High Tensions and a Faulty Engine

Hello all!

It's been a few days since my last post, so I apologize in advance for being vague and brief in my summary of the trip thus far. Things have been going well! We have cranked up our daily mileage goal in an attempt to get to Savannah with some time to explore. Our stop in Baltimore put us a little behind schedule, but seeing friends and family makes t all worth it. Plus, we had a laundry list of work projects on the boat, most of which were checked off. We showered, ate crabs up to our eyeballs, and restocked necessary grocery items. We were able to do the Chesapeake Bay in two days, and today we entered the ICW which is an inside passage taking us down the inside of the Outer Banks, but skipping Cape Hatteras which is known to be particularly nasty this time of year. We intend on sailing all night to make Ocracoke tomorrow morning at the bottom of the Banks. There, we hope to find a hardware store to pick up some necessary items we need to fix our engine.

Now the juicy stuff...

Yesterday (or was it two days ago??) the engine coolant did something bad. We thought we burst a hose, but that was quickly ruled out. All we knew was that there was boiling coolant pouring all over the engine and onto the sole boards. Our only real concern, confident that Yuri could fix the problem, was the Lucky our cat would lick up some of the sweet smelling, but fatally toxic, liquid. On our hands and knees, Paula and I scrubbed the floor, the walls, and any other surface we felt it had come into contact with. Problem fixed, we continued motoring along only to find less than ten minutes later, coolant pouring out on to the sole boards again. Upon investigation, Yuri discovered he had let the cap off the overflow tank. Obviously, I felt frustration at having just scrubbed everything clean only to be voided by such a stupid mistake, but he quickly said he would clean it up himself. Under my breath I mumbled something about how he was right...

Since then, we have had a string of engine problems, the latest of which involves some water hose and a coupling (again I could be making these things up..?) needing to be replaced. In the meantime, the engine is leaking water which is producing steam and has fogged up all our indicator lights. Oh, the first thing with the coolant caused the engine to overheat....badly. Now I remember, it was a belt! We blew a belt and the engine overheated causing the coolant to overheat and boil out. Anyway, that's fixed but now we have this new problem which is less scary because it involves fresh water but Yuri says we can't go out into the ocean unless it's fixed. Fair enough. 

Oh and we have run aground twice for stupid reasons. Neither of which I was behind the wheel for. But I'm not blaming anyone...in any case, equipment failure and lack of proper aleep, as well as confined quarters has us all on a bit of an edge. Hoping things will mellow out as we will be visiting the beach tomorrow!

And we're off!

Yesterday Marked Day 1 of our transit with the rest of the water-based “snowbirds” down to Florida. We like to joke that we retired early…it seems that most cruisers have already seen the majority of their lives go by, entering into the long-term sailing phase after having settled all their other debts to society. Not so much for us. Living on a boat is something I have no intention of  doing when I am 65.

October 1st, we got a 5 AM start out of Lincoln Harbor Marina, and we made it to Great Kills Marina where my parents had their own boat Tiny Bubbles for many years. It was hard to be back there after Hurricane Sandy, but great to see that they’ve rebuilt everything that was destroyed. I don’t think I will ever forget that day, driving down Hylan Blvd and watching for familiar storefronts only to see them replaced with broken glass, tree trunks, and flooded streets. How relieved my mother and I were to see our trusty boat floating proudly in the middle of the harbor. How sad I was to make it to Singapore during the Clipper Round the World race this past February and find out that while she was capable of making it through the worst storm in NYC history, she hadn’t faired the icy waters of the artic blast that the Northeast had experienced this winter. While I was off experiencing the world, my parents were signing over the boat that had given them some of the best years of their lives. My mother still mourns Tiny Bubbles and I do not blame her. I know my father mourns her privately; I do not blame him either. That old boat….may she rest in peace, and may the happy memories created aboard Tiny Bubbles be the those that remain.

