L A T I T U D E S A N D A T T I T U D E S S E A F A R I N G I N T E R N A T I O N A L

s u r v i v i n g aFORCE 10 STORM

d e s i g n :ADASTRA SUPER YACHT

c o m m u n i c a t i n gWHILE CRUISING

MARCH 2012 ISSUE 139

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S E A F A R I N G I N T E R N A T I O N A L

We were sitting behind Haleakala, which is the highest peak on Maui in Hawaii, sitting out a storm that had hit a few days earlier. It was just Jody and I on the Lost Soul. Now before I go on, I gotta tell ya I lack patience. Patience is a virtue, and I guess it’s the one I lack the most. In my past this has caused me much pain and suffering Jody and I had been cruising the islands for a couple months, and were feeling like locals. As any local

will tell you, when the winds are blowing on the island, in the channels it blows harder, usually about 10-15 knots or so. Our plan was to sail over to the Big Island of Hawaii to see some friends. To do this we had to cross the Alenuihaha Channel. It is rumored that this means “to crumble and toss out” in Hawai-ian. We were never able to verify that, but truly believe it.

So anyway, here we sat waiting for the storm to pass. As any cruiser knows, when you are waiting for a storm to pass, time goes by at the speed of Congress. And you also know that you spend a lot of time listening to the radio and playing with your weatherfax. So the news was, the winds were still blowing at 55 and would be through the following day, but then would decrease to about 35-40, but would be clocking around to where it would be on our nose if we waited two days. As all cruisers know, there is

either too much wind or not enough, but it is always on the nose!Here is where I made my first mistake. I decided it made more sense to run downwind with 50-55 knots of wind behind me and

following seas, than to wait two days and have 35-40 knots on the nose and crossed seas.To make a long story short, we took off just before dawn; a triple-reefed mainsail and just a handkerchief of a headsail, motoring

out of the lee of the 12,000’ mountain and into the channel. It wasn’t too bad! In fact, I was enjoying the hell out of it. The autopilot couldn’t handle steering as we’d surf down the following seas at 11-13 knots, so I had to steer, but it was fun.

About eight miles out the head and mainsail luffed. I looked behind me to see what could have blocked the wind and saw a rogue wave. We were in the “valley” and the crest of the wave, which was clear and about to break, was about 75-80 feet above us. (It was about a 50’ wave).

Lost Soul floated up the face of the wave until the wind hit the sails, and then she started to heel to about 45°. So far, so good. And then the wave broke. We slightly inverted (about 95°) for a few seconds, and then the keel did what it was supposed to do and righted us.

As the boat popped up I let go of my death-grip on the wheel and looked forward. The sun was glinting off of what could only be described as Niagara Falls as it poured off the mainsail. I looked down at Jody to tell her how kewl it looked, and saw her eyes as big as saucers and white knuckles holding the cockpit cushions.

It was on this day I came up with the saying, “Attitude is the difference between ordeal and adventure.” It was also the day Jody came up with her version whichis, “Sometimes it is just an ordeal!”

Yours truly,

March 2012 3

FEATURES

a d a s t r a s u p e r y a c h tOne of the world’s most amazing

super yachts.

s u r v i v i n g a f o r c e 1 0 s t o r mNo one wants to experience one, but

sometimes, it happens.

r e a l w o r l d c o m m u n i c a t i o n sA down-to-earth look at what it really

takes to stay connected.

c r u i s i n g t h e b i g h t s o f a n d r o sIt’s still possible to forge into the

unknown and well off the beaten path.

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Surviving a Force 10 Storm, p. 80.

pirates.drug-running

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CONTENTS

4 March 2012

On board a Petima Motorsailer,near Andros Islands

PHOTOGRAPHY: HEIDI BENSON, JIM MATHER, LISA O’BRIAN

SECTIONS

f l o t s a m & j e t s a m News and stories from cruisers around the world.

f r o m t h e w o r l dLetters from cruisers the world over.

t h e a d m i r a l ’ s a n g l e Cruising from the female perspective

c a l l o f t h e s e aYoo hoo! Can you hear it?

y o u t h i n k t h a t w a s d u m b . . .Get a laugh at someone else’s expense.

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CONTENTS

March 2012 5

FLOTSAM & JETSAMc r u i s i n g n e w s f r o m c r u i s e r s a r o u n d t h e w o r l d

ANCHORS AWAY By Jan S. Irons

It’s the stupid mistakes that cause experienced cruisers to lose boats! With just shy of 10,000 miles under our keel, we like to think we should have learned enough to avoid most stupid mistakes. Luckily for us, we still have a boat despite being lulled into an idyllic

cruising complacency beginning our routine overnight passage from Key West to Charlotte Harbor, Florida.

As the sun peaked over the horizon, a lone frigate bird soared over the sea buoy. The incredible azure blues of the sky met the aqua clear sparkling sea on the horizon.

The sun was warm on my shoulders; life was good. For this passage, and on most passages, we leave our

anchor unsecured until we pass the sea buoy just in case. Just the prior week, we had to drop it when our 26-year-old throttle linkage decided to decouple, leaving us drifting past the sea buoy into Indian Key Channel in the 10,000 Islands. We fixed the throttle, but were still cautious as we departed Key West’s northwest channel.

The weather forecast, while not perfect, was acceptable: no thunderstorms, winds from 8 to 11 knots from a variety of directions, but not northwest, our sailing destination. Upon passing the sea buoy the jib unfurled, joining the mainsail. The seas were a bit lumpy and confused, left over from the cold front that passed through 36 hours earlier.

Almost immediately, Mr. Murphy intervened to make liars of the National Weather Service. Light winds north-northwest, 30 degrees from the direction we needed to sail, caused us to crank up the iron genny to keep the boat as close to the wind as possible.

We spent a relaxing afternoon watching the sparkling seas go by. Dolphins frolicked in our bow wake, we chuckled at the flying fish and wished we had our trolling lines out when we sailed through several fish feeding frenzies – the water churned up, tiny splashes everywhere indicating something big was chasing them. Last time we’d sailed through similar feeding frenzies we caught a black fin tuna!

As evening approached, we debated. With 90 miles to go, winds were still light from the north-northwest and we were still motor-sailing. Full sail was up and we have a rule of always putting in a reef before sunset just in case something happens overnight. Despite motor-sailing,

everything was so perfect we hated losing the half knot of speed from reefing. Eventually caution prevailed and we reefed the main.

Despite the wind on the nose and occasional surfer waves, the starry night was perfect for night watch: daydreaming and watching falling stars in between checking course and watching for other boats. We did three-hour watches and for once, both of us got our entire three hours to sleep below - no excitement.

About 5:00 AM, on my watch, of course, the wind piped up to over 25 knots and the seas built rapidly. Thank goodness we already had the reef in the main. By now the seas seemed like they were out to prove why they are infinitely more dangerous than the wind. Winterlude was being tossed like in a washing machine; not dangerous, just uncomfortable. We changed course to try and make headway more than 1.8 knots with our little 30 hp Nanni Kubota diesel.

In less than 20 minutes our idyllic overnight was only last night’s dream! Seas churned from every direction with only the briefest of intervals, causing the bow to plunge and shudder every few waves. Several inches of green water over the bow increased steadily until we were watching as the water over the bow churned past the mast and

Dolphins often frolick in the Indian Key Channel of the

10,000 Islands.

6 March 2012

sometimes over the dodger; not dangerous, but both of us were wet, cold and tired. Suddenly we heard what sounded like a cherry bomb going off – KA-BOOM!!! Uh oh. We looked at each other startled, both screaming over the wind, “WHAT WAS THAT?!!” Our first thought was the rig, but it was intact. I ran below to check and David gave a quick visual scan above. Nothing stood out, but the loud fireworks explosions continued and were especially noticeable below. As I ran back to the cockpit we both knew at the exact same time what had happened. “THE ANCHOR!”

We’d both heard of boats that had anchors get loose on passage and knock a hole in the bow, in one case sinking the boat. All of a sudden our tranquil passage had evolved into a potentially dangerous situation – and both of us realized that it was entirely our fault, entirely preventable. There was no time for remorse. In the space of 10 seconds or less and two more explosions from the bow, David was on his way forward.

Luckily, we had jacklines in place, despite the tranquil conditions, and we both had harnesses with inflatable life jackets tethered to them. David had me take the helm and turn off the wind while he went forward on deck. Thankfully, it was daylight and not the middle of the night. Despite turning off the wind, the bow was pitching like a tilt-a-whirl.

With all the irregular motion, the 45-pound steel Spade anchor had worked its way out of the bow roller and was hanging on a foot of 5/16” high test chain banging the bow every time a wave connected. The resulting crash against the fiberglass had both of us envisioning the worst. How could any fiberglass take such a beating and NOT have a huge hole?

David hung on with one hand as about every third wave washed over him. Before he could lash the anchor back in place he had to get it back aboard. Swinging wildly on the chain just below him, his first thought was to keep the weight from pulling all the chain out of the anchor locker. Luckily the chain had snagged on the windlass gypsy. Under those conditions we would have had no choice but to cut the chain and anchor loose.

Timing a wave roll just right, the wave actually helped heave the anchor back into the chain roller. Unfortunately, it heaved in upside down and David could not get it to turn on the bow roller. Tying a bowline knot is a challenge for many of us under the best of conditions. Hanging on with one hand while getting “the rabbit to go around the tree and come up through the hole” with the other hand was almost impossible. After what seemed like an eternity, David quickly made his way back along the jackline to the safety of the cockpit.

The Spade anchor doesn’t have the hole where we can simply insert a steel bar through to secure the anchor like our old CQR. So we have a line with a snap hook on one end that we secure to the bow cleat. In his haste, David didn’t find the usual line in the cockpit locker and used the first line he found to tie the Spade off. Unfortunately, due to the pitching of the boat, he was unable to lean overboard enough to get a good view of the bow and any damage. We had no idea if we were taking on water though a hole in the bow punctured by the sharp tip of the anchor.

