Whales, sails, and puppy seas

Listening to "Time and Tide" by Madison Violet

Day 1

I thought I would feel better than this, but I'm still battling with sea sickness.  The conditions as we left Lunenburg were lovely, but the moment we got around the protection of the harbour the rolling seas began and then got worse.  Huge swells that seemed to swallow Paragon...far enough apart that they never crashed on deck but instead rolled us from side to side.  

Wishing I felt better

20˚ to port.  25˚ to starboard.  10˚ to port.  20˚ to starboard.  15˚ to port.  Up down up down.

And sloppy.  While going from side to side, the stern is moving back and forth.  It feels as though an entire sea of golden retriever puppies is coming at us.  Floppy, unsure, and coming from every direction the waves playfully loll and pounce.  There is no malice intended, but they still trip me up.   

I'm keeping watch, but my first dinner didn't quite stay in place.  Let's just say that it wasn't as delightful the second time around.

Things are not quite as dire as they have been though.  At least I'm able to get up and keep watch.  I'm eating lying down in my bunk (sitting at the dinette does not quite work), but when I get up to go to the head or grab some gear I am no longer hit with an instant and intense wave of nausea.  My first offshore trip I was sick for eleven days.  The second I was down for four.  The last one was two and this time I've been up and about almost immediately.  Perhaps there IS a light at the end of the tunnel. 

Day 2

It's interesting being out here with no contact.  My phone has been put on hold, there is no wifi, we do not own a satellite phone, and the VHF is really for hailing or emergencies.  I am occupied only with my thoughts and companions.  

Already a prolific dreamer, I find I lose myself in elaborate daydreams.  I remember books I have read, conversations I have had.  The wind is light, which means that we are running the engine, and the diesel fumes turn my stomach every time they are blown into the cockpit.  Don't think about it.  It's all in your head.  I snort because I know this is bullshit.  There are few things I despise more than throwing up and I cannot believe my mind would abandon my body with such blatant treachery.  Nonetheless I take deep breaths and try to think of anything but the rolling boat.  

Ever the playful optimists, a pod of dolphins surrounded the boat today and made me forget any cares I may have had.

Day 3

Whale!  There was a humpback (or perhaps fin) whale that breached the surface and then dove with its tail smacking the water.  Then, with its body underwater, the tail resurfaced and flipped up and down, smacking the waves while we watched in breathless excitement.  I am in awe.  It is ethereal, wonderous, breathtaking, and magical.  I feel that if I ever reach a point where a seal or dolphin or whale ceases to bring a sense of wonder and elation to me then I am as good as dead.  Gazing at this giant I am suddenly and fiercely protective...and thankful.  Thankful that it has shared itself with us, if only for a moment.

Photo courtesy of Eanna Ryan

The funny thing is I had just finished my watch and Eanna was settling into the cockpit.  My head had just touched the pillow when he shouted "WHALE!  THERE'S A WHALE!".  Drake and I both jumped out of the settee and were on deck so quickly that Eanna joked "In the future, if there is ever a fire aboard Paragon, I won't shout fire.  I'll just scream that there's a whale and you guys will come running."  

Day 4

There is a steady wind from the southwest that is propelling us forward at a reasonably comfortable pace and motion, but I feel a bit ragged.  I should be feeling better, but after a couple of days of vomiting my stomach feels like it's been roughed up with a cheese grater.  Even though this time has been better than any other, getting sick so often takes a toll.  When I'm moving around the boat on my way to or from a watch I still don't have that overwhelming sense of nausea and vertigo, but I've been sick enough times to build up a general sense of malaise.  

I can't shake this metallically taste in the back of my mouth...if only I could start fresh from THIS point I think I would be much better.  I've been popping antacid tablets with the hope that they will settle the fire in my belly.  To pass the time I begin to make up ads for the antacid companies in my head.

•You thought you were still young enough to pile jalapeños on your food.  You were wrong.  TUMS!

•Settle the fire in your belly.  TUMS!

•Today Ur Mucho Sick.  TUMS!

Okay, that's as far as I got.  You can clearly see that I have not, in fact, missed my calling for the advertising business...