So Yuri and I are off to start a new chapter of Slivko-Bathurst-Bartz sailing. Please follow us on our journey here on this blog. And for those of you who need constant reassurance as to our whereabouts and safety, here’s a link to the GPS tracker we have on board that updates every 10 minutes:

We are currently about 3.5 miles offshore, hugging the Three Nautical Mile line. Our goal is Cape May by 10:00 PM tonight. We are making significantly better mileage than either of us anticipated, which is great because we hope to spend some extra time visiting along the way. It looks like we will not only be able to spend that time, but will continue to stay ahead of schedule as well- a big bonus!

Yesterday, we all spent the day acltimatizing ourselves to the swells of the Atlantic. Paula and Darell, our amazing crew without whom we would be lost, both felt a bit queasy throughout the day. Thanks to Meclazine for helping them overcome it. And no thanks to Yuri who excitedly turned on the macerator pump after we hit the 3-mile mark offshore to pump out our blackwater tank without informing us. Paula, Darell, and I were sitting on deck when we were hit with the smell. I watched as the two of them went from a healthy skin color to green, green, green. I tried not to laugh as I sent Paula to the bow so that she’d be upwind of the stench. A bit too late maybe? Luckily, there was no need for me to shout “Aim for distance!” and Yuri learned a good lesson about communication.

Ok, I’ve reached my 1-page limit so I’ll sign off now and go make dinner on my new stove!

Somewhere off the coast of Jersey Shore. Cabs are here!!!!

Heather

First Place Part 2

After the piracy threat, we all went back into race mode. We motored back to our location before we started the engine, put up the sails, and got underway. When I woke up for watch a few hours later, I was relieved to find out we were only 6/10 of a mile behind GB. They must have been becalmed in the night...to our advantage. Watch was peaceful as we all joked about what we would tell our families and friends who were probably looking at the GPS tracker thinking, "why are they going in circles!?" Ships that passed in the night brought a bit of worry, but our daily yummy baked bread and stargazing helped us keep the mood up. I love my watch. We have become a family in many ways- we laugh together and trust each other, but we also easily get under each other's skin. Only a few minutes ago, James jokingly antagonized me about servicing a winch at dusk. I'll lose all the pieces overboard and we have no spares. I called him a jerk and walked away. But tomorrow, it will be behind us. One can't hold grudges in such close quarters. We spend too much time together, both physically and mentally, for things to fester. It creates a difficult dynamic for everyone on board and it's a huge waste of what little energy we all have. Anyway, back to race finish...

Next morning, we woke up for watch again and found that a halyard had been wrapped on the wrong side of the spreaders. Up the mast I went, just as fast as I could slam down a cup of coffee. It has become fairly obvious to everyone that I am incapable of functioning for an 8-12 morning watch if I don't have coffee. So, even though it was the last day of racing and every moment counted since we lost the 3 hrs, Nick allowed me the "luxury" of getting high on caffeine. Halyard sorted, I spotted white sails on the horizon and a pod of dolphins surfing our beam. Finally, a boat to spar with and spar with them we did. The dolphins turned out to actually be a school of tuna. Interestingly, they stayed with us for the better part of three hours, gliding up and down, in and out of our wake. I've never seen fish do that before. It was neat. Meanwhile, Great Britain slowly bore down on us until we were within a mile of each other. We both had our A1 spinnakers up, the lightest and largest sail we have on board. The wind started to pick up and our GPS speeds went from 8s to 15s. A1 spinnakers are not meant to handle 15-20 mph winds. Eric's face and body language told that he was more than nervous about the kite exploding, but GB wasn't going to take theirs down and switching ours meant a possible loss. So, we pressed on and thankfully the wind died down a bit. Several hours later, we closed in on the finish line with GB within throwing distance. They slowly crept up on us, and our crew literally and figuratively began to tear our hair out. I was on a grinder with Meg on the other, Nick calling trim, and Eric helming. We sailed broad reach, borderline downwind, in light wind conditions which meant lots of fast and furious grinding. My heart was racing so fast, I threw up and before I could even swallow it back down, I was grinding again. But it was worth it. 26 seconds and we would have lost. The sweet taste of victory cleansed my palette and lifted the stress from my muscles. I slept like a baby that night. It was glorious.