Securely back in the cockpit, we addressed the issue of the integrity of the bow. Both of us have very active imaginations and after hearing the crashes, it was easy

to envision a huge hole in our bow. A quick check of the bilge revealed nothing other than the normal flow of water into the anchor chain locker from the waves over the deck. The bilge was holding up fine. Every time the red bilge light blinked on I held my breath for an anxious few seconds as we hoped it wasn’t taking on anything more than routine water.

Several hours of elevated winds later, coupled with the shallowness of the water (by now we were in 30-50 feet of water and the waves were even shorter, steeper and closer together), KER-BANG! The anchor only had to bang once this time before David was out of the cockpit and up on the heaving bow. With all the forces, the line had detached from the anchor and the anchor was once again dangling from a foot of chain over the bow roller. Once again, the chain had caught on the windlass preventing a different disaster. Luckily, when the wave helped David get the anchor back in the roller this time, it went in the correct way and David used the regular snap hook clip to clip it off. A few quick wraps and it was securely attached to the bow cleat.

We checked the bilge again, but thankfully, no change. The pump was easily keeping up with any water that made its way back that far. Before noon, the seas and wind calmed and shifted east and we were once again on the idyllic passage we embarked on 28 hours before.

The mild seas inside Charlotte Harbor allowed us to finally check the bow for damage. The dark green Awlgripped hull readily showed the beating it had sustained. It looked more like swiss cheese than it did Winterlude’s bow. The beating might have punctured a less strong hull. But then, had we secured the anchor as we left the Key West sea buoy as we should have, the incident would have been avoided. g

March 2012 7

8 March 2012

Described by Boat International as “one of the world’s most amazing super yachts, that could spell the future for efficient long range cruising”, the striking 42.5m Trimaran Adastra is being built in China for a Hong Kong clients Anto and Elaine Marden. “Adastra” is the result of more than 5 years of design and discussion with the

owners, to build a yacht that meets the needs of a very experienced ocean voyaging couple and their family, and to provide the level of comfort and style that would be expected in a yacht of this class and size. No effort has been spared in the challenge to produce a

beautiful yacht that will have low fuel consumption and yet provide excellent sea keeping qualities and luxurious accommodation. “Adastra” takes the power

trimaran concept further than has ever been attempted before, previous vessels like “Earthrace” and “Cable and Wireless” were stripped out

record breaking machines. The challenge of turning this concept into a viable luxury yacht has led us to further research and

to develop new thinking on stability and comfort at sea for this type of craft. Extensive tank testing and radio

controlled model tests in waves have been carried out to analyze stability and performance.

Outrigger height has been optimized for ease of motion at sea, and a new

outrigger shape has been developed to increase stability in waves.

March 2012 9

v i r t u a l l y e v e r y p a r t o f t h e b o a t i s

I think I started falling for the Adastra while on the Latitudes & Attitudes Share the Sail cruise in Tahiti – when I wasn’t aboard one. It was an all catamaran flotilla and we had some great boats in our group. But the innovative features I saw previously on the new Adastra yacht suddenly started to make a lot of sense. When we talked, designer John Shuttleworth also made a compelling argument for some of the new features that were a result of feedback from owners and charterers about how a catamaran is used both underway and at anchor.

ON DECKGetting right down to it, the most

obvious feature of the Adastra is that it has two cockpits – one aft like any traditional catamaran, and one forward with a hardtop overhead and a door that leads into the saloon. Weird wind scoop? Nope, says Gino Morelli. When the wind hits the hulls of a catamaran, it goes straight up so whether the cat has vertical cabin windows or a cockpit in the front doesn’t make much difference.

The front cockpit seats three for drinks or one lounging with a good book. The forward door that leads into the interior has additional dog clamps for water tightness in serious conditions but when open, it creates great ventilation throughout which comes in handy when the boat swings at anchor, nose to the tradewinds. And here’s something I didn’t think of until I was baking in the tropical sun - this forward space will remain shady in the afternoon as the sun sets in the West and the winds blow from the East. That makes for a much better cocktail hour.

A second notable feature is the ‘toekicks’ which are subtle molded-in bumps at the edges of certain exterior surfaces like steps and level transitions. These are almost like fiddles for the feet to provide tactile feedback where a surface ends. That’s quite a difference from the radiused edges on other cats that can cause slipping and dangerous missteps. That’s two smart ideas and we haven’t even gone inside.

CREATURE COMFORTSThe indoor/outdoor living of the aft cockpit is

unbeatable since that’s where the majority of the time will be spent. The cockpit features a large dinette that will seat eight and a raised helm station with twin seats. Both areas are protected by separate hardtop biminis. Not only does this overhead create a sturdy platform on which to stand and manage the mainsail, it will not need canvas replacement every couple of years.

Aft of the cockpit, the Adastra has a traverse that stretches between the hulls and provides a place from which to manage the dinghy and the electric winch for the integrated davit. That means you can get from one side to the other quickly without ever setting foot in the social area of the cockpit which adds both convenience and safety.

The interior of the Adastra opens onto an L-shaped galley to port which has a full-sized window to the cockpit and an L-shaped dinette on starboard that will seat six. The whole area is surrounded by eye-level windows for great light and ventilation. The finishes are mostly cherry veneers and an Austrian oak cabin sole, all designed to be durable and need minimal maintenance.

On starboard is the owner’s hull with a mid-ships lounge that includes a sofa, hanging lockers, a dedicated desk with a seat, and a sliding door that closes this area off for privacy. Forward is

CUSTOM BUILT.

TO REDUCE WEIGHT,

10 March 2012

v i r t u a l l y e v e r y p a r t o f t h e b o a t i sCUSTOM BUILT.TO REDUCE WEIGHT,

a large head and shower and aft is the master stateroom with a wide berth, lots of storage and a sizeable port that makes for a great way to quickly eyeball the boat’s position without ever getting out of bed. The port hull has forward and aft cabins with a good sized shared head in between.

FEATURESThe boat is strong and light for its size due to a sandwich

construction of vacuum bonded E-glass and an end- grain balsa core. The hulls are deep and narrow at the waterline to minimize the wetted surface for more speed, but then angle out to increase interior volume for living comfort.

The Adastra is easy to single-hand as all control lines are led to two winches and several rope clutches at the helm, and there is a large line storage compartment to keep the area free of clutter. The view from the wheel is excellent both forward and aft which is a safety must for close quarters maneuvering.

At a base of $439,000, this model delivers a lot of boat for the money. Check out the Adastra and other Shuttleworth designs at www.john-shuttleworth.com. g

The Adastra at sunset.3D modeling and rendering courtesy of Orion Shuttleworth Design, Ltd.

MAIN ENGINE: 1x Caterpillar C18 -1150 hp @ 2300 rpm

GENERATORS: 2 x 36 kw custom in the outriggers linked to 110 Hp Yanmar

TENDERS: 4.9m on aft deck and 3.1m in garage

SPEED MAX: 22.5 knots

RANGE AT 17 KNOTS: 4000 miles

FRESHWATER CAPABILITY: 2700 litres water

DISPLACEMENT LIGHT: 49 tonnes

DISPLACEMENT OCEAN PASSAGE MAX: 77 tonnes

FUEL CONSUMPTION AT 17 KNOTS: 120 litres per hour

EXTERIOR STYLING: John Shuttleworth Yacht Designs Ltd

STRUCTURAL DESIGN: Applied Structural Analysis, Ltd.

INTERIOR DESIGN: Jepsen Designs, Hong KongBUILDER: McConaghy Boats, Zhuhai, China

OUTRIGGER ENGINES: 2x Yanmar 110hp @ 3200 rpm

OWNER AND GUESTS: 9

HULL DRAFT: 1.12 m [1.6m to tip]

Beam: 16 mLOA: 42.5 m

CREW: 5-6

STORMSSFORCE 10FFFF

s u r v i v i n g as u r v i v i n g as u r v i v i n g a

BY LOUIS JOY HOFFMAN

YOU’RE IN FOR IT NOW...

BY LOUIS JOY HOFFMANYOU’RE IN FOR IT NOW...

STORMFORCE 10

owling like a pack of ravenous wolves, the insatiable wind chases

Pacific Bliss through the churning seas off the lawless Columbia

coast. With a maddening roar, it claws through the rolled-up

bimini shades surrounding the cockpit, tearing fasteners and

ripping them loose. The straps flail wildly against the hardtop,

adding to the pandemonium. The seat cushions come alive like

demented sea monsters, flopping up and down and straining

at their snaps. Stoic Richard, our crew, controls the helm,

helping our autopilor maintain some semblance of control.

Captain Günter, my husband, struggles to stand upright,

inching forward during the pauses (if you can call them that)

between each violent gust. I imagine those loosened

straps gouging his eyes, the beginning of a downhill slide

from chaos to catastrophe, as one problem leads into

another and eventually we are short crew and into a

survival situation - our own Perfect Storm.

Inside the salon with my friend Phyllis,

Richard’s wife, I stare at the display at

the nav station. Gusts to Force 10! My

stomach clenches like the jaws of a

shark. My tongue turns into cotton.

There are only 12 wind states, Force12 being a hurricane. A 43-footcatamaran can’t survive a hurricane.I pry open the sliding Plexiglas door

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to the cockpit to see what I can do to help. Günter takes charge, motioning me out of the way. Calm and deter-mined, he yanks off each of the three

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March 2012 13

bimini shades, then turns to me and mouths, “Come here.”

Together we release the cushions one by one and throw them into the salon. I feel better doing something. Finally, we can hear each other. I point to the dagger boards that stand like sentinels midway on each hull. “You raised them so that Pacific Bliss can surf?”