Day 5

Last night we were hit by rough seas for a few hours.  It didn't last long, perhaps four or five hours, but it was violent enough to toss Paragon around and make sleeping almost impossible.  Every thing was strapped securely down, but the shelf holding the tea, coffee, and sugar broke and the containers flew across the cabin and sent their contents crashing down.  

At one point a huge wave crashed into the port side of Paragon with a resounding SMACK and flooded into the cockpit.  The zippers on the enclosure were partially open which ended up being a good thing. The force of the wave was so powerful that Drake thought it might have ripped that panel off if it had been entirely closed.  

My watch was to start at 2 a.m., right in the middle of the craziness, but I felt so sick that Drake took over and completed the watch for me.  I lay wedged in my berth, eyes squeezed tightly shut, and tried to think of anything but my heaving stomach.  

Morning arrives as though nothing has happened and there is a new excitement in the air.  We are close enough to St. John's that we are checking our milage to make sure that we won't arrive at the entrance to the harbour in the dark.  It is possibly the most beautiful day yet with calm seas and a mixture of sun and fog.  There has been quite a bit of fog on this leg of the trip which is a first for me.  At times it has been so thick that we can't see more than a boat length away and it almost feels as though we are not moving forward.  

Radar is our friend at this point.  I watch the radar and AIS and marvel that a massive tanker is slipping past just a couple of miles away, yet there is no indication other than the blip on the screen.  How do you sail these waters without radar?  We couldn't possibly avoid such a fast moving ship with this kind of visibility, and I cross my fingers that we will never have to try.  

Day 6

We're here because we're here because we're here!!!  Yesterday was the first day I didn't sleep most of the time I was off of watch so I'm a bit tired, but land is near and we're almost there!  Eanna was taking photographs and didn't want to stop, so he let me sleep an extra half an hour which was marvelous.  I rolled out of bed at 4:30 a.m. to discover we only had a little over an hour to sail before making the final turn towards the harbour in St. John's.  

It's been a lovely trip, but I think we are all ready to do some exploring on land.  This is also the first port of call that is completely new for Drake.  From here on out it is new territory for everyone!

Water spouts from the whales

We woke Drake up and everyone sat in the cockpit eagerly looking at the land that rose off of our port side.  Just in case we weren't excited enough, three whales starting surfacing near the boat...spouting water in huge puffs before diving back down.  Behind them another pod of dolphins popped up and I had to pinch myself to see if I was still dreaming.  There was a part of me that almost wanted to sail Paragon in a lazy circle all day to watch the whales and dolphins playing in the water.  Almost.  But not quite.  

Our first glimpse of St. John's

The lighthouse at the entrance to the harbour

We called the harbourmaster on the VHF, got information on where to dock, and slowly motored into the harbour and into our next adventure…

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Sorbet houses on a hill

Listening to "The Next Time Around" by Little Joy

It has been three months to the day since we undid the dock lines and pushed off from North Carolina.  Today I sit in Lunenburg, Nova Scotia finishing up some laundry and mourning our impending departure.  Tomorrow we leave for St. Johns, Newfoundland where we will do one last provision before waiting for a window to sail the longest leg of the trip (over 1,100 nautical miles) to Nuuk, Greenland.  

The view of Lunenburg from Paragon

It's an exciting prospect, yet I wish, WISH, that we had more time to spend in this lovely town.  The first day we sailed into this harbour it was grey skies with a steady drizzle falling, but all was sunny and colourful on land.  The houses of Lunenburg are painted like so many flavours of sorbet...LAVENDER! RED! BLUE! ORANGE!  On a grey day it brightens your mood, but on a sunny day it is spectacular beyond measure.  Added to this eye candy is a luminous green hill that rises behind Paragon which my eyes gobble up after the flat blue and grey monotones that make up a crossing.  

The view of Paragon from Lunenburg

The first day, though exhausted after four long days, we explored the local area with the help of a woman visiting from Toronto.  She showed us where the local liquor store was located, and also directed us to a pub Drake wanted to visit for dinner.  When he was last here he visited The Knot Pub with his friend Kevin and wanted to share this slightly off the beaten path establishment with us.  Sitting down to a cider and a plate of fish and chips I couldn't help but release a sigh and think "It's good to be home".  