First Place

02/07/13

For those of you following the Clipper Round the World race, this may be old news...but we won! First over the line by LITERALLY 26 seconds. Congrats to Great Britain for a close second. It was probably one of the most intense two hours of my life (have I said that enough already during this race?)...we have travelled thousands of miles from Brisbane, AU to just off the coast of Mandinau, a large island in the Phillipines where the race finish mark was and in the very last hours, three boats converged, spinnakers up, pushing each other to work as hard and fast as we could. Our finish was met with whoops of joy and hugs all around, followed by a quick deck cleanup and sail douse, and finally after having missed several off watches due to excitement, blissful sleep. But perhaps I should rewind because the two days leading up to our victory were equally, if not more filled with drama and excitement...

For the last several days, we have been partners in an elaborate dance of boats. Every six hours, the new numbers are released. Every six hours, we move from fourth to second to third to first to second again. The boats are all miles away from each other in latitude, and thus out of eyesight, but our longitudes make it anyone's gain. Finally, after weeks of beating upwind, we are able to throw up a spinnaker and make some real progress. I have no experience with spinnaker work, but it is a quick learning process and I have been told that I am a natural trimmer. Without going into too much boring detail, spinnakers are eased in and out as a helmsman comes up and down with the boat attempting to build speed. Helming is particularly grueling for a beginner because "wrapping the kite" is just about the worst thing you can do. Kite collapse not only delays the boat from moving forward at full potential, but a bad collapse can result in a damaged sail, costing money and points. I have done bits of helming, slowly getting used to it, but several attempts have resulted in tears. Two days ago, I had a terrible time on the helm as the wind was quite light and fluky. At this point in my current life, nothing is worse than Eric coming up on deck to find out why things aren't going the way they should. He has a way of saying just enough or not saying anything at all...a bit like my father. As soon as I got off watch,  I ran downstairs and cried myself to sleep. It was an inevitable buildup of stress, exhaustion, and being out of my element with nothing and no one familiar around me. It doesn't help that I am a perfectionist. 

Several hours later, it was time for watch again. We were in first place, "despite my best efforts" I joked...feeling much better after the release of tears. The spinnaker had been changed to a wind seeker and we were ghosting along at five knots. As the sun set on the horizon, we spotted a vessel, maybe six or seven miles away. Nothing out of the norm. Watch continued and the vessel got bigger. Eric came on deck. "Should we put on our blue shirts?" We asked regarding the matching shirts that we all had and were to wear during any threat of potential piracy. He declined and we watched as the vessel inched closer. They were three miles out, a fishing vessel no doubt. And then in what was probably less than ten minutes, they were half a mile away and barreling towards us. An all hands on deck was called. I quietly took my knife off my life jacket and tucked it into my underwear. The engine was turned on and after several VHF calls for the vessel to abort his current course, Eric made the decision to motor us out of our current position. The next hour was controlled chaos as it seemed like we were playing a game of cat and mouse. We alerted authorities, the international piracy organization (whatever that may be), dropped our sails, and waited. They never approached us any closer than their initial attempt, and after a few hours it was clear they were just curious. But we couldn't take the risk. And it was certainly a bit horrifying to think that it wasn't a drill. The air of uncertainty was stifling. When Eric finally made the call to motor back to our last position an start sailing again, I was grateful. Normalcy returned, but we were all a bit shaken up. Who wouldn't be? We were out in the middle of the ocean with none of the other CVs in any close proximity. We were on our own. 

