless steel "sea rail"

Over a year after installing the wood stove, we find ourselves unexpectedly spending the winter in Iceland and this is the Little Cod's time to shine.  She keeps us warm on these increasingly cold nights and, as an unexpected bonus, helps us to meet people.  

Drake and I have taken to spending time at a local cafe, Café Retro, that is a stone's throw from Paragon.  The couple who own it are extremely nice, former boat owners themselves, and happen to make some of the best soup I have ever tasted.  Ever.

Carrot Curry Soup with homemade bread

In the course of our conversations, heating came up and we mentioned that we had a wood burning stove.  Several days later, while sitting in a corner table at the cafe, a man came up to us and asked if we needed some wood for our stove.  Grinning at our looks of surprise, he told us that he is a carpenter with a wood shop within walking distance of Paragon.  The owners of Café Retro had told him that we were in need of wood and he mentioned that he had a dumpster full of untreated scraps that he would be happy to let us take.  

The next day we gathered our large duffels and headed down to the shop  The carpenter was not there, but his coworker let us in and could not have been nicer.  We went into the back room, under the watchful eyes of the office dogs, and found more wood than we could possibly carry.  We chatted with the gentleman as he helped us fill our bags and marveled at our good fortune.

Add caption

The wood, mostly cut up, and waiting to be brought down below

Now, with the wood locker full to the brim, Paragon has become our toasty warm oasis in the dark Icelandic winter night…

There be gods here

Listening to "Walking On A Dream" by Empire Of The Sun

The voyage has stopped...at least for the moment.  Drake and I find ourselves in Reykjavík, Iceland where we will *possibly* be staying for the winter.  The first two weeks here were tumultuous to say the least.  We had planned for Iceland to be a pit stop on our way to Ireland and, therefore, were poised to take off as soon as the first weather window presented itself.  The first couple of days everyone was simply recovering from the beating we received on the journey over from Greenland.  Fierce winds and big seas plagued us, and making landfall had never been so sweet. 

Stormy days

However, as the days passed with no good window in sight, we began to wonder if we had simply stayed north a bit too long.  When does a risk become too risky?  One afternoon we suddenly realized that we were talking about sailing off into the remnants of a hurricane...and stopped.  We unclenched our guts and admitted that leaving Iceland at this particular time of year meant sailing off into weather that posed an unacceptable risk to us.  How many people tried to keep to a schedule and ended up instead courting disaster?  So, despite our best intentions of reaching Ireland this year, we have decided to stay in Iceland.  

We have moved from Brokey yacht club where we first landed and are now staying in an extremely protected corner of the Reykjavík harbour just off of the maritime museum.  Besides being in a spot that is extremely sheltered we also have an auspicious neighbour, the Coast Guard Vessel Óðinn.  It was involved in all three of the Cod Wars with Britain, towed almost 200 ships to safety, and is credited with saving countless crews from sinking or grounded ships.  Every day we look out and see its magnificent hull to our port side.

Our neighbour Ódinn

We've also begun to explore our new neighbourhood.  Just down the street, to our initial delight (and my thighs horror), is an amazing homemade ice cream shop.  Within walking distance of Paragon.  And open late.  Every. single. night.  (this could be bad…)

The library with free, if slow, wifi is ten minutes away, as are numerous grocery stores.  A wonderful internet cafe, with fresh baked bread and FAST wifi, is five minutes away.  I've also discovered the coolest resale/antique store ever which may occupy many a rainy afternoon.

The library

Frida Frænka Antiques

There are more galleries than I could explore in a year, not to mention amazing street art and sculptures.  

Things are not completely settled here.  Drake and I will be heading over to Immigration on Monday to see if we are able to extend our initial entry visa and stay the winter.  We are hoping they will understand that we intended to leave, but were waylaid by the weather.  We have no intention of becoming one of those cautionary tales you read so often on the forums or various news channels.  Could we have left and made it to Ireland?  Perhaps yes, but the alternative was not a risk we were willing to take.  I'd rather live to tell the tale...

So now I sit in a cafe, pet the dog who has meandered over (this is one of the reasons I LOVE Europe!!!), and look forward to exploring my new home.  

Home for now and ready to explore!

p.s.  While we were traveling in Greenland I was having a lot of trouble gaining access to my blog.  I have a back log of posts that I will begin to upload, but I will most likely mix in more recent posts from Reykjavík as well!

Trick…or the best treat ever!

Listening to "The Commander Thinks Aloud" by The Long Winters

I was sitting at the airport the other day waiting for my flight to be called when I heard a final boarding call for Springfield.  Suddenly, I had the most incredible urge to grab a group of friends, dress up like the Simpsons, and show up at that gate.  I imagine they must get that a lot…

Yes, that is a cemetery behind the ghost.

Last night was Halloween and I suppose I have the Simpsons on the brain because I downloaded their Halloween special and watched "Treehouse of Horror" which is about as scary as I can tolerate.  Oh, that and Sleepy Hollow.  I mean, what is this time of year without a Tim Burton film, right?  Anyway, I am a total wimp when it comes to scary things in general.  Guess who was sooooo scared by 'House on Haunted Hill' (not even the original, but the remake) that she spent the entire time peeking through her fingers and desperately trying not to hear what was going on in various scenes.  I'll give you a hint.  It was NOT my friend's ten year old daughter who didn't realize there would be two shows that evening.  The "lame" movie (her words, not mine.  I favoured terrifying) and her mother's wimpy friend.  I blame this on an extremely active imagination coupled with a prolific story teller for a mother.  While other children were getting Sesame Street and Fat Albert, I was regaled with wild tales of Ali Baba, The Brother's Grimm, and the various haunted houses my mother was forced to live in as a child.  Punctuate this with frequent family picnics at the cemetery (a long story) and perhaps you can empathize.  

I spent the rest of the evening hanging out with friends in town while they gave out infinitely more treats than tricks and admired the various costumes.  Riding my bike home with a pocketful of candy for Drake I gave the little cemetery a piercing glance as I passed, everything appeared to be in order, and arrived at Paragon to find the best treat ever.  Drake informed me that after four long months we are *drum roll please* GOING BACK IN THE WATER!  

Yes, my friends, we are finally getting Paragon back into the water.  Now comes the interesting part.  We will be put in the travel lift tomorrow later in the afternoon, but instead of being lowered right into the water we are going to stay in the lift over the weekend.  Why, you might ask? 

These areas concealed by the wood will be painted this weekend.

Paragon has many jack stands supporting the hull on both sides, but on the bottom she is resting on wooden logs in two different places.  We were able to paint the hull and switch out jack stands to paint the areas that were covered by the old stands, but we haven't been able to scrape and paint those areas concealed by the wood.  This way, while hanging in the travel lift over the weekend, we will be able to scrape those areas and put three coats of bottom paint on those last sections of the keel.

So, when people ask what I plan to do this weekend, I can honestly say:

"Oh, ya know.  Just hangin'..."