Now, I am not from Nova Scotia, but I did spend a great deal of time in Montreal as a child and one of the things that I miss is whilte vinegar with french fries.  Ask for vinegar in The States and you'll most likely receive a puzzled look, a shake of the head, or perhaps a slightly dusty bottle of malt vinegar that hasn't seen the light of day, well, ever.  As soon as the waitress set down my plate she asked if I wanted vinegar with my fries which made me want to hug her.  I know.  I'm a cheeseball, but it's the little things that I miss about Canada.  Vinegar with fries, smarties, milk in a bag (you read that correctly) as well as my many friends and family.  So again...it's good to be home. 

The next day the boys decided they wanted to fly the new quad-copter (from this point on referred to as Harry) while I wanted to explore the town and perhaps take some photographs.  They went left while I went right and, I have to say, I think I got the better end of the stick.  Walking down Montague St. I stumbled upon the Ironworks Distillery located on the corner of Montague St. and Kempt St.  

The Ironworks Distillery

What a delight!  It's in a picturesque building that used to house a marine blacksmith's shop, but now produces spirits ranging from rum to flavoured vodka to fruit liquors.  When I walked in I was greeted by a lovely woman (and her dog, Phoebe!) who gave me a bit of the history of the place and guided me through a tasting.  I ended up with a bottle of the Rhubarb Esprit Liquor with which I'll make a celebratory cocktail when we reach Greenland.  Or perhaps Iceland.  Or Ireland.  Maybe all three...?

After leaving the distillery I wandered up the next street to get a proper look at some of the colourful houses and the gardens surrounding them.  Many have nameplates attached giving a brief glance into their age and original owners and, now that the weather is a bit warmer, the flowers everywhere are bursting into bloom.  I also felt such a sense of the areas history of shipbuilding and it's bond with the sea.  Every nook seemed to have something to do with the ocean from the anchor door knockers to a dory I found leaning on its side in an alley to a local sailmaker.  The whole area has such a salty feel that's intoxicating.

The afternoon was winding down and I headed back into town to meet up with Drake and Eanna at the restaurant near the museum.  Just in time for happy hour (hey, I'm happy!) I ordered a rum cocktail with local blueberry juice and, to my delight, some fresh mussels which are my absolute favourite!  Apparently they were someone else's favourite as well because not long after the mussels hit the table this little beggar appeared.  He came from one of the boats on the dock, but I think the smell of fresh seafood  was too much for him to ignore.  

The fresh mussels were to die for!

"You will bend to my will", he seemed to say.  Unfortunately he left disappointed.

Leaning back, I couldn't help but think I had found my mantra for this trip.  

"I wish I could stay longer…"

A sunset view of Lunenburg from the dinghy dock

Attack of the forty foot…Paris Hilton?

Listening to "Silence Is Golden" by Forro In The Dark

I sit at the dinette table listening to music, lulled by the rocky motion of Paragon and the sounds of Drake making pasta with clam sauce.  It’s cold cold cold outside and, what with the steamy boiling water and the heat from the hydronic heater, the windows have a foggy condensation that obscures the outside.  I take my hand, wipe a swath clear, peak out and see...a forty foot Paris Hilton running her hands through her hair and staring back at me.  

Well kids, we’re not in Oriental anymore.  

The last month was absolute madness.  I felt as though Drake and I were in a little red wagon  careening down the side of a mountain, desperately holding on and unsure of whether we would land triumphantly or crash and burn in a mini fireball.  We had a firm date (heh!) set for departure, crew scheduled, and notice given at the marina all the while looking at a to do list that never seemed to end but, in fact, seemed to expand by the hour.  Systems that had previously worked meticulously (for years!) suddenly gave up the ghost when sensing our demanding schedule and left us scrambling to diagnose and fix eleventh hour problems. 

Finally we reached a point where the things left on the list no longer prevented us from leaving and...

We left.

We left Oriental, North Carolina after several long years of work, sweat, despair, tears, setbacks, breakthroughs, and finally triumph.  