Back in the Northern Hemisphere

01/26/2014

Yesterday, we crossed the equator. It was approximately 11:00 am and I was in bed...quite exciting. Unfortunately, no one was really in the mood to celebrate. For the last 48 hours, we have been beating upwind into a (at times) hellacious storm that went on for miles. Winds upwards of 50 knots made everything concerning living aboard a boat nearly impossible. My plans to shower (as was my prize for having been mother) were squashed as we were on the wrong tack to use the below-decks shower and the on deck sun showers were too dangerous. I mourned, as the stench of my own sweat had become nearly intolerable.

Sleeping was an even bigger chore. My 12 hour post-mother sleep was interrupted constantly as above deck shouts for reefs and sail changes competed with the howling wind and rain. Feeling guilty as I lay in bed whilst I watched my crew get ready for their shift, I asked if I should come up on deck. "Stay in bed," Nick, our watch leader, gently ordered me. I obeyed, but soon after heard the cries of Meg from the companionway. "Is anyone still up? We are really struggling up here and could use an extra set of hands!" Finally, the burden of my guilt could be banished. I lept out of bed, threw my foulies on and clambered on to the deck to find the crew wrestling the Yankee 2 sail into its bag. Afterwards, I stayed on deck until changeover, watching wave after monstrous wave pick our comparatively tiny boat up and slam it down. Jokes about how it was nothing compared to the Southern Ocean lightened the mood. For me, it was the roughest weather I had ever been sailing in as an adult, and my continued awe of nature's force beguiled me. No one slept. Watch changeovers became even moodier than usual. Hatches dogged down meant sleeping was nearly impossible due to the heat and humidity below decks. On a good day, waking up in your bunk is always met with a constant wonder of what liquid lay pooled on your skin. Is it sea spray mixed with the attracted moisture from the air? Sweat? Tears? The extra heat combined with the violence of boat meeting crashing waves head on meant even half an hour of shut eyes was a dream come true. 

The storm lightened up during the day yesterday, but winds continued to howl. After we crossed the equator without any fanfare, I tried to find solace in the fact that we were still moving, slowly making our way to the top of the rankings. As I took my turn at the helm, I started to enjoy the excitement and all but left my nervous fear behind. Then, we took an unanticipated wave to the port beam, and as I quickly turned the wheel hard to starboard to defend the boat from the shock, I watched as James's feet were swept out from under him as the starboard rail dove into the water. Thank god he was tethered. We only lost the galley slop bucket that he had been emptying over the side. I giggled nervously as we all joked that my attempts at losing James had failed, but within moments the gravity of the situation set in. I almost lost James. It is a moment I will probably never forget, as fleeting as it was. In one instant, I realized just how serious this all is.

Later that day, I was sent up to the foredeck to help out in a sail change. As if the ocean heard my prayers for a shower, she dumped a wave on me that lasted a lifetime. Suddenly, a hissing noise rang in my ears as my life jacket self inflated. We finished the sail change- me, with much difficulty due to the fact that I could no longer raise my arms beyond waist height and both sides of my face were squished in as if I were a chipmunk storing nuts in its cheeks- and through the night sailed with a single headsail and triple reefed main. Meg succombed to illness, as did Nick and I (though more to the drowsiness of our anti seasickness medication), and Herb was not on deck because he had been mother. Hemming was difficult for all of us and we rotated frequently. I must have fallen asleep instantly afterwards, and had to be wakened twice this morning. Today the routine of a steady 30 knot wind set in. We were all happy to be on deck- although Nick's meds were fightig an uphill battle and he sat curled up on the deck for the first half. The sun was out. The waves were more manageable. We were having fun. Then Meg went downstairs to do the log and slipped. She probably broke her tailbone, and will most likely be down for the count for the rest of the leg. That leaves us with 5 crew in our watch with no end in sight for a change from upwind to a wind angle more reasonable on the human soul. 