Günter nods, grim-faced. The seas mount to frightening heights—three stories or more—with breaking crests. As we watch, a monstrous wave breaks over the top of a dagger board. “Probably forced water into the window. We’ll deal with that later,” Günter says, his jaw set. “More important—we need to keep the boat surfing... so that we don’t flip.”

The dinghy mounted at the stern bounces wildly on its davits as each monster wave rises angrily above it, then slides underneath the dual hulls. Every

so often, a wave sprays its frothy venom from crest to cockpit, drenching the three of us with buckets of water that slides off my foul weather gear. I feel the tepid water running down my cheeks. I can taste the salt, yet my tongue is sandpaper dry.

What if a rogue wave breaks into the cockpit? What would that be like?

Richard, Günter, and I slosh in and out in our rubber boots, pants tucked inside, while Phyllis manages the salon— handing out towels, wiping the floors, and keeping the inside free of salt water.

“Lois, you stay in here now,” Günter directs. The salon, in the center of the boat, shrieks and grates, teak against Kevlar. I glance over at Phyllis, who winces, white-faced, at each chalk-against-blackboard screech. This salon is no place of refuge.

At the nav station, the multi-meter holds steady at F10 as the wind continues to howl. Pacific Bliss feels out of control. I feel out of control. I’ve never felt so out of control in my life! I switch the multi-meter to Boat Speed to find that we have accelerated to 25 knots. Fine for experienced catamaran racers. Not for us. We are just cruisers.

Up and down. Up and down. We ride high over colossal crests and then slide rapidly down the backsides, leaving our stomachs at the top, like a roller coaster ride that will never, ever end.

“What’s going to happen?” Phyllis asks.“I haven’t a clue. If we hit the face of the next wave

wrong...after coming out of the trough...I guess we could flip. I never expected that the winds here would be more dangerous than the drug-running pirates.”

From deep inside, I gather strength for the long ride ahead.

A wild wave breaks between the hulls, causing the entire structure to shudder as if a bomb has exploded underneath. It feels as if the yacht will fly apart at any minute. The noise is awful. How much more can Pacific Bliss take? We must slow her down.

Günter fashions a warp using our three black docking

pirates.dANGEROUSd

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lines. Bracing himself against the wall of wind, he trails them from the stern cleats. Exhausted after what seems like forever, he slumps onto the cockpit bench to catch his breath. His immense effort decreases the boat speed by only 2-3 knots. We are still flying at over 20 knots. We didn’t sign up for this!

Finally, our reliable, dependable autopilot, Ray, just can’t handle the strain any longer. He reacts too slowly to overcome a roller and can’t make it back. We broach, turning sideways into the wind. Pacific Bliss goes into a jibe that back-winds the sail. The boat is drifting out of control.

Without the speed and the rushing wind, we are lulled into a strange and eerie silence. Time slows down. The four of us gather in the cockpit near Richard, still at the helm.

Günter commands our attention. “The first thing we need to assess is whether or not we are in a survival situation. It may appear calmer now because the noise is less. But is it safe to leave the boat in irons like this?”

“I think not...” he answers his own question.“More water, Lois.” I hand him another bottle. “Sorry.

My mouth feels dry as sandpaper. Adrenalin, I guess.” He pauses to take a long swig.

No one says a word. “During the Pacific Bliss christening party in Canet,

Jean-Pierre gave me some good advice.” Günter turns toward Richard. “He’s the

founder of Catana. We were discussing heavy weather techniques. He said,

‘Run with the wind and the waves as long as you can to lower your

apparent wind... that‘s the wind that the boat feels.’”

Richard nods. Günter’s attention turns to

me: “Lois, how much sea room

do we have?”

I pry open the salon doors, scan the paper chart secured on the salon table, and rush back to the cockpit. “Well over 200 miles.”

“That allows us to run, with the wind at our backs, for a long time, even at 20 knots. We are not in danger of capsizing if we run with the wind and waves...but we are in danger like this. You cannot heave-to in a cat. If we stay like this, one of these waves is bound to break over the dinghy and over the cockpit. And if we ram into one sideways, we could flip.”

Phyllis goes pale.Richard’s face is serious and set. There is nothing else to

say. A decision has been made. Now we need to just do it. It is going to be a very long night.

“Richard, you’ll have to help Ray,” Günter says. “Steer manually every time the compass shows a 30-degree swing from our set course...Lois, help me pull in these warps to clear the propellers. They didn’t help much anyway.”

With the engines revving, Richard takes us out of irons. The freight train sound is deafening as the wind resumes its chase. Richard is stoic at the helm, working the boat to keep her running with the wind and waves, keeping both engines on idle just in case we broach again.

Three of us are calm after our talk, but Phyllis remains frightened. She retreats to the salon and curls up into a fetal position on the settee. Since I’m no longer needed in the cockpit, I return to the salon with her and shove the door shut, blocking out some of the fury. She begs me to radio the Coast Guard again.

“I can’t imagine what good it would do.” What will I say to them? Come rescue us. We want to leave the ship? I feel safe now, staying with Pacific Bliss. We have no shore, no rocks or reefs to contend with. Even if she flips, we can live on her upside down. She was designed for that. I remember swimming underneath her, pointing up at the red circle between her hulls, a signal for a helicopter rescue. I feel comfortable just staying with the ship. No one but God can help us here.

“Just let them know what’s happening with us,” Phyllis pleads.

I pick up the VHF. Bad news. I cannot get it to work. Instead of lessening her fears, I have increased them.

Not good. There is nothing more for us to do right now but to help the helmsman and captain

when they ask for it. I sit at the nav station, watching the hands on the clock move

ever so slowly.How I want this long night to end!

Finally, my scheduled watch from 0300 to 0600 arrives. I

suit up, donning my life preserver and harness

over my foul weather gear.

March 2012 15

I WON’TTELLh i mthe news.

I pry open the salon doors, ready to take over the helm from Richard. He must be exhausted by now. Sitting at our exposed helm station, higher than the cockpit, he has been getting the brunt of the blow and the spray. “I’m ready to take over anytime,” I yell.

Richard cannot hear a word. The wind is driving straight toward me. I can barely stand—even under the protection of the hardtop bimini. Richard motions for me to come closer. I force my body forward against the onslaught. Shaking, willing my fingers to work, I clasp my harness onto the cleat near the helm and lean into his ear, “I’m ready.”

He shouts directly into my face so the wind cannot steal his words. “No, Lois. You won’t have the upper body strength to handle it. I’ve had to take over manually from Ray two more times. The wind feels like it’s easing—just a little. I can keep going.”

“What if you have to go? I mean...to the head?”“I already have...What else could I do? I have to stay right

here to manage Ray.”I struggle to unclip my harness. The wind pushes me

back toward the salon so fast that I start to trip on the steps. I manage to catch myself just before slamming into the Lexan® door.

Close call.Looking up, I notice that Günter has wisely changed

the multimeter display above the salon cockpit door from Wind Speed to Wind Direction, to reduce the fear factor. I understand. I won’t tell him the news. The news I also kept from Phyllis. The last time I had checked the wind speed at the nav station in the salon it was 53 knots, and gusting even more. A steady Force 10!

I decide to change our read-out inside the salon, at the nav station, to Boat Speed. Not good. We have already reached 25.8 knots top speed! The fear grips me all over again. Please God! I force myself to take a few deep breaths. I check the chart. We are now somewhere between Barranquilla and Bahia Gato, about 60 miles offshore.

A long way to go. Richard digs in for the long haul, patient and uncomplaining. Günter stays out there by his side.

Phyllis lies in a fetal position on the settee.

Shortly after 0300, the wind gradually eases off. Force 9. Then it’s down to Force 8.

What a relief!The waves are still three or more stories high, rolling in

from ever-changing directions of a confused sea, but my fears are calmed.

At 0500, we reach our waypoint for changing course to Cartagena Bay. It will be a controlled jibe in a Force 8, with the wind to our port side.

Günter forces the sliding salon door open. “All hands on deck.” He thinks Pacific Bliss can handle it.

Phyllis and I suit up again, braving the wind to receive our instructions.

How can we possibly change course with these huge waves continuing to slam our hull? Should I, as the navigator, recommend that we continue our course to San Blas? Should we bypass Cartagena? But who on board would want to have another night at sea?

I keep my doubts to myself.With all of us in the cockpit, working like a well-oiled

team, we carry off the jibe smoothly. On her new course, Pacific Bliss floats like a cork.

We keep the dagger boards up. The noise is like chalk- against-chalkboard times 1000. Pacific Bliss squeaks, creaks, groans, and twists, protesting the onslaught of waves against her beam.

During this long night, I had yearned for the dawn. I mistakenly believed that light would lower our anxiety. But now, as wan, amber streaks gradually appear through the clouds, I am grateful that the worst of the storm has occurred in total darkness; we have been spared the trauma of watching wild waves bent on swallowing us alive.

I head for the salon, where I grab a pillow and collapse onto the settee in my foul weather gear.

A few hours later, Pacific Bliss enters the quieter waters of the Cartagena harbor. I try the VHF to find that it is magically working again. I attribute the malfunction to the

16 March 2012

high winds. But I’m frustrated that Club Nautico, with whom we have reserved a berth, doesn’t answer my call. Jim and Jo on Atlas pick up the call and advise: “Go in anyway, watch for the guys in the dinghy, then follow them.”

Thank God for helpful cruisers! Jim had been a calming voice in the darkness, as I talked with him in the wee morning hours before we jibed to reach Cartagena. He told me that the worst would be over, once we had rounded the peninsula and turned toward the bay. He was right.

By the time we anchor and are routed to a permanent slip, it is past noon. We are one exhausted but thankful crew.

And our lady, Pacific Bliss? She came through it all with flying colors. We have gained a new respect for her—and for Ray.