Originally our plan was to leave on the 15th of March which fell on a Friday, but in keeping with superstition we delayed a day and decided instead to leave the next day.  We used that Friday evening to have a gathering to get a chance to say goodbye to some of the amazing people we had met during our stay in Oriental.  Some who came we had known for years - one couple we had met just days earlier - but all had affected our lives in some way.  They came bearing gifts of wine, knowledge, charts, boat cards, well wishes, and good conversation...I have to say that both Drake and I were touched and so pleased to have been a part of this wonderful community.  

Saturday morning dawned clear and chilly, and we pushed off of the dock at Sailcraft Marina for the last time with Adam, the first crew of the trip.  We had met Adam earlier in the year and had been exchanging emails, and the occasional chat over coffee, since our first meeting.  When Drake and I discussed wanting to have crew Adam was one of the first contenders.  With a background in both racing for fun and recreational sailing, he impressed us with his competence, confidence, and personality-wise he seemed as though he would be a good fit.  

A last sunrise over Whittaker Creek

Motoring out of Whittaker Creek we passed the sleepy marinas and began the three day journey up the Intracoastal Waterway to Norfolk, Virginia.  Our first big destination was New York City and the original plan was to head up to Ocracoke, wait for a weather window, jump out of Oregon Inlet, then head offshore straight to New York.  In a perfect world it would take us about three and a half days to get there, but in the event of inclement weather we had several places (Cape May or Atlantic City) where we could tuck in to wait out the storms.  Unfortunately, Hurricane Sandy had created such shoaling in the inlet that it was now impassable with the Coast Guard reporting a depth of two feet or less.  

Another option was to motor to Beaufort, NC, await a weather window, and then go around Cape Hatteras before heading North.   Thankfully, due to some good advice and common sense on our part, we decided that route was just not worth the risk.  For those not familiar with this particular area, Cape Hatteras is known as the graveyard of the Atlantic and with good reason.  It is the meeting place for the Mid-Atlantic Bight and the South Atlantic Bight and also where the South flowing Labrador Current and North flowing Gulf Stream collide producing rough seas and dense fog.  Add in the Diamond Shoals, which extend for up 14 miles or more offshore, and the frequency of Nor’easters which scream down the coast with alarming frequency at this time of year and you have a recipe for disaster.  Combining the opposing currents, storms, and potential for rough seas seemed foolish when we still needed to complete shakedown sails on some of Paragon’s systems.  Finding out that a key element didn’t work while motoring/sailing along the ICW could be inconvenient...finding it out off of Cape Hatteras could be deadly.  

So Intracoastal Waterway it was. The first day was a bit of a push since we had to motor almost 65 miles to reach our first anchorage.  Several people had told us that we MUST stop at Coin Jock Marina, but in order to fit that into our time line we had to make some serious miles on the first day.  This was not such a difficult task with three people aboard.  Anyone who has traveled the ICW on their own knows that even simple things like grabbing lunch or going to the bathroom can be difficult...pulling over is not really an option, so things must be coordinated carefully.  Splitting time at the helm between Drake, Adam, and I meant that everyone had a chance to rest, eat, nap, and marvel at the root beer coloured water that was a result of tannins leaching from the surrounding trees.  Drake even had a chance to climb the mast to get a bird’s eye view of our journey.

Drake hanging out on the spreaders

As dusk neared we pulled into a lovely and deserted anchorage.  On the way in we passed two free standing trees on the edge of the little bay and I was delighted to discover that what I assumed were leaves actually turned out to be birds perched on every branch.  Combined with a spectacular sunset it made the first anchorage of our journey magical.

The next day was easier and we reached our desired destination in Coin Jock just as the Marina was closing its doors.  The man working that evening, JD, was even kind enough to wait an extra moment or two to catch our lines as we pulled up to the dock.  Many a cruiser had insisted that we must (MUST!) stop here because, despite its tiny size and remote location, the restaurant had wonderful prime rib.  I have to disagree with them.  It wasn’t wonderful...it was some of the best prime rib I have ever had.  Anywhere.  Should you happen to find yourself within a day or two of this little hamlet I strenuously recommend a detour to enjoy the hospitality and fabulous food.  (Did I mention the complimentary homemade chips they set on the table?  To. Die. For.)