Humorous moments remind us not to take things too seriously, however. In discussing Meg's injury, I managed to come up wih the gem, "yes, but that shit never heals right and then you live the rest of your life riding around with tiny pieces of bone in your ass." And later, as someone complained that the bilges weren't being dumped in a timely manner, I crawled in to do my duties and afterwards actually took a shower in the bilge...first in the oily bilge water that plopped out of the bucket on its way up the stairs, and then with proper soap and the hose from the galley sink with James's and Herb's help. The silver lining? I can no longer smell myself, which in my book is currently just about the biggest win I could have. Now, I'll watch a movie as writing this has stirred up some emotions that will probably make it impossible to sleep. Is it weird that I am still happier than I have ever been in my life? 

True North

01/13/14

Hello all! Due to my lack of internet access on board, these posts will be delayed by at least a month, but I will release them in the same intervals as they are written! 

Currently in off dog watch! For you landlubbers, a dog watch is a neat little trick used on long distance sailing trips in order to make sure that the watch system is varied as opposed to a set schedule. Two two-hour watches replace one four-hour watch every night at 6 pm, thus guarenteeing that both crews rotate through the watch system...all a bit technical but appreciated nonetheless.

I'm writing from a borrowed bunk as mine unfortunately became saturated due to some water coming in through a hatch, making a magical 45 degree turn, and landing directly on my bed. Lovely! Hoping it dries a bit before my next off watch which is in about six hours.

Starting to get into the swing of things. We are quite short for crew-15 of us in total including Skipper Eric. But everyone seems motivated and eager to race. We are headed dead north at the moment, on a close reach with steady trade winds blowing at about 20 knots. Qingdao, one of the other race yachts, is at about two o clock off the starboard now and has been steadily holding use off for most of the race thus far. We are 700 miles to our gate, and the wind and waves will be quite consistent for most of it which means very small details like trimming sails to inch ahead as opposed to big details like sail changes. Today was a bit squally, but the sun was out for most of the day, and I am developing an interesting tan from my life jacket....

I helmed (drove) for about an hour and a half today, and was much more confident at it than I thought I would be. In fact, my confidence is surprising me in every aspect of the boat. I find that I remember much more than I thought I would, and I think the rest of the crew appreciates my input and proactive attitude, and I had already learned lots of new tricks of the trade. We shall see how long my enthusiasm lasts. Thus far, it is great fun! Life at a 15 degree heel is quite difficult, particularly removing one's pants to use the toilet. And although none of you knew it was missing, I have located my knife, which gives me great relief and makes me feel not so naked. 

That's enough for now. Must work on my knife lanyard! 

H

A photo of the sunset off the starboard stern...can you make out our competition?

One week in the forepeak

01/20/2014

Yesterday was the anniversary of my first week on the boat. To celebrate, I spent yet another hour in the forepeak. Why, you ask? Well, it seems my hair has decided to rebel against me and is currently in what can only be described as one massive dreadlock. Since our second day at sea, I have spent at least one hour daily picking my hair apart strand by strand in an attempt to salvage it. The threats from my crew members of cutting it off in my sleep or dumping the galley bucket on my head have only become more frequent. I fear for my hair as we near the equator where it is customary for the equatorial crossing virgins to be formally inducted (read: hazed) into King Neptune's Court. I hope my skipper's elusive gold hot shorts make an appearance. I would perhaps be willing to make a barter for a small piece of the rat on my head for this sight....

Today was filled with squalls of painful rain. We put in and took out no less than five reefs within only a few hours. I am happy for the change in weather as storms bring wind, and for the last three days, we have had several periods of quite literally no wind at all. What a strange feeling it is to bob around in the middle of a giant vast of sea, with no moon or stars, just the quiet lapping of  water against an unmoving hull. We kept ourselves entertained by throwing garbage over the side and seeing whether it or the boat would move faster. Trivia helps as well, although our watch has become acustomed to having two active crew whilst the others take the time to catch up on extra sleep. No wind means no life jackets, and more importantly no heel to the boat making maneuverability much easier. Frustrations rise, however, as our position in the race drops back significantly with every weather lull.