Leaving San Diego was difficult. Not for the sailing or the weather, but simply because kicking yourself in the ass enough to get yourself moving is… difficult. I could have gone on for months just tweaking things on the boat and getting more prepared, replacing more things and maybe buying and installing more equipment. Like most things in my life, I needed a deadline and a motivator, and I was finally able to set a deadline and procure a motivator by agreeing to take on a crew member.
I’d said often that one of the things I love about being a solo sailor is that I don’t want to have to rely on other peoples’ schedules in order to make progress on my journeys. Well, in this case, taking on crew helped me set a deadline and actually leave, because I didn’t want to screw up my crew’s schedule.
Rob is an airline pilot, and was the perfect crew for me on this trip. When someone is used to having hundreds of lives in their hands for a few trips per day, we can generally assume they’re cautious, methodical, and analytical about every decision. Contrasted with my desire to just do things and address issues as they pop up, I think we made a good team.
Before leaving San Diego I’d sailed Chemistry a total of three times. Once as a part of the marine survey, once around the bay with my younger son and his friend, and once more around the bay with my dad and dog. Sailing around a bay is nothing at all like sailing in the ocean, and as we fueled up and finally left San Diego Bay at 9:30am on Saturday, January 8th, there was much to learn about the boat. In fact, up until 7:30am I was still installing and configuring equipment—the last piece being a Class B AIS transponder so friends and family would have an idea where I am at any time, and other boats heading my way would know details about my boat including my speed and direction, which helps when you’re trying to not get run over by a cruise ship.
But even relatively straight-forward things were totally new and untested. 
The spinnaker, for example, was a wildcard. With Rob we’d raised the spinnaker in its sock at some point Thursday or Friday just enough to verify that the sock works (it had been reported to me that the sock was damaged, but the damage was just superficial). On Friday I’d just gone aloft and spent thirty minutes taking down the old masthead tri-color since it was full of water, and then buying another and going back to install it. Luckily that was a one-for-one replacement and didn’t require anything but time to re-wire and screw it into the same holes. But I didn’t buy a bosun’s chair because I figured my rock climbing harness would be fine, but sitting down in the harness for 15-20 minutes cut off blood flow to my legs and caused a little bit of concern, but I did some leg-shaking and stuck it out because I didn’t want the hassle of being hauled back up.
Anyway, there were more lessons about the actual speed I could expect, and frankly I’m disappointed with Chemistry’s speed, considering she’s got an IOR racing lineage. But racing with a large crew and cruising safely on an ocean are two completely different sailing experiences. An IOR boat is made to be sailed on her side; while heeling, the wide body has maximum waterline length, and waterline length is key when calculating potential hull speed. If we were racing, then dipping a rail in the water is no big deal (though maybe time to change some sails if you’re continuously dipping a rail), but when cruising and trying to be comfortable downwind, I’d much rather stay flat and relaxed. Also, honestly, I haven’t seen documentation on when the standing rigging was last replaced, though I was told it was 10 or so years ago. I just have no desire to push the boat for every ounce of speed—especially on my first journey with her.
The biggest lesson (and most dangerous) was the spinnaker. Here is where Rob’s caution really paid off, as he would ask that we take the spinnaker down at night whereas if I were on my own I probably would have pushed myself and the boat a bit too hard trying to maintain 6 knots of speed all night long and gotten myself in trouble with too much sail in too much wind. Even being cautious, it became obvious that the spinnaker is oversized for the boat. At one point I was tethered in on the deck trying to pull the sock around the spinnaker as the wind blew up to 25 knots while Rob steered trying to blanket the spinnaker with the main so it would collapse, and I finally had to slice the line holding the tack to the bow in order to free it enough to get the sock around it. It was a happy coincidence that I’d added the line there instead of attaching the tack directly to a snap-shackle on the bow. The line served to bring the tack above the bow pulpit, but most importantly the line was expendable. I doubt I’ll use the spinnaker much on my own going forward, but if I do I will be sure to use a similar rigging so I can just cut the tack free in an emergency in order to bring the massive sail down.
One very nice surprise was the efficiency and eventual ease of operation of the Hydrovane. My son Ty had helped me install that expensive beast in November, and it was 100% worth the price and the effort. The more I used it, the more I trusted it to steer the boat with the wind, so no sail changes or adjustments were necessary… just an occasional tweak to the direction of the vane so that we’d maintain a course generally south. It even did a nice job of steering while motor-sailing.
I’ll say that at the end of a long leg, motor-sailing is important. We were both so tired and ready to be in port (both at Turtle Bay and in Cabo San Lucas) that I really tried to get us there with as little fuel as possible; at some point after a few nights at sea I have no problem abandoning the very sailorly idea of using the wind, and adding in some “iron genny” power to gain a couple of knots towards a restful sleep.
Buffy was a trooper and is worthy of her own special blog entry, but I’ll just say for now that she’s doing well after being here in Cabo for two weeks. After two days at sea she still hadn’t peed or pooped, but eventually on a calm-ish day she went on deck and did some business where she could. She’s more comfortable peeing right next to the four fuel canisters and my surfboard as tied to the lifelines they provide some level of protection from the mean ocean. The vet here in Cabo didn’t speculate on the cause, but I expect that the trauma and learning curve of going to the bathroom on a pitching boat jarred loose what he called “crystals” in her bladder, and those crystals damaged her urinary tract on their way out in her urine. She’s been on antibiotics and a couple other meds for 8 days now, and she’s on a special “urinary” food that makes her pee more acidic so it helps dissolve those crystals and pass them more easily.
Cabo is my least favorite Mexican city, but I’m in Mexico. I’m getting work done. I’m improving my Spanish. Buffy is getting acclimated. And we’re both doing pretty well. We’ll be heading for Puerto Vallarta in two days (Friday January 28, after work), and I’ll try to be better about writing more frequently with more details, because there’s so much more to say but really if I take the time to say it all this will never get posted.
This entry was posted in Sailing Log