The lovely Coin Jock Marina and Restaurant
(photo courtesy of Adam H.)

Leaving early the next morning we headed on to Norfolk for what we thought would be an easy day.  It was misty and a bit colder with rain showers slowly soaking us, but our spirits were high and the heater down below did a wonderful job of defrosting our wind-chilled cheeks.

The last twenty miles of the ICW just south of Norfolk has quite a few bridges (and one lock) that have to be traversed, but our timing was almost perfect and we arrived at the N&S RR Bascule Bridge #7 (usually open) and the Gilmerton Lift Bridge before its rush hour restrictions.  Throughout the day the Gilmerton Highway Bascule Bridge opens at specific times, but for three hours both in the morning (6:30 - 9:30) and evening (3:30 - 6:30) they are closed for commuting traffic which means if you arrive at 3:45 PM you have an almost three hour wait.    

Pulling within sight of the bridges just past 3 PM, we had already mentally dropped the hook in the anchorage that lay a mere five miles beyond in Portsmouth just across from Norfolk.  Adam had told us about his many problems and delays while dealing with the Gilmerton Bridge, especially with all the recent construction, but that had ended and we felt confident.  

The lift bridge was not the problem this day...it was the railroad bridge.  Noticing it was closed as we approached, we hoped that whatever train was about to cross would hurry up and pass so we could make it through the next bridge before the 3:30 deadline.  When no train approached, and with our window swiftly closing, we talked to the tender at the Gilmerton Bridge who told us the #7 was temporarily out of order but that they were doing all they could to find someone to fix it and he wasn’t really sure what was going on since it wasn’t really his bridge and he really did wish us the best and a very good day to you.  Or something like that.  It was all very nice while being completely noncommittal.  

Thus began our wait.  Three turned into four, then five...and as the six o’clock hour approached with no bridge opening in site we started to seriously look at anchorages in the area.  Sundown was just over an hour away and we didn’t want to be caught circling in the dark.  The one other boat that had been waiting, a giant tug, finally gave up and turned around and we finally conceded that we should do the same.  

Circling as we wait for repairs to be finished
(photo courtesy of Adam H.)

As Drake turned Paragon around our VHF suddenly sprang to life.  

“#7 is opening, #7 is opening!”, the bridge tender shouted, and I am certain he could hear our whoops of excitement all the way from his control room.

Because of the long delays the Gilmerton Bridge tender opened his lift bridge, even though the rush hour restriction was not over, which allowed us to motor through and drop the hook in Portsmouth just as the sun was setting.  

The rosy glow of our first city anchorage

Drake, Adam, and I spent the next day wandering around Norfolk and picking up some extra provisions.  The whole area was remarkably easy to get around using a mixture of their light rail, water taxi, and cabs.  It also felt wonderful to get a chance to walk and explore a new area after being on the boat for several days.

Riding back on the water taxi

Rowing out to Paragon in the anchorage after a lovely day

The next morning, a Wednesday, dawned cool and breezy as we decided on the next move.  We had planned on leaving, but the weather looked a little unpredictable and we wavered; go today or possibly be delayed for almost a week.  

This is the point where we allowed something that should not have come into play affect our decision. 

 A schedule.  

Schedules have no business influencing voyage planning while sailing.  Sure, in the most abstract form they can be considered, but as a friend of mine said, “When I’m sailing you can choose the place or the time, but you can’t choose both.”

Adam had a plane out of JFK in New York on Sunday, so with that in mind we pushed off late Wednesday morning and headed out to sea.  Drake felt that we had a good chance of making some miles before tucking in to Cape May to await better conditions.  The rest of the afternoon went fine as we motored out of Norfolk and then, with sails up, we headed north into the night.  Things rather went downhill from there.

Motoring out of Norfolk
(photo courtesy of Adam H.)

On Thursday winds clocked to the North and increased until they were sustained at 30 knots with gusts up to 38.  Thirty-five miles offshore and unable to make much progress, Drake realized we would never be able to reach Cape May before sundown and decided to hove to.  We remained hove to off and on for the next 36 hours...making progress when we could in the 10-12 foot seas.  