Later in the day, we meet Francoise and Bernard, owners of a red-and-white Catana 471, Adelaide II, anchored here. They invite us to come on board. Bernard tells us that he has experienced similar, though somewhat lighter, conditions near that same area of Barranquilla—fortunately, with all their sails down. Had we to do it over again, we would have

furled the jib to a small triangle size—with the main doused completely. Once we had come upon the storm triple-reefed, however, our options had closed.

We celebrate our survival and arrival with our new French friends by opening our very last bottle of Catana Champagne. Following that, the six of us down two bottles of white Bordeaux. The wine has traveled with us all the way from Canet, France, where we set out on this Maiden Voyage—secure in our “wine cellar” underneath the cockpit table. Despite all the shaking that went on, they are still quite enjoyable.

Günter asks Bernard, “What is the best way to transport wine and champagne over long distances in a rolling, sometimes shaking, boat?”

“Horizontally, of course. Lying down, comme une femme.” Like a woman? Ah, those frisky French! We are elated to be back in port and enjoying wine with cruisers again. Who knows? After our harrowing Force 10 experience, we may never want to leave. g

s o

d

br

x

bah

d

Tev

March 2012 17

FROM THE WORLDl e t t e r s f r o m c r u i s e r s t h e w o r l d o v e r

ANOTHER LIFE RUINED...

Another fine mess I have gotten into and this time because of YOU! I am sitting here wondering if I have completely lost it, and thought you should know what you have done.

Years ago, while in Florida on vacation with my wife and four kids, I bought a copy of Lats & Atts vol 1 to read on the beach. Immediately I was addicted. Sent in my money for a subscription and now find myself in the position of purchasing a Pearson 365 ketch. ALL YOUR FAULT!!!

My family believes that I have lost my mind, except my 21-year-old son who thinks he can use it as a chick magnet. I expect to be forced into a sanity hearing soon. What a terrible position I am in! A new boat, a new girlfriend 20 years my junior (my wife left me over this), sold my business, sold my house, furniture, etc., and planing to leave in February to sail around South America.

g PAT ALVEY, S/V HOLLYDAY EVANSVILLE, IN

...AND ANOTHER

Dear Captain Woody: After years of reading your columns and your book, I must say you have been a terrible influence on me. I spend too much time on my boat (a mere West Wight Potter 15) and thus suffer from significant

levels of marital abuse - something about not getting the lawn mowed or something. I now drink Pacifico beer instead of the $15 for 30 cans of Flatulence Lite, spend my Social Security checks on stuff like a second anchor, lots of line, beer holders, Lats & Atts hats and junk

g DR. STEPHEN D. (DOC) REGAN, ED.D.

Doc, I’m sorry to hear about your fortunate affliction. Though currently there is no cure, many (including your concerned spouse) are hoping that science catches up and provides relief for the similarly stricken (enviably enlightened?). You are not alone.

It may help to alleviate some of your burden to, how does it go, ‘do shooters with the messenger.’

Woody

ANOTHER VERSION OF CRUISING

I built this shack on a pontoon for 300 dollars. I sailed it from Traverse City Michigan to the Florida Keys. I have a dog on it and two chickens for eggs. It’s a crazy little boat but I have had so much fun with it. I’m now a Looper. I did both sides now. Here is a picture of my

boat, a 20-foot long pontoon. Someone gave me it with a 35 horse Johnson on it. I camped all along the route on beaches and stayed at a marina only once in awhile to shower.

g SAILING WAYNE, THE CRUISING COWBOY

Sailing Wayne, in all my days sailing the seven seas, I have never cast eyes upon a more beautiful seafaring vessel. A beautiful and also functional design, this pontoon and the shipbuilding craftsmanship it showcases are simply incredible. How I long to gaze upon her imaculate hull in person.

I can see myself basking under a carribean sun, resting my content head atop the blue beer cooler all to the tranquil sound of chickens clucking in the henhouse. I would consider myself extremely honored if you would someday take me for a ride in this beauty. I am confident that no ocean gale would be a match for this gorgeous vessel.

Woody

Sailing Wayne’shomemadepontoon shack.

18 March 2012

USING A SEXTANT CAN BE FUN

Nowadays with the advent of GPS, many folks feel perhaps that carrying a sextant on a boat might not be necessary when about to undertake a long offshore or ocean passage. They could well be right. But there’s often

plenty of time on many long cruising passages to try a sun sight provided you have an understanding of how to use this instrument.

On my first passage crossing the Indian Ocean whilst delivering a yacht in the early seventies, I knew nothing about using one. I’d bought a plastic Ebbco sextant back in Singapore and the instructions were included in the case. Back then nautical almanacs still included astronomical data. Following what was written, I couldn’t believe how simple it was to obtain latitude when taking a noon sight. Measure the angle of the sun with the sextant either looking north or south, then make small allowances for index error, height of eye and the sun’s semi-diameter (given in my almanac) because of measuring the sun’s lower limb. Then subtract this angle away from 90 degrees to give a zenith distance. Finally, add or subtract the sun’s declination (how many degrees north or south of the equator on that particular day the sun is (again from almanac). This gave me my immediate latitude. Comparing this calculated latitude to what the GPS gives may surprise you, on just how accurate a noon sight can be.

Longitude is rather more difficult and takes too many words to explain here. You can do it roughly, though, by taking the time of your noon sight, then adding or subtracting this time from UTC (knowing that each hour difference is 15 degrees of arc west or east).

Most plastic sextants still give this information on how to use them. Nowadays you might need to buy an astronomical almanac, unless that information is still available in your current one. It’s quite fascinating if you’ve never tried taking a noon sight before...you may have been missing out on a real pleasure.

g JOHN SIMPSON

John, I’m surprised at you - bringing up a topic like this in a family-oriented magazine. You ought to be ashamed of yourself. You are welcome to do whatever you like with your free time on those long cruises, but the rest of us would prefer not to hear about the details. Some of us are trying to live decent, upstanding lives here. We don’t care to know about your personal “longitude,” and you’ve certainly gone too far south in this letter. I am ashamed to think that your type is among our valued readership demographic here at Lat Magazine. In the future, please keep your private maritime debaucheries to yourself.

Woody

March 2012 19

THE ADMIRAL’S ANGLEc r u i s i n g f r o m t h e f e m a l e p e r s p e c t i v e

PROVISIONING PRINCIPLES By Gwen Hamlin

Chances are you never used the word provisioning before you went cruising. My online dictionary defines provision as “food and other necessities, especially for a long journey,” and provisioning as a “preparatory

step taken to meet a possible or expected need.”Provisioning the boat with food and essential spares is

the single biggest preoccupation of cruisers getting ready to leave port. This is especially true when leaving your home country and heading to parts unknown. Before you have been somewhere, it is hard to imagine what you will and will not be able to get or how much it will cost. After a lifetime in the first world where you can get anything anytime you want it, the possibility of doing without, of making substitutions, or of making favorite things from SCRATCH (or jerry-rigging a part) is a daunting prospect.

Although there are many books and articles on provisioning and countless cruising-oriented cookbooks have resulted from food-lovers collecting their best ideas, things have really changed over the last decade in terms of what you can carry aboard as well as what you can find when you shop. Observations on individual websites and blogs can sometimes give the most up-to- date insight. On our website www.womenandcruising.com we present in our Resource Section a good list of these with which to get started, plus we have a whole collection of galley and food- related material by contributors in our Articles Section.

One of the biggest mistakes cruisers make is that they seriously over-provision on things they think they should have and under-provision on what they actually will want. What’s wrong with over-provisioning? First is the waterline goes down! Canned goods in particular can add a lot of weight. So can an overstuffed freezer. An over-loaded boat works harder and goes slower, plus you’ve left no room for the big wahoo you may catch!

Next is the fact that things go bad, especially in tropical environments. Overstock in oils and nuts go rancid; crackers, chips and cookies go stale and get pulverized; flours and mixes get weevils; spices lose their potency: yeast and medications expire; aluminum cans develop pinholes, and plastic bottles can chafe through.

What’s wrong with under-provisioning is quite simply that you may go hungry! Or you may get to a destination and find the things your family considers essential are

exorbitantly priced or just unavailable. So, when you sit down to plan your provisioning, consider the following:

p r o v i s i o n i n g p r i n c i p l e # 1 : Shape your plan around THE THINGS YOU LIKE TO EAT. It

may take some ingenuity, but you can, within reason, figure out ways to eat favorite things right round the world! You’ll just need to stock the ingredients, recipes and equipment to make them from scratch!

p r o v i s i o n i n g p r i n c i p l e # 2 : People eat everywhere, and, if you cannot find the same

foods you are used to at home, you will not starve. The trick is to know as much as you can about what will be available and affordable when you reach your destination and to be flexible and ready to try new things.

Basics like flour, yeast, sugar, rice and milk powder are in even the smallest stores pretty much everywhere, and you may wish you had taken up less room with these bulky items. Unfortunately, other things you may consider staples may not be staples where you are going. Sometimes it is because they are not part of the local diet, other times because it is so costly to ship in and stock. In the Bahamas, for example, meat, chicken, beer, wine, and snack foods are very expensive and you may kick yourself for not bringing more.

Fortunately, one of cruising’s greatest pleasures is trying the foods of the places you have sailed to. The ladies of the morning marketplace love nothing better than to teach you how to cook that unfamiliar vegetable! The same is true of local dishes at restaurants if you ask for recipes. Eating fresh and local is always cheaper, better, more interesting (and healthier) than eating canned.

Even in the impersonal aisles of supermarkets, there are adventures to be had. While many American products make their way onto foreign shelves, check out the unfamiliar label next to it. It may be less expensive. Sample before stocking up, because it may taste different than what you’re used to, but you might discover something you like even better ... or can live with at a much lower price.