During this time Adam was amazing.  My old nemesis, seasickness, had returned with a vengeance and I was violently ill for several days and unable to do much except wish for a swift and painless death.  He stepped up and attacked every new challenge with a steadfast hand and quiet confidence that was impressive.  In the midst of our sea trial, and with several things not quite working as they should, he kept a sense of humor about things that were beyond our control.  

As winds subsided and, remarkably my seasickness began to dissipate, we realized that we would be able to sail into Atlantic City before sunset.  A new course was set and we motored into the channel with plenty of time to spare.

Anchored in Atlantic City, NJ

Now I sit here at the dinette and, as the boat turns at anchor, occasionally see a giant Paris Hilton splashed on the side of the illuminated high rise casino.  I look around, shake my head, and think, "We're not in Oriental anymore…"

  

Pliobond sticks to your ribs

Listening to "Precious" by The Pretenders

The oven on Paragon has not worked since I arrived almost two years ago.  Something to do with a spring and a thing and a boyfriend who never, ever bakes.  Ever.  And this was cool.  I sautéed, simmered, and braised my way through through my cookbook much to my, and Drake's, delight.  Curried chicken, moyakodon, and super spicy beans and rice were some of our staples.  Then one day I had a craving for lasagna and suddenly nothing else would do.  Not only did I want lasagna, but I wanted MY lasagna.  Layers of gooey melted cheese combined with obscene amounts of garlic, spinach, mushrooms, chorizo and ground beef layered with spices and noodles and….oh my.  

There were other problems with the stove/oven.  I loved how heavy duty and over built it was, but all of the knobs had come off leaving us to turn on the propane using one jury rigged knob…except for the one burner that required channel locks and a stern grip (or glare) to get started.  The biggest concern, however, was the broken gimbal on one side.  The metal rod and attached hardware had bent at some point and presented a real hazard.  Cooking at sea is dangerous enough without the threat of the stove suddenly detaching and flying forward.  

If we had the motivation and an excess of extra time there is a chance that we could have taken the stove apart, ordered new parts, cleaned up some of the rust, fixed the gimbal, and generally restored her to her former glory.  If the parts were available.  If all went as planned.  If we weren't pushing off for New York in less than three weeks.  A lot of ifs...

So, with visions of cheesy baked food in our future, we ordered a new Force 10 three gimbaled range with a 19 L oven.  It has come in so, after we finish up some things we have going today, it's out with the old and in with the new.

Other projects are going…okay.  I cut the insulation for the aft clothes locker, but I didn't want to use the spray adhesive that Drake has been using.  Perhaps I should take a step back.  Are there any Douglas Adams fans out there?  If so (or even if not) there is a spaceship in one of his books, The Restaurant at the End of the Universe, that has some amazing qualities including the fact that it creates absolutely no friction.  Like any.  If you try to put your hand on this ship it just slides right off…nothing sticks.  

I believe this ship was coated with our insulation.  

Nothing (NOTHING!) seems to adhere to this stuff.  I thought I would use duct tape to keep it in place while I trimmed the sides, but the duct tape fell away like so many autumn leaves.  Regular glue just beads off and the spray glue Drake was using seems to have a limited shelf life since strips of insulation are drooping and peeling apart.  

Insulation that is falling down in the condiment locker

The spray adhesive does not seem to be working

I went to the hardware store yesterday, got a couple of different bonding agents, and I think I found one that will work.  It's called Pliobond (sticks to rubber, leather, steel, fiberglass, and your soul!) and smells sufficiently like cancer in a bottle to make me think it will work.  It also mentions that it is resistant to salt, gasoline, and some acids which is a relief.  I can't recall how many times I have left an open bottle of acid in the clothes locker only to have it tip over to disastrous results.   (I am joking.  I would never leave an open bottle of acid in the locker.  I always close the acid before I put it in with my clothes.)  The test piece seemed to hold so *fingers crossed* I'm going to give it a try and attack the aft locker.  It would be lovely to finally get everything off of the bed and be able to sleep in the aft cabin again.  We'll see how it goes…

I'm hoping this will work

Need some rain? Wash the boat!

Listening to WBUR Boston's NPR News Station

Nothing ever works on a sailboat.  NOTHING!  Okay, this is an exaggeration, but that is how it feels sometimes.  You go to flush the head, the head that you just soaked with vinegar and thoroughly cleaned, and nothing happens.  You go to check the radar, the very radar that was working mere moments ago, and *poof* it's suddenly gone.  You sit at the dinette under the dorade vent tapping away on your computer when suddenly a drop of water plops down.  Never mind that the vent was just resealed.  Never mind that after it was resealed you sat with a hose and sprayed it with everything that little spigot could handle.  No.  This is a boat and everything on it has a shelf life and, despite your expectations, some expire faster than others.  

We have had a trying day.  Days.  Time is passing faster than ever, and every thing that does not get done or suddenly stops working is a mini disaster.  Now, when a replacement part needs to be ordered, we are actually looking at a calendar to make sure that it will arrive before we leave.  Notice has been given, a departure date has been set, several friends have agreed to crew, and we are feeling the heat.  

I'm certain this is my inexperience talking, but there is a part of me that feels it will all be okay.  I almost feel that we could take off tomorrow and, with what we have, be more than okay to start our travels.  Sure, there are things that need tending, but isn't that what cruisers do… travel the world and go to beautiful places to work on their boats?  Of course, unlike Drake, I am not in charge of the safety and well being of everyone on board and tomorrow comes faster and faster.  

It's not all despair and ringing hands.  Today Drake made wonderful progress cleaning off the deck and cockpit and I've learned something.  Much like a car, washing the boat seems to be a sure fire way to bring about some serious rain.  The last three times I have washed the deck rain followed within several hours, and as I sit here the rain is pattering away on those lovely clean decks.  *shrug*  Perhaps we'll be like the rain god mafia and people will pay us to stay away from their outdoor events.  Pay up or it's grey skies for everyone!

I have also been working on several things.  My avoidance of laundry has left me riffling through the back confines of the clothes locker where I discovered we had a serious moisture and mold problem.  (Do I sound like a broken record?  mold mold mold!)  This is interesting since the very next locker is fine, but this one is quite obviously NOT fine after I discovered one of my favourite jackets spotted with mold.  Blah!  After removing the shelves I scrubbed the whole area with a bleach mixture and will lay down a few more layers of insulation as soon as the surface is dry...hopefully that will take care of the problem.  

Before scrubbing

After scrubbing

Since everything that was in the locker is currently piled high on our bed in the aft cabin, Drake and I are bunking in the salon.  This has its perks.  Tonight we will lay on the settee, watch an action film that has nothing to do with sailing (I'm thinking The Bourne Identity), and recharge our batteries.  All I can think is...tomorrow will be a better day.

P.S.  I promise not to talk about mold for a while, maybe, and I've also included this sunset to remind me of the beauty that I am surrounded by every day.  

Sunset on Whittaker Creek

The Devil and Mr. Clean

Listening to "This Is Not A Love Song" by Nouvelle Vague

As the days fly by and our departure date looms in the foreground, Drake and I are madly dashing around Paragon in an attempt to finish all last minute projects and tie up loose ends.  In between whipping lines, downloading and figuring out weather fax, and repairing various things (the aft head door, the zipper on the strataglass) I have also spent a portion of every day cleaning and organizing.  

The organizing part can be quite satisfying.  Do we really need sixty 2-4 foot pieces of leftover rope?  What about the miles and miles of spare wire? (Drake is under the impression that one day he will meet someone in a far off place who needs to completely rewire their boat and TADAA!  Like a misguided superhero he will come to the rescue.)  Broken brushes, lids to tupperware bottoms that are long gone, random plumbing fittings, and a host of unnecessary items linger uselessly about.  Damaged items are thrown in the bin, superfluous extras are given away, and the remaining objects have been neatly stored.

The cleaning part is not as fun.  Fenders that have been neglected for far too long have accumulated a layer of grime and gunk that seems impenetrable.  Slightly dank pools of condensation that emit a stale smell seem to pop up overnight and soak everything in their path.  Best of all though is the sailor’s constant companion...mold.   