There are many products standard outside North America that are particularly useful to cruisers -- like canned cream, New Zealand butter, bulk cheddar cheese, crackers in tins (they stay fresher), and there are even canned (or UHT-

20 March 2012

boxed) prepared products that are more interesting than the ones you are used to seeing, e.g. the paired cans of ratatouille and couscous available on French islands.

p r o v i s i o n i n g p r i n c i p l e # 3 : On the other hand, when you see something that really

matters to you – a favorite peanut butter or a preferred mayonnaise -- buy it then and there. You never know when you’ll next see it!

p r o v i s i o n i n g p r i n c i p l e # 4 : What and how much you need to put aboard depends

on several factors besides your eating style: how much passage-making lies ahead, how much time you’ll spend in remote anchorages versus ports, how much you expect to eat out, how much you entertain. Foods for entertaining – sundowner get-togethers and potlucks --account for a far greater proportion of most cruisers’ stores than many people anticipate! The same goes for snack foods!

Finally, how much refrigerator, freezer and storage space you have (or don’t have!) must necessarily shape your choices and quantities.

p r o v i s i o n i n g p r i n c i p l e # 5 : To keep track of what you have onboard, an inventory

system, is useful. Go low tech – a notebook, an alphabetized address book, or index cards – or hi-tech – a computer spreadsheet, database or an app (e.g. ListPro or Bento) for an iPad or tablet. Remember, too, you need to know not just what you have, but where it is stowed. Devise a layout system and stick to it. If it becomes too much trouble, at least keep a master list of your preferred stores and check your shopping list against it to remind you what you may be forgetting to buy. A smart adjunct is to keep a running list of things you have used and update the inventory before shopping.

p r o v i s i o n i n g p r i n c i p l e # 6 : In avoiding over-provisioning, don’t cut things too close

on a passage. Things don’t always go as they should. Have enough of something to sustain you should S-@#$ happen!

p r o v i s i o n i n g p r i n c i p l e # 7 : It helps to be clairvoyant about what lies ahead.

Invariably, we cruisers bemoan that we should have bought less/more if we’d only better known what was/wasn’t available at the next stop! To help on this very issue, Kathy Parsons collected info from world cruisers to put together a very helpful handout for her boat show seminar “Proper Provisioning” which she is willing to share. g

Email Gwen at zadmiralsangle@yahoo.com.

March 2012 21

164 M

ECLIPSEMotor yacht Eclipse, completed at the end of 2010 at the Blohm + Voss Hamburg shipyard, features interiors by Terence Disdale Design and is the world’s largest superyacht.

162 M

DUBAILaunched in 2006 by Platinum Yachts, Dubai is the world’s second largest private yacht. Dubai’s incredible size is disguised by the elegant lines of her steel hull and aluminium superstructure.

155 M

AL SAIDAl Said is a custom built in 2008 by Lurssen Yachts in Bremen. This magnificent yacht features exterior styling by Espen Oeino.

147 M

PRINCE ABDULAZIZPrince Abdulaziz is a custom moto yacht built in 1984 by Helsingor Vaerft in Helsingor. This luxury vessel's sophisticated exterior design and engineering are the work of Maierform Maritime Technology.

145.72 M

EL HORRIAEl Horriya (formerly Mahroussa) is a custom motor yacht built in 1865 by Samuda Bros. in London. She was last refitted in 1987.

TOP FIVE LARGEST YACHTS

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c o m m u n i c a t i o n s

b y c a p t a i n s a l e x

{ O R C O A S T A L }f o r t h e

& d a r i a b l a c k w e l l

Most of us ‘normal’ mortal sailors make the annual trek to the boat show to kick the tires on the beautiful new yachts on display. After that we peruse all the booths to check out the new and wonderful gadgets. Once we are back

home, it is time for a reality check and then sitting back and dreaming about the day we will actually have a new yacht of our own. While at home, often daily during the dark and dreary winter months, we will peruse the Internet sites looking for just the right boat to fit our finances. Even those who have boats they love dearly, be they racers or cruisers, are oft tempted to see what is out there.

Then comes the fateful day: you are the owner of an older boat. All the newer boats just did not fit the budget, though there certainly were some beauties out there. You are ready to go out for a cruise to some distant or nearby landfall. However, you do want to keep in touch with your friends and/or loved ones while away on this adventure.

Much has happened in the world of communications since Reginald Aubrey Fessenden made the first radio broadcast back in 1906. As a child I ‘communicated’ with my mother using a ‘telephone’ made out of a long string with a tin can at either end. When we purchased our boat she came with all sorts of gadgets, some of which, as it turned out, did not even work as well as my old string telephone. I suppose that is the way it goes.

Most electronics are ‘old’ the day they are installed, and in an older boat they may well simply be defunct.

The VHF radio was the first thing to go, as it was well past its use-by date. For coastal, or line of sight short range communication, the VHF is an essential piece of equipment and its replacement was thus an urgent necessity. In any emergency situation a call on channel 16 would reach any boater within range who had a radio – “one to many” communication. The likelihood of someone responding would thus be quite high. Many would opt to rely on their mobile phone for emergency communications, even though they might realize that we have cruised to, it seems that everyone still hails another boat on channel 16 or a designated local hailing frequency. This includes the professionally crewed mega yachts and their sometimes even bigger support ships. The only report we have heard

of boats actually using DSC was a small fleet transiting pirate infested waters, where secretly hailing your friends is a really good thing.

The one minor problem with our new and fancy radio was that it never really worked all that well. It worked well enough that we thought there was some mysterious “skipping” or atmospherics when we could not hear anyone reply to our broadcast. At other times it seemed to work okay. We took to having our handheld on deck for local communications. A while later we started troubleshooting the antenna setup – the most likely culprit. Over time we replaced the connectors, we replaced cable segments, you name it. In the end, after much procrastination I climbed the mast (yet again) and pulled a whole new cable and installed a new Glomar antenna with new connectors, etc. After several months of comparing notes with other cruisers, we replaced our radio with a new Northstar Explorer 721. Though simpler and smaller, we are now communicating trouble free at great long last. In fact, we now hear broadcasts from many miles away – more than we like at times. Yes, the new antenna is clearly an improvement over the old one but, in this hopefully rare case, the main culprit was in fact, the radio itself.

22 March 2012

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March 2012 23

PROBLEMt h e o n e m

i n o r

w i t h o u r n e w a n d f a n c y r a d i o

a l l t h a t w e l l .

WAS THAT IT NEVER REALLY

WORKED

Mobile phones also have their well-deserved place on our boat – just not for emergency purposes.

Yes, close to shore, while coastal cruising the mobile phone is a great communications tool. Nowadays one can purchase either a sim card of a cheap phone to use while visiting many countries. Though we use our cell phones a lot for both voice calls and SMS text messaging while near land, it is always a joy to drop them in a drawer while offshore and to thus be free from having to always be “connected.”

On the other hand, close to land we also regularly avail of sending and receiving email via our Blackberry. Like its Android and iPhone brethren it is indeed a great tool for staying in touch. We often compose emails on it while underway and the device will send them out as soon as it makes contact, however weak, with a cell tower.

Our next big problem was our high frequency (HF) single sideband (SSB) radio. On our first Atlantic crossing, we found that whereas we could hear other broadcasts fairly well, it was rare for anyone to hear our they can only call one person; that is if their phone has coverage where they are and if that person decides to answer the call – the simple downside of “one to one” communication. This situation is exacerbated in countries where, unlike in the US, a VHF operator must be licensed, with the result that more people tend to rely on their unreliable cell phone. The other result in these countries is that with the resulting reduction in the overall percentage of VHF users, there is a similar reduction in safety.

With our radio out of commission, off we went to the local marine super chandlery and purchased their fanciest unit – with all the bells and whistles. It actually took four seasons to complete the installation. Hooking the radio up was a synch. Then came the remote command mike, the GPS feed (which I never figured out, and have subsequently learned others have problems with) and the loud hailer/fog horn. The latter required a hike up the mast to pull a cable and install the loudspeaker.

One feature of our new radio we were really excited about was Digital Selective Calling or DSC, which literally lets you dial up another boat, or a bunch of boats, just like using a telephone and then switch them all to a pre-determined frequency. Of course we have tested this with friends once they figured out what their MMSI number was. However, in real life it would seem that nobody uses it, as it is neither intuitive nor all that easy to use. No, on a day to day basis, in all the countries transmissions. The SSB is basically the same as a Ham radio, except that it has access only to select prescribed frequencies. In the US, one does

not need to have an operator’s licence for an SSB whereas a Ham radio may only be used by a licensed Ham operator. Anywhere outside the US, a license and call sign is required for both VHF and HF radios, including SSB, as well as short- range and long-range licenses for the operator. Besides voice communications, both types of HF radios can also have a modem hooked up to them and can then be used for email or weather fax as well.

As we thus prepared to set out on our second Atlantic crossing we decided to get a technician in to take a look at our existing hardware. The tech spent a while poking about and finally determined that the tuner was shot, could not be repaired as it was too old, and that a new one would cost us “only” $1,200! We paid him for his time and thanked him very much. After that we did loads of research online and asked everyone we came across what we would need to do to fix it. Bit by agonizing bit our communications did actually improve. In the end we actually wound up setting

up our own radio network and were acting as net controllers every morning and evening.

So, what about the Pactor modem – after all we still did want to have

email. Through a contact at the SSCA (Seven Seas Cruising

Association) we hooked up with Luis Soltero, PhD of Global Marine Networks, who is a veritable mine of good advice and information. We went through our current setup, and yes, indeed we could hook up a modem to our SSB. However, as it is an old unit,

we would have to manually tune in the frequency for the

modem to work. Thus, in reality, we would still want to purchase

a new HF radio as well as the modem, so Luis steered us towards

purchasing an Iridium satellite phone, which incorporates a modem for email,

and doing what we can to improve our existing SSB installation. For those with a newer SSB or Ham radio,

the Pactor modem is still a viable option. Non Ham users have access to free email via SailMail, while Ham users may use Winlink, which is also free. These come with some restrictions as to the level or volume of usage, but we have heard many good reports – if HF propagation is good, and if the radio – modem – PC hook-up is good. As we have since learned, getting the PC, modem and radio to all be nice to each other is not easy. Then, if propagation is good, you may not be able to connect right away as the few available frequencies are often busy with other traffic.

Going with the sat phone we wound up having the best of both worlds. For one to one communications we could place a call with the satellite phone. For one to many we still had the SSB, which we used daily. In addition to that we had an easy to use and trouble free email setup. As opposed to the popular MailaSail service we have seen with

24 March 2012

many other yachts using sat phones, we went with the slightly less expensive and at the same time faster (better compression) service offered by Global Marine Networks (gmn-usa.com). Email thus gave us ready access to GRIB files for weather forecasting, which we have been downloading daily, as well as position updates using Yotreps reporter. The GMN software bundle we got included its own email client i.scribe and the powerful Xgate. The latter acts like a local mail server and collects emails and Yotreps reports until you are ready to connect and transfer your email. Xgate also significantly compresses all messages, which shortens air time and thus saves money. Yotreps is a free service which pinpoints your position on a Google earth map so your friends can see where you are. It was easy to configure the Reporter software to ‘send’ its information via the Xgate ‘server.’ Global Marine Networks also offers additional software packages. For example, one of these reaches out and pulls GRIB files directly from their server. This is a nice feature, but we found ourselves doing at least two email send/receives every morning. One was to send out our GRIB request, report our position and send an update to friends and/or family. The second send/receive was to reply to received emails on the first connection and also to receive the GRIB file.

For those into longer term cruising, shore leave is always important. One of the first things most cruisers do (besides finding a laundry, garbage disposal, and a source for ice for sundowners) is to find somewhere where they can get internet access. Yes, we are all to be seen traipsing around with our laptops in waterproof bags or cases and then congregating in a bar or restaurant to update our blogs, send email and to call our loved ones using Skype. Skype uses Voice over Internet Protocol (VoIP) and if the person at the other end is at their computer it is totally free to anywhere in the world, a great feature when you are on a budget. You can also make calls to landlines and cell phones for a fraction of using an actual telephone.

After many thousands of miles of cruising and countless days tweaking our various communications systems we feel we have something now that works well for us. Sure, there will be new technology around the corner, and we are excited to see what it will do for us. However, for now, our main goal to be able to stay in touch for safety, personal communications and for enjoyment purposes has more than adequately been achieved. g

March 2012 25

THE CALL OF THE SEAw h e n d i d y o u f i r s t h e a r t h e c a l l o f t h e s e a ?

At the tender age of 45 a roller-coasting steamship exploded into my life in the form of my future husband Kev. My life changed immediately, instantaneously and irrevocably.

Till I met Kev I was a cross between a beach bum, horticulturist and hippie. My boating

experience was limited to numerous scuba diving boat trips around Australia and the Pacific Islands. One memorable trip I had paid for was a five-day scuba diving sail on a 15-metre yacht. The weather turned nasty hours into the voyage and everyone but the crew and I spent the next four days vomiting into any receptacle they could find.

I revelled in the stormy weather and spent hours with the dive master diving in gorgeous coral reefs. Seafood banquets at night time were shared by myself and the crew and I thought how lucky I was not to get seasick.

Another time I had been a cook on a remote group of islands off the west coast of Australia. The season had ended and the only way back was via a 24-hour trip on the supply boat. Once again the weather turned extremely foul and everyone but the crew and I retired to roll around miserably in their berths. I loved the conditions and thought how great it would be to buy a yacht and sail off into the sunset one day.

Decades flew by at a dizzying speed and one morning I woke up, packed my suitcase and left my partner of 20 years, leaving a five-acre farm in the hills, and never returned. For two years I stumbled around with all the ups and downs of a 43-year-old single young girl with no particular place to go.

Sunbaking with a group of friends one day on a beautiful beach in QLD, I spotted a guy sitting at the fringe of our group. For a reason I could not explain, I went over to find out his story. That night we had dinner, the next day he moved into my one bedroom granny flat, the next week we rented a three-story beach house for a year. Can’t waste time when you are in your 40s.

Kev told me stories of growing up sailing, crewing on an Alaskan supply boat and a stint on the infamous king crab boats in the Bering Sea. He wanted to buy another sailboat and asked if I was interested. Luckily I hadn’t turned deaf and could hear the “call of the sea.”

We pooled together every cent we had and went searching for our dream boat. The first boat we saw was a gorgeous 40-foot C & C with ample headroom for Kev and a big aft cabin which I loved. We bought the boat.

Not even knowing how to climb down stairs without falling, let alone knowing what all the numerous dials and gadgets and the machine that went ‘bing’ were for, I gamely set off with Kev for a 24-hour sail to a marina up the coast. The trip was interesting to say the least. Once again stormy weather prevailed and when Kev asked me to get out the life jackets I was vaguely alarmed - especially when I couldn’t find them as we had stacked all our worldly belongings in big piles everywhere.

Never having used a chart before, I was designated navigator whilst Kev came to grips with learning how to use all the equipment and sails on our new home. Halfway

through our trip on a very dark night, I guided us to what I thought was a mooring spot in the middle of the ocean! It turned out to be a hazard marker

and we smashed into submerged rocks. Skillfully Kev got us off and we hoped not too much damage had been done.

Arriving at the marina early next morning, Kev gave me a brief rundown on all the mysterious gadgets and how to start up the boat if needed, and flew out for a month. Of course, everything kept going wrong with flat batteries spoiling a fridge full of food and an alarm I would later learn was a bilge alarm going off at regular intervals. Kind yachties seeing me staggering past each morning soon had everything sorted out for me, and by the time Kev returned I was a seasoned yachty and just loving life on board. We sailed off the next morning and cruised the Great Barrier Reef for a month or so, till we had to return to dock to make some more cruising money.

If you get a chance to hear the call of the sea don’t be deaf! Go for it. Best thing I’ve ever done, and remember....to err is human, but to arr is pirate!

g PAMMY PENNY

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26 March 2012

i n t o

t h e

u n k n o w n

a n d

o f f

t h e

b e a t e n

p a t h .

By Reuel B. Parker

I n early 1995 we sailed from the Florida Keys to Bimini, on the western edge of the Bahama Banks. We were sailing in my new 75’ LOA pilot schooner , which I had recently designed and built. The wind had been blowing hard out of the east for weeks,

and we had the roughest Gulf Stream crossing I have ever made, out of dozens over the last 30 years. My log states that we sailed in rain and violent squalls that reached gale force at times. Seas breaking across the deck tore the foremast boot loose and dumped about a hundred gallons of Atlantic Ocean into the forward cabin.

After spending a few days drying out and enjoying Bimini, we set a course across the Banks for the Berry Islands. After a couple of hours of beating close-hauled into 30-knot easterly winds, I decided to fall off on the port tack for the long shelter of Andros Island. I had been curious for years about the virtually unknown Bights of Andros, which completely cross through the middle of the island to the Tongue of the Ocean, and took this as an opportunity to learn more about them. I was thinking that if they provided a passage through, they would represent an excellent route from South Florida to the Exuma chain of islands and points east. This would particularly apply to vessels coming from the Keys and entering the Banks well south of Bimini and Cat Cay, around 24o 20’ 00”N latitude, passing north of Cay Sal Banks.

The Bights consist of three estuarine passages, each of over 25 miles length. They are very shallow, torturously meandering, full of dangers, poorly charted, and have absolutely no navigational aids. Parts of the Bights are so broad that land features are distant, indistinct and confusing. Some of the serpentine blue channels are hard to find, and then may simply vanish. This is exactly the kind of gunkholing challenge I crave.

As we closed with Andros, the seas diminished in size, but the wind held steady, and we had a lovely, fast close reach toward the westernmost point of the big island. My charts showed two small islands just off the point: Gold Cay and Williams Island. The chart showed no detailed

soundings or any other information. My trusty old

Yachtsman’s Guide to the Bahamas showed nothing

either. The distance from Bimini to Gold Cay is over

90 miles, but Leopard made short work of it, and we

approached Gold Cay well before sunset. Cruising the

Bahamas requires good light, as navigating there is

done by the color of the water and visually identifying

bottom features. We anchored in five feet of water

(Leopard draws four feet) off the southeast side of the

cay, in nearly calm seas, and settled down for a pleasant

evening and night.By the time it was fully dark, I looked up at the sky

and was stunned by the sight. The stars and planets

were the clearest I had ever seen them (there was no

moon).Lying on my back, with 7x50 binoculars, I could

cruise the Milky Way and see the moons of Jupiter. I

then realized that the nearest electric light—indeed,

the nearest human being—was over 40 miles away.

We were in a wilderness area less than 150 miles from

Miami.Andros is the largest of the Bahamian islands, and is

the sixth largest island in all the West Indies. It is 104

miles long, north to south, and 40 miles wide. The east

coast of Andros is protected by the world’s third-longest

barrier reef, has many small settlements, numerous

dirt- strip airfields, and a handful of small resorts and

hotels. The lengthy west coast of Andros (considerably

more than 104 miles) is completely uninhabited except

for Red Bay, a tiny settlement on the northwest corner.

A vessel drawing only six feet can actually run aground

out of sight of land along this mysterious coastline, and

there is no place for such a vessel to go.

The Bights are very shallow—three feet and less at

low tide, and the Banks off the south end of Andros are

poorly charted, shallow, changeable and riddled with

shifting sand bores, some of which cannot be navigated

at all. The Banks off the north end of Andros are no

better— they must be skirted in favor of the westerly

approach to the Berry Islands well to the north. Harry

Kline, in his excellent Yachtsman’s Guide, explains how

to navigate the Bights, but his instructions are sketchy,

and his drawings show very little detail.

The next morning we left early for the long reach

to South Bight, some 60 miles away. We spent several

frustrating hours searching for the entrance in vain.