Mold would like nothing more than to take over this boat and cover every slightly damp surface with its fuzzy and blackened finger print, so with a bleach mixture and scrubie in hand I attack.  In some cases, a quick swipe and a little elbow grease is all that is needed to put the sparkle back.  Other times, however, there isn’t enough elbow grease in the world to clean the dirty object, but this is where I bring out my secret weapon...the Mr. Clean Magic Eraser.  

I do not know what sort of Faustian contract was signed in order to make this magical little pad.  I am certain that the key ingredients include crushed fairy wings and the tip of a unicorn horn mixed with the last remaining dodo feather, for how else could this eraser literally wipe clean the grimiest of grime with a mere swipe.  

I spent over an hour trying to clean a fender with the most abrasive pad available. Soaking it with soap, mineral spirits, acetone and, finally, the tears of my frustration, I had all but given up.  As a last resort I grabbed the magic eraser and sat back in amazement as it sprinkled it’s faery dust and left a sparkling clean fender in its wake.

Timidly at first, and then with a resounding WHOOP! I proceeded to clean stains that had left me stumped and under the impression that we would be simply be surrounded by discoloured patches around the boat.

Rust stain on the cabin top?  Gone!  Grease on the faux leather covering?  Finis!  A wine stain on the galley laminate that resembled the state of Wisconsin?   No more!  (sorry Wisconsin) 

Now for those of you who are scrambling over loved ones in an attempt to quickly reach the keyboard to tell me exactly why I should NEVER use the magic eraser on the boat, I beg of you to leave me in the dark.  This innocuous little pad has made my life easier in ways I cannot fully describe.  It has cut my cleaning time and, more importantly, frustration in half.  Therefore, to those delightful people at Procter & Gamble who have waged their souls so that I may better clean...I thank you.  

Side by side comparison.  The fender on the right is the third one I cleaned using nothing but the magic eraser.

Rope? Nope, but line is divine...

Listening to "Sexual Revolution" by Macy Gray

One of the first times I came aboard Paragon I was looking around and asked the name of the rope that was pulling up the big sail.  

If you can imagine at this point that big SSSSCCCCRRREEEEEEEECCCHHHH that happens in the movies where the music abrubptly comes to a halt as everyone turns to look at the goof ball who just put their foot in their mouth.  Thus began the first of many lessons about sailing and boats in general.  

Rope practically does not exist on a boat.  In the most general sense of the word there are lines.  Lines criss cross the boat in every direction, and as they begin to do certain jobs their names get more specific.  There are halyards, dock lines, sheets, and fender lines to name a few, and they all need attention in some way.  They need to be cared for, coiled and stowed, cleaned, whipped, and occasionally spliced.  

Drake was telling me a story about a particular gentleman who, when questioning potential crew, would ask if they could whip a line.  If the answer was no then he felt they didn't have the basic knowledge he required to help on the passage.  At this point, and after a bit of practice, I can resoundingly say I possess this skill.

For those not in the know, lines can become frayed at the end which can lead to some serious unravelling.  This can render the line unusable, but is easily prevented by tightly wrapping (or whipping) twine around the bitter end.  I'm certain there are many different ways to wrap that twine, perhaps with a lovely design or pattern, but I was taught a simple and effective way that works and takes little time.  

The twine is so tightly wound around the end of the line that it feels solid and will keep the lines from unraveling with even the heaviest usage.  In preparation for our departure in about a month (Gah!  About a month!!!) I spent the day checking all lines and whipping those that had none.  *Note:  These pictures are not meant to be instructional.  I'm just showing what I did.*

Waxing the twine to help it lay better

Preparing to start wrapping

Initially I go over, under, over to create an extra little 'lock' on the starting edge

Halfway wrapped

Now I loop the other end over and begin to wrap with the other side

Pulling the ends in the center tightens the whole wrap

Trim the loose ends and tie a square knot

Seal the ends with a lighter

Now, instead of looking like this…

How several of our lines looked prior to being whipped

...our lines look like this and are ready to go.

The beautiful finished product