Because the gently sloping bottom is shallow for over

a mile from land in many places, we could not get

close enough to seek an opening. The chart showed an

entrance to South Bight that appeared to have some

markers, but the place we saw that could have been

it was too shallow for anything but a dinghy. All land

features looked the same—mangroves, palmettos,

shrubs and small trees. There were no navigational

aids of any kind—not even a stick in the mud—and the

charted information was from British surveys dating

back to the 1800s. We finally gave up as we lost our light,

and anchored just off the coast.

After several more hours of searching the next

morning, we found the trace of a turquoise channel by

climbing up in the rigging, and worked our way in until we saw what we hoped was the entrance. This channel was about 3/4 mile northwest of the charted entrance

(according to my brand new GPS). The channel was beautiful: a turquoise serpentine passage almost brushing the mangroves on both sides. [Author’s Note: It seems possible, studying the satellite maps, that there is a second entrance to the southeast.] Once inside, Leopard plowed through a huge mayonnaise-like white “lake” under full throttle, leaving a long white wake behind her. The ensuing passage was full of “blue holes”—some of which are reputed to be virtually bottomless.

In the early afternoon we anchored by Sandy Cay and tried to go for a walk ashore—lots of mud, mangroves, wildflowers and bugs. Andros is home to the infamous “doctor flies” (their bite draws blood and hurts like an injection), and to the dangerous spirit entities called Chick Charneys by Bahamians. We were careful not to offend any of them, as doing so could result in a lifetime of mischievous bad luck.

The next morning we made it to the east end of the Bight in two hours and anchored off Forsythe Point. There we took the dory ashore and walked to the tiny Emerald Palms Hotel for a real Bahamian lunch, leaving our first mate (Camden, Maine, lobsterman Red Robard) on board to hold down the fort. When we returned to Leopard there was a very old and dignified black man sitting in the cockpit. He had seen what looked to him to be a late 18th century pilot schooner at anchor in a place too shallow for such an apparition, and came over to investigate. This turned out to be the Bahamian sailing master Leroi Bannister, famous designer and builder of Bahamian fishing sloops and Family Island Regatta raceboats. He extended an invitation for us to visit him at his home on Lisbon Creek, just on the north side of the Bight, and of course we accepted.

We spent the next day tied to Bannister’s wharf, and had an excellent visit with Leroi and his wife, listening to stories of boat building, races and island history. My two 18-year-old female crewmembers got their first Kalik beers (locally brewed). I spent a couple of hours studying the wrecks of old wooden sloops left on the beach to die—relics of a bygone era.

The following morning we departed for Norman’s Cay in the Exuma chain of islands, 90 miles across the Tongue of the Ocean. The wind was still ESE and blowing 25 knots, making short, steep and rough 12-foot seas in the Tongue. Leopard was in her element, and we had a robust sail very close on the wind, arriving at Norman’s in time for a late afternoon rain shower with full rainbow.

Thus my first quest for a new route from South Florida through Andros to the Exumas was realized. In the years to follow, I cruised South Bight again several times in Leopard. In 1996 we were “soft aground” in the huge white mayonnaise lake near the west end for two days, waiting for a wind shift and higher tide. We were crossing east to west during neap tides, and strong easterly winds literally blew the water off the Bahama Banks, sucking the water out of the west ends of the Bights.

I had to sell Leopard in late 1998, during my battle with cancer, to help pay medical bills and because I couldn’t keep her any longer. When it seemed likely that I was going to live, I designed and built T’ien Hou, launched in 2002, a 65’ LOA gaff-rigged ketch with strong Chinese/Portuguese “Lorcha” influences.

In early 2003 we sailed T’ien Hou to Bimini, continuing to Gold Cay off Andros. Because T’ien Hou has even less draft than Leopard (three feet), we circled the island looking for a more protected anchorage. Seeing what looked like drying racks on the beach, we decided to go exploring ashore.

Almost hidden by shrubs we found the ruins of an old building whose function was unclear. It would be another eight years before I learned what the drying racks were for.

This time I decided to try my luck with North Bight, even

shallower than South Bight. Kline’s instructions show switching from North Bight to Middle Bight halfway across Andros, and that is what we did. Once again it was difficult to find the entrance, but a shallow turquoise channel lead us into a small bay with numerous possible leads, and by trial and error we found our way into a narrow opening, which I named the “keyhole”.

Well inside the Bight, the shorelines on all sides retreated, leaving us once again in a huge white lake, with indistinct land features. We proceeded in an easterly direction, looking for something—anything—that would tell us where to go. Finally, on a descending tide, we anchored for the night. I took a GPS reading for our anchorage, and it has been very useful to me ever since.

The water depth in North Bight was frequently less than three feet (our draft), and we simply plowed through it, leaving a long white meandering wake behind us as we snaked around looking for deeper water. The depth sounder was completely useless. This takes a certain amount of nerve, and is probably not for the weak-hearted.

Eventually I was able to identify Cedar Island, more by guess and by golly than anything else. Essentially I assumed what I saw to be Cedar Island, and we proceeded from there as if it were. It worked: We were able to further (tentatively) identify shoals, rocks, and more islands, meandering

“All we knew was that we were in a strange, beautiful place, with absolutely nothing to tell

us where we were or where we’re going.”

30 March 2012

March 2012 31

around looking for landmarks and channels that were likely candidates.

Halfway through North Bight we almost inadvertently switched over to Middle Bight following Kline’s somewhat vague instructions. The maze of estuaries, islands, channels, rocks and distant shorelines was really very confusing, and from deck level everything on the horizon blended together. All we knew was that we were in the middle of a big, strange, beautiful place, with absolutely nothing to tell us where we were or where we were going. We just kept heading eastward. I often stood on T’ien Hou’s pilothouse hardtop to gain the perspective granted by elevation. I also had a lookout on the bowsprit, and a helmswoman below me following our confused instructions... it was wonderful!

When we were almost through to the east side, we passed what might be construed as the only aid to navigation anywhere in the Bights—a rusted out hulk that might have been a steam boiler. Many years ago Andros was logged for its extensive stands of Cedar—perhaps this was part of a 19th century steam tug? After the boiler we eventually emerged into a long shallow bay, which opens onto the Tongue of the Ocean. We were losing our light, and finally anchored for the night in heavy rain showers.

The next morning, on the flood tide, we ran aground several times trying to find a way out. I eventually learned

to stay to the middle of the bay. In the mouth of the bay is Gibson Cay, and just to the north of it is one of the old Autec Stations, from which torpedoes used to be tested in the Tongue of the Ocean. I made the mistake of trying to enter the old marked Autec channel, and ran hard aground on a very nasty shoal that divides the Autec channel from the natural channel, which lies just north of Gibson Cay. The tide floated us off. Entering and leaving Middle Bight, stay in the natural channel south of the Autec markers and hug Gibson Cay.

A few miles further south is the friendly settlement of Moxie Town. Returning single-handed from the Exumas one year I was very nearly out of fuel and cash, and I dinghied over to the fuel dock in Moxie Town with my five-gallon diesel jugs. It turned out that the dock couldn’t process credit cards, and the nearest ATM machine was on a different planet. So the fuel attendant GAVE me 15 gallons of fuel. Can you imagine that happening anyplace you have ever been? I love Andros!

From Middle Bight it is a straight easterly run across the Tongue of the Ocean and the Exuma Banks to Staniel Cay in the middle of the Exuma chain. Once on the Banks, you will pass the two old Decca towers just north of your route. It’s a long haul—80 miles—and I usually motorsail at no less than seven knots to make it to the Happy People Marina in

time for Happy Hour. Alas, this is no longer an option, as Ken Rolle and his wife have passed away—but the Staniel Cay Yacht Club is alive and well.

From Staniel Cay you have the whole outer Bahamas and points east right at your fingertips. George Town, Great Exuma (at the bottom of the chain) is two day-sails away. Getting from South Florida to the popular cruising destination of George Town is therefore efficiently accomplished by sailing from Biscayne Bay or the Keys to Bimini (or points south), to Gold Cay (or Williams Island), through the Bights of Andros, to Staniel Cay, to Little Darby Island (or Lee Stocking Island), to George Town.

In both Leopard and T’ien Hou, weather permitting, we typically took seven days, stopping to anchor every night, to make this trip. The reverse trip can be made even more easily with the trade winds behind you (I once did it in six days). One of the many advantages to this route is sailing in the shelter of Andros.

Between 2005 and 2010 I didn’t get to the Bahamas at all. I sold T’ien Hou and designed and built a 53’ LOA sharpie schooner named Ibis. The new schooner is small, narrow, light and very shoal draft (2’ 6”). In March of 2010 we sailed Ibis on our well-established route through the Bahamas with one small exception: we anchored behind Williams Island (instead of Gold Cay) to seek protection from a brisk NE wind. Here the water depth was less than three feet, and in trying to approach Williams Island we took the bottom over 200 yards from shore at low tide. Flat- bottomed sharpies are good for this.

While motoring around the west and south shores, exploring, we saw another set of drying racks, similar to those on Gold Cay, plus what looked like a campsite—blue poly tarps and a fire pit. This caused me some alarm, because we were in a really remote place, and I suspect that drug smugglers run shipments along the deserted west coast of Andros. We left early next morning, and I admit spending an uneasy night.

In 15 years of exploring Andros’ west coast and three Bights, I have never seen another yacht anywhere except just inside the eastern entrances of South Bight and Middle Bight. One time we saw a local Bahamian guide-boat taking fishermen-tourists to a bone-fishing flat, and twice we have seen small local boats near an island not far from that rusty old boiler mentioned earlier. I have never seen a plastic jug or a beer can in the Bights (may it, please, stay that way).

Returning through North Bight in May of 2010, we saw a very rough-looking native camp-boat anchored just inside the west end near Spanish Wells. We anchored Ibis about a half-mile away, and I was a little nervous about the other boat, especially when a very rough looking outboard- powered workboat approached us near dusk. I was thinking how this was the first time I ever left my firearms in Florida,

and wondering if I had made a big mistake. There were five very tough-looking Bahamians in the boat, barefoot and literally dressed in rags, and they seemed darkly curious about us, as they had never seen a yacht in the Bights. They were friendly, thank goodness, though only one of them talked much (he seemed to be the leader). I had told Delfine, my first mate, to stay out of sight below, so perhaps they thought I was alone.

In the course of a 15-minute conversation, I learned a few things, and solved the puzzle of the drying racks and campsite on Williams Island. These men were spongers, and they were working the beds off the west coast of Andros, camping there and drying the sponges on racks on the beach. They also told me that Leroi Bannister had passed away in 2008, which I was very saddened to learn. A whole era has ended in the Bahamas with the deaths of many

unique and wonderful old people, and I cannot help but wonder what is coming with the new century.

The attractions of the Bights include excellent bone fishing, bottom fishing, collecting conch and spiny crayfish (Bahamian lobster), sponging, exploring

untouched islands, bays, “lakes” and estuaries, diving in the deep blue holes, and just enjoying the solitude of being in a wilderness. When you tire of this, there are the tiny and charming settlements and hotels to visit ashore on the east coast of Andros. If you go, keep in mind that it is essential to play the tides in the Bights. Because of the difference in times, it is possible to “flow through” with the high tide from east to west, and work against the high tide from west to east. Timing is everything. Often it is necessary to anchor in the middle of a Bight and wait for the next high tide. Fortunately there are anchorages at both ends of all the Bights suitable for arrivals and departures.

After 15 years I still get lost in the Bights, even with my charted GPS waypoints. I also still run aground a lot. The mysteries are still real. I admit that these things appeal to my love of gunkholing—I live for the challenges.

What I have hoped to achieve with this article is to present cruising sailors with a whole new and intriguing virgin territory to explore, right in their own backyard. The Bights are beautiful, mysterious, intricate, and rewarding (especially when you arrive at the other end!), to say nothing of providing a unique and efficient way through the Bahamas. While it is sadly true that very few monohull sailboats can even consider these passages, a majority of the ever-growing contingent of cruising catamarans (and trimarans) can certainly navigate the Bights, as can many cruising powerboats. The extreme upper limit of draft is four feet, but three feet can be carried through without plowing up too much “mayonnaise.” Two feet can go anywhere, anytime. g

“I was thinking how this was the first time I ever left my firearms in Florida, and wondering

if I had made a big mistake.”

March 2012 33

YOU THINK THAT WAS DUMB?e n j o y i n g a l a u g h a t s o m e o n e e l s e ’ s e x p e n s e

A LESSON TO BE LEARNED

Many, many years ago I was a fuel dock attendant. I could have been no older than 13 or 14 years old. I was working in this semi-private harbor on the shores of Lake Michigan. The harbor was exceptionally

small, only 25 or so boats. If you were not tied to a wall you were Mediterranean moored in the middle of the harbor. If you had a boat over 37 feet, it was extremely difficult to turn around. The approach depth to the harbor was only about 4.5 feet. I think you get the point. It was a very tight and tiny harbor.

It was a 40s kind of fall day on the Great Lakes. The air temp was around 45F and the wind was howling from the north around 40 mph. Twas the end of the season and the harbor was closing the very next week. Most of the boats had to go out into the lake and brave the wind, waves, and weather to make it to their winter storage yards. The harbor was closing for the season the very next week. I was huddled in my office, no larger than a phone booth, on the dock. I was watching the “stinkpots” argue with the “rag-baggers” about who crashed into whom and just who was at fault. As I said before, the harbor was semi-private. It belonged to a yacht club that was very generous with term members only. If you had cash or a credit card in your pocket you were a welcome “visiting yachtsmen” at the bar, restaurant, fuel dock, launch-ramp, or any other revenue generating source or event.

Just as my day was beginning to drag on, the phone in my little booth rang. The voice on the other end was familiar. It was my boss asking how many boats were left in the harbor. I thought it was a strange question for the harbormaster to be asking. Then he informed me that he would be bringing in his boat in a few minutes for some diesel fuel. Even at my tender age, other people began to see the panic in my face. The harbormaster had a gorgeous, professionally restored SIXTY-FIVE foot Chris-Craft STEEL hull Roamer. The yacht was truly a classic and a beautiful piece of seagoing art. However, it was SIXTY- FIVE feet of half-inch thick STEEL, with a beam no less than sixteen feet and at least eight feet of freeboard at the bow. I could only fathom to guess at her weight. Through the eyes of a teenager that would shortly be catching this yacht at the fuel dock, I would say she weighed around a billion tons.

Suddenly, this beautiful white aircraft carrier-sized yacht filled the harbor entrance. The harbor master was an excellent helmsman. He was “sailing” the monster right down the tiny fairway. He was using the wind on the superstructure and the engines, one in forward and one in reverse, to steer the ship straight. It was a marvelous demonstration of seamanship.

His only crew on board was his wife. She was standing on the bow with a dock line in one hand and a large fender in the other. The captain brought the ship to a stop just inches away from my fuel dock on the port side and a moored boat on the starboard. The moored vessel was on the windward side and the fuel dock on the leeward. He proceeded to give instructions to his beautiful crew, through the hailer, to drop the docking tackle off the port side. The bonny lass on the bow was more concerned with the moored vessel on the starboard side. The crew began to drop the fender off between the moored vessel and the Roamer. The captain repeated the command, in a lovingly tense voice, to drop the fender and the dock line off the “PORT” side of the vessel. His crew, obviously oblivious to the nautical terminology, turned to face the flybridge and flipped the captain the bird and screamed “Which FREAKING side is that?” His reply, obviously amplified through the hailer to the max now, “THE WEDDING BAND SIDE!”

HIGH SEASON ANTICS

Thanksgiving week is the start of the high season for charter boats in the Virgin Islands. Texans, Floridians and East Coasters descend in droves to enjoy this wonderful place, many blissfully unaware that they lack the skills and experience

to skipper the boats they’ve chartered. As a result, we’ve found the best daytime entertainment is to be in an anchorage early in the afternoon to watch the other boats arrive. For personal safety sake, it’s best to be on your boat rather than swimming or snorkeling or otherwise in the water when these guys arrive. Yes, the best performances are always with a guy at the helm.

Opposite:An irritated sea captain sails

on despite the incompetency of his crew.34 March 2012

SHORT ATTENTION SPAN

The skipper stands at the fly-bridge helm of a chartered 44’ motor catamaran. One woman stands at the front between the hulls ready to pickup the mooring buoy pennant with the boat hook. A man/woman pair is at each bow ready

with the lines. Skipper has a fast approach to the buoy but the woman is able to snag the pennant and is busily trying to bring it up as the boat continues forward. The line handlers on deck shout at the skipper, STOP!... then, REVERSE!... but with his job seemingly done, the skipper had turned his attention to his cellphone. Not surprisingly, the woman is not able to bring up the pennant with the buoy now in the center of the boat between the hulls.

Attention restored, the skipper puts the boat in reverse. The buoy reappears and the woman once again snags the pennant. The boat continues backward as the lines are put through the pennant eye, each team working to pull their respective line through. More shouting at skipper,

STOP!... then, FORWARD!...as the boat travels farther and

farther away from the buoy with neither line secured to the hull cleat. Each man / woman line handling team hang on to their line with all of their might trying to keep them from slipping back through to the buoy pennant eye. Skipper finally realizes someone is shouting at him and that the engine is still in reverse. He corrects this and both line handling teams get their line secured to the hull cleats as the boat again nears the buoy.

Convinced his job really is done now, the skipper leaves the helm typing away on his cellphone. Everyone grabs a beverage to celebrate their accomplishment, not noticing that the boat continues to move forward until once again the buoy is deep between the hulls. The line handling teams appear to have done a superb job because the boat eventually stops its forward progress. Several minutes later, one of them (not the skipper) realizes the buoy isn’t in its proper place in front of the hulls and figures out why. The engines are finally shut off and after several minutes, all is as it should be. g

March 2012 35

1

11

14

17

23

27

29

34

43

46

49 50 51

47 48

44 45

35 36

30 31 32 33

28

24 25

37 38 39 40 41 42

26

18

19 20 21 22

15 16

12 13

2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 ACROSS

1. Jokester, for short

4. Rhyme scheme

8. Lyricist Gershwin

11. Building add-on

12. Pith helmet

14. That: Sp.

15. Skipper of the Exxon Valdez

17. First American soloist

19. Southern constellation

20. Italian songstress

23. Become lower, as a voice

26. Bounce back

27. Under the weather

28. U.S. bird group

29. Author Silverstein

31. Spotted wildcat

34. Digital video recorders

36. Ha-ha, in texting

37. Captain of RMS Titanic

43. Female circumnavigator

45. Menlo Pk. inventor

46. Tolkien creature

47. Huey, Dewey and Louie, e.g.

48. “___ Little Teapot”

49. Afr. country

50. Counting out

51. Determined

DOWN

1. Dock, sometimes

2. Moreover

3. Joyful

4. Chief of the Cossacks

5. ___ the Clown

6. Imitator

7. Below decks area

8. Incongruous

9. Kanga’s baby

10. Do sums

15. Roll-call response

16. Corduroy rib

18. Space

21. Scat!

22. Fr. month

23. Part of D.C.

24. Type of school

25. Tenth follower

30. City in California

32. ___ network

32. Columbus, Ohio, mus.

33. Shade tree

35. Perspired, once

36. Constellation with a belt

38. Swiss river

39. Bridle part

40. Ending means inflammation

41. Nor feral

42. Warm (up)

43. Football stand

44. Small colonist

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S E A F A R I N G I N T E R N A T I O